She tilted her chin upward, her ever-changing eyes meeting mine. We stared at each other for a long beat, her expression guarded, mine probably even more so. Then I bent my knees slightly and tossed her onto the sofa. She bounced once, twice, and she let out a surprised laugh.
“Gracias,” she said, breathless.
“Anytime,” I muttered, tugging at the laces of my worn boots. I hated to leave them behind—they were my favorite pair. I slipped out of the shoes and leapt, landing with a thud onto the wood floor beside Romero.
“What do you think activated the spell?” Inez asked.
I thought for a moment. “Blood perhaps?” I pointed to a few dropsstaining the surface. “It’s actually clever to use the rug as a deterrent for thieves. I bet the owner found several such ordinary objects and placed them in all of the rooms.”
Inez spun around, eyeing the various knickknacks strewn about. There were paintings and quills, picture frames, stacks of paper. Anything could be enchanted.
“What now?” I asked, gesturing toward Romero.
“I could say he fainted,” Inez said suddenly. “And call the others in? Perhaps someone can run off for help?”
“Or we could just leave as if we’ve concluded our business,” I said.
“I’m not leaving without the address,” she said fiercely, alchemical eyes burning gold. “While I bring in as many people in here as I can, you go sneak into the other offices and find my mother’s file.” She gripped my lapel. “Por favor, Whit.”
As if I had any right to deny her anything at this point. “Better put those acting skills to use, Olivera.” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.
Inez against the world.
“Say that he fainted and hit his head on the way down. It will at least help explain why the spell might have been activated and why we’re not wearing shoes.”
Inez nodded, moving toward the door. She placed a light hand on the knob. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
Then she tugged at her hair until some strands escaped, and her expression changed to one of horror. She swung open the door and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Help!”
My wife knew how to be dramatic. I could hear her crying and carrying on all the way down the hall. I had finally found the cabinets where all the files were hidden and was thumbing through them one by one. The bank didn’t have many clients, but even I recognized some of the high-society names.
“What are you doing in here?”
I turned to find one of the bank workers standing within the doorframe.
“I’m looking for an address,” I said, almost apologetically. This room had exactly one desk, covered in notebooks, stacks of receipts and paper, stationery, and one silver candlestick, which would do nicely. I didn’t want to use my knife if I didn’t have to.
He stepped inside, anger etched across his brow.
“I’m almost done,” I said politely. “If you’ll just—” I threw the candlestick at his head. The man crashed to the floor, his mouth gaping. I turned around to rummage through the files and finally found the one I was looking for.
Lourdes Fincastle.
Time to get my theatrical wife before someone offered her a job onstage.
Why was there never a cab when one needed one? I glanced up and down the street, Inez panting next to me. I had to hand it to her—she had cried, had pretended to faintherself, and then she had allowed smelling salts to be used on her. A bank employee had, indeed, run off to the medic, while another had dashed off to buy us new shoes. We would be long gone before they returned.
I looked back at the bank uneasily. Someone was bound to come running out when they discovered the second unconscious man in the back office. I gestured for her to follow me down the block.
“Did you get it?” Inez whispered breathlessly. “The address?”
“Of course,” I said, and winced when she cheered. No one was louder than my wife. “Now all we need is someone to take us back to the hotel.”
“It isn’t too far,” Inez said. “Why don’t we keep walking?”
“You’ll ruin your stockings,” I warned. “The road is very dusty.”
