Joan’s apartment was six blocks from the shopping district. As they walked, people stared at them, some jumping off the sidewalk into snowdrifts to make way. A powerful, unnerving experience, being a wizard. Beatrix was reminded of when she’d followed Peter to the same destination, her first full day on the job. That had been a Saturday, too.
And there it was—Edinger’s. She glanced at Ella, who had on the same false face she’d worn to Miss Sadler’s house. Ella gave her a thumbs up.
“You’reexcited,” Beatrix murmured.
“Maybe just a bit.” Ella had dipped her voice back into the lower registers she’d used so effectively with Miss Sadler. She reached for the door. “After you, Brown.”
The shop appeared to be empty. Beatrix took in the overwhelming mixed-spice smell of the place, which this time she was prepared for, and walked down the right-hand side of the shop to look for the clerk, dizzy with anticipation and nerves. The medicinals section rose up around her, and the memory of her trip here with Peter overlaid itself in ways that added to her sense of vertigo.
“Let’s see … Palmetto berry, papaya, passion flower …” The muffled voice sounded like the clerk muttering to himself on the other side of the shop. “Oh dear. I’m afraid we’re all out of it.”
“Fuck.”
Beatrix froze. The man was helping another customer. A customer who had to be a wizard.
“But I can special-order it for you, sir. That won’t take long.”
They had to get out.
“Howlong?” said the customer, irritation infused into both syllables.
Beatrix poked Ella and pointed to the door. Ella held up a hand, listening intently.
“By Tuesday at the latest, sir.”
“Tuesday!That’s three days from now! I need to take care of this problemtoday, do you understand me? Today!”
Ella’s eyes widened. She grabbed Beatrix’s arm and pulled her deeper into the medicinals as footsteps announced the men were headed to the front of the shop.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” the clerk said.
“It’s pure incompetence not to keep it in stock.”
“We don’t get much call for that here, sir.” For the first time, the clerk’s voice held a faint whiff of disapproval. “Perhaps you would have more luck in Washington.”
“No,” the wizard said sullenly. “I can’t do that. Get me the stuff as fast as you can.”
“Yes, sir. I will, sir. Now, I’ll just ring up your other purchases …”
Beatrix listened to the sounds of crinkling paper and rearranged packages, feeling calmer. He wasn’t going to stick around. He would take his purchases and go.
“Here you are, Wizard Draden,” the clerk said.
Draden. Good God, was this the vice president? It didn’t sound like him. Could it be?
She walked softly toward the front of the shop and peeked around the aisle. A man in perhaps his late twenties—not the fiftysomething VP—snapped into view. Dark eyebrows. Sharp nose. He looked familiar, an echo of somebody she’d seen daily in newspaper photographs. It had to be Draden’s son.
“Call me the moment it comes in,” this Draden demanded. He pivoted, caught sight of her and narrowed his eyes. Then he swept out.
That was when Beatrix remembered that Ella grew up on his street and probably knew him. She turned around. Ella was staring at the door, arms wrapped around herself, the very picture of shock.
“Are you OK?” Beatrix whispered.
Ella blinked and nodded.
“Hello—Rivera? It’s Bryant,” the clerk said, apparently into a telephone. “Do you have any pennyroyal in stock?”
Ella’s eyes went even wider. Then she squeezed them shut. Beatrix cast her mind back to her brewing book and its detailed descriptions of ingredients—what was pennyroyal for? She didn’t recall any references to it.
