“I think he knows more than he’s telling.”
“Maybe he’s stalling for time,” I suggested. “Right now he’s safe. If you got everything you wanted from him, we might quit protecting him. Try letting him stew for a few days. That might panic him into being more cooperative the next time we talk to him.”
Owen raised an eyebrow. “Have you always been that sneaky?”
I watched as gargoyle guards unclasped the chains from the table and took Idris away through a hidden door on the other side of the interrogation room. “You know,” I said, musing out loud, “I have a feeling that either he really doesn’t know anything other than that he got himself into something bigger than he was prepared for, or he knows exactly who’s in charge, and he’s more afraid of that person than he is of you or Merlin.”
Owen nodded somberly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Chapter Three
After a quick lunch with Owen, I returned to my office to find Perdita out to lunch. I had a feeling this would be the most productive half hour of my day, so I went straight to work, but I’d barely gotten started when she bounced into my office, breaking my concentration. “Got anything you need me to do?” she asked.
“Not yet. Could you please hold any calls and barricade the doors for the next couple of hours? I’ve got a meeting to get ready for.”
“Except for that Owen guy, right?” she asked with a giggle.
“I doubt he’ll be back today. He knows I’m busy.”
She must not have caught the “busy” hint, since she plopped into my guest chair and draped one long leg over the arm as she twirled a red ringlet around her finger. “He is so cute. What does he do in R and D?”
“He runs Theoretical Magic.”
“Oh, so he’s smart, too. That’s absolutely dreamy. I wonder if he has a girlfriend.”
“He does.” I tried and failed to hold back a smug smile.
She groaned. “Of course he does. The good ones are always taken. Do you know who he’s dating?”
I knew I was probably risking bad karma by enjoying this so much, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never been on this side of a conversation like this before. “Me,” I said simply.The color fled from her face, which made the sprinkling of freckles on her nose stand out like new copper pennies. “Oh!” she gasped as a hand flew up to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Miss Chandler. I didn’t think—I mean, you don’t seem like—well, he’s so hot, and you’re—oops, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re cute, and you seem nice, and you have to be really smart to have your job, so I’m sure he sees something in you, even if you’re not magical.” Apparently realizing that she was only making matters worse, she shut her mouth and got out of the chair. “I’ll hold your calls and keep out visitors,” she said as she left, shutting the door behind her. I returned to my work with a sigh.
By the time three o’clock rolled around, I had sketched out a proposed agenda for a customer conference and had a list of questions to ask Hartwell. When I emerged from my office, Perdita was at her desk, filing her nails. She immediately dropped her nail file. “Sorry about that, I just snagged a nail and wanted to fix it before it got worse or caught on something.”
“That’s okay. I haven’t given you anything to do, so I won’t bust you for not doing it. I’m going to a meeting with Mr. Hartwell.” I started to leave, but turned back. “I don’t suppose you know Mr. Hartwell’s first name? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it used.”
She swiveled in her desk chair to face the crystal ball communications thingy. After waving her hand over it for a few seconds, her slanted eyebrows shot up even higher than they normally went. “Oh, wow. Yeah, I can see why he goes by Mr. Hartwell,” she said. “I’m not sure I even know how to pronounce that. And I thought Elvish was a tongue-tangler.”
“Thanks anyway.” I’d never been sure that Hartwell was human. He reminded me of an animated Ken doll, molded from plastic rather than flesh. The apparently impossible first name might have been a clue, but given what I knew of Perdita so far, his name might have been “George.”
After an hour spent getting the details I needed from Hartwell to plan the event, I said—trying not to hyperventilate at the thought of what I’d have to pull off—“And now I’d better get back to work. I have plenty of it to do.”
“It’s almost the end of the day,” Hartwell said with a genial plastic grin. “You might as well meet the whole gang you’ll be working with.”
