Damsel Under Stress (Enchanted, Inc. 3)

Keeping my eyes on it, I edged my way back to the bed. “What are you doing in here?” I asked in a whisper.

The creature blinked in surprise. “You can see me?” it asked. I would have expected something that small to have a high, squeaky voice, but its voice was rough and husky, as though it had smoked a couple of packs of cigarettes a day for a couple of hundred years.

“I’m a magical immune,” I explained. “Your veiling spell doesn’t work on me. But you haven’t answered my question. Who are you and what are you doing in my room?” In my dealings with the magical world, I’d yet to run into anything like this. There was something elfin about its features, but it was to the elves who worked at MSI what a raisin is to a grape—shrunken, shriveled, and brown. It had long, wispy white hair and wore a shapeless brown garment with an apron tied around its waist. I might have guessed it was a female, but these days it’s dangerous to make assumptions like that based on hairstyle and stereotypical gender roles.

“I keep house for the family,” it (she?) said. “But no one’s supposed to know. Mistress Gloria would be most upset if her secret were out.” She rolled her Rs and had the slightest trace of a Scottish accent. “You won’t go tellin’, will ye?”

There was something vaguely familiar about this situation, an old story I’d once heard. I had a mental image of sitting in a circle of girls while wearing a brown beanie. “Hey, you’re a brownie!” I said. One of the first things we’d done at my very first Brownie scout meeting was listen to the story about the helpful little creatures who worked in the night.

The brownie rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. What would you think, that I was a fairy godmother like your friend there?” Then she looked concerned again. “You won’t be tellin’, will ye?”

“No, of course not. Though I think it would actually make her son feel better if he knew she had help. He’s worried about her.”

She frowned in thought—at least, I thought she was frowning; as wrinkled as her face was, it was difficult to tell—then said, “Fine. He can know once you’re gone, but he mustn’t let on he knows. The mistress couldn’t bear that.”

“Have you worked here long?”

She went back to her dusting, talking as she worked, “Oh, I lose count of the years. The boy was just a wee thing when I came to this house. I’d known the mistress before, though, and she gave me a home when my own was torn down. This is my way of makin’ it up to her for her kindness.” She gave the mirror a final swipe. “Well, now, I have dishes to do, and you’ll be needin’ your sleep.” She disappeared before I could tell her good night or wish her a merry Christmas. As I settled back onto the pillow, I wondered what was next. At this rate, Saint Nick would have needed Rudolph and the Grinch with him to be the oddest sight of my night.

Fortunately, I was able to sleep the rest of the night without any magical interruptions. I woke early the next morning, my subconscious too afraid of annoying Gloria to let me sleep late. I dressed in Gemma’s red sweater and a pair of black slacks, put on a touch of makeup, then opened my bedroom door and stuck my head out into the hallway to try to get a sense of the situation. Owen’s bedroom door was still closed, which made me hesitate to go downstairs. I didn’t want to be alone with James and Gloria, and the faint sound of voices downstairs told me they were up. They’d been nice enough so far, but I wasn’t sure I was yet ready for a lot of alone time with them. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be the last one downstairs.

This looked like a good time to make use of that squeaky board in the hallway. I took a deep breath and stepped outside my room, aiming for the spot that would make noise and hopefully signal to Owen that I was up and about. But just as I hit the squeaky board, Owen’s door opened and I found myself face-to-face with him. I didn’t have fast enough reflexes to stifle my yelp. Owen caught my arm to steady me when I wobbled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

“How do you do that?” I blurted.

A flush rose from his collar to his hairline. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s subconscious. I honestly don’t plan it.”

“Are you two up?” Gloria’s voice called from downstairs.

“We’re on our way down right now,” Owen replied. He then held his arm out to me. “Shall we?”

Gloria had a light breakfast of sweet rolls laid out on the dining table, which was set with china. I had a feeling the brownie had something to do with that. I couldn’t help thinking how great it would be to have one of those.

After we ate, we went into the parlor, where James and Gloria took seats on the sofa. I imagined they’d have a difficult time getting down on the floor, and a more difficult time getting up again. Owen settled himself cross-legged on the floor by the tree, and I joined him. It seemed that their custom was for Owen to hand the appropriate packages up to his foster parents.

“This one’s for the two of you from Katie,” he said, handing Gloria my package. My heart instantly started beating faster. My humble handmade offering suddenly seemed entirely inadequate.

However, Gloria was more than gracious when she opened it. “This is lovely, thank you,” she said, her words almost thawing around the edges. “Did you do this yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s one of the ways I work off stress, other than baking.”

“It’s very nice. I used to do needlework, but my hands and eyes aren’t quite up to it anymore.”

Owen’s gifts to his parents, which I’d helped him pick out, were big hits, and he even gave me credit for helping with the selection. Owen was equally pleased with the muffler I gave him, jauntily tossing it around his neck and over his shoulder even though the room was quite warm. I was even warmer, thanks to the way he smiled at me as he thanked me. The room temperature shot up a few more degrees when he gave me his gift to me.

It was a delicate locket, oval instead of heart-shaped like Ethelinda’s, and the chain looked almost fragile. “Wow, it’s beautiful,” I said when I opened the box. And it was, but it was also a little uncomfortable opening something like that in front of his folks. Jewelry generally meant you’d moved pretty far along in a relationship.

Apparently, Owen was conscious of the same thing. He turned an impressive shade of red and hurried to say, “It’s not the locket itself that’s important. It does have some gold in it because that’s essential for the spell to work, but the important part is the spell. If it works correctly, it should amplify your sensation of magic being in use nearby. Since you don’t see illusion, you might not know that there are layers over reality that other people see. I know you’re getting better about feeling the use of power, but this should help, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re immune or not. The locket reacts directly with the magic in use and responds in a way that you’ll feel.”

“That’s kind of cool. I wouldn’t dare wear it at work, though. I’d be buzzing all day.”

“It shouldn’t hurt,” he clarified, “But yeah, you’d probably want to save it for times when you’re away from the office or away from known magic users, in general.”

James looked as fascinated by the idea as I was. “Was that something you found in—” he started to ask, but Gloria cut him off.

“Not now, dear. You and Owen can talk shop later. We’re opening presents at the moment.”

Owen leaned over and took the locket out of the box. “Here, put it on, and then we can test it.” I lifted my hair from the back of my neck so he could fasten the clasp, and the touch of his fingers on that already sensitive spot sent the rest of my nerve endings into overdrive. It was a good thing that wasn’t the kind of magic the locket amplified, or I’d have exploded on the spot. As it was, I was fairly sure there would be no more pretending to Gloria that we were nothing more than co-workers. She was sharp, and she had to have noticed the steam coming out of my ears and the way I couldn’t help but squirm when he touched me.