Sorcery and the Single Girl by Mindy Klasky Page B

resting his head in Jacques’s lap, but now he scrambled upright. “Where are you going?”
    “Out.”
    Neko pouted. “I bet you wouldn’t answer your grandmother that way.”
    “You’d lose your bet.”
    Jacques stepped in before Neko could complain again. “You look quite lovely thees evening, Jane.” His accent was strong in the living room’s dim light, and I smiled at the Gallic softening of my name, despite myself. What did that French hottie find in Neko? Especially given my familiar’s rather, um, unorthodox housing arrangement and his invisible means of financial support? Oh well—the things we do for love. Or at least for strong, mutual physical attraction….
    Jacques asked, “Who ees the lucky man?”
    “Who says there’s a lucky man?” I answered too quickly.
    “Any man who will dine with you ees lucky. And at nine-thirty. I am turning you eento a proper French girl.”
    “It’s not dinner,” I said, although my stomach chose that moment to grumble and remind me that I hadn’t actually eaten after work. “Just coffee. And dessert.”
    Neko pounced. “Food. Drink. It is a date, then. Where?”
    “Bistro Francais,” I said. After all, they’d get the information out of me eventually.
    “Ah, bon! ” Jacques exclaimed. “They are open until the earliest hours of the morning. Perhaps Neko and me, we will come weeth you?” He nodded, as if this were the most brilliant idea he’d ever conceived. “We will join you there. Make sure that thees man you see ees a good one.”
    “No!”
    I thought of the silver-lined card tucked beneath my mattress, the card that Melissa had made me promise to keep secret from Neko. Even greater than the promise, though, was my terror of the very real romantic damage my familiar could do if he put his mind to it. In fact, even if he didn’t—Neko had a knack for saying precisely the wrong thing at the wrong time. Graeme would flee the bistro in short order if Neko had anything to do with orchestrating my love life.
    My familiar hid a delicate yawn behind his hand. “Are you ashamed of us, Jane, or are you ashamed of your mystery man?”
    I felt the walls closing in on me. But then, like a ray of sunshine slicing through a fog bank, I saw a way to escape. “If you must know, I’m meeting Melissa. She wanted to keep it secret. We’re going to try the desserts at the Bistro, to see if there’s anything she should duplicate for Cake Walk. We’ll be there, sort of in disguise.”
    Both Neko and Jacques deflated at Melissa’s name. After a moment’s blessed silence, though, Neko twitched his nose, as if he could smell my lie. “Melissa? Sampling Bistro Francais at nine-thirty at night? Doesn’t she have to be at her own bakery by four in the morning?”
    “All the more reason—they’ll never suspect their competition,” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “Please, Neko.” I looked pointedly at Jacques. “The last thing I need is to have her angry, when she’s trying to go unnoticed.”
    Jacques let out a long Gallic sigh, as if all the chateaux in France were weighing on his shoulders. “Poor Meleessa. I never meant…” He sighed again.
    Neko stroked the poor Frenchman’s hair, flashing a look to me that implied I had overstepped my bounds. “Go on, then,” he grumbled. “Go enjoy your tarts.”
    I thought about challenging his tone, but I realized that I’d won the battle. Waggling my fingers in the guys’ general direction, I ducked out the door, pulling it shut behind me.
    Time was running short; I had to hurry through the heavy August night. The sun was still setting late; a faint hint of crimson afterglow remained in the sky. Despite the hour, heat shimmered off the sidewalk, and I wondered once again why our founding fathers had insisted on building their capital on a swamp.
    When I was a block away from the Bistro, I stopped to catch my breath. I glanced at my watch—9:25. Perfect timing. I didn’t want to get there too