it’s protected by powerful magic. I don’t understand how it works, I probably wouldn’t be able to understand it if it were explained to me, but I’m standing across from The Natural History Museum and I take one step past a stone bench into some bushes and suddenly I’m not visible to the throngs passing by on a sidewalk ten feet away.
I’ve disappeared. Through a veil that feels wet and cold against the skin.
The door in front of me is locked. I fish a big brass key out of the depths of my purse and fit it into the lock.
I turn it.
Nothing happens.
At first, I think I must have turned the key the wrong way so I try it again.
Nothing happens.
I pull the key back and examine it. It looks the same as it did the last time I used it. Why won’t it work now?
After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, a thought dawns on me. You need to be invited to access this place. Williams, in a fit of anger or resentment, may have revoked my invitation.
Damn him.
I step back onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a toddler walking on unsteady legs a few feet in front of her parents. The adults don’t notice that I’ve just materialized out of nowhere but the kid does. She plops down on her bottom and starts to cry, which garners me dirty looks from her parents. I step gingerly around them and head for the fountain in the center of the quad a few yards away, yanking my cell phone out of my handbag.
The first time I ring through, predictably, the call goes to voice mail.
I picture Williams reading the caller ID and refusing to answer. I leave a curt message, telling him it’s important and to take my call.
I don’t add that if he doesn’t, I’ll find a way in and rip his head off. My hand is shaking with impatience. I wait two minutes and call again.
This time Williams does answer, his tone cold. “What do you want?”
“A witch.”
There’s a moment of silence before he asks why.
When I tell him, some of the antagonism drops from his tone. “Where are you?”
“Outside by the fountain. Seems I’ve been locked out of the clubhouse. My key no longer works.”
“Try it again,” he says, disconnecting.
The kid and her parents are still hanging around the bench. I’m not sure what to do. If I walk right past them and they watch to see where I go, how will they react when I disappear? Always before it’s been early in the morning or late at night when I’ve shown up here and nosy humans have not been a problem.
I can’t wait. Not with Culebra’s life at stake.
I sidle past them, pretending to be interested in the flora, touching the bushes as I walk. Williams always said supernaturals could access this place without attracting attention. Damned if he isn’t right. This time, the three don’t so much as glance my way as I pass right by them and disappear again through the magic portal.
Now the key works. The door opens and I’m in a small windowless room equipped only with a desk and a computer. I punch in a few keys, and the room becomes an elevator that whisks me downward.
Williams is waiting. No exchange of pleasantries. He gestures for me to follow him, leading me away from the busy command center in the middle of the room to an area off to the side—an area I’ve never seen before.
He opens a door. “Inside,” he says.
It’s a small room with a circular table and five chairs. Three women are seated around the table—each as different from one another as is humanly possible—for they are humans. No supernatural emanations.
Williams makes the introductions quickly, pointing as he goes. “Min Liu.” A small Chinese woman with piercing eyes and waist-length black hair. “Susan Powers.” Middle-aged WASP with a quick, bright smile, chin-length bob of salt-and-pepper hair. “Ariela Acosta.” The youngest of the three, midtwenties, I’d guess, Latina, pretty, dark eyes and hair drawn back into a ponytail.
He finishes up with a jab of the thumb in my direction. “Anna Strong.” Pain in
I’ve disappeared. Through a veil that feels wet and cold against the skin.
The door in front of me is locked. I fish a big brass key out of the depths of my purse and fit it into the lock.
I turn it.
Nothing happens.
At first, I think I must have turned the key the wrong way so I try it again.
Nothing happens.
I pull the key back and examine it. It looks the same as it did the last time I used it. Why won’t it work now?
After the fourth unsuccessful attempt, a thought dawns on me. You need to be invited to access this place. Williams, in a fit of anger or resentment, may have revoked my invitation.
Damn him.
I step back onto the sidewalk, barely avoiding a toddler walking on unsteady legs a few feet in front of her parents. The adults don’t notice that I’ve just materialized out of nowhere but the kid does. She plops down on her bottom and starts to cry, which garners me dirty looks from her parents. I step gingerly around them and head for the fountain in the center of the quad a few yards away, yanking my cell phone out of my handbag.
The first time I ring through, predictably, the call goes to voice mail.
I picture Williams reading the caller ID and refusing to answer. I leave a curt message, telling him it’s important and to take my call.
I don’t add that if he doesn’t, I’ll find a way in and rip his head off. My hand is shaking with impatience. I wait two minutes and call again.
This time Williams does answer, his tone cold. “What do you want?”
“A witch.”
There’s a moment of silence before he asks why.
When I tell him, some of the antagonism drops from his tone. “Where are you?”
“Outside by the fountain. Seems I’ve been locked out of the clubhouse. My key no longer works.”
“Try it again,” he says, disconnecting.
The kid and her parents are still hanging around the bench. I’m not sure what to do. If I walk right past them and they watch to see where I go, how will they react when I disappear? Always before it’s been early in the morning or late at night when I’ve shown up here and nosy humans have not been a problem.
I can’t wait. Not with Culebra’s life at stake.
I sidle past them, pretending to be interested in the flora, touching the bushes as I walk. Williams always said supernaturals could access this place without attracting attention. Damned if he isn’t right. This time, the three don’t so much as glance my way as I pass right by them and disappear again through the magic portal.
Now the key works. The door opens and I’m in a small windowless room equipped only with a desk and a computer. I punch in a few keys, and the room becomes an elevator that whisks me downward.
Williams is waiting. No exchange of pleasantries. He gestures for me to follow him, leading me away from the busy command center in the middle of the room to an area off to the side—an area I’ve never seen before.
He opens a door. “Inside,” he says.
It’s a small room with a circular table and five chairs. Three women are seated around the table—each as different from one another as is humanly possible—for they are humans. No supernatural emanations.
Williams makes the introductions quickly, pointing as he goes. “Min Liu.” A small Chinese woman with piercing eyes and waist-length black hair. “Susan Powers.” Middle-aged WASP with a quick, bright smile, chin-length bob of salt-and-pepper hair. “Ariela Acosta.” The youngest of the three, midtwenties, I’d guess, Latina, pretty, dark eyes and hair drawn back into a ponytail.
He finishes up with a jab of the thumb in my direction. “Anna Strong.” Pain in
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