she’d
waited too long. The ticking of the clock, at least, propelled her
into action.
Once inside the apartment building, Gray made
her way up a set of steep stairs to the third floor. From inside,
she wasn’t certain which apartment Adrian had entered so she closed
her fingers around door handles. The first gave her nothing, nor
the second or third. The fourth attempt proved a winner when she
picked up a faint trace of the warlock as she closed her hand
around the door handle.
Gray had found that she could still get
readings off objects without technically using magic. It was like
her sense of smell. It didn’t go away. So long as Vinuesa was none
the wiser it worked for Gray.
Gray stared at the door a moment then
knocked. Then she waited. And waited. Gray didn’t dare knock again.
Finally, she heard a shuffling coming toward the door. When the
door opened, the look Gray received was so sour, she nearly
apologized for coming to the wrong apartment; until she reminded
herself she had no choice.
“What you want?” the woman demanded.
Gray had to look down to meet her eyes. In
addition to being at least a head shorter than Gray, the old woman
stood hunched. From neck to foot she’d attired herself in drab,
loose garb that made her look like Yente the matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof .
There was nothing pleasant about her
demeanor.
“Hello . . . Mrs. Montez? I’m here on behalf
of Barcelona Now, an English blog about local arts, entertainment,
and music. The Teatre Poliorama gave me your address. Might I speak
with Mr. Montez?”
“He not here.” The woman began to shut the
door.
“Will he be returning soon?” Gray asked
quickly. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to ask you some questions for
a feature we’re doing on our blog about Mr. Montez’s show.”
The woman’s hand stilled on the door. She
stared at Gray for a long moment then opened the door. “Come,” she
said.
Gray stepped inside the apartment and took a
quick look around. It was fully furnished and decorated with
contemporary paintings in primary colors. A china hutch filled with
brightly painted ceramics caught Gray’s eye. Definitely not
Adrian’s place, though he must have wealthy connections to land an
apartment so close to the main drag.
“I make us tea,” the old woman announced,
startling Gray.
“I’m not thirsty, thank you.”
“I make us tea,” the old woman repeated and
made her way to a small kitchen.
The woman could make whatever she wanted,
Gray wasn’t taking a sip. Rule number one: never eat or drink
anything offered to you by a witch. Not only was the old woman a
witch, she was related to Adrian. Gray probably shouldn’t even be
breathing the air in the apartment.
“Have seat,” the woman said as she passed a
small table.
Gray slid into a chair and set her purse on
the floor beside her. The woman moved around the kitchen slowly.
She filled a kettle with water and muttered in a language Gray
couldn’t decipher. Steam rose from the kettle instantly. The old
woman returned with two teacups set on saucers and set one in front
of Gray.
Gray flipped open a spiral notebook and
clicked her pen. “So, Mrs. Montez, how long has your grandson been
performing?”
When there was no answer, Gray looked up. The
old woman was staring at her.
Gray cleared her throat. “Mr. Montez calls
himself a world-famous magician. How many countries has he
performed in?” Gray clicked her pen open and closed.
Gray hadn’t touched her tea, neither had the
old woman. Finally she spoke. “I show you his tricks from when
boy.”
Gray’s jaw dropped. It was more than she
could have hoped for. “I would love to see Mr. Montez’s childhood
props. Does he travel with these all the time?”
The old woman just smiled and got out of her
chair. Gray followed her down a hall to a bedroom: Adrian’s. Ugh.
Suck it up, Gray.
But in the end, it was worth the displeasure,
for beside a neatly made bed she noticed the pot of gold or,
waited too long. The ticking of the clock, at least, propelled her
into action.
Once inside the apartment building, Gray made
her way up a set of steep stairs to the third floor. From inside,
she wasn’t certain which apartment Adrian had entered so she closed
her fingers around door handles. The first gave her nothing, nor
the second or third. The fourth attempt proved a winner when she
picked up a faint trace of the warlock as she closed her hand
around the door handle.
Gray had found that she could still get
readings off objects without technically using magic. It was like
her sense of smell. It didn’t go away. So long as Vinuesa was none
the wiser it worked for Gray.
Gray stared at the door a moment then
knocked. Then she waited. And waited. Gray didn’t dare knock again.
Finally, she heard a shuffling coming toward the door. When the
door opened, the look Gray received was so sour, she nearly
apologized for coming to the wrong apartment; until she reminded
herself she had no choice.
“What you want?” the woman demanded.
Gray had to look down to meet her eyes. In
addition to being at least a head shorter than Gray, the old woman
stood hunched. From neck to foot she’d attired herself in drab,
loose garb that made her look like Yente the matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof .
There was nothing pleasant about her
demeanor.
“Hello . . . Mrs. Montez? I’m here on behalf
of Barcelona Now, an English blog about local arts, entertainment,
and music. The Teatre Poliorama gave me your address. Might I speak
with Mr. Montez?”
“He not here.” The woman began to shut the
door.
“Will he be returning soon?” Gray asked
quickly. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to ask you some questions for
a feature we’re doing on our blog about Mr. Montez’s show.”
The woman’s hand stilled on the door. She
stared at Gray for a long moment then opened the door. “Come,” she
said.
Gray stepped inside the apartment and took a
quick look around. It was fully furnished and decorated with
contemporary paintings in primary colors. A china hutch filled with
brightly painted ceramics caught Gray’s eye. Definitely not
Adrian’s place, though he must have wealthy connections to land an
apartment so close to the main drag.
“I make us tea,” the old woman announced,
startling Gray.
“I’m not thirsty, thank you.”
“I make us tea,” the old woman repeated and
made her way to a small kitchen.
The woman could make whatever she wanted,
Gray wasn’t taking a sip. Rule number one: never eat or drink
anything offered to you by a witch. Not only was the old woman a
witch, she was related to Adrian. Gray probably shouldn’t even be
breathing the air in the apartment.
“Have seat,” the woman said as she passed a
small table.
Gray slid into a chair and set her purse on
the floor beside her. The woman moved around the kitchen slowly.
She filled a kettle with water and muttered in a language Gray
couldn’t decipher. Steam rose from the kettle instantly. The old
woman returned with two teacups set on saucers and set one in front
of Gray.
Gray flipped open a spiral notebook and
clicked her pen. “So, Mrs. Montez, how long has your grandson been
performing?”
When there was no answer, Gray looked up. The
old woman was staring at her.
Gray cleared her throat. “Mr. Montez calls
himself a world-famous magician. How many countries has he
performed in?” Gray clicked her pen open and closed.
Gray hadn’t touched her tea, neither had the
old woman. Finally she spoke. “I show you his tricks from when
boy.”
Gray’s jaw dropped. It was more than she
could have hoped for. “I would love to see Mr. Montez’s childhood
props. Does he travel with these all the time?”
The old woman just smiled and got out of her
chair. Gray followed her down a hall to a bedroom: Adrian’s. Ugh.
Suck it up, Gray.
But in the end, it was worth the displeasure,
for beside a neatly made bed she noticed the pot of gold or,
Similar Books
