Chapter Four
Secrets from the Past
Memory is a funny thing.
We think of it as pictures in a row, like a motion picture recording of the past, but it is not. When we visit a place we once lived or hear a long forgotten song, we suddenly recall not only images but also sounds, smells, feelings. If we were victorious when we last walked the cobblestone streets of Firenze, the ringing of those cobblestones beneath our feet will bring a swell of confidence. If we were sad when we last heard Beethoven’s Sixth, then upon hearing the orchestra playing the opening swell of its notes, we will find our hearts inexplicably filled with sorrow.
And, to my great shame, if we were an awkward lovesick girl of sixteen when last we encountered a certain man, meeting him again makes us feel clumsy and sick to our stomachs—no matter how many centuries have passed in the interlude.
* * *
I was across the lobby and through the glass doors leading to the street before Mab and Mephisto caught up with me. Grabbing their arms, I hustled them along rapidly. Mab followed without complaint, but Mephisto hung back, trying to get a good look at the man we were leaving behind. He leaned away from my grip at a precarious angle, hopping on one foot and shading his eyes with his free hand. He could not have been more conspicuous if he had yodeled. In disgust, I released my grip. He lost his balance, collapsing gently to the pavement.
Mephisto leapt up quickly and hurried after me as I strode briskly, covering the blocks back to the office parking garage without pause or comment. My heart was pounding. My cheeks felt sunburnt. By the time we reached the car, my fingers were trembling so badly I could not hold my keys. I dropped them twice before finally managing to open the door.
I climbed into the car. Mephisto went obediently to the back door, waving cheerfully to a couple walking between the cement pillars of the underground complex. They waved back, puzzled. Mab strapped himself into the front passenger seat, then watched, bemused, as I struggled to get the right key into the ignition.
“You seem distraught, ma’am. Sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“Better me driving distraught than either of you behind the wheel,” I replied hoarsely. “I would like to arrive alive, thank you.”
“So would I,” muttered Mab.
Ignoring his cheekiness, I drove out of the garage and began weaving my way through traffic, heading back toward Wilhelmi Field, where we had left our Lear. The rush of vehicles around me seemed a distant whir. Cars honked, perhaps at me; I did not care. I held my breath and waited for my innate sense of reason to offer some rational explanation as to what had just occurred.
None came.
Having given up on getting any information out of me, Mab had turned to Mephisto. “… must be some explanation,” he was saying. “Wonder if it has anything to do with the good-looking mug on that chap.”
“I didn’t know they made real people who looked like that,” Mephisto replied enthusiastically. “Do you think he was an actor or a movie star? Maybe he does toothpaste commercials.”
“Have you ever seen him before?” asked Mab.
“Nope. Must be after my time,” said Mephisto. By which he meant, of course, that I must have met the gentleman recently, since our family had gone its separate ways. He was mistaken. I felt compelled to correct him.
“Before your time, actually,” I said as I cut across two lanes of traffic to merge onto Interstate 80.
“Before? But how could that be? Unless, you mean he’s …” Mephisto did a double-take back toward the direction of the hotel that would have done Cary Grant proud. “He couldn’t be!”
“Could not be who?” asked Mab, scowling.
“Ferdinand de Napoli!” Mephisto exclaimed eagerly.
“Who?” Mab asked again.
No point in delaying the inevitable.
“You read Shakespeare didn’t you, Mab? The Tempest?”
“Sure. That and A Midsummer Night’s Dream are the only histories of Shakespeare where anyone of importance appears,” replied Mab.
“That was Ferdinand,” I sighed. “Prince Ferdinand of Naples.”
“Impossible! He should have been dead for some five centuries!” Mab paused. “Are you certain it was him? Maybe this guy at the hotel was a look-alike.”
Behind him, in the rearview mirror, I could see Mephisto nodding sagely.
“You saw him,” I muttered. My fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tightly I feared I might break it. “Do you think I could forget that man’s face?”
Mephisto and Mab both shook their heads.
Mab growled, “Bet he made off with one of Prospero’s books, back when he was on that island. Used it to make himself immortal, which would explain why he still looks as good as he did five hundred-plus years ago. Whatever he’s up to, it can’t be good!”
“Miranda,” Mephisto called from the back seat, “If that’s Ferdie, why are we running away?”
Ay, there’s the rub.
Why were we running away?
What could I possibly say to my brother? I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but after so many years of pretending, the words would not come to my lips.
“I have nothing to say to him,” I replied flatly.
Intrigued, Mephisto leaned forward, his dark eyes sparkling. “So, what’s the story, Miranda? Embarrassed to see him after you used him and abused him? Afraid to face him after you made him a pawn in your revenge against Uncle Antonio for exiling Daddy to that island?”
“Ah, yes … our great revenge,” I muttered. My mouth was unnaturally dry. What a tangled web I had woven. Now, I must bear the burden of unraveling it.
In my long life, there had been only one matter about which I had constantly been less than straightforward. I do not know when the line between fantasy and reality blurred, but I had repeated the fabrication so many times, I had forgotten the real version. Only, when I stepped into the hotel lobby and found the subject of my fabrications staring me in the face did I recall the truth … and my terrible shame.
If Ferdinand were really alive, the truth would come out. My brother might as well hear it from me.
“About the whole revenge thing …” The heat in my cheeks rose to the level of a second-degree burn. “The truth is …” I spoke the three hardest words of my long life in one rapid rush. “Ferdinand jilted me.”
Silence fell like a lead curtain. Stomach churning, I glanced sideways and then at my rearview mirror, trying to gauge the reactions of my passengers. Mab had pulled his fedora down over his face. Mephisto’s jaw hung open in astonishment. As I was turning away, Mephisto reached up and pushed his jaw shut with his hand. It closed with a snap.
“Jilted?” he squeaked. “As in ‘did not marry’? You? Marry? What about the Unicorn?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, wishing I had let Mab drive after all.
“I-I was young, six-sixteen,” I faltered. “You gentlemen saw him. Can you imagine any young girl who wouldn’t want to marry such a man? He was the only man I’d ever seen, except for Caliban. I thought …” My voice dropped. “At the time, I thought I’d given the Unicorn her due.”
“You were going to leave the Unicorn to marry him, and he left you for another woman?” Mephisto asked. “Had you already bought your dress?”
“Had it handmade, you mean … one did not buy dresses back then. And yes, it had been made. I was wearing it. I was … at the altar.” My voice seemed to have dropped out of my throat. In a hoarse whisper I finished, “He never showed up.”
Amazing how a mere memory could shame me to the point of tears.
“He left you standing alone at the altar? Oh, poor Miranda!” cried Mephisto. “What was his explanation?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him again. He just … disappeared.”
“And now he’s here,” Mephisto said happily. “How romantic. The two of you can get back together.”
“Not a chance.” I stepped on the accelerator. The car leapt forward. I changed lanes, shooting between two other vehicles. This time I was certain the honking was meant for me.
We drove in silence, the other two afraid to speak. The roads flashed by, and soon we were at the exit, heading back toward Wilhelmi Field.
“That’s odd,” I said suddenly. “I was thinking about Ferdinand just today, right before we found Mephisto. I wonder what reminded me of him? I haven’t thought of him in years.”
“Maybe it was the song your brother was playing on his lute,” suggested Mab.
“I doubt it. That was a sixteenth-century English song. I knew Ferdinand in 1473, in Italy. Hardly the same, at least to me.”
“But it was from The Tempest,” Mephisto piped in knowingly. “It must have been the song!”
“Perhaps,” I murmured, unconvinced.
“The real question,” growled Mab, “is what’s he doing here? And how did he know Miss Miranda was at that hotel? That’s what I wanna know!”
* * *
We arrived at the airport just after two, returned the rental car, and headed across the field to the Lear.
“So, where does Mr. Theophrastus live?” Mab asked as he readied the plane, a custom-designed Lear jet modified to Aerie One piloting specs. He stood on a ladder wiping the windshield with a soft cloth. Below him, Mephisto had bent himself almost halfway backwards in order to walk under the wing and examine the flanges.
“So, where’s my staff?” asked Mephisto, from under the wing.
“Can’t we talk on the way?” I asked impatiently, folding my cell phone with a snap. I had been standing to one side, conversing with Mustardseed, my vice president of Priority Accounts, while I waited for Mab to ready the jet. “Theo could be dead by the time you two stop bickering.”
“Would like to oblige you, ma’am, but I can’t deduce anything without facts. I can’t keep track of facts without notes, and I can’t write notes while I’m piloting the plane. If either of you two want to fly the plane, then I’ll talk about the staff while we go. Otherwise, no dice.”
“I’ll fly the plane,” Mephisto offered helpfully, emerging. Mab and I both ignored him.
“It’s your call, ma’am. You’re the one who would like to keep your family from the jaws of Hell. Mephisto, here,” Mab jabbed his thumb at my brother, “and I couldn’t care less if the whole kit and caboodle spontaneously combusted.”
“Hey! Don’t include me in that. I love my family,” said Mephisto. He threw his arm about my shoulder. “Those members who don’t irk me, anyway.”
I gave him a cursory squeeze, then shrugged free. “This is getting ridiculous. How close is Theo’s house to the nearest airport?” I asked.
“About two hours,” said Mephisto.
“Why don’t you tell us where to fly the plane. We’ll land at the airport and rent another car. Then I can drive while you tell Mab about your staff. If Mab stops taking notes, you can stop telling me where to go.”
Mephisto narrowed his eyes. He struck a pose with one hand on his hip, staring at us suspiciously. Mab and I waited.
“I’ll tell him where to go,” Mab muttered under his breath.
“All right. I’ll agree,” Mephisto threw up his hands. “Fly your silly plane to New Hampshire.”
* * *
The flight was relatively uneventful. Mephisto sat in the co-pilot’s seat making comments about how the land features below resembled smiling or leering faces with long ears or enormous noses. I sat in the passenger section with my laptop open, forgoing the delight of gazing out at the sky in order to review the inventory situation for our upcoming Priority Accounts.
Yet, my thoughts kept slipping away from work and back to Ferdinand. I tried to recall Ferdinand as he had been when we first met, but his voice, his smile, his laugh, were lost in the mists of time. The real events were all jumbled with Shakespeare’s version in my mind. After all, I had only lived my life once, but I had seen The Tempest performed hundreds of times down the centuries. It was a family favorite.
Shakespeare must have been closer to the truth than I remembered. Maybe Father really had forgiven Uncle Antonio, and I had only invented the idea we had been seeking revenge to soothe my broken heart and hurt pride. Or, had Father been as eager for revenge as I later recalled? Exactly what kind of man had Father been when I was young? I shook my head, but the mists of time refused to dispel. I wished Father were around so I could ask him. He was already an old man in those days, while I had been a mere child. Undoubtedly, he would remember what really happened.
Only, Father was missing.…
*
Outside the plane, a storm moved in suddenly—great black thunderheads looming ominously before us. Normally, Mab and I would have flown into the tempest for the joy of it; however, we were in a hurry. Mab took the plane above the clouds, while I prepared a song to play on my flute that would disperse the storm without dispersing Mab, in case the weather worsened.
As we pulled above the writhing clouds, a lightning bolt snaked across the storm-darkened sky. Smiling, I pressed my cheek against the cool glass of the window and waved. As if in answer, the lightning bolt formed, for an instant, the outline of a horned equine rearing up on its hind legs. From the cockpit, I heard Mab’s exclamation of wonder, and Mephisto’s yelp of surprise. They had seen it, too!
As the dark clouds fell away below us, I stared out, the afterimage of the unicorn still visible to my eye, and a feeling of joy replaced the heaviness which had overtaken my heart.
* * *
After landing at Manchester Airport, we rented another car. I drove, following Mephisto’s directions. We passed briefly through the city of Manchester, then found ourselves driving through beautiful rustic New Hampshire on our way to Vermont. My sense of urgency growing, I barreled down the road at well over the speed limit. Mab muttered a snide comment, but I ignored him. In Chicago, he had been speeding in busy traffic. The roads I was racing down were empty.
Once we were underway, Mab pulled out his notebook and his stubby pencil. There followed some snorting and shuffling as he arranged them on his lap to his satisfaction. Once done, he jerked out his arm so that he could glance at his watch without his sleeve blocking the view.
Noting my glance, he said, “Keeping track of the time, ma’am. I’m expecting to get paid double my normal rate for this. Okay, Mr. Mephistopheles Prospero, fire away.”
“Where should I start?” asked Mephisto. In the rearview mirror, I could see him spreading his arms. “There’s so much to say.”
“When did you realize the staff had been stolen?” Mab began.
“In the morning when I woke up. I reached for it to summon up a maenad or a harpy to cook me breakfast, but it was gone.”
“You are certain that it was there the night before?”
“Yup. I summoned up the Archangel Uriel just before Chalandra arrived.”
“The Archangel Uriel,” breathed Mab in amazement. “Holy Croesus! What can’t this staff do?”
“It can only call beings or beasts with whom Mephisto has properly prepared covenants, the creatures whose images are carved into the length of the staff,” I offered from the driver’s seat. “I believe Erasmus summoned Uriel for him the first time.”
“Have you ever seen it?” Mephisto bounced in his seat enthusiastically, “I wouldn’t want you not to recognize it if you came upon it. It’s about six feet long. It’s made of dozens of little wooden figurines with jeweled eyes, all attached together.”
“Six feet! Hardly, Mephisto! Five feet at the longest,” I said, picturing the staff resting in the hand of Mephisto’s self-portrait statue.
“It used to be,” he spoke rapidly. “I … uh … made it longer.”
“How?” I demanded. “Father never mentioned anything.”
Mephisto shifted uneasily in the back seat.
“Uh, I had more compacts made, so I had to add more figurines,” he answered offhandedly, then continued with more animation. “But let me finish describing what it looks like. The very top has a winged lion head, then comes Uriel and celestial beings, like Pegasus and those guys. The celestial guys are all carved out of light-colored woods, like pine and birch. After that comes normal animals: cats and hounds and boars. These guys are carved from brown woods, like maple and beech. The bottom part had magical beasts: chimera, cockatrice, Nessie, my Bully Boy, seven hoods from D.C., you know, that kind of thing. They’re made of darker woods, like mahogany. The last figurine at the bottom is ebony. It’s a Horror of the Deep Abyss that Father met once in his travels. But I don’t call him up often. He smells.”
“Surprised you would notice,” Mab muttered.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Mephisto replied cheerfully, rushing on. “As I said, I had used it the night before. When I woke up, the staff was gone, and so was Chalandra. So I figured they had to have gone together. Bright of me, wasn’t it, Miranda?”
“Brilliant,” I muttered noncommittally. This was a discussion into which I did not wish to be drawn.
“Which reminds me,” Mephisto chirped. “What happened to Daddy? I mean, you said something happened to him, right? So, where is he? Is he better now? Why isn’t he here helping us? Or, are we on assignment for him, just like in the old days? That would be fun, I miss those days when we’d all go rushing off together to wrestle some recalcitrant rock troll that was shaking boulders onto the town at the foot of his mountain, or to mug some dopey sorcerer who had sicced an old hag on some pathetic rival.”
“I wish,” I said sadly. “Unfortunately, I don’t know where he is.”
“Well … what was he up to? I mean, you must know! You’re Miranda. You know everything! And besides, wherever Daddy goes, you go.”
“Not since he retired.”
“Oh.” Mephisto shrugged. “Oh, well. What a shame. I’m sure he’ll turn up. After all, he’s Daddy. He knows everything even more than you do.”
I considered pointing out to Mephisto that his comment made no sense, but Mab interrupted.
“Just a moment.” Mab raised his hand. “I … I got to ask. Why—I mean for what awful and occult purpose—could you possibly have needed to summon the Archangel Uriel, Potentate of Heaven, Lord of the West Quadrant?”
“I wanted to look good for my date.”
“You summoned up an Archangel of Heaven—an angel of the Choir of the Seraphim—to help you prepare for a date?” Mab asked, an incredulous expression on his usually stolid face.
“Yeah, angels are very good at decking people out in impressive raiment,” said Mephisto. “I recommend them to anyone who needs a valet.”
“North Wind blow this madness from me,” muttered Mab.
He shook his grizzled head in mingled disgust and awe. I chuckled at his expression, but my sympathies were entirely with Mab. Angels were the Breath of God, living Words whose presence made one aware of the majesty of Heaven and the shabbiness of mortal things. Summoning them for any reason made me uneasy, much less for frivolous purposes! The only forces more awesomely destructive than our enemies, the Powers of Hell, were the Powers of Heaven.
Mephisto was saying, “Anyway, when I found out it was missing, I went over to the hotel where Chalandra was staying.”
“This woman you had the date with. I assume she was someone important, if you felt you needed an archangel to dress you. You were planning to propose or something, right? How long had you known her?” Mab snapped.
“Oh, a long time,” Mephisto assured him earnestly. “Almost three days!”
“Three days? You summoned one of the Seraphim of High Heaven to dress you for a date with a dame you’d known for three days! By Setebos and Titania! You’d checked her out, I assume? Tell me something about her.”
“Checked her out? For a date? If I had to check out every girl I went on a date with, I’d never have time to do anything else, including going on dates with pretty women!”
“Surely you could take the time for a few precautions. How many women do you date a month?”
“Twenty or thirty.”
“He’s exaggerating, isn’t he?” Mab asked turning to me. “He’s bragging, right?”
I shook my head. “No. For some reason I have never understood, women seem to like him.”
“I see,” Mab said grimly.
“Anyway,” Mephisto rushed on, “I caught sight of her as she was heading across the lobby, carrying my staff. Then, she caught sight of me and ducked into the ladies’ room. I waited a little while, but she didn’t come out. So, I decided I wasn’t about to let the ladies’ room stop me. A bunch of ladies screamed when I looked in the stalls. But none of them were Chalandra, so I ignored them.
“The back window was broken, and the curtains were flapping. I leapt out the window and saw a man running down the back alley carrying my staff.”
“Was there any sign of this Chalandra character in the back alley?” Mab asked.
Mephisto frowned at the interruption. “What does that have to do with anything? Anyway, I ran after my staff, but the guy climbed into a truck.”
“Was this in Chicago?” Mab asked. “What did the man look like?”
Mephisto stamped his foot against the car floor. “Will you stop interrupting my story!”
“Do you want my help or not?” Mab flipped his notebook shut. “Never mind, ma’am. I suggest we give up. I can’t help this brother. And, if the others are anything like him, I don’t think I want to help them either, if it’s all the same to you.”
“You help me find my staff or I’ll … I’ll have Miranda fire you!” Mephisto exploded.
“I’m shaking in my boots,” Mab purred.
“Mab!” I began reluctantly.
Mab cut me off. “He’s the one who won’t answer questions, ma’am. Got to proceed in an orderly fashion, or we’ll get nowhere.”
I caught my brother’s gaze in the rearview mirror and said gently. “Mephisto, if you want his help, you must answer his questions.”
Mephisto pouted and crossed his arms.
“Very well.” I stepped on the brake. “We’ll turn around and give up. Mab won’t help you. We won’t help Theo.”
We were driving through miles of national forest. Dark pines flanked the narrow road. To the right, a dirt road led to a camping area. I pulled off the road here and began turning the vehicle around, my seat rising and falling as the car bumped over the deep ruts.
“Okay, okay!” Mephisto cried, as the tires spun on the sand. “I’ll put up with his rude interruptions for the sake of progress. After all, my staff is more important than my vanity.”
“Glad something is,” Mab muttered under his breath. I shot him a warning glance.
Turning the car about again, I drove back onto the highway and continued in the direction we had been going. The forest parted to reveal craggy gray cliffs. Half visible in the distance, white-capped mountains hovered like dark ghosts.
“What were the questions again?” Mephisto asked cheerfully.
“Did this happen in Chicago?” Mab replied through clenched teeth.
“No.”
Mab waited, but Mephisto did not elaborate. Sighing, he asked, “Where did it happen?”
“Washington … DC.”
“I see,” Mab made a note. “What did the guy look like? The one you saw running with your staff?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Stocky guy in a gray pinstripe suit, with bright red hair.”
“Ever seen him before?”
Mephisto hesitated, brows furrowed, then he shrugged and shook his head.
“Go on,” Mab encouraged.
“As I was saying, the guy climbed into a truck. I hailed a cab, and we chased him. It was just like in the movies. We were careening left and right, cutting off congressmen and buses! Just like James Bond or Knight Rider!”
“Did you catch him?”
The animated expression on Mephisto’s face died. “No. We had to stop for a light. That never happens in the movies!”
He shot an accusing glance at Mab, who sank back in the seat. Reaching up, Mab tilted his hat over his face and muttered, “I wouldn’t know.”
Mephisto continued to glare.
Mab sighed. “So then what? You left DC and came to Chicago. Why? Because the light was better in Chicago?”
Mephisto snorted impatiently and forged ahead. “I was heartbroken! And after I’d had such faith in the cab driver! But, he was worthy after all. You see, he had noted the truck’s license plate and its licensing number. You know, those numbers trucks have painted on their doors? The cab driver called a friend of his, who found the address of the company that owned the truck. We went there. It was a big warehouse in Maryland. Just as we arrived, I saw my staff going in the door. I rushed in after it, but I couldn’t find the staff or the man. They threw me out, but I went back after dark.”
Mephisto launched into a convoluted story that described how he snuck back in the dead of night and broke into the warehouse, but which also included what he had had for dinner that night, and the process he went through to have his fancy clothes dry-cleaned now that he no longer had his angel valet. His meandering tale was punctuated regularly by brisk questions from Mab.
The rhythm of the road and the constant scratching of Mab’s pencil lulled me into allowing my thoughts to drift. We had passed the state line and were now in Vermont. Thickly forested hills rolled away in all directions, dotted here and there with patches of snow. High overhead, turkey vultures circled, their ragged wingtips silhouetted against the winter sky. Closer at hand, the liquid eyes of deer watched our progress from beneath overhanging boughs of pine and spruce.
As I gazed out at the gorgeous vista, contemplating Mephisto’s story, I began to wonder, again, what had happened to him. He had always been athletic, but he had been nimble of mind as well. Back in his youth, whenever a puzzle confronted the family, Mephistopheles would invariably be the first to solve it. Things came naturally to him that others had to work hard to achieve. Erasmus might currently be the best magician in the family—other than Father, of course—but that was only because Mephisto had dropped out of the running. Nor was magic the only area where Mephistopheles had excelled. He had also been a master with a paintbrush and with a blade, at one point earning himself the sobriquet of “the best swordsman in Christendom.”
When Mephisto’s condition became apparent, Father devoted a century to searching for a cure. Then, one day, he ceased pursuing the matter. I questioned him about this more than once, but Father could be extremely cagey when he wished. To this day, I did not know if he had discovered something that caused him to back off or if he merely decided the matter was no longer worth pursuing.
* * *
In the back seat, Mephisto was finishing his story. “… had to run, but that was okay, because by then I’d broken open every object big enough to possibly hold my staff. I think … I might have made a mess.”
“Let me guess,” Mab drawled slowly, “You didn’t find it?”
Mephisto shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t in there, and no one carried it out. Between the cab driver and me, we watched all the doors. But one truck left between when I arrived and when I got inside.”
“And …?”
“That truck went to Chicago. So, that’s where I went!”
“Did you pay the cabby for his considerable investment of time?” I asked curiously.
Mephisto nodded. “I gave him my wallet.”
“Was there anything in it?”
“No, but it was a really expensive wallet, studded with diamonds! My brother Ulysses gave it to me. The cab driver was happy.”
“So, you followed the truck to Chicago?” Mab asked.
“Well, I started with the address the truck had been delivering to. I had found it in the office of the warehouse in Maryland. That’s how I knew where it had gone. But the place was empty when I arrived. It must have been a fake address!” He frowned and shrugged. “Or maybe I remembered it wrong.”
“How long between when the truck left Maryland and when you arrived in Chicago?”
Mephisto hesitated while he figured it out, counting on his fingers. Finally, he said. “Eleven.”
“Eleven hours?”
“No, eleven weeks,” Mephisto said. When Mab groaned, he added defensively. “It took me a while to get there. I visited Theo, Miranda, and Logistilla first. Oh, and I went by Cornelius’s to borrow money.”
Mab sighed. “One last question. What were you doing in Chicago when we found you?”
Mephisto answered cheerfully, “Oh, that’s easy. I was on my way to Daddy’s local office to borrow money. Only I’d been there to hit them up for dough already a few days ago—when I first arrived—so I didn’t know if they’d help me again. So, I was trying to make a little on my own.” Mephisto turned toward me. “Clever of you to come walking down the very road where I sat singing, Miranda!”
“Cleverness had nothing to do with it,” I replied, “My Lady directed me to walk that way.”
“What a good egg that Unicorn is!” Mephisto exclaimed. He put his chin on his palm. “She really knows her stuff!”
I cringed but did not rebuke him; calling my Lady a “good egg” was not, technically, disrespectful.
Mab took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Not much I can do here unless you want to give up the other matter, Miss Miranda. Trail’s a little old.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to investigate the workers at that warehouse and the Chicago address. Could you find the warehouse again, Mephisto?” I asked.
“Sure!” my brother chirped, “It’s right in the spot that I left it!”
“One would hope,” muttered Mab.