Page 37 of My Trojan Horse Majesty

“Hey, Rita’s seen me through some things,” I say. “Don’t diss Rita.”

“Diss?” He frowns, but I don’t have time to get into that one.

There’s no line to see a teller, so we walk right up to the counter. “I have a weird thing to ask,” I say. “This guy.” I toss my thumb in his direction. “Has a lot of money, but he has no identification.”

“I need to access an international account,” Leonid says. “I have the requisite codes and passwords, and I’ll pay the one percent surcharge gladly.”

The short man with the blocky glasses shoves them up his nose. “Let me grab my manager.”

Three minutes later, we’re being waved to the back. Four minutes later, the ‘manager’ is tugging her blouse down just a little more, and I’m worried that if she sneezes, we’ll be meeting both her ladies up close and personal. “Okay,” I say. “Do you know what he’s talking about with the passcodes and whatnot?”

The woman doesn’t even look at me. “Can I just say, Your Majesty, that I am ahugefan?” She literally bats her eyelashes. I thought that was a joke. I didn’t think any woman actually did it. I’ve been wrong a lot today, it seems.

Because, blessedly, in addition to flirting criminally, she is completely fine pulling up whatever he needs without any identification. “Here.” The woman clacks away on a laptop, and then she swivels it around. “I’m assuming you can login here?”

I watch as Leonid toggles something into a language in which I know not a single letter. “Da.” He grins.

The woman giggles.

The thirty-something bank managergiggles.

I wonder if she’d giggle the same way if she had just watched—and smelled—him flambé two men. Doubtful. Magic is far less, well,magicalthan I’d been led to believe. It’s a lot more messy, scary, and disgusting than the children’s stories I’ve read led me to believe.

“I think my part is done.” Leonid swivels the laptop back around.

“Did I mention that I’m just ahugefan?” The woman’s not even looking at the laptop. “If there is anything I can do for you, Your Majesty, anything at all, please ask.”

“I did ask.” Leonid’s brow furrows.

“Excuse me?” Her eyes fill with hope. “You did?”

He looks pointedly at the laptop. “That’s what I need help with right now.”

She blushes. “Right. Of course, but anything else, and I’m just as happy to help.” She leans toward him, thrusting her jiggling ladies closer.

“Oh, please. Have some dignity,” I say. “You’re making all women look bad.”

The woman glares, sits up straight, and looks down at the laptop. Then she squints. “You want to send this. . .” She looks up. “Where?”

Leonid glances at me. “You’ll have to give her your account information now.”

“Wait, you’re sending it to me?” I frown. “Can’t you just, like, put it in a cashier’s check?”

“Made out to whom? The local jail?” Leonid rolls his eyes. “It’s going to be transferred over to you, and then you can use it for whatever you choose.”

“You can write your information down here.” The woman hands me a deposit slip.

I hate how dumb I feel. “Write what, exactly?”

“Do you bank with us?” She’s talking to me, but still glancing back at Leonid at odd intervals and shooting him awkward little smiles.

“I do,” I say. “That’s why I knew this bank location was here.”

“Great.” Her forced smile’s frightening. “Then you know what to write. Account number and routing.” She waves her hand.

Leonid leans closer to me, murmuring. “Darling, after we leave here, should we grab something to eat?” His breath tickles my ear.

Darling?

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