The Old Country. Here I was! At long last. I stood at the edge of the street for a while, taking it all in. Superficially, it was much as Jeremy described—a kind of old-fashioned European-looking city—but also completely other.
It took a while to pinpoint the exact nature of the otherness, even though it was something I already knew. Balszt was the capital city of a country in which magic did not have to be hidden. Everyone I saw was either a magic user, or—and these would be rare instances, very rare—mundane humans who nonetheless knew of magic and accepted it.
So the biggest thing was the gender balance. Imbalance, rather; as there are far more witches than there are warlocks, the vast majority of the people I saw were female. It was like a witchkind party, or a night out at Rose’s Bar. In the regular, public parts of San Francisco, the streets were of course filled with humans—men and women in roughly equal numbers. It was the same as I’d made my way across the United States, Canada, and Europe. Not so here.
But the differences didn’t stop there. The buildings had all been built with magical assistance and decorated with magical embellishments.
I imagined every restaurant would feature food that was helped along by magical means, if the chef decided he or she wanted to do it that way. And they wouldn’t have to hide this fact from their co-workers, because they’d be doing the same thing. Their customers would expect it. Even appreciate it.
The people I saw on the street—they might have been using glamours on their appearances. Or they might have gone further and performed magical adjustments to their very biology. I looked at a few passers-by with my witch-sight, just to see. Yes—that witch was wearing an illusion of long silver hair today, which was lying perfectly flat and straight down her back, as though spelled; her actual hair was cut short, and flitting about atop her scalp, in what might be angry protest or just reckless abandon. That warlock had added six inches to his height, though he’d put it all in his legs, which gave him a strangely scarecrow-ish aspect. A little witchlet, not more than seven or eight years old, had a long, striped tail reaching out from under her flouncy skirt, flicking back and forth like a cat’s as she walked; her skin was striped as well, tiger-fur yellow and black.
Speaking of which: the cats! Of course every witch had a familiar—most of us did back at home, after all—but here, nobody had to leave them behind when they went out in public. Cats proudly strutted down the street with their mistresses, many of them embellished with the same levels of illusion and glamour that the witches and warlocks wore. I saw little lynxes, piglets, toy poodles, even a baby seal, but they were all cats. Astonishing.
I shook my head, bringing my sight back to the mundane. How did people do it here—how did they not keep trying to unpick the illusions?
Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was rude.
Or, most likely, it was such a part of the landscape that they hardly noticed it.
I had so much to learn!
It took a while for the strangest thing of all to hit me, something that ran completely contrary to the story Jeremy had told me. Yes, the streets and sidewalks were jam-packed—and everyone was interacting with one another. Smiling, talking, and all out loud.
Why had he told me this was a gloomy, silent place? Yes, he’d been talking more about the small towns, rather than the capital, but this was striking. Had he been trying to discourage me from coming here, even as he’d promised to take me? He certainly hadn’t made it sound like fun.
“Mistress Callie,” Petrana murmured, at my side. “Mistress Elnor might be needing sustenance soon.”
Startled, I looked down at my poor kitty. Elnor had indeed been meowing at me for some minutes, I realized. I hadn’t even heard her over the bustle around me, and my distraction. “Sorry, kitten,” I said. “Let’s find…” I looked around. What had that hotel been called?
Perhaps I was hungry too.
And if we were hungry…
As if in answer, Rose wiggled on my chest, reaching out with her little hands. “Okay, gang,” I said, more firmly this time. “The Majestic Hotel. We just need to—”
“One block down, turn right, go straight for two blocks, can’t miss it,” said a matronly witch passing by. She didn’t slow down, but she did give me a warm smile.
“Thank you, Auntie,” I called at her back. She nodded and waved in response.
I started off in the direction she’d sent me, still marveling at the buildings, at everything around me, like a small-town rube seeing downtown San Francisco for the first time. The sights continued to astonish me. Horse-drawn carriages shared the cobblestone streets with sleek luxury autos by makers I’d never heard of. A few witches even rode what could only be magic carpets, hovering through the air a few feet above street level. Businesses lined the streets, openly selling magical herbs and artifacts, scrying stones, and cauldrons of every size. Witches and warlocks were dressed every which way, from any era, to every level of formality—it was as though the whole city had raided Leonora’s closet.
I even saw tourists. I could spot them because they looked like me—dressed in jeans, and gaping around like idiots, and wearing their own skins. I smiled at one group; they just stared at Petrana.
Oh, like I was the weird one here.
All this rubber-necking almost made me miss my first turn for the hotel. It didn’t help that “block” was kind of an imprecise concept here; the city had obviously been laid out along different principles than right angles and regular distances. Eventually, though, I did find it. My growling stomach persuaded me to stop at its street-level restaurant first.
A young witch met me at the hostess stand. Her skin was black as midnight; she was extraordinarily tall and slender, and her hair was a marvel—tight braids that nonetheless shifted and curled around, slow and sinewy. I shifted briefly to witch-sight, surprised to see that she was actually of African descent. From what I’d been able to tell through their glamours, everyone else I’d seen on the street had been so very white—European white, I mean. I really wanted to know her story—Africa had its own magical history, distinct from ours—but I worried it would be intrusive to ask.
“Four for lunch?” she asked smoothly.
“Yes, please, though only two of us will be eating.”
She led us to a table by the window. Impossibly, every table was by the window, though the restaurant was quite large…no, it wasn’t large, it was intimately small…I couldn’t pin down its nature, and I made myself stop trying. Maybe when I wasn’t so hungry…
“I’ll send your server by immediately,” the hostess said, stepping away with a graceful smile.
The server was also a young witch, this time a redhead. Her exuberant long curls reminded me of Sirianna’s, though they were much better behaved. “Would you like to see a menu, or shall I just go chef’s choice?”
“Chef’s choice?” I echoed.
She smiled. “Chef is a strong empath. She looks to see what you’re hungry for, even if you don’t know. It’s our specialty here.”
“That sounds amazing, I’ll take that.”
“Coming right up!”
Moments later, she was back with a big, thick drink. Like a smoothie, but…warm? “Chef said to start with this. You’ve just come off the Atlantic ley lines, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but…” I took a sip, and the rest of my sentence fell away. The server didn’t need to know that I’d been on the continent for a few days—indeed, she, and the chef, obviously knew far more about me than my babbling words would convey. The warm smoothie was astonishing. It had all the immediate satisfaction of a milkshake, plus all the soothing heat of a cup of thick cocoa on a cold night…plus something with a little zing in it, like Witch’s Mead or aged frog brandy.
Yes, just what I needed.
The server had stepped away while I drank, so I didn’t even embarrass myself. Or notice her leave. I gulped down the rest of the drink, feeling my very cells plump up with nourishment and energy.
“Ah,” I sighed, leaning back.
Rosemary wriggled in Petrana’s arms, turning to face me. Good thing some of the cells plumping up were milk ducts.
“Hand her over,” I told my golem. I glanced around the restaurant, and though I still couldn’t tell whether it was large or small, crowded or empty, I could see that I was seated perfectly to ensure privacy while I fed Rose. I unbuttoned my blouse, only then realizing that, along with everything else unexpected about the Old Country, it wasn’t cold at all; the temperature was quite pleasant. I shrugged—I’d have to ask someone about this—and brought my daughter to my breast. She cooed with satisfaction as she drank.
I noticed that Elnor had been chowing down on something this whole time. The hostess had seated her on a special banquette by the wall, giving her a view of the room and raising her nearly to table-height, while keeping what she ate discreetly hidden from my view. How thoughtful, but also, of course. In a country where well over half the population had a familiar and brought them everywhere with them, there naturally wouldn’t be any foolish laws barring animals from eating establishments. Even if we didn’t want to watch them snarf down stinky tuna fish.
I can see why people might want to live here, I thought, and wondered if there were any way to make some of these changes at home. Rose’s Bar, for example; the entire back room was for witchkind only. Why not cat seating in there? Granted, it was pretty small, but that was easy enough to work around. What if…
My thoughts were interrupted by the server returning to collect my empty glass. She replaced it with a small sparkly cocktail. “Drink this slowly, until you get more food in you,” she advised.
“Thank you.” I took a tentative sip. Wow. I had no idea what was in it, but it was just what I wanted. I decided not to even ask about it. I’d just enjoy the…well, the magic.
Anyway, the server was gone again by the time I looked back up. They moved whisper-quiet in here, that was for sure.
At my breast, Rose suckled on. The drink was flowing into my bloodstream but staying out of my milk, without my even directing it to.
My goodness, we could learn a thing or two back home from these Old Country witches.
When the food came, I wasn’t even surprised that it smelled and tasted like General Tso’s Chicken, even though it looked nothing like my favorite takeout dish. I tucked into it, eating every bite. It wasn’t chicken; I’m not even a hundred percent sure it was meat. But it was, yet again, just what my body wanted.
I leaned back at the end of the meal, replete and satisfied. Rosemary had fallen asleep at my breast; she twitched a little, dreaming, no doubt. Elnor washed her whiskers; her dish had been removed. Petrana sat placidly in her chair across from me. “I wish you could eat,” I told her. “You’d have loved this.”
“I am certain that I would have, Mistress Callie,” she said.
Okay, as a dinner companion, perhaps she left a little to be desired. But I was content in every other way.
The server returned. “Will there be anything else?”
I smiled at her. “You probably already know the answer to that, but no, thank you. Just the check.”
“Are you staying in the hotel? I can charge it to your room.”
“I’m hoping to,” I told her, “but I haven’t checked in—I don’t even have a reservation. I came straight here.”
She gave me a brilliant smile and glanced down at my sleeping infant on my breast. “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Good as her word, she was back a few minutes later. “You’re all set. Your room is on the seventh floor, number 719. Here’s the key.” She set a large, old-fashioned golden key on the table. “I can send a porter to help you with your things if you like.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have very many things—I think we can manage it. But, don’t I need to see the front desk? And, like, pay or something?”
Her smile grew. “We know who you are, Calendula Isadora, and your coven’s credit is good here. Nothing to worry about.”
Oh. Well. Hmm. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that…and then I wasn’t sure whether I should be surprised or not. “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’ll make my way up as soon as I can untangle myself here.”
“No rush at all,” she said. “This table is yours as long as you’d like to stay.”
A room, with privacy and a bed and all, not to mention a bathroom, was starting to sound pretty good, though. So I woke my baby, gathered my cat and golem and our few bags, and found my way to the hotel lobby.
It was as elegant as the rest of the building, and the witch behind the counter waved at me and smiled. “Greetings, Calendula Isadora. The lifts are right through there.” She pointed toward a narrow passageway.
“Um, thanks,” I said, trying not to stare at her. I couldn’t discern her age at all; she was garbed like Leonora on a multi-century rampage, Elizabethan collar over an Edwardian dress with an extra petticoat or two on the outside and enough bangly jewelry to give Stevie Nicks a serious case of envy. There was an actual living spider in her powdered wig.
I didn’t want to know what her familiar looked like.
In the lift (one of those old-fashioned numbers with a wire-cage doorway and elaborate scrollwork everywhere), I thought more about the situation. Should I have tried for a less conspicuous hotel? I hadn’t been thinking strategically, or, really, at all; I’d been too hungry and too tired. Of course they would figure out who I was—heck, the border control folks had basically sent me here; the hotel owners wouldn’t even have had to look into my identity magically.
But my coven had an account here? Just in this hotel, or in the Old Country generally?
See, this is what happens when you run off without telling anyone, without getting any help or advice, I told myself.
But what else was I supposed to do? “Hey, Leonora, I’m off to look into crimes committed by the head of our Elders. See you when I get back!” Or even, “Hey, Gregorio, I’m going straight to the source to reveal how you murdered my best friend and a whole bunch of other people for your own personal gain. Ta-ta!”
No, there was really no other way to go about it.
But I really ought to start being smarter.
The elevator gave a cheerful ding as it reached the seventh floor. I pulled the cage door open and found my room, opening it with the big shiny key.
The room itself was…well, let’s call it cozy. It definitely looked comfortable, but in terms of size, it gave my coven house bedroom a run for its money.
Of course, Old Country—old world. Everything here was on a smaller scale than the vast expanses of America. I knew that, theoretically; I’d been noticing it since making landfall; this was just another example.
“Come on, gang,” I said, as Petrana trundled in behind me. At least she didn’t need much room. In fact, there was an unused corner just her size, I noticed.
As if people traveled with golems all the time.
She helped me unpack, such as it was. It took all of two minutes to stash my few changes of clothes in an antique armoire against the back wall. I sank down on the bed, not even unstrapping Rose from her sling, just letting her rest against my chest. She quickly fell asleep once more. The bed was a funny size and shape, something in between single and double, and not very long. Elnor jumped up and sniffed around, spending a lot of time on the quilts and pillows, before jumping back down and inspecting the entire room.
“Safe, kitty?” I asked her. I didn’t doubt that it was—at least, safe from monsters and bogeymen and mice—but she needed to do her due diligence.
She responded by jumping back up on the bed and curling up by my side, purring, looking for a scritching.
I had big plans, but I took some time to help my familiar feel comfortable. Rose was snoring softly, and in a minute Elnor was too.
And then I must have been as well, because I opened my eyes and the room was dark.
Night had fallen; I’d slept the afternoon away. I felt momentarily chagrined—I had arrangements to make, a city to explore, crimes to expose—but apparently, I also had rest to get caught up on.
And I thought I’d never slept so much in my life when I was pregnant. Heck, undersea ley line travel put pregnancy to shame.
“Wow,” I said, stretching and yawning, as Rosemary came awake with my movement. She blinked up at me and made a few of her nonsense sounds. “This is going to be the most boring secret research mission ever, because I’m afraid we all need another meal.”
Before I headed out of the hotel, I stopped at the front desk. The same witch from earlier was there. I wondered how long her shift was, or if she had a series of identical siblings. But no; she was clearly unique. “Good evening, Calendula Isadora,” she said politely. “I trust your room is to your liking? Everything is in order?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s great,” I told her. “Very cute little room.”
She smiled. “Wonderful. What can I help you with? Do you need transportation anywhere, or directions to popular ley lines or local attractions?”
“Yes, I probably do,” I said, “but first I, well, was wondering something.”
She raised a thin, painted eyebrow and waited.
“You know who I am—by my energetic signature, I’m guessing?”
“Of course. We are only sorry that we did not know in advance that you were coming. We would have had your room ready for you.”
“Yeah, well, the thing is—I’m on kind of a quiet trip. I stumbled into this hotel by accident, really. I didn’t know my coven had an account here?” I couldn’t help making that last a question.
“Leonora Scanza is a great and longtime friend of The Majestic,” she said, proudly. “Every member of your coven is a pre-registered guest.”
“Right. Um. See, she doesn’t exactly know I’m here…”
Understanding lit up her eyes, followed by worry.
“Is there—I mean, is it already too late? Does she get a message or something when anyone from the coven uses the account?”
“Oh.” The witch paused, seemed to think a moment, then said, “Ordinarily, yes; though ordinarily, arrangements would have been made in advance, of course. Far in advance. In your case…well, there wouldn’t have been any confirming message, so…” She thought further, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Of course, the thing to do would have been to send her an ætheric message upon your arrival, assuring her of your safe condition and satisfaction with the room. Since, er, nothing happened in the usual manner this time, no message has been sent.” She frowned at me. “I am to understand that you would prefer that no message, er, continues to be sent?”
“Yes, please, if that’s possible.” I smiled at her. “Just for now, of course. Once I get back home, I will naturally tell her everything that has happened while I’ve been here, including what a marvelous hotel this is.” My smile grew as I reached for the story I’d used on the border clerks. “It’s kind of a surprise for everyone at home, what I’m doing here. I would hate to let the cat out of the bag before I’m ready to, if you know what I mean.”
Actually, come to think of it, I wasn’t even lying.
Her frown relaxed some, though I could tell she was still a bit concerned. “All right, I can hold off on the message. But Mother Scanza will receive her monthly statement of charges. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“When do those go out?”
“First week of the month, covering the month prior. And they go by postal mail.”
It was barely mid-November. I was golden. “That’s not a problem at all. I’ll be home long before the statement arrives, and Leonora will not be surprised by it.”
“Ah, excellent.”
She was so relieved, she spent the next twenty minutes giving me a thorough run-down of the central district of Balszt—restaurants, theatre options, the best places to shop, even good parks to take a child to, “though of course your little one is a bit young for that yet.” We were all starving by the time I managed to extract us.
At last, we stepped out into the night. Our first night in the capital of the Old Country, and the weather was still comfortably warm. Petrana carried Rosemary in the harness, and Elnor walked proudly at my heels, clearly delighted by the presence of so many other cats out in public. Even if they were disguised as other creatures as often as not.
“You want me to do that for you, kitty?” I asked her. “Make you into a little weasel, or a baby goat?”
She just gave me a dark glance—well, as dark as her bright yellow eyes could manage, anyway.
I chuckled and led us on toward the central market square.
The night was bustling, the streets even busier than they had been in daylight. Of course, nighttime is when witches really come alive. It’s when our magic is the strongest, when the sun’s distracting forces are blunted, hidden on the other side of the planet. That’s why we do our Circles at midnight, and why I did my best lab work by the light of the moon—or by no light at all.
Crowded though the streets were, I found the whole place increasingly welcoming. Passing witches still looked askance at Petrana, but they grinned at Rosemary, and as often as not complimented me on my adorable baby. Rosemary herself seemed to be enjoying the sights, especially after we’d grabbed a quick meal in a sidewalk café. I’d been tempted to find another fancy restaurant, but I was increasingly aware of my limited time here. We couldn’t spend the whole trip dining out.
I couldn’t get over what Jeremy had said about the folk being cold and reserved, not even speaking aloud to each other. Of course, Balszt was a tourist destination, a magnet for witchkind from everywhere. The capital catered to strangers, its economy was set up to welcome them.
But also…Jeremy was a warlock.
Once I’d had that thought, I started looking around with different eyes. Yes: witches were warm, open, and friendly to me and mine. Warlocks…they seemed to live on a different plane here. They greeted one another on the street, with glances or nods; they ignored the far greater numbers of witches surrounding them.
I wasn’t sure a single warlock had spoken to me, not since I left the Azores.
Odd, but also not odd, when I thought about it. The power differential we suffered under at home—where warlocks ran the Elders and felt that they made the rules that governed all of witchkind—would be only more pronounced here, because of the very visible minority of the warlocks. They would have to project far more haughty unapproachability, just to protect their position. The political system was the same here as it was at home; we’d imported it wholesale. Even our local Elders nominally answered to bigger Elders here.
And yet…what I saw was a city full of witches basically ignoring the warlocks, cheerfully going about their lives.
Just like we did in our covens, except right out in the open.
I grinned right back at all these cheerful witches, dressed so dramatically and colorfully. It made my jeans and plain blouse feel like the drabbest, most boring choice ever, so I sought out one of the clothing stores the hotel clerk had recommended.
Yes, I knew I had to get busy with my research. I told myself I’d have better luck if I blended in a bit better.
An hour later, I emerged from the bazaar, dressed in snakeskin pants that clung to me like they’d been painted on (but that breathed and moved like I was wearing soft air), a shiny black top with cascades of black lace and pearl buttons down the front, and purple illusion-boots—they looked like they had six-inch heels, but they were as comfortable as sneakers. I’d been tempted by any number of gorgeous pull-over shirts and sweaters, but until Rose was weaned, I needed easier access in a garment.
And I would have to carry all this stuff home with me. Darn that ley line travel and its restrictions, or I would have bought out half the store.
As it was, Petrana was now carrying a small package as well as my daughter. I strode down the street, feeling far more comfortable, just enjoying the night.
But now it was time to get serious. I needed to find out as much as I could about the manufacturing company, Grand Laurel Merenoc, before I traveled to Zchellenin. So I headed to that bastion of information: the main library.
Balszt’s library was not far from the central district, in a slightly quieter, slightly more elegant part of town. There was a river nearby; I could smell it, and the houses had taken on that air of old money that homes with picturesque water views tended to have.
The building was massive, and covered with spells and sigils. Not as witchkind buildings back home were, for protection and obscuration; here it was for more open access, even from afar—plus decoration, of course.
The access thing was interesting. Maybe I hadn’t needed to come here in person? But it was a sight to see, and I was glad I had.
The building was nominally four stories, not unlike the main campus library back in Berkeley, and it resembled that building as well. (Interesting, I thought…coincidence, or not?) But a mere glance showed that it was far more complex and warren-like inside than even the Berkeley one. Corridors, additions, even entire floors sprang off in every direction, wrapped around each other, sharing magical and physical space in a way that made it clear this had been going on for centuries.
I stood on the library steps, admiring the intricacy. Many minds and many magics had gone into the place. A witch could learn a lot here.
It gave me ideas about my house.
Not that I needed to be focusing on my house right now, or even how marvelously arranged this building was. I tore my eyes away from the exterior and we headed for the doors.
The interior, once I was inside, did not disappoint. I had to school myself to stay on task. I would have much rather wandered about the building, trying to find the information I was looking for on my own, and enjoying the process of discovery—even if it had taken days. Instead, I stepped up to the information desk.
An incongruously plain witch sat behind the counter. She was neither old nor young; her hair was brown and coaxed into a long braid down her back; she was dressed in a navy-blue shirtdress. It was almost like she was in protest to the general tenor of the rest of Balszt. “Yes?” she said, looking up politely. At least she smiled at the baby, so I knew she was alive, and not some elaborate golem.
“I’m looking for any information you might have on a company called Grand Laurel Merenoc,” I said. “It’s in—”
“Zchellenin, yes, is their headquarters,” she said, waving her fingers in the air as I spoke. Words appeared from her fingertips, as if she had consulted some sort of ætheric computer system. “They have a showroom here in the capital, but all their manufacturing and most of their sales efforts are in Zchellenin.”
“Wow,” I said, watching her fingers. I could almost-but-not-quite follow the magic she was using.
She smiled and coaxed the words around to face me more directly, though it didn’t help; the lettering was in an unfamiliar language. “Proprietary spellwork,” she said proudly.
“Did you write it yourself?”
Her smile grew. “I did.”
“It’s amazing.”
“Thank you.” She seemed to shake herself back into a more professional seriousness. “But I didn’t give you anything you couldn’t have found out from the local æthernet. What specifically did you need to know about Grand Laurel Merenoc?”
Local æthernet? I wondered, but set that aside for the moment. “I found a couple of machines labeled with their name back in the United States. Their function…confused me a bit, and there was no one I could ask. I need to know specifically what those machines do, and how they do it; and I need to be fairly quiet about finding this out.”
Her fingers danced in the air; golden letters flashed into and out of view. She frowned as she worked—in concentration, or something more? Finally, she turned back to me, letting the spell vanish. “I’m finding an unusual number of blockages in the information path. Where in the United States? And can you tell me anything more specific about the machines?”
In for a penny…“Berkeley,” I told her. “The University of California campus. One of them was tall and skinny and had what looked like a bell jar at its top.”
“The Enchin Aberra?”
Her fingers moved again. Her frown deepened. No, this wasn’t just concentration. “The blockages are active,” she said, as the letters blinked out again. “Grand Laurel discourages virtual research and keeps shutting down my inquiries. I’m really sorry.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, though I was afraid I knew.
“You’re going to have to go to Zchellenin. It’s not far—several well-established ley lines go there. I can give you a map.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’d planned to go there anyway, but I wanted to know a little more before just showing up on their doorstep. It’s…sensitive.”
“Yes, so you mentioned.”
“About Zchellenin…” I paused, trying to find the words. “Will I find it…as welcoming there as Balszt?”
The librarian shook her head. “Probably not. Though it’s perfectly safe.”
“Safe?”
“Yes. Visiting witches rarely get pulled into the struggles.”
The Iron Rose. “What, exactly, are the struggles about?”
“Do you not have warlocks at home?”
I looked at her. Was that a hint of a smile? “So, it’s just a warlock power struggle?”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You did not hear this here, but that’s exactly what it is. For all the useful things that warlocks do for us, they do ten things that are worthless at best and harmful at worst.” She glanced at my baby and her smile grew. “Granted, the good things they give us are very good indeed.”
Except that no warlock had given me this child…“What are they fighting about? Does anyone even know?”
“I think they sense the world changing and their relevance fading. It makes them grip harder, scream louder to preserve the old ways, to hang onto their control. How long have you been here?”
“Not even a day yet. But, it’s not at all what I’d expected. It’s even warm.”
“See, that’s just what I mean,” she said, growing exasperated. “A witch did that, not a warlock.”
“Did what?”
“The weather! It was a witch climatologist who figured out how to adjust the flow of the winds and keep the temperature stable.”
“Wow.”
“But do you ever hear about that in the new world? No, of course not! All the news that makes it overseas is about how backward we are here, how dangerous the Old Country is, how traditional. And it’s just warlocks, warlocks, warlocks—as if well over half of the population didn’t matter!” She rolled her eyes, and then gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, don’t get me started. It’s just, this stuff bugs me to pieces.”
“I can see that,” I said, “and I don’t blame you a bit. Plenty of what goes on in San Francisco bugs me too.” And isn’t that putting it mildly. “Plenty of what warlocks get up to, specifically.”
She reached a hand over the counter and made a fist. “Solidarity, sister.”
I fist-bumped her back. “Solidarity.”
“Well, that was fascinating, and not at all what I expected,” I said to my little group, as we sat at a fancy restaurant table after all, waiting for our second dinner to arrive.
My infant and my cat did not answer me. My golem said, “Yes, Mistress Callie.”
I sipped a cocktail that was entirely different from the one I’d had at the hotel this afternoon, yet just as delightful. What I really needed to do was steal an Old Country bartender and bring her home to work at Rose’s Bar.
“Not yours,” I said to my daughter, whose eyes found mine just as I thought the name. “Rose Elvinstone owns a lovely little bar back home, which I will take you to when you’re of age.” I thought about the witchlets at the coven house drinking Witch’s Mead on Samhain, and amended that to, “or on special occasions. But not while you’re still nursing. Blessed Mother.”
I’m sure she hadn’t read my mind, and I’m equally sure she didn’t give me a sly or knowing smile in response. Anyway, she started blowing spit-bubbles again and lolling her eyes around.
She was just an infant.
The food came. Sadly, this chef was not an empath, so I’d had to make my own selections off the menu. I did a pretty good job, though.
I was going to have to steal a chef as well as a bartender.