When Merlin hung up, Owen stood and said, “We’d better be going.”
“I want to see this,” Granny said, planting her feet solidly on the floor in front of her chair.
“I would prefer that you stay, for the moment,” Merlin said. “It may help if you have firsthand knowledge of who is getting in your way.”
When Minerva arrived, I was shocked to see the professionally dressed woman with her. She’d seemed too normal to be a magical spy. It didn’t appear that she knew why she’d been brought to Merlin’s office for a meeting. She carried a notepad and looked very much the way I must have once looked when I’d been Merlin’s assistant and went with him to meetings.
“Please, have a seat,” Merlin said to the newcomers with an expansive gesture. “Thank you for coming on such short notice on such a busy day.”
Minerva sat across from Merlin and beckoned to her associate. “Come on, Grace, sit over here by me.” She’d positioned the possible traitor so she’d have to get past all of us to get to the door.
“I thought it was a good time to update everyone on the status of our project,” Merlin said. “We’ve run into a few obstacles, the first of which being that we appear to have someone within the company working at cross-purposes to our operation. Someone has provided misleading information to our team, has withheld useful information that should have been easily obtained, and is sending information about our team’s activities to people who are interfering with and even attacking our people.” If you didn’t listen to his words, Merlin’s tone sounded like he was starting any ordinary staff meeting. He even looked perfectly calm and neutral.
But as Grace heard his words, her face went as white as her blouse. She jerked back in her chair, like she was trying to shove away from the table so she could flee, but Minerva reached over and pushed her chair back up to the table. “Now, Grace, the meeting’s just getting started,” she said.
Merlin continued as though there had been no interruption. “Do you have any input on this matter, Miss Spencer?”
Grace stammered, then blurted, “I don’t know anything about it.”
“You brought me some reports not too long ago,” Merlin said.
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“While you were here, I took a phone call and discussed where our people would go next. Our enemies happened to converge on the spot I mentioned, very soon after you left my office. I find that interesting, don’t you?”
Grace glanced from side to side, as though trying to decide whether she was more afraid of Merlin or Minerva, but she kept her mouth shut.
“And here’s the interesting part,” Merlin said. “They weren’t really there. It wasn’t a real phone call. What you overheard was bait.”
“And you took it, honey,” Minerva concluded, sounding more disappointed than angry. I recognized the tactic from the way my dad dealt with my brothers. The tone of disappointment was far more painful than anger. “Now, why would you go and do something so silly? I’m dying to hear who you’re really working for. I’ve been under the mistaken impression that it was me.”
A battle seemed to rage within Grace, as she wavered between continuing to play innocent and throwing herself on her boss’s mercy. She went with an entirely different approach that I didn’t think any of us saw coming. She straightened her spine and looked down her nose at Minerva as she said with a sneer, “Because I believe in true magic, not in power that is so bastardized by the modern age.”
Owen reached for his pages of spell notes, a light dawning in his eyes. “You mean, the only good magic is the pure magic from the old grimoires,” he said softly.
Her face lit up, losing the anger and wariness that had been there a moment before. “Yes! We are wizards. We have no need for technology. Long before anyone invented the engine or ways to generate and use electricity, we had power—true power. And we have weakened ourselves by not using it that way.” Her eyes glittered with the depth of her passion, but then they turned hard and cold as she glared at Owen. “You’re one of the worst—you, who took old spells and created new things out of them, taking away their purity.”
“So, you’re like magical Amish?” I asked. “Anything modern is wicked?” Now I saw her conservative business attire in a new light—and I came to the uncomfortable realization that I’d liked her outfit because it was almost identical to mine. Her hairstyle was more severe, and her blouse was buttoned up all the way, but everything she had on could have come from my closet. I’m making Gemma take me shopping this weekend, I thought as I surreptitiously unbuttoned another button on my blouse.
