Midnight Magic by Ann Gimpel Page B

had cherished. She was struck by a bone-deep loneliness. Worry for her mother consumed her.
    She stepped into the library for long enough to offer Murietta a handful of seeds. The large bird ruffled her feathers as she pecked at Cassie’s hand. When she turned to leave the room full of bookshelves overflowing with magic-related source materials, the bird piped up, “Careful, child. Careful, awk .”
    Spinning sharply to eye the bird that had suddenly sounded a lot like her mother, Cassie hunted for something—anything—that might’ve spawned the bird’s proclamation. Murietta chewed blissfully on a sunflower seed and stared at Cassie as if to inquire, What?
    “Aw, what could she possibly know?” Cassie muttered.
    Partway up the long, front staircase, she heard, “More than you imagine child, awk. ”
    Cassie dropped her bag and computer case and sprinted back down the stairs. Face to face with Murietta, she stroked her soft feathers, searching for clues. “Mother?”
    “Silly girl. Silly girl, awk. ” Reaching out with her beak, the bird rubbed it against Cassie’s fingers. Her avian eyes looked, well, birdlike, and Cassie felt oddly disappointed.
    It’s just that I miss Mom so much I’m imagining things...
    Dispiritedly, she turned away from the now-silent parrot and made her way back up the stairs, collecting her things from the landing.
    Cassionetta unlocked the deadbolt and let herself into her room. She looked around for Hector, but the cat hadn’t followed her.
    “Phooey.” She blew out air between pursed lips and tossed her purse and computer bag on a small sofa tucked beneath a dormer window. Reaching inside the shoulder bag, she pulled out her ruined top, gingerly clasped it between thumb and forefinger, and carried it to a wastebasket. Her bed was just like she’d left it: unmade, coverlet hanging on the floor.
    The heavy four-poster took up half the floor space in the room, but she’d always loved the flamboyant old cherry wood frame adorned with nymphs, satyrs, and garlands of intricately carved flowers. A matching dresser, two nightstands, and old-fashioned hand-painted lamps completed the room she’d inhabited since she was old enough to sleep by herself. Kicking off her high-heeled boots, still soaked with questionable fluids from her trip through the catacombs, she dumped her three-quarter length skirt and teal sweater on a chair. The jacket was still pretty wet, so she hung it over a hook in the closet.
    Raising both hands over her head, she twisted her body from side to side in a futile attempt to get the kinks out. It didn’t work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser and groaned.
    Shit, I look anorexic .
    She vowed to eat more regularly and padded toward the claw foot tub in the adjoining bathroom where she flipped on the hot tap. It took so long for warm water to make its way from the inner workings of the huge house, she rarely needed to mix in any cold.
    She stood under the handheld shower spray letting first lukewarm, then hotter, water sluice over her, as she scrubbed her hair and body with lavender-scented shampoo and soap. Even though she still didn’t feel quite clean, she finally shut the water off and stepped from the tub. She didn’t want to take the time to dry her hair, so she wrapped her head in a towel. The tile floor was chilly on her bare feet, so she hustled back to the carpeted bedroom, a second towel in hand to dry her body.
    Cassie pawed through her messy closet for clothes, wishing she was better organized. She put on her favorite striped sweat pants, a black shirt, and slippers. Unwrapping the towel from her hair, she shook it out.
    For some reason, worry about her mother intensified. Cassie’s hunches were generally right on, so she left her room, intent on locating Eleanora.
    Out in the hall she stopped to change the combination to the wall safe where the keys to her mother’s car had been. Before she slammed the metal door, she