Gooseberry Bluff Community College of Magic: The Thirteenth Rib by David J. Schwartz

Author:David J. Schwartz [Schwartz, David J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2013-02-12T05:00:00+00:00

As it turned out, she was lying about more than a couple of things, because after walking a few blocks south, past an El station and a couple of bus stops, she decided that the neighborhood was a bit chancier than she had anticipated and turned around. She called her sister for some directions, then caught the Green Line at Lake Street, got off at the Circle Line transfer point, rode that southeast to the Orange Line northbound, and took it to Halsted.

She had no trouble finding the Nightwood Restaurant, but she had forgotten to ask the name of Rosemary’s ex-boyfriend, who was supposed to be a sous-chef here. Rather than call her sister back, Joy settled into a table for two in the corner and ordered the salmon.

She tried thinking the warehouse dead-end through, to find another angle to question the landlord from, but she found her thoughts drifting back to Markie Malone and Agent Renard. You were starting to like him, weren’t you? She had gone to Malone’s house, accepted his hospitality, and allowed him to dictate how she perceived him. Just like the dinner party with the Thirteenth Rib. Those people had brought her in, filled her up with delicious food, and told her a bunch of things that were likely to be at least partly true but were almost certainly not the whole story. And yet, if one of the true things they had told her was that someone in the FBMA had been somehow compromised, that meant she couldn’t really trust anyone there, either.

“I really hope it’s Flood.” Only after the people at the next table looked over at her did she realize that she had said this out loud. Luckily her salmon arrived at that moment and put everything else in the world out of her mind for a few minutes.

She was still in a state of salmon bliss when she got on the El afterward, so she didn’t notice that she was the only one on her particular car until a couple of stops out, when a man and a woman got on. The woman wore a black turtleneck, black army-style pants with a wide black belt, black boots, black gloves, black-framed glasses, and a black cape with a clearly visible red lining. She undid the clasp of the cape and swept it dramatically off her shoulders, set it on the bench across from Joy, and sat down on it as the train lurched into motion.

The man wore a gray suit with a black tie and stood holding on to a pole. His aura was red, but the woman’s was the deepest red Joy had ever seen — the sign of someone who left nothing to chance.

“You are Joy Wilkins,” the woman said. “I understand you have been looking for me.”

Joy was still wearing her Beretta in a shoulder holster, but she was sure that the man would be on her before she could take it out. She cleared her throat.

“You seem to know me,” she said, “but I don’t know your name.

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