“Because,” he continues, “there’s nothing witches value more than secrecy. The last time the public found out about our existence it didn’t exactly end well. No witch would risk exposure by confronting a sorcerer in so public a place as the Chinese Theatre.”
“Or the Getty,” I mumble, remembering the news report. My footsteps sputter to a halt as I consider this, Paige stopping next to me.
“Right. They’ve been hopping around from one L.A. landmark to another for weeks, never staying in the same place for long.”
“So what’s the plan?” I call to Bishop’s back.
“What plan?” he answers without turning. “I’m the one who said we shouldn’t come here unprepared.” He steps onto the escalator. We scramble to follow him, lest we be left alone in the garage.
“Sorry for thinking you might have some brilliant idea,” I pant, out of breath. “You know, since you’re supposed to be a warlock.” I cross my arms and glare at him. Which, I have to say, is much less effective when you’re gliding slowly up an escalator to instrumental soft-rock music.
Bishop laughs. “You know, your mean face is pretty sexy.”
Ugh.
“Okay, I have an idea,” Paige says.
I take a reluctant pause from considering how best to maim and injure Bishop to look at Paige.
“Okay,” she says. “Bishop, you use your little magic thingy to get inside. Check out the situation, and then report back to us so we can come up with another plan.”
Bishop shakes his head and tucks his hair under his hat. “Fantastic. So look, if you’re not coming, then you might want to hang back.”
I huff, the neon of Hollywood Boulevard coming into view over the lip of the escalator. “So what are you suggesting, that we wait in the car?”
He steps off the escalator and turns to face me. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. But you’re perfectly welcome to follow me.” A smirk plays on his lips. He gives me a little wave before vanishing into thin air.
18
I’ve lived in Los Angeles my whole life and have never been inside the Chinese Theatre. Outside is another story. I’ve driven or walked past it zillions of times, taken pictures of celebrities’ footprints and handprints on the Walk of Fame, and camped out across the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of Katy Perry at the premiere of her 3-D movie.
But I’ve never been inside. Which seems dumb, because it’s an L.A. freaking landmark! Either there’s been a huge line for tickets, or the movie I wanted to see sold out, or Bianca wanted to see something playing at another theater. I don’t know, but I’m slapping myself for it now. If I knew the layout of the place—the battlefield, as it were—rescuing Mom would be that much easier. And I would have to rely on Bishop that much less.
Paige and I lean over the dash and scan the garage for signs of Bishop.
“Maybe he didn’t go inside,” I say. “Maybe he just got mad at us and left.”
Paige shakes her head, bangs shuffling over the rims of her glasses. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not? He took off before.”
“But your mom wasn’t in danger.”
“What does he care about my mom?”
“He cares about you, obviously, or he wouldn’t have come back.”
I snort. “Oh yeah, he really cares about me.”
“Has it escaped your notice that the two of you have done nothing but flirt since the minute you met?”
I laugh. “You obviously don’t know what flirting is. We’re fighting. Big difference.”
“God, are you really that blind? It’s like in kindergarten when a boy pulls a girl’s hair. He likes you.”
I shake my head. “No way. And in any case, he’s a jerk. I would never be interested in him.”
It’s her turn to laugh.
“He’s completely not my type, Paige. He wears leather. He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks. He’s wearing a freaking beret!”
“It’s not a beret, it’s a beanie. A slouchy beanie. And you know it’s sexy.”
“Sexy?” I draw back to get a better look at her. “You can’t be serious.”
She shrugs.
“What, do you have a crush on him now or something?”
“Why, would that bother you?” She cocks her head, waiting for my reply.
My mouth opens and closes before I get a handle on what I should say. “No! Not at all. If you like him, go for it.”
She doesn’t look convinced. I change topics.
“What could be taking him so long?”
Paige looks out the window at the shadowy corners of the garage. “Getting the layout of the place, I guess.”
Neither of us mentions the idea that maybe he’s been caught, even though we’re both obviously thinking it.
A group of clubgoers totter around the corner, talking and laughing loudly. We edge up in our seats to look for Bishop, because there are scantily clad girls involved and it’s entirely possible he got distracted. But he’s not there.
“Should we check on him?” I ask.
“Yeah, no. If Bishop can’t get in and out safely, we most definitely won’t be able to.”
Before I can argue, something lands on the roof of the car with a jarring thud.