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I gave plate-Silas another jab, just for good measure, and cackled at the expression he’d make if the ceramic were truly his face—shocked annoyance.
“Lily?”
I dropped what I was doing, resumed my usual pretense of polished professionalism, and turned to see who had recognized me. I found a gal posse of Rosemary DeLaCrux, Wendy Ariti, and the squirrelly body-snatching witch I couldn’t quite remember the name of. She’d accompanied Wendy and me on our road trip to North Carolina last month.
Rosemary smiled brightly at me. “Do you have a sixth sense for where I’m going to be?”
“I have nothing better to do than follow you around,” I replied, shooting her a look I hoped she would realize showed the ridiculousness of the notion.
She sat down beside me, as if my response was an invitation. It wasn’t that I had a problem with Rosemary. In fact, I had hoped uncovering the truth about the murder of her ex wouldprove to the library that I was in fact thriving, in tip-top shape, and entirely prepared to return to active duty.
Unfortunately, that success hadn’t been enough. It had made Silas appear foolish, though, and that was always a delight. But after today’s mishap…I hated to even think about my current standing.
Wendy Ariti and her coven sister sat down across from Rosemary and me in the booth. What was the other woman’s name? Something like djinn….
“Scootch a touch more, please, Imogen,” Wendy said.
That’s right. Her name was Imogen Barrera. I would need to remember these things if the three of them planned to continue our recurring interactions. I knew I wasn’t about to give up my favorite fry spot. It’d been mine for longer than any of them had been alive. If they chose to continue coming here, then so be it. I’d had worse company.
Imogen bounced in her seat, watching me with an eerily unblinking gaze. “We’re celebrating. It’s nice to see you again,” she said.
I considered asking what they were celebrating, but Imogen barreled ahead in her rapid speech before I could respond.
“My car is still in North Carolina since you potty-portaled us home,” she said. “Do you think you could help me get it back?”
How did Imogen not realize calling the graceful, magical transportation channel apotty portalwas offensive? Her smile was creepy but sincere, suggesting she meant no ill will. I took a deep breath, tossed the straw out of my milkshake, and guzzled the rest of the sugary goodness. I was going to need it to survive this conversation.
“Who is that guy?” Imogen asked as I shook my glass over my mouth, getting the last bits.
She said, “He just walked in and now he’s staring at us, hard.”
The little hairs on the back of my neck pricked up, and my stomach twisted. Perhaps the milkshake had not been an entirely good idea.
Wendy chimed in. “He’s not staring atus.He’s staring atLily.”
Maybe it was simply an old acquaintance. Certainly I’d crossed paths with plenty of people in Piccadilly in the past. Perhaps it was a casual admirer who didn’t know me at all.
The sinking feeling in my gut suggested otherwise.
I set down my glass, but refused to look. If I looked, I’d have to face whoever was standing there. I didn’t have the energy for it, certainly not if it washim.
“I recognize him,” Rosemary said. “That’s the jerk librarian who kidnapped Andrew and threw him into the potty portal.”
My fate was sealed. No question.
“There is no such thing as a potty portal,” I corrected, because it had to be done. Apparently they were all planning to calling it that, and I needed to nip the behavior before it could become habit.
I could feel the pointed gaze of my enemy as he descended upon me. There was something about Silas that brought out the stubborn child in me. I wanted to stick my tongue out at him. I wanted to rip off his stupid coat and shove it in his mouth.
He slammed his hands onto the table, jostling the surface, and leaned toward me. He smelled like the sea at the foot of a volcano—a yin and yang of fire and water. I pretended I didn’t notice him.
“Hello, Lily,” he said.
How bad of a decision would it be to take a fry, smear it in ketchup, and shove it right down the neck of his buttoned shirt?
“Boss sent me,” he said. “Needs to speak with you urgently.”
My heart sank, with it any machinations of assault. There was absolutely zero possibility this was good news. If I was acartoon character, Silas would have pricked me with a pin, and I’d have burst, leaving a shredded elastic mess of Lily balloon on the floor.
