The world swirled around us, and my vision switched to witch-sight. Now everything was washes of colors and feelings, without formal shape, without a strong sense of time passing. Sound became muffled, more than it did in straight earth-lines; the water must be covering any noise beyond my own heartbeat, and that of my baby against my breast.
We flew, swam, floated—all and none of those things at once. The sensation was familiar and very strange. I took ley lines all the time at home, of course; and I’d just traveled across the country on them; but this was…well, it was about as different as I’d imagined, except now it was really happening, and it was nothing like my imagination.
I let myself be carried by the energy, the force. I held onto Petrana’s mud hand and put my other hand on Rose in her carrier. Elnor still nestled between my ankles, because I wasn’t using my feet. They were along for the ride as much as the rest of me.
Time passed. I’m sure it did.
Breathing is different on the ley lines too. It’s a bit like being in a dream, the disembodied feeling that can come over you, even as you move and think and talk.
What you don’t do on ley lines is eat or drink. Another reason why it’s so challenging…and why I’d stuffed myself so much before we’d left, and made sure Rosemary was topped up. Yet I could feel the hunger—hers and mine both—as we traveled.
I twisted in the ley space, sending my energy forward as fast as I could. There was no way of knowing how far we’d come, or how long there was to go.
Surely it was rare to just vanish into a ley line and never re-emerge…
And then the sense changed. It felt a little bit like starting to wake up; when the dream is still fully in your mind, but you also realize you’re in your bed, there’s light coming in the window, and you have to pee. When you’re in two places at once, illogically clinging to the dream-place even though you want to wake up, to rejoin the living world, the “real” world.
Whatever real means.
I twisted again, struggling, trying to open my mouth. To say something, to check on those who accompanied me. Was Petrana’s hand still in mine? I couldn’t feel my hands.
No, I did feel something…I felt my baby against my breast. She was moving against me, wriggling in her little harness. She was…was she punching me with her tiny fists?
I gasped, coughed, and dragged in a huge breath.
I heard the sound of sneezing—cat sneezing. It went on a long time.
At last, I dragged my eyes open.
We were in a small cave. It was raining, though not at all cold.
We had reached the Azores.
Hungry and thirsty as I was, I guess I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly I was blinking up into the face of a young warlock. He looked a little bit like Sebastian, though without the warm humor in his eyes.
“Welcome, traveler,” he said, and gave a slight bow. There were traces of Jeremy’s accent in his words. He must be from the Old Country.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting up. Still strapped to my chest, Rosemary looked over at the warlock, then back at me.
“If you will come with me, we have sustenance and shelter just down the hill a ways.”
“Right, of course.” I looked around me. It was a natural cave, probably, though it had clearly been enlarged and smoothed out by both magical and human hands. I’d been slumped against a huge pillow; there were half a dozen like it in the room. Petrana, of course, was standing by the cave opening, unfazed.
The warlock followed my gaze to the pillows and gave the barest hint of a smile. “You are not the first traveler to require rest upon emerging from the line.”
I nodded. “Yeah. I bet.” Did anyone not? A nudge at my feet snagged my attention. As soon as she caught my eye, Elnor began informing me of the desperate, urgent, well-nigh fatal hunger that she was suffering. “I know, I know,” I said, scritching her ears as I tried to get to my feet. But wow, I was drained.
“Would you like me to carry the child?” Petrana asked, stepping toward me.
The warlock startled a bit at this, though he tried hard to cover it up. Just as I tried to cover my own ongoing pride in the fancy, fancy golem I’d made. The golem with initiative. The golem who could be glamoured to pass for a person. “Yes, please, for now,” I told her.
She even had to help me unbuckle the harness.
Through all this, the young warlock stood by, waiting patiently, not offering any more help than he already had. If he was this community’s greeter, then the rules of hospitality were more different here than I’d even realized.
“My name is Callie,” I said to him, once the baby weight had been transferred to Petrana and I could actually make my way all the way to my feet.
He raised an eyebrow. “I am known as Parson.” Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could almost hear an undercurrent of If you won’t give me your real name, I certainly won’t supply mine.
Fine, whatever. He’d offered food and shelter. I put out my hand. “Shall we?”
Parson led me out of the cave and into bright—well, not sunlight; it was still overcast though it had stopped raining. But brighter light than my eyes were ready for.
And humid! “Wow,” I said, wiping my brow. “It’s damp here.”
Parson smiled thinly. “Yes.”
He led us down a trail. The cave had been in a rather steep-sided hill, which struck me as strange. Coming from underneath the ocean as I had done, I’d expected to emerge closer to sea level.
The landscape was green and lush. I saw no buildings. “It’s beautiful though,” I commented.
Parson nodded.
Five minutes later, we arrived at a small hut. He lifted his hand and performed a complicated spell with his fingers, muttering under his breath in what was probably the ancient language, though too quietly for me to make out. When he’d finished, I felt the tang of odd magic in the air, and the hut’s door creaked open.
Show-off, I thought as I followed Parson into the hut—then immediately took the thought back.
The spell he’d worked had lifted the disguise off a palatial home, tropical style. It was built into the side of the green, gorgeous mountain we’d just climbed down. Layers and layers of rooms and stairs and gardens and waterfalls and—I turned my head, suddenly overwhelmed. Was I going to have to climb all those stairs, just to get to some food?
Parson probably couldn’t read minds. No doubt he was just accustomed to weary travelers. “Here,” he said, pointing to a low couch. “Wait here. Food will be brought, for…” He stopped, momentarily flustered as he glanced between me and my cat and my golem and my baby.
“Just a meal for me, and tuna for my familiar,” I told him. “Thank you.”
Another short bow, and he turned and left.
I sank down onto the couch. Petrana stood beside me, holding my bizarrely placid baby. Surely, if I was this hungry, she must be starving; I hadn’t nursed her since Canada. “I’m not sure I even have any milk yet,” I told my golem. Like she’d know any more than I did.
Petrana nodded anyway. “After you eat, you will replenish, no doubt.”
“I expect so.”
Rose just watched me, eyes big and calm.
It wasn’t Parson who returned, but three witchlets, carrying platters full of fresh fruits, cured meats, aged cheeses, amazing pickles, a salad of tomatoes and basil and fresh mozzarella, pennyroyal tea, both elderflower and dandelion wines, hot buttered rolls that were the best things I’d ever tasted in my whole life—oh, on and on. I stuffed it all in my mouth faster than I can even describe it to you, and felt my energy plump up even as I chewed. Still exhausted, though; just…it was rare, and wonderful, to feel such a direct correlation between fuel and energy.
Beside me, Elnor gnawed on a whole tuna fish. No, it couldn’t be; tuna were bigger than she was. Weren’t they? “What is that?” I asked the witchlets, around a mouthful, as I pointed at the fish.
The youngest-looking one—maybe twelve, thirteen years old?—giggled and shrugged, looking to the others. They were nearly identical, and (now that I had begun to notice such things) as European-pale as a San Francisco witch.
“Anila,” said the darkest-haired one, and also shrugged.
“Lantoon,” said the third witchlet.
The first one added, “Meeg.”
“Do you guys not speak English here?”
They all just looked at each other and giggled again.
Whatever. I wasn’t staying here anyway; this was just a way station. And a very comfortable one, at that.
I returned my attention to my meal, and soon the witchlets were whispering amongst themselves, as witchlets do the world over.
I’d sat back, rubbing my belly, and begun nursing Rosemary when Parson returned. “All good?” he asked, looking at the demolished feast before me.
“Yes, thank you so much.”
“All right, younglings, thank you,” he said to the witchlets. They sprang up and began clearing the meal away. “They’ll be back with dessert,” he told me.
“You guys run a first-rate operation here.”
Parson smiled. “It is our calling.” He slipped out again, off on whatever mysterious errand took him away.
Dessert was even more spectacular and sumptuous than the meal had been. I was entirely stuffed, but I managed to squeeze in a bit of this and a bit of that, just so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings.
I mean, hospitality was their calling.
After another while, Parson came back and asked if we were ready to sleep. “I think I’m halfway there already,” I admitted. Rosemary had fallen asleep on my breast; Elnor snoozed across my ankles. I was dozy and overly full, but very happy about it.
He nodded. “Right this way.” He showed us to a small, cozy sleeping room—essentially just a large bed, plus a shelf to put things on. No windows, no chair, no nothing. “Bathroom is shared, just down the hall here,” he said. “Sometimes we get a big group through here, but you’re the only travelers we have at the moment, so you’ll have all the amenities to yourself. Yourselves.”
“Thanks.”
“How many days will you be staying?”
“Just overnight, I think,” I told him. “I am in something of a hurry.”
“Are you jumping to Ponta Delgada?” he asked, naming an island on the other end of the chain.
I shook my head. “No, straight to the mainland.”
He frowned slightly. “Oh. All right. Just send a message to me when you want breakfast, and we can show you to the main line out of here.”
“Is that weird?” I asked. He paused in the doorway. “I mean, staying only one night?”
“Most travelers spend a few nights in the Azores, even if they move from island to island. Two long stretches are a lot to ask of a body, without adequate time for recovery. Especially…” he glanced at Rosemary. “Especially for someone who has recently been through other taxing events.”
“I’m pretty strong,” I said.
“I was thinking more of the newborn.” Then he gave a small, thin smile, and shrugged. “But we do not judge here—do not misinterpret my words! Every witch and every warlock is assumed capable of making their own assessments of their strength. We merely provide support.”
“Right.”
“I’m sure your baby will let you know if she is not up to the journey tomorrow.” He nodded, his face softening as he looked at Rose again. “Well, goodnight, all of you. I will see you in the morning.”
I lay on the comfy bed, holding Rose. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you?” I asked her, rocking her gently. “Even though you’re not talking to me yet. Or crying. Or anything.”
“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” she said, and stuck her fingers in her mouth.
I guessed that would have to do.
Somehow, I’d imagined the Azores to be closer to the European continent than they were. They were part of Portugal, after all; I knew they weren’t right off the coast, like the Canary Islands are to Spain…or was that northern Africa? (Geography was never my strongest subject, nor was it focused on much in any San Francisco witch’s education.) But I was dismayed to learn, the next morning, that I’d traversed only slightly more than half the Atlantic.
“You are sure you won’t lay over one night in Ponta Delgada?” Parson asked again. “Our chapter has its headquarters there, and very comfortable accommodations.”
“No, I really need to keep moving,” I told him. I was already over a week into my two-week estimate, and I hadn’t even gotten to where I was going.
“Very well.” He paused a moment. “I will see to breakfast. Coffee, or tea?”
“Tea, please.”
“Excellent. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
I used the time to explore the amenities, availing both Rosemary and myself of a delightful bath. Sadly, I didn’t have a lot of clothes with me, so I had to change back into old travel-worn grubbies. Then I found my way back to the room where I’d had dinner.
“You will want to make landfall in Lisbon or Porto, to be sure,” Parson told me as I munched on a plate of sliced tropical fruit. I didn’t know what kind of fruit it was; it was pink, and sweet, with soft, tangy, edible seeds. “If you have a preference, I can send word along ahead of time.”
“I thought I’d just follow the flow,” I said. “Aren’t these lines the most malleable?”
“They can be.”
I ate another bite. “Which city has the best pathways to the Old Country?”
“Where are you trying to go, specifically?”
I paused. I had some very specific thoughts, but I was also trying to be discreet. “Balszt,” I said, naming the capital.
“Either one will do, then. Porto’s probably a bit easier; you should head there.”
I nodded. I didn’t imagine that Parson would blab my business to other travelers, but better safe than sorry. Zchellenin was near enough to Balszt. Once I got there, I could fine-tune it.
Besides, it’s always easier to hide in a big city. I would need to lay low at first, get a feel for the country, and its inhabitants. Which reminded me: “Do they speak English in the Old Country? I mean, when they talk out loud at all?”
He looked up at this, clearly surprised. “Why, of course. What else would they speak?”
I blinked back at him. “I don’t know, whatever it is you guys speak here, maybe? Or the old language, the…ritual language?” A lifetime of conditioning kept me from naming the language of spells.
Parson smiled as understanding dawned. “Were the witchlets pretending not to know English? My apologies, I will have to have a word with them.”
“No, no,” I assured him. “They were fine. They just used some words I didn’t know, and I wondered—”
He laughed, but looked chagrined. “It’s a phase they’re going through. They’ve invented a whole new vocabulary so they can tell secrets among themselves, and imagine their elders are none the wiser.”
“I teach witchlets myself,” I assured him. “I understand perfectly.” I took another bite of fruit. “It’s good to know I’ll be able to be understood in the Old Country, though. As long as I speak to adults.”
Parson nodded. “Yes, it was decided early on that a common language needed to be established, so that immigrants and visitors from anywhere in our realms could function and communicate. English and French were in use over much of our world at that time, so you will see them both, though these days, more English.”
“And then there’s a lot of ætheric communication, too, right?”
He looked slightly puzzled. “Well, yes, of course. It is our home country, after all.”
“Right.” I thought again about how strange it must be, how silent. “Well, this has been very helpful,” I told him. “Thank you.”
“It is our pleasure.”
After breakfast, I made short work of packing up, and then I was ready to hit the “road.”
Parson showed me to the closest point for catching a ley line to Porto. Or, well, a ley line that would lead to a branch of lines that came closest to Porto…in the way of such things. It was across a wide lawn about two hundred yards from the building we’d slept in, next to a little stream which, he assured me, ran to the ocean.
“You all made it here in such good shape, I think you should be fine,” he said, though he looked fretful. As if he wanted to check all my straps and peer into my gas tank, to mix about six metaphors. I decided he was the perfect person to have running a way station: fussy, detail-oriented, caring without being smothering, and entirely competent. It didn’t even bother me much anymore, that he wasn’t at all warm.
“Thank you again for everything,” I told him. “If you’re ever in San Francisco, do look me up.”
“I will, of course,” he said, sounding utterly sincere, even though I was quite convinced he’d never leave this island.
He stepped back a few yards, letting me find my own concentration, to feel for the energy of the ley line myself. Elnor leaned against my ankles, melding her feline energy with mine; Rose breathed against the skin of my chest. I clutched tightly to Petrana’s hand. I’d gotten so used to the feel of it, it almost didn’t feel strange anymore.
“All right, ladies?” I said to my little gang.
“Miaow,” Elnor replied.
“Yes, Mistress Callie,” Petrana said.
Rosemary blew a bubble.
We stepped onto the ley line and resumed our undersea journey.
This stretch was somehow easier and harder. I knew something of what to expect, so I wasn’t as nervous; but it seemed to take much longer than the first length, even though I knew it was shorter. Part of the problem was that the lines branched much more frequently here. It was a mess of rivulets and small streams, as opposed to the large river of the Canada-to-Azores segment. My way was always clear enough, but it took more concentration to focus on it. I couldn’t just float along, lost in the mystery and weirdness of it.
And yet it was somehow more tedious, more boring. I suppose that had as much to do with the familiarity as anything else. But also the water surrounding the lines was warmer, which made everything less comfortable. My sense of urgency was greater, and I was starting to dread what I might find once I finally got to the Old Country.
All in all, I was very glad to make landfall.
I hadn’t quite managed to hit Porto, but rather a small town a hundred or so miles down the coast. Fortunately, this was apparently a common enough occurrence that the way station workers had lookouts posted up and down the seaboard, and I was found and brought in quickly.
The Porto way station was similar enough to the last one that it was obvious that the same order ran them both. I will tell you, though, that Portuguese food is even more amazing than Azorean. I was replete and thoroughly revitalized by the time we resumed our journey the next day, and Rosemary was as robust and content as ever—despite Parson’s concerns.
“One more long push, gang,” I told my little group. “And then we’ll be in the Old Country.”
The thought gave me a shiver.
You’d have thought that all this time on the road, much of it with nothing to do but float along on ley lines or rest up in between stints of floating along on ley lines, would have given me plenty of time to come up with a plan of action. It had all seemed so clear back in Berkeley: Gregorio was the mastermind behind the essence-stealing, and he’d victimized a number of witches and warlocks so badly that their very souls were missing. Furthermore, he was doing this with machines that had been manufactured by a particular company in Zchellenin, a village in the Old Country.
Even if I hadn’t had that clue, Gregorio had strong ties to the Old Country. He was not simply born, raised, and spent many hundreds of years of his life there, but he’d fostered his son there, and he regularly ordered materials and supplies from there for his legitimate research. The old warlock was more Old Country than not, to the point where Sebastian and I had openly wondered why he even chose to live in San Francisco.
So, simple: I was just going to go to the Old Country and get to the bottom of…
That’s where my bold ideas failed me.
I started to remember Jeremy’s telling me about how he’d tried to find word of Logan’s parents, also in Zchellenin, and how cold and unapproachable Old Country folk were…
Of course, we now knew where Logan’s parents were. Their bodies, anyway. They were stockpiled in a basement underneath the UC Berkeley library building.
How much work would it be to transport soulless bodies that far?
Not that I needed to know the mechanics of it, just…it was another measure of just how much power Gregorio Andromedus wielded. How entirely outmatched I was.
And by now, surely he knew that I was onto him.
I rested in a small hotel room in southern Germany. It was my last night before making my entry into the Old Country, and that’s as specific as I can get in disclosing its location. Tonight was the night I needed to figure out exactly where I was going, and what I was going to do when I got there.
Great.
When in doubt, I fall back on my scientific training. What I had was a problem with too many variables. So, the first thing to do should be to eliminate some.
Once I started thinking this way, things got a bit clearer.
I sat at the little desk in my room. It was too small for even me. So many things in Europe, I’d already found, were smaller than what I was accustomed to. Cars, café chairs, servings of food and beverages…except for steins of beer, here in Germany, at least. Those were absurdly large for some reason.
Notebook in front of me, I sketched out what I knew, and what I wanted to find out.
WHAT I KNOW ABOUT THE OLD COUNTRY:
-WHERE OUR LINES ARE ALL FROM
-TRADITIONAL, FORMAL
-HIDDEN, YET POWERFUL; UNWELCOMING TO HUMANS, NOT FRIENDLY TO TOURISTS
-TENSIONS BETWEEN THE IRON ROSE AND REGULAR OLD WITCHKIND. SOMETIMES OPEN WAR.
Useless, too basic. I put a line through the list and started another:
-UBER-TRADITIONAL WITCHKIND FRINGE GROUP, WANTING 100% SEPARATISM BETWEEN US AND HUMANS
-NOT AFRAID TO USE DEADLY FORCE TO GET THEIR WAY
-ARE THEY IN POWER HERE? OR JUST A THREAT?
Why hadn’t I asked more questions before I’d just rushed off? Jeremy could have told me plenty…but then, of course, he’d have known where I was going. He wasn’t stupid. By my second “casual” question about how the Old Country worked and what the Iron Rose was all about, he’d have sniffed out my intentions.
So, I just had to figure it out here.
Well, that made my initial destination easy: Balszt, the capital. Just as I’d told Parson. I’d find lodging and spend a few days getting a sense of things. Read the local newspapers, chat casually with people I met, if they were willing to talk. It made sense that folks would be cold and unapproachable, if you walked up and knocked on their doors and asked about neighbors who mysteriously disappeared decades ago. But surely a young witch with an adorable infant getting breakfast in a café would be able to strike up conversations.
I stared at my list a while. Then I tore off the sheet of paper and started another list on a blank page.
WHAT I NEED TO FIND:
-EQUIPMENT COMPANY: GRAND LAUREL MERENOC
-THEIR METHOD FOR EXTRACTING AND COLLECTING ESSENCE, AND SOULS
-INCONTROVERTIBLE EVIDENCE LINKING THESE CRIMES TO GREGORIO ANDROMEDUS
-ALL THE LOST SOULS
Easy-peasy! I laughed at myself. But I had to start somewhere.
It’s odd that no one mentioned to me that there is no way for a witch to just “slip in” to the Old Country, even off the most obscure ley line. Every entrance to the country is guarded and regimented, with the witchkind equivalent of Border Control.
Okay, maybe it’s not odd, because of course nobody knew I was headed to the Old Country. But still. A little strange that it had never come up. I’d ventured into and out of Canada, not to mention the Azores, and several European countries, without running into any bureaucracy.
Now, I stepped into mundane existence in a small office, just behind a large sign that read “Wait Here To Be Called.” Beyond the sign was a counter, with five or six windows, three of which were closed. Bored-looking functionaries toiled behind the open ones—all witches, I noticed.
Other than the fact of there being no line, it could almost have been a witchkind DMV.
The witch at the window closest to me scratched away at something with a quill pen for a minute, then raised her eyes to me. “You may approach,” she said, out loud, in words.
I walked up to her window. Petrana walked with me; the clerk raised a hand, as if to stop her, but then lowered it and nodded.
“Name?”
“Is this…necessary?” I tried. “I’m traveling, um, quietly.”
She stared back at me. “Name,” she said again.
“Calendula Isadora,” I said with a sigh.
“Country of origin?”
“Really?”
Again, the stare.
“America. San Francisco.”
She made a note on a piece of paper, down below the counter where I couldn’t see. “Reason for visiting?”
She eyed my baby, then my golem, very pointedly. “Research.” Since she hadn’t phrased it as a question, I just nodded. “What kind of research?”
“Ah, genealogical.” I jiggled Rose, who sat adorably in her carrier, making sweet eyes at the clerk. “I’ve recently developed a greater interest in my origins, more than my birth parents have been able to tell me about. I had some time in my schedule, so I thought I’d pop on over. It’s a secret, though. It’s a, um, a surprise for my mother. So I hope word doesn’t get back home.” I gave her a brilliant smile.
The clerk gave no indication whether or not she was buying this line of bull. “Any reason you brought that…creature…with you?” She pointed at Petrana.
“She’s my nanny,” I said. “She cares for the baby when I’m busy. Busy researching.”
“Busy researching.” She stared at the baby, Petrana, and me again before making another note.
Well, I supposed she had to do something to liven up her day. Could she turn me away, deny me entry to the country? I noticed the other two clerks watching our interaction while pretending not to. No other visitors had come in. Maybe I was the only person to arrive at the Old Country today—at least at this station.
“Yep.” I shuffled from foot to foot. “It’s really convenient to have help with the baby. She helps around the house, too.”
The clerk narrowed her eyes. “So you decided to build a golem rather than, say, hire someone?”
I kept the pleasant expression on my face as I asked, “Is it not legal to bring a golem into the Old Country?”
The clerk recoiled, just the tiniest bit. “It’s not illegal, no. It’s just unusual.”
“Not sure I’ve ever seen such a thing before,” the clerk at the next window put in, finally giving up the pretense that she was not following our every word.
I shrugged and smiled. This, at least, I was used to. “I guess I’m unusual, then!”
My clerk made another note. “Length of stay?”
“A week, maybe two,” I said. Even though two weeks was supposed to have been the length of my entire trip…
“Maybe?”
“Depends on where my research takes me.”
She looked back at me for a minute. “Local address?”
“Excuse me?”
She blinked and leaned forward. “Where will you be staying while you are in the Old Country? I need the address of that place.”
“Ah. Right. I don’t know that yet. I’ll get a hotel, I thought.” The Old Country has hotels, doesn’t it? I thought in a sudden panic.
“A hotel.”
“Yes.”
“Not an inn? A hostel?”
I shrugged, wondering how long this bizarre cross-examination was going to go on. “Sure, or those—anything. A place to sleep, maybe near things, restaurants, shops. But, um, I did sort of leave on the spur of the moment, I don’t have anything booked. Do you have any recommendations?”
She looked startled at this, shaking her head. “We don’t recommend.”
“Okay.”
Now we were at a stalemate. We just stared at each other.
“I’ll put The Majestic,” she finally said, and made a note.
“The Majestic. Great.”
“It’s downtown.”
“Wonderful.”
“If you decide on a different place, you leave word at The Majestic, all right?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Sure thing.” Would I be so hard to find, I wondered? How many American witches with infants and golems could there be, even in a big city like Balszt? I didn’t ask this aloud, of course. “I’m sure The Majestic will be great, though,” I added. In case it mattered to her. In case it would move this along at all.
Weirdly, that seemed to do the trick. She picked up a big metal stamp, thumped it onto an inkpad, and made a few stamps on the piece or pieces of paper I still could not see, below the counter. Then she looked up at me with a professional, artificial smile, and raised both hands. “Welcome to the Old Country, Calendula Isadora,” she said, sending a tiny spell at me. It felt good, tingling and welcoming; I could tell that it coated my companions as well. Probably contained some sort of tracking capacity as well, but, so be it. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I…thank you?” I stammered. She hadn’t handed me anything, or asked for Rosemary’s name, or even Elnor’s. Just that little spell. “I’m free to go now?”
The clerk’s smile grew a little more genuine. “Of course,” she said, waving a hand toward a door just beyond the counter. “Right that way.”
“Okay. Um.” I turned to Petrana. “Come on.”
My little entourage made our way to the door, past all three clerks, who were just openly staring at us.
“Most exciting thing that happened to them all day,” I muttered, as I opened the door and we all stepped out onto a bustling, cobble-stoned street.