Page 108 of Sigils & Spells

“Can you tell me her name?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to talk to her.”

“What’s in it for me?”

Her response caught me off guard. This time she was on the receiving end of silence as I scrambled to figure out what she would deem fair compensation for a name. “I can—give you a twenty percent discount on your next visit.”

“Two bottles ofRejuvenate,” she counter-offered.

“All right. I’ll set them aside for you now. What’s her name?”

“I need a ride. Come pick me up and I’ll tell you everything I know about Her Majesty on our way.”

“I just need—”

“Bring theRejuvenate.” She hung up.

*.*.*.*.*

During the interminablethirty-minute drive I vacillated between an irrational fear I’d forgotten theRejuvenateand sheer panic over going to Rafi’s home. I touched the bottles at least a dozen times either to reassure myself they were still in my purse or to remind myself why I was putting myself through this torture.

The neighborhood had acres of manicured lawns and six-foot-high wrought iron fences surrounding each property. I pulled into Rafi’s driveway. Two large R’s decorated the center of each opened gate. I slowed for the uniformed guard, who waved me through. White-knuckling it up the winding drive, I gaped at the mansion. With its steeply pitched gabled roof, round towers, and tall chimneys with decorative caps, I felt like I’d slipped through the veil of time to an era of Kings and Courtiers. Priya called the residence a château and I had to agree with her.

No matter how grand it was, no force on earth could compel me to go inside.

I nearly wept in relief when I saw Vixen waiting for me. I braked to a stop, left the car in gear, and moved my hobo bag off the passenger seat. She looked stunning in a hunter-green wraparound dress with a surplice neckline and matching heels. Her honey-blonde hair was in an elegant chignon. Hips swaying, she walked with the grace of a catwalk model. The only thing she carried was a tiny clutch barely big enough for a phone. Where was she going?

She didn’t try to mask the derision on her face as she eyed my MINI Cooper. She opened the car door, and said, “You own a clown car.”

I forced a smile. “Hello to you too, Vixen.”

She elegantly lowered herself into the seat.

“Where would you like to go?” I asked as she closed the door with a little more force than necessary.

“Where’s theRejuvenate?”

I took the bottles out of my bag and handed them over.

She cradled them in her lap, stroking the bottles like they were gold bars. “Head to West Burleigh.”

Stowing the hobo bag behind my seat I calculated the fastest route to Burleigh.

“Put on your seat belt, please.”

“Seriously?”

I sighed. “Vixen put on your seat belt.” I waited until I heard it click, then drove around the circular driveway, heading back to the street.

“Has your Father ever mentioned Franz?”

I glanced sideways at her, wondering why she had brought him up. “Yes.”

“He’s okay for a brainiac. He travels all over doing weird research and he’s always writing academic papers. He’s a bit of a snob, very into opulence. Hotels are toocommonfor him. He always stays with one of the Governors or with Rafi.”

Where was she going with this? And why wasn’t she telling me about the platinum-blonde witch? I ground my teeth to keep from snapping at her.

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