“I’ve got a guest room,” Owen said. “She can stay with me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“It won’t be any trouble at all.”
“I’ll owe you, big time.” I had no doubt that he loved me, but if he was willing to have my grandmother under his roof, then that was a true sign of devotion.
The flying carpet reappeared outside Merlin’s window, and he said, “You should go to the station. We will notify you if we find anything. In the meantime, I will focus my efforts on learning who could have—and would have—stolen and fused the Knot and the Eye. Whoever that is would be very dangerous, and letting that brooch loose on the world may be part of a greater agenda.”
As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, I thought. It was almost enough to make the prospect of another magic carpet ride less frightening. It wasn’t, however, enough to make stepping out of a tower window onto a hovering magic carpet less frightening. “You should install jetways for these things,” I said as I screwed up the courage to make the jump after Rod got on and extended his hand to help me. The carpet wobbled alarmingly as I boarded, and then again when Owen got on.
“Penn Station, my good man,” Rod told the tiny driver, and soon we were flying up Broadway. I suspected that in addition to the magical veil that kept people from seeing a flying carpet, there was a magical windshield that protected us from the full force of the air rushing past us at that speed—and from getting bugs in our teeth. My hair still blew around a little, but it was easier to conduct a conversation on a magic carpet than in a convertible with the top down on a highway.
“Why’s your grandmother visiting?” Owen asked me.
“I have no idea. One of my family’s weird magical powers is the ability to sense my stress levels so they can be sure to do something to escalate them. My mother was probably too busy to come bother me during this crisis, so she sent Granny.”
“I don’t know, I can’t imagine your grandmother ever being sent anywhere by anyone. She either goes of her own accord or doesn’t go at all.”
“And you still want her in your house?”
“I’m used to Gloria, remember?” Gloria was his foster mother, an elderly wizard just as fierce as my grandmother, though in different ways. “Besides, when I was in Texas, she talked to me some about potions, and I’d like to pick her brains. There’s plenty of potential research material there that doesn’t require magic.”