No Quest For The Wicked (Enchanted, Inc. 6)

we reached the address, the commotion Sam had mentioned became obvious. A stream of people carrying cardboard boxes poured out of the building’s front doors. Some of them were in tears, while others were livid with rage. “I don’t think their human resources people are doing a very good job with this,” Rod remarked. “It’s going to leave a toxic atmosphere among the employees who are left.”

“If this guy’s on a power binge, he may not care. He’ll want them living in fear,” Owen said. “Think you can get us into the building and up to the executive floor?”

“If they’re smart, they’ll have beefed up security to keep disgruntled former employees from getting to the boss, but I can deal with that,” Rod said. He whispered a spell and waved his hand, and we walked right past the lobby security guards to the bank of elevators. An elevator opened, and another group of box-carrying people got off. When the elevator was empty, we boarded, and then Rod did something to the control panel so that we went straight up to the executive floor, which should have required a special access key.

I had to yawn to pop my ears as the elevator shot upward. There was something wrong about this scenario, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. As the elevator slowed, I said, “Would someone on a magical power binge fire everyone, or would he want more minions to do his bidding?”

The two guys looked at me for a moment, frowning. “He might want to choose his minions instead of taking what he got, or he could be testing their loyalty,” Owen said. The elevator stopped and the doors opened before we could discuss it further. “You getting anything?” Owen asked Rod softly as we left the elevator.

“You mean like a sudden and inexplicable lust for power that’s drawing me toward something? Nope.” He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “However, I see something else that’s drawing me.”

I followed his line of sight and saw a buxom blond receptionist sitting at a desk that looked like it could control the space shuttle. I elbowed Rod in the ribs. “You’re dating my roommate,” I reminded him through clenched teeth.

“Sorry. I can’t help it if my eyes still work.” He adjusted his cuffs and straightened his tie. “Leave this to me.” He put on his most charming smile and sauntered over to lean on the receptionist’s desk.

As Owen and I stood back, watching him work, Owen said, “I was always impressed by how he does this sort of thing, but now I’m even more amazed.” Part of Rod’s success with women had to do with the fact that he used a handsome illusion to cover his rather plain real appearance. The rest of it was because when he turned on the charm, he did so magically. He’d supposedly stopped using an attraction spell on everyone when he started dating my roommate Marcia, but he hadn’t let go of the illusion. I’d always seen his real face, and now that the illusion no longer worked on Owen, he had a best friend who looked totally different from what he’d known since college.

The receptionist tossed back her head and laughed at something Rod said, then he leaned closer and favored her with a huge smile before turning and coming back to us. “I don’t think this is it,” he said. “It feels wrong, and I don’t think someone like her would be out here and happy about it if her boss had the Eye in his office.”

Before he finished speaking, Owen was already on the phone to get the information on the other possibility. His magically enhanced phone worked even in the elevator rocketing downward, and when he ended the call, he turned to Rod. “Are you absolutely certain? Because Minerva said the energy around the other Jonathan Martin is happy.”

“I’d be happy if I had ultimate power and invulnerability,” I said.

“The boss did mention a container that dampens its effects,” Rod suggested. “If they put it back in that box when they sold it, he might not be affected by it at all.”

“That would make things a lot easier on us,” Owen said. “It might also keep the elves from finding him if they’re going by seers’ signs instead of having a name.”

In the building lobby, we got caught up in the mass of box-carrying former employees heading toward the exit. “It’s too bad this one wasn’t our guy,” I said. “Then we might have been able to help these people by taking away his power.”

“Then again, if this is what he does with power when it’s not magically enhanced, what would he have been like with the Eye?” Owen said before jumping forward to help a woman get her cardboard box full of desk toys, photographs, and potted plants through the front door.

I shuddered. “Good point.”

It was now lunchtime, and the downtown sidewalks were even more crowded. Sam led us to the next address by way of alleys and side streets. When he came to rest on the awning over the building entrance, he said, “I’m not seein’ any elves around here. We may have beaten them.”

“Or it may be the wrong place,” Owen said wearily.

“Hey, chin up, kiddo!” the gargoyle said. “There’s no point in givin’ up this soon. You can’t get a strikeout with one pitch.”

This building’s lobby was more posh than utilitarian. The building was relatively new, but the décor gave the illusion of stability and tradition, with lots of carved dark wood, oil paintings in gilded frames, and upholstered furniture. Rod’s magic got us past the lobby security guards to the elevators and then to the restricted executive floor.

The executive lobby was even more posh than the main lobby had been. It looked like the sort of club where men meet to drink brandy, smoke cigars, and call each other “old chap.” The receptionist’s desk was so large that I had to wonder what the executive’s desk was like. You could probably play table tennis on it.

This receptionist wasn’t the office trophy wife type. She was the real wife type, which made me suspect that the trophy wife was at home. This was the kind of woman who served as an external brain for her boss, keeping track of all the little details of his life at the office and at home. She was middle-aged, conservatively dressed, and looked exhausted.

She greeted us with a wary smile. “May I help you?” she asked.

“We’re looking for Jonathan Martin,” Rod said, exuding his usual charm.

Either she was immune to magic or she just didn’t waste time on smooth talkers, because she didn’t melt the way women usually did when Rod hit them with the full whammy. Instead, she gave him a frosty smile and said, “Mr. Martin has gone to lunch. It’s his fiancée’s birthday, so I don’t expect him back until late.”

I thought I detected something familiar in her tone, so I signaled for the guys to let me handle this. “Sounds like his fiancée’s a piece of work,” I said sympathetically. “Let me guess, she acts like you work for her, too—and they’re not even married yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “I practically have to curtsy to Her Royal Highness while I’m picking up her dry cleaning and making appointments for her.”

“Yeah, I’ve worked for one like that. And you know Her Highness has to go somewhere really special for her birthday.”

“Naturally. I had to make the reservations for the Twenty-one Club weeks ago. He’ll get all the credit, of course, though he did get the gift this time, which is an improvement.”