Once Upon Stilettos (Enchanted Inc #2) (16 page)

“I’ve got it under control,” he said with a salute.

“Thanks, Sam.” I glanced up at the doorway where Owen had disappeared into the building, then turned back to Sam. “You might want to have a detail follow Owen over the holiday, too. I think he’s visiting his foster family, and if Idris is doing this to me, I can only imagine what he’s got in store for Owen.”

“Good idea. I’m glad you brought it up. The kid himself never would have asked for help.”

“Of course, you didn’t hear it from me,” I said as I opened the door.

“Hear what?” he asked with a wink.

I was halfway up the main lobby stairs on my way up to my office when Trix flew toward me. “Oh, good, Katie! There you are! Come quick!” She turned and flew back the way she’d come without waiting for me to respond.

“What is it?” I asked as I ran to keep up with her.

“It’s Ari. That girl in Sales she hates said something about her probably being the spy, and things went downhill from there. They’re shooting magic at each other, so you’re the only one who can get in there safely and break it up.”

Well, actually there were a number of other magical immunes in the company who could do the job, but I knew what she meant. This was the kind of thing that was probably best left among friends instead of getting anyone more official involved.

The feeling of power in use became so intense it gave me goose bumps when Trix slowed to a halt. “There they are,” she whispered.

Ahead of us, Ari and Melisande Rogers were slugging it out magically. It looked a lot like the last big fight between our guys and the Idris team, only with fewer people. They kept throwing power at each other in an attempt to knock each other out. “Watch what you say about me, bitch,” Ari snarled, hurling something glowing at Melisande.

Melisande ducked it without mussing a hair on her perfectly coiffed head. “I must have hit close to home to get you this upset,” she shot back, punctuating her words with a glowing snake of light that Ari easily sidestepped.

“Or I just don’t like you,” Ari replied.

I took a deep breath and threw myself into the fray, feeling like I was getting myself into a dogfight and wishing there was a water hose handy to use to break it up. My hair seemed to stand on end from all the power being tossed around. “Enough!” I shouted. “Do you two want to get in real trouble? Do you know what the boss would say if he knew what you were up to?”

The level of power in the air declined. They glared at me, but they seemed to have quit trying to kill each other. There was a tense moment as I waited to see what would happen next; then Melisande turned wordlessly and headed toward her office. Ari made as if to go after her, but Trix caught her arm. I hurried to grab the other arm, and the two of us marched her toward R&D.

“So, do you have any plans for the holiday?” I asked, forcing my voice to be bright and cheerful in an attempt to defuse the situation. “I’ve got the day off tomorrow, so I’m taking my parents sightseeing. And then on Friday, my mom and I are going shopping. She’s always wanted to go to Bloomingdale’s.”

Trix caught on quickly to what I was trying to do. “Oh, you have to show your mom those red shoes.”

“I should,” I agreed, as chipper as a morning news anchorwoman.

“Do you think you’ll buy them?”

“What would I do with shoes like that? But they probably wouldn’t even have my size. They always seem to run out of the sevens first. You can find fives and tens on the sale rack, but the sevens are usually gone as soon as they come into the store.”

“Guys, I know what you’re doing,” Ari said. “And thanks, but you don’t have to babysit me anymore. I’ve calmed down. I’m not going to kill anyone anytime soon.”

Trix winked at me from the other side of Ari. “I knew it. Shoes always work. And they say music has soothing power.” I knew everything was going to be okay when Ari joined in the laughter.

The apartment was empty when I got home that evening, but not for long. I’d barely changed out of my work clothes when the front door opened and my parents came in with Gemma. Their arms were loaded with shopping bags. “Did you have a good time?” I asked, then did a double take when I realized my dad had one of those foam Statue of Liberty crowns on his head.

“We had a wonderful time,” Mom said. “I found the cutest snow globes at the Empire State Building. Now, where’s your kitchen? I’ve already started shopping for Thanksgiving, so we stopped by the hotel on our way here to pick up the food I bought at the market this morning while your dad took a nap.”

“Here, let me take these,” I said, stepping forward and taking the shopping bags from her. “The kitchen’s around the corner.” As I led her to the alcove that passed for a kitchen in our apartment, I glanced into the bags. “These are gorgeous pumpkins. Which market did you go to?”

“The one Gemma told me about last night. While we were waiting for her to get off work, I wandered over there. You were right, they had the nicest vendors.”

I hesitated, that far-too-familiar sick feeling forming in my stomach again. The Union Square market wasn’t open on Tuesdays and Thursdays, as I’d learned not so long ago. On those days, there was only a magical market that most people couldn’t see. No, she couldn’t have been shopping there. Maybe she’d been turned around and had found the market in front of St. Mark’s Church. That one was open on Tuesdays.

“Was it the market in front of the church?” I asked.

“No, the one in front of the big bookstore. And you call this a kitchen? How do you cook in here?”

I felt dizzy. My mother could not have gone shopping at a magical market. Then again, this was Thanksgiving week. Maybe the schedule was different. The early part of the week would be prime food shopping time. That had to be it.

Fortunately, my mom didn’t notice my confusion. She was too busy complaining about the lack of counter space. “And is this even a full-size oven? Can you cook a turkey in this?”

“I did last year,” I said, putting the bag of pumpkins on the dining table. “The one I bought this year is the same size, so it should fit.”

Gemma joined us in the kitchen area. “I think Katie’s the only person in New York who actually cooks, so they don’t make very big kitchens here. We usually go out to eat or order in.” She opened the refrigerator, then turned to yell at Marcia, “You forgot to buy water again.”

She might as well have stuck my mother with a hot poker. “You buy water? Why on earth would you do that? You can get it for free from the tap.” Mom shook her head. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. Buying water.”

Gemma took a can from the refrigerator. “Can I get you something to drink, Mrs. Chandler?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a Diet Dr Pepper in there?”

“You’re in luck. We Texas gals have a supply.” She handed a can to Mom.

I took a glass out of the cabinet and filled it from the tap. My mom smiled approvingly. “See, I knew you wouldn’t lose all your common sense when you moved up here,” she said.

I took a sip of the water and fought not to make a face. While I agreed with the practicality of not buying water, I could see Marcia and Gemma’s point. There was something off about the taste, probably the result of flowing through the ancient pipes in our building. I didn’t want to think about what we might be drinking in that water. Something must have gone wrong in the system because I didn’t remember it usually being that bad.

“Dad, can I get you anything?” I called to the living room.

“Just some coffee. Instant’s fine if nobody else wants any.”

It would set off a whole new discussion if anyone said that we usually got coffee at Starbucks, but fortunately Marcia, our resident coffee snob, was out. I found a jar of instant in the back of the cabinet—usually reserved only for dire emergencies—put on a kettle, and made him a cup.

“So what’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Gemma asked.

“I want to go to Macy’s and I want to see Times Square,” Mom declared. “That’s the heart of New York.”

“You’ll want to go in the morning so you’ll miss the worst of the parade preparations,” Gemma said.

“Then, if it’s nice, I was thinking we could go to Central Park,” I suggested.

“I was hoping we could visit your office,” Dad said. I knew what he was up to. He wanted to see for himself if my boss was an honest businessman.

“I don’t think that’ll be possible,” I said. “We’re in the middle of a big project, so there’s a total security lockdown. I wouldn’t be able to get you in the building.”

“But we’re your parents,” Mom protested.

“Yeah, but if I can get you in, then everyone else’s parents have to be allowed in, and then where would we be? I can’t ask them to make an exception.”

That did the trick. “Oh, well, of course not,” she said. “We wouldn’t want to be any bother.” She was very big on not being a bother and not having anyone make exceptions for her.

All I could hope was that I could play that card the rest of the week.

The next morning, I met my parents at their hotel. They were geared up for a day of tourism, with cameras and guidebooks at the ready. “You don’t need the guidebooks,” I told them. “You’ve got me.” While I hadn’t run into much in the way of nonmagical mischief in my time in New York, being with two obvious out-of-towners might alter my odds. Anyone walking around with a guidebook was asking for trouble.

“You’re probably right,” Mom said. “We don’t want to look like tourists. See, I even dressed like a New Yorker. I hear they wear a lot of black.” She wore black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater under her overcoat. She actually would have fit in if she hadn’t been wearing white sneakers with that outfit. I chose not to say anything. It was better if she was comfortable, and I tried to convince myself that she could pass as a commuter.

Once they’d put the guidebooks back in their room, I herded my parents toward Union Square. “The market’s a lot bigger today,” Mom remarked when we reached the park. “Let’s see if that nice man who sold me the pumpkins is here again. I told him I had a single daughter he ought to meet.” Before I could stop her, she’d headed off into the market. I hurried to keep up with her. “Funny, I don’t see him here today. You’d think a pumpkin seller would be here on the day before Thanksgiving.”

That now familiar sick feeling hit my stomach again. She was right. Any normal vendor who sold pumpkins would have been at the market that day. But my mom shouldn’t have been able to see the magical market.

“Lois,” my dad said, an edge of warning in his voice. “You wanted to see Macy’s and Times Square.”

“Oh, right. I already have pumpkins, so we don’t have time for this. But Katie, make sure you look for him next time you’re at the market. I’m pretty sure he was single. And he lives on a farm. He’d be perfect for you.”

“Mom, remember, I have a boyfriend. You know, Ethan? The guy who picked you up at the airport in his Mercedes?”

She laughed. “Oh, right. I’d forgotten that. Sorry about that, sweetheart. Old habits are hard to break. I’m so used to you being alone and single. But it wouldn’t hurt to keep that farmer in mind, in case things don’t work out. You never know.”

I finally got them onto a bus uptown, and then we walked across town to Macy’s, where my mother had a religious experience before practically fainting at the price tags. All she bought was a shopping bag with a logo on it to take home to her sister. Dad and I then successfully pushed her outside.

“It’s not that far uptown to Times Square,” I said, once we were back on the sidewalk, “but let’s take the subway. There’s something about emerging right in Times Square that adds to the experience.” That was what Gemma and Marcia had done to me the first time I came to New York.

Mom held her purse tightly against her chest and glared at anyone who came near her inside the subway station. Even my dad edged a little closer to me. I was sure I’d felt much the same way my first time on the subway, but it was such a daily part of my life that I didn’t even think about it anymore. My concern had more to do with deranged wizard geeks and magical creatures that might be following us. In spite of what Owen and Sam had promised me about extra security, I hadn’t caught sight of anyone or anything that looked like it might be guarding us.

A train came along and we boarded. “We don’t need to sit down,” I told my parents. “We’ll be getting off at the next stop.” The three of us stood around a pole, Mom glancing anxiously around the car and at all the people around us.

“You do this every day?” she asked.

“It’s not so bad. You get used to it.” My usual traveling companion didn’t hurt, but I didn’t share that with her.

When we reached the Forty-second Street station, we fought through the crowd to get off the train and head to an exit. “If everyone would wait their turn, that would be easier,” Mom huffed. “They don’t have to push and shove.”

“It’s a way of life, Mom,” I said with a grin. “Now, we’ll be coming up right into Times Square. It’s even more impressive at night, but it’s still something to see in the daytime.”

I might have been used to New York, but I still got a little thrill of excitement when I went into Times Square. This was the noisy, chaotic New York that outsiders usually pictured when they thought of the city. In my relatively quiet neighborhood it was easy to forget that this side of New York was there.

I kept a hold on each parent, making sure we didn’t get separated in the throng of tourists while my parents gaped at all the bright lights and flashing signs.

“I wonder what their light bill is,” Dad said with a frown. “Seems like a waste to me.”

“Would you just look at this?” Mom said, over and over. “Oh my.”

I pointed out the building where they broadcast
Good Morning America,
the famous military recruiting station, and some of the theaters. “A lot of the Broadway theaters are actually on side streets,” I added.

“So this is Broadway, then?” Mom asked, her eyes wide with awe.

“Yes, this is Broadway. Exciting, isn’t it?”

“And look at all these people. Hey, that man’s not wearing any clothes!”

I turned to see the guy who was famous for playing the guitar while wearing only his underwear and a pair of boots. “Oh, him. He’s a street performer.”