“And how did you plan to get past that?” Jenks said as he flitted to hide atop the visor.
“No problem,” I said, my mind whirling. Visions of Francis in the trunk assailed me, and smiling my prettiest at the guard, I brought the car to a halt before the white stick across the road. The amulet beside the guard’s watch stayed a nice green. It was a spell checker, much cheaper than the wood-framed glasses that could see through charms. I had been very careful to keep the amount of magic used in my disguise spell below the level of most vanity charms. As long as his amulet stayed green, he would assume I was under a standard makeup spell, not a disguise.
“I’m Francine,” I said on the spur of the moment. I pitched my voice high, smiling brainlessly, as if I had been planting Brimstone all night. “I have an appointment with Mr. Kalamack?” Trying to look like a nitwit, I twirled a stray strand of hair. I was a brunette today, but it probably still worked. “Am I late?” I asked, tugging my finger free of the knot I had accidentally put in my hair. “I didn’t think it would take me this long. He lives a long way out!”
The gateman was unaffected. Maybe I was losing my touch. Maybe I should have undone another button on my blouse. Maybe he liked men. He looked at his clipboard, then me.
“I’m from the I.S.,” I said, putting my tone somewhere between petulance and spoiled annoyance. “Do you want to see my ID?” I rummaged in my bag for my nonexistent badge.
“Your name isn’t on the list, ma’am,” the stone-faced guard said.
I flopped back with a huff. “Did that guy in dispatch put me down as Francis again? Darn him!” I exclaimed, hitting the wheel with an ineffective fist. “He’s always doing that, ever since I refused to go on a date with him. I mean, really. He didn’t even have a car! He wanted to take me to the movies on a bus. Ple-e-e-e-ease,” I moaned. “Can you see me on a bus?”
“Just a moment, ma’am.” He picked up a phone and began speaking. I waited, trying to keep my ditzy smile in place, praying. The gateman’s head bobbed in an unconscious expression of agreement. Still, his face was seriously empty when he turned back.
“Up the drive,” he said, and I struggled to keep my breath even. “Third building on the right. You can park in the visitor lot directly off the front steps.”
“Thank you,” I sang merrily, sending the car lurching forward when the white bar rose. Through the rearview mirror I watched the guard go back inside. “Easy as pie,” I muttered.
“Getting out might be harder,” Jenks said dryly.
Up the drive was three miles through an eerie wood. My mood went subdued as the road wound between the close, silent sentinels. Despite the overpowering impression of age, I began to get the feeling that everything had been planned out, even to the surprises, like the waterfall I found around a bend in the road. Disappointed somehow, I continued on as the artificial woods thinned and turned into rolling pasture. A second road joined mine, well-traveled and busy. Apparently I had come in the back way. I followed the traffic, taking an offshoot labeled VISITORS PARKING. Rounding a turn in the road, I saw the Kalamack estate.
The huge fortress of a building was a curious mix of modern institution and traditional elegance, with glass doors and carved angels on the downspouts. Its gray rock was softened by old trees and bright flower beds. There were several low buildings attached to it, but the main one rose three stories up. I brought the car to a halt in one of the visitor parking spots. The sleek vehicle next to mine made Francis’s car look like a toy from the bottom of a cereal box.
Dropping Francis’s wad of keys into my bag, I eyed the gardener tending the bushes surrounding the lot. “Still want to split up?” I breathed as I primped in the rearview mirror, carefully picking out that knot I’d put in my hair. “I don’t like what happened at the front gate.”
Jenks flitted down onto the stick shift and stood with his hands on his hips in his Peter Pan pose. “Your interview runs the usual forty minutes?” he said. “I’ll be done in twenty. If I’m not here when you’re done, wait about a mile down from the gatehouse. I’ll catch up.”
“Sure,” I said as I tightened the string on my bag. The gardener was wearing shoes, not boots, and they were clean. What gardener has clean shoes? “Just be careful,” I said, nodding to the small man. “Something smells off.”
Jenks snickered. “The day I can’t elude a gardener is the day I become a baker.”
“Well, wish me luck.” I cracked the window for Jenks and got out. My heels clacked smartly as I went to take a peek at the back of Francis’s car. As Jenks had said, one of the taillights was broken. There was a nasty dent, too. I turned away with a flash of guilt. Taking a steadying breath, I strode up the shallow steps to the twin, double doors.
A man stepped from a recessed nook as I approached, and I jerked to a halt, startled. He was tall enough to need two looks to see all of him. And thin. He reminded me of a starving post-Turn refugee from Europe: prim, proper, and stuck-up. The man even had a hawklike nose and permanent frown cemented to his lightly wrinkled face. Gray brushed his temples, marring his otherwise coal black hair. His inconspicuous gray slacks and white business shirt fitted him perfectly, and I tugged my collar straight. “Ms. Francine Percy?” he said, his smile empty and his voice slightly sarcastic.
“Yes, hello,” I said, purposely giving the man a limp-wristed handshake. I could almost see him stiffen in aversion. “I have a noon meeting with Mr. Kalamack.”
“I’m Mr. Kalamack’s publicity adviser, Jonathan,” the man said. Apart from taking great care in his pronunciation, he had no accent. “If you would accompany me? Mr. Kalamack will meet with you in his back office.” He blinked, his eyes watering. I imagined it was from my perfume. Maybe I had overdone it, but I wasn’t going to risk triggering Ivy’s instincts.
Jonathan opened the door for me, motioning me to go before him. I stepped through, surprised to find the building brighter inside than out. I had expected a private residence, and this wasn’t it. The entryway looked like the headquarters of any Fortune-twenty business, with the familiar glass and marble motif. White pillars held up the distant ceiling. An impressive mahogany desk stretched before the twin staircases that rose to the second and third floors. Light streamed in. Either it was piped in from the roof or Trent was spending a fortune on natural-light bulbs. A soft, mottled green carpet muffled any echo. There was a buzz of muted conversations and a steady but sedate flow of people going about their business.
“This way, Ms. Percy,” my escort said softly.
I dragged my eyes from the man-sized pots of citrus trees and followed Jonathan’s measured pace past the front desk and through a series of hallways. The farther we went, the lower the ceilings, the darker the lighting, and the more comforting the colors and textures became. Almost unnoticed, the soothing sound of running water drifted into existence. We hadn’t met anyone since leaving the front entryway, and I felt a touch uneasy.
Clearly we had left the public face behind and entered the more private areas. What, I wondered, was going on? Adrenaline shook me as Jonathan paused and put a fingertip to his ear.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, stepping a few feet away. His wrist, I noticed as he raised his hand to his ear, had a microphone on his watchband. Alarmed, I strained to catch his words as he had turned to prevent me from reading his lips.
“Yes, Sa’han,” he whispered, his tone respectful.
I waited, holding my breath so I could hear.
“With me,” he said. “I was informed you had an interest, so I have taken the liberty of escorting her to your back porch.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. He gave me a long, sideways look of disbelief. “Her?”
I wasn’t sure to take that as a compliment or insult, and I pretended to be busy rearranging the back of my stockings and pulling another strand of hair from my topknot to dangle beside my earring. I wondered if someone had investigated the trunk. My pulse quickened as I realized how quickly