Daughter of the Spellcaster. Maggie Shayne
freaking out here.”
“Where are you?” Her mother was calm, composed, like always.
“At the Waldorf Astoria. The reception for my new assignment, Ernst McNally, eccentric, world-traveling billionaire. Any of this ringing a bell, Mom?”
“Yes, of course, just calm down. Take deep, cleansing breaths. Come on, now.”
Lena nodded, closed her eyes and set the phone down. Then she inhaled nasally, raising her arms over her head, and exhaled thoroughly, lowering them in front of her body. Three times was the charm. She was calm, centered. She picked up the phone again.
“Better?” her mom asked, uncannily knowing she had returned.
“Yes.”
“Now tell me what happened.”
“I was at the reception. Chatting with Mr. McNally and his spiritual guide, a really eccentric-looking man called Bahru. Wait, I snapped a pic when he wasn’t looking.” She took the phone from her ear, located the picture and emailed it. “I like him. He’s very wise.”
“Ernst or Bahru?”
“Bahru. Ernst seems more sad and searching than wise.”
“Oh, got the pic,” her mother said. “Wow, he is eccentric-looking. He wore that to the Waldorf Astoria?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Lena said, seeing again the red-and-white sari-style getup. “Ernst says he wears it everywhere. And the dreadlocks are all the way to his butt.”
“Go on, what happened next?”
“Okay. Okay, this is… this is…”
“Just tell me, Lena.”
Lena nodded again. “This man came over. Ernst introduced him as his son, Ryan. I looked up at him, and—and I swear, Mom, he was the prince from that silly fantasy-vision I had when I was a little girl. You remember the one, the first time you let me try mirror-scrying?”
“The Arabian prince who was going off to war but promised to return to carry you away. How could I forget? You wrote an entire collection of storybooks about him. I didn’t let you scry again for two years. But, Lena, you do realize that was the same summer Aladdin came out, right?”
She sighed. “Yes. But there’s more. Just as I thought it couldn’t possibly be him, a woman whispered right into my ear—not my head, Mom, my ear. Out loud. ‘It’s him. The one you’ve been waiting for.’ And I turned fast, but there was no one standing there, and it was clear no one else had heard her but me.”
“Huh,” her mom said.
“So I scanned the room and I thought I saw Lilia.”
“Your imaginary friend?” Selma asked. Now she sounded worried.
“And then I came into the restroom and she was right here. Standing right behind me in the mirror, laughing.”
“Hell’s bells,” her mother whispered. “Honey, maybe you’d better come home.”
“Soon as I can. But I have to go back out there. This is my biggest assignment so far, taking over the McNally account while Bill recovers.”
“All right, then,” her mother said. “Here’s the thing. None of this sounds dire. I mean, it’s odd, but… you always insisted Lilia wasn’t imaginary. I was obviously wrong in not accepting that. She’s clearly some kind of otherworldly guide. That’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. It’s a blessing, actually. Later, when you’re alone, talk to her. See if she can tell you why she’s come. And as for Ernst’s son—”
“Ryan,” Lena said, and the name whispering from her lips sent shivers down her spine.
“Ryan. He’s in the tabloids a lot, you know. Player. Big-time player. Irresponsible, spoiled, self-centered—you know the type.”
“I do.”
“But if he’s your prince, then, baby, gird your loins and go for it.”
Lena stared into the mirror. Her wide eyes had returned to their normal size and shape. Her lips stopped quivering and pulled into a little smile. Her spine straightened. Her cleavage rocked. “You always know what to say, Mom.”
“Well, of course I do, sweetheart. It’s my job. Have a great time. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“Blessed be, Lena.”
Lena snapped the phone closed and slid it into her handbag, then pulled out her compact and touched herself up. Then she smoothed her hair, popped a breath mint, plumped her “girls” and turned decisively to head out of the restroom.
Ryan McNally was waiting on the other side of the door.
She smiled at him. “Men’s room is over there,” she said, pointing.
“I was waiting for you.”
“I know you were.”
His brows went up. “Confidence. I like that. Would you like to get out of here?”
She smiled. “If by that you mean, would I like to go somewhere for sex, then no. But I would like to dance.”
“Dance?” He turned toward the ballroom, where the band was playing something fast, then back to her. “Can we wait for a slow one?”
“Oh, no. Slow dancing must be earned. You have to make an idiot out of yourself in public first. But don’t worry about looking bad, Ryan. Sometimes my dancing causes people to dial 9-1-1 and report a woman having convulsions.”
He laughed. He smiled, and not that suave “charm the lady’s panties off” grin he’d been wearing before. This one was real, with tiny laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes that made them seem even bluer and a flash of white teeth. He had a thick layer of beard coming in, shadowing his jawline in a way that made her stomach knot up.
“If that’s the price of a slow dance, then it’s worth paying.” He held out a hand, and she took it, and then he led her out onto the dance floor just as the band jumped from one very old song to the next: “Twist and Shout.”
“Ah, the dance gods love me tonight,” Ryan said. “Twisting I can do.”
“Shouting, too?”
“Ask me later.”
He had a twinkle in his eye, and she had to laugh, because he was clearly kidding, not hitting on her. Though maybe a little of that, too. They twisted, and she felt ridiculous, but she kept hearing her mom’s voice telling her that if he was her prince, she should go for it.
She had never gone for it with a guy in her life. But it felt like now was the time. And she thought it was working, because he seemed to be enjoying himself.
They twisted to the end of the song, and then, when he went to get them drinks and asked her to scope out a table, she chose to join his father and Bahru at theirs. Ryan didn’t look too pleased when he returned, but he tried to cover it as he put down their drinks and asked, “Dad, can I you get something? Bahru, a carrot juice or anything?”
That was slightly nasty, Lena thought. But Bahru only held up a hand and shook his head.
Ernst said, “No, I’m fine.”
Then Ryan returned his focus to her. “Lena. Is that short for anything?”
“Magdalena,” she told him.
“Magdalena.” He nodded slowly. “It’s an old-fashioned name.”
“Very. My mother said it just came to her the first time she held me, and she never questions things like that.” She leaned forward. “She’s a witch.” Normally she wouldn’t bring that up in front of a client, but she knew Ernst was a spiritual