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“My nonna,” he said fondly. “Abbie Fortino.”
“She was a witch.”
“Among other things—a superb cook, a loving mother and grandmother, a wicked bridge player.” He grinned, but sobered when I didn’t return his smile. “But yes, she was a witch.”
“And you? Are you a witch?”
He shrugged. “‘Magical Professional’ is the politically correct term in fashion currently, but I think ‘wizard’ has more panache. Just please don’t ever call me a Wiccan.”
“Does Dean Book know you’re a witch?” I asked.
“Nope. I was hired on my academic standing alone—just as you were. I bet the dean was surprised to learn you were a doorkeeper.”
“I have a feeling she’d be more surprised to learn that you’re a witch,” I snapped back, not wanting to give Frank the satisfaction of showing surprise that he knew what I was. “But she hasn’t, has she? You’ve kept your identity secret. Was that so you could secretly watch Nicky Ballard succumb to your grandmother’s curse?”
“My grandmother’s curse?” Frank’s voice boomed through the empty building. He got up and closed the office door and turned to face me, leaning against the closed door, his face red. Although he had often yelled at me I’d never seen him look this angry before. “You think my nonna cursed the Ballards? She wouldn’t have cursed a fly. Not that she didn’t have cause. Did you get far enough in your research to find out who she was?”
“No, I had to go…”
“Well, if you had you would have learned that she was married to the foreman of the safety crew. My grandfather, Ernesto Fortino, told Bertram Ballard that the tracks were unsafe because the iron that had been used—the iron made by Ballard and Scudder Ironworks—was inferior. But Ballard let the trains run on it anyway. The day of the crash my grandfather was trying to warn the conductor of the Kingston train to stop. When the trains crashed, he died trying to rescue the victims.”
“I read about that,” I said. “He went into a train car suspended over the bridge and rescued everyone in it before dying when it finally fell. He was a hero. It sounds like your grandmother had every reason to curse the family.”
Frank smiled. “Except for the fact that Ballard’s wife was my grandmother’s sister. It would have been cursing her own family.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting down. “Then whyareyou here?”
He crossed the room and yanked open a filing cabinet drawer, took out a thick file, and flung it on the desk in front of me. “These are complaints lodged against Fairwick with IMP. They range from unauthorized tampering with the weather to harassment of civilians by supernatural creatures. For instance, I noticed you in a rather close clinch with Anton Volkov during the holiday party. If he asked you to give blood in exchange for information, or if he’s glamouring you, he’s violated your rights and should be brought up on charges.”
“I didn’t know…”
“But you should have known. Once you became aware ofthe true nature of Fairwick, Elizabeth Book should have debriefed you and informed you of your rights.”
“She did give me some forms and brochures a few weeks ago,” I lied. In truth she hadn’t been able to find them and I’d told her not to bother. I didn’t mention the spellbook because given my recent experiences with using it I was beginning to suspect I shouldn’t have been given it without more guidance. All my spells seemed to backfire. “I just didn’t get around to reading them.”
“It was her responsibility to review the material with you.”
“She hasn’t been feeling well,” I countered. Somehow my showdown with Frank Delmarco had turned into an interrogation—ofme. I had to think of a way to turn things around. “Which is probably why she didn’t realize you’re a witch. Awfully convenient for you…”
“Not feeling wellis the understatement of the year. She’sfading. For a witch who has used her magic to augment her lifespan that’s fatal. Somebody—or something—is sucking the life out of her. I thought at first that it was the vampires, but she doesn’t have any bite marks. I’m looking into other possibilities now, but it’s crucial for my investigation that I remain undercover.”
“Investigation? Undercover?”
Frank sighed and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. It was made of old worn leather and had acquired a curve that no doubt matched the curve of his butt. He took out a laminated card and handed it to me. I recognized the insignia of IMP—two crescent moons flanking an orb—but under the logo were printed the initials IMPIA.
“IMPIA?” I asked.
“Institute of Magical Professionals Internal Affairs,” he said.
“You mean you’re a…”
“Undercover investigator. And one of the matters I’m investigating is the Ballard curse. I’m trying to track down the descendantsof Hiram Scudder, Ballard’s partner. My grandmother said he was an extremely powerful wizard.”
I nodded. “I was looking up Scudder’s genealogy when I was attacked by the lacuna.”
“Figures. His descendants have been very clever in hiding themselves. I suggest you leave the investigation to me. If the Scudders planted a lacuna to hide their identity—which is strictly against IMP regulations—there’s no telling what else they might do to someone getting too close to finding them out.”
“I can take care of myself,” I snapped, resenting his paternalistic tone.
