Part 4 (2/2)

CHAPTER 11.

I marched up to the very modern and very imposing gla.s.s building near the Neuilly Bridge, and stopped. Shaking Mandy and Jaylene had been easier than I'd expected. A quick detour to a public toilet to change out of my dowdy disguise, leaving my cell phone so it couldn't be tracked, and a simple cloaking spell. Yes, using the spell for personal gain was going to bite me, since all magic use came at a price. But today I was willing to pay it to get some answers and confronting Bran with my two shadow guards was not the way to pull info out of him.

Besides, I'd already earned so many black marks today between using powerful dark magic and killing preternaturals, I figured how much worse could the backlash get? And if my team asked me what happened to my phone I could say I'd lost it leaning over one of the many bridges crisscrossing Paris.

So here I was, ignoring the clouds whisking across the sun, leaving me wis.h.i.+ng I'd brought along something warmer than my black hoodie, even as I shook myself to focus on the task at hand.

Leave it to Bran to house his Paris offices in not only the tallest building in the city, but one that, because of its alignment with the Louvre and l”Arc de Triomphe, thumbed its nose at the older, stubbier landmarks around it.

The three wings created a whirling, spinning wheel effect, reflecting the mid-morning light in all directions. It was enough to make me dizzy.

But if that's where Bran was, that's where I had to go.

As I shouldered past dark-suited men and women who looked down their noses at my jeans and sweats.h.i.+rt garb, I wondered how they survived in this cold stone and steel city. The only trees around were lined up soldier-straight along the boulevards or regimented in contained parks. You couldn't even hear bird song over the surging traffic everywhere. The only wildlife were pigeons, and even they seemed to blend into the grays, whites and pale stone colors everywhere.

As I swung through the revolving door into a marble and gla.s.s foyer I admitted a wobbly smile. I was mentally b.i.t.c.hing at the city when my real target was Bran. He belonged here and I didn't. It was as simple as that.

Taking me away from my Mud Lake, Idaho roots was one thing. But facing a man as powerful and arrogant as Bran in a place that suited him to a T, only threw up our differences more, made my stomach knot and my hands grow clammy.

Sure he'd said I was a stronger a witch than I believed was, but that had been at a time we were still on speaking terms. Before I'd managed to get his cousin killed. Besides, strong witches could control their abilities. My gifts were hit or miss and that wasn't good.

”c.r.a.p,” I mumbled under my breath, wondering how the h.e.l.l I found the CEO of Bran Inc. in a place this large with only enough French phrases to order breakfast and find a bathroom. And I had trouble with that.

Looking around I spied a half-moon desk with several young, snooty looking types behind it, acting busy and important, but at least they answed the questions of people who approached them. Either that or telling everyone to go to h.e.l.l with tight smiles.

But I'd been born a Noziak, which meant being willing to face danger head on instead of crawling away, no matter how much the latter sounded like a great idea. What could a few suits do to me?

Using hand gestures that made me look like a windmill run amok I spoke to the first woman who was free behind the desk. ”Ou is Senor ...” d.a.m.n that wasn't right. ”Bran.” I made a tall height gesture with my hands. ”You know? Big mucky muck. Clothes?” This time I used both hands to indicate an hourgla.s.s figure, which caught the attention and earned humma-humma smiles from the nearest males on both sides of the desk.

Get real.

I could feel my face heating. ”Bran?” I raised my voice, feeling like every stereotype of a stupid tourist who used volume over language skills. ”Monseigneur Bran. Dove?” That was the French word for where, wasn't it?

Behind the desk the woman's nose pinched tighter, her smile so thin-lipped she was going to cut herself.

h.e.l.l, if I couldn't even find him how was I going to ream him a good one? Extra for putting me through this exercise in patience. Not my strong suit.

Blowing out a puff of air, I glanced around before trying a different approach. ”Does anyone here speak English?” I asked, throwing up my arms.

”Of course,” came the snippy reply from the woman whose look said so much more, and none of it flattering.

Bite me.

I was tempted to reach across the counter and curl my hands along the woman's precise navy-colored suit lapels and shake her a good one. Probably not the best move for American-French relations. So uncurling my fingers one at a time and pasting on a smile that said WTF loud and clear in several languages I asked, ”Then how do I find him?”

”Fiftieth floor,” came the snippy response.

Of course. Not the penthouse but d.a.m.n near. Why hadn't I thought of that. A quick look around had me pausing again, turning back to the woman, already ignoring me like her life depended on it.

”Excuse me?” The woman didn't look up.

I cleared my throat. ”Excuse me, Miss?”

Nada. The guy next to her cast us both a wary glance then went back to talking to a balding woman in front of him.

Okay, I'd tried to play nice. Now I'd play it the Noziak way. So I leaned forward and lowered my voice to a syrupy sweetness. ”Hey b.i.t.c.h?”

That had the French woman's head snapping up.

”Yes, you,” I continued, leaning even closer. ”Where are the elevators?”

The woman waved to the west.

”Merci. And have a good day,” I chirped, feeling so much better about bearding a warlock in his den.

CHAPTER 12.

By the time I reached the fiftieth floor my optimism was flagging. Or maybe it was the uncomfortable carnival-ride feeling my stomach got every time I rode an elevator. Mud Lake didn't have enough buildings in it to need elevators past the third floor and most of them were so old I could run up the stairs and beat them to my destination.

That free-floating feeling got worse as I spoke to Bran's receptionist who looked like the twin of the woman downstairs.

”Si non possible,” the receptionist shrugged and shook her head at the same time, which helped me get the message. Why didn't Bran have a bilingual receptionist? But who was I to complain, my only other language was sarcasm.

”Pourquoi?” I asked, glad of the one word I had down pat. Why?

The woman rolled off a spat of French that sounded nice but meant nothing to me. So I used the universal shrug and raised hand response I was learning to perfect.

”Un meeting. Very, very important.”Why hadn't I thought about that? Of course Bran would be up to his s.e.xy eyeb.a.l.l.s in meetings. But it wasn't like I could make an appointment with him either. He'd probably like that, but I wouldn't and he'd no doubt blow me off.

So what now?

I glanced at the closed office door. Stay and wait like a good girl or barge in on this very important meeting?

Flas.h.i.+ng a quick he-won't-blame-you-I-hope smile at the receptionist whose shoulders relaxed, I ambled over to a series of frou-frou chairs around a gla.s.s table. Trailing fingers along the magazines resting there, as if I read these all the time, not. I waited until the receptionist turned away before I marched to the door.

I was going in!

”Mais, mademoiselle!” the receptionist squawked. But it was too late, I was already b.u.mping the door closed behind me on the incensed woman.

”It's not her fault,” I said as I stepped deeper into the room just in case the receptionist decided to ram the door. Then I stopped, looking around at the s.p.a.ce that made my dad's farmhouse look like a shanty in comparison. The floor to ceiling windows along one wall were enough to bling me blind even if they had that special glare-coating stuff on them. Feeling as disjointed as Kelly was after doing her disappearing act, I blinked to get oriented and then wished I hadn't.

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