But was it really? Was it my place to decide that?
Blythe cleared her throat, and Bob looked back at her. “Oh, sure,” he said, gesturing with his glass up the stairs. “Go on. I take it you know what you’re looking for? I figured it was jewelry or something.”
Blythe just made a vague sound of agreement that had me shooting a look at her, one she pointedly ignored.
I glanced over at Bee, who gave me a little nod, and I knew she was agreeing to sit downstairs and make small talk with Bob while we did our searching. Bee was pretty good at the whole “charming adults” thing, maybe even better than me, so it seemed like a safe bet.
“Whatever it is, maybe you’ll have better luck than that boy did finding it,” Bob said on a sigh, and Blythe suddenly sat up a little straighter, the corner of her mouth turning down.
“Boy?” she asked, and he nodded before frowning and rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“Yeah, came by . . . oh Lord, I guess it was around November of last year. Said he worked for Saylor’s boss, and that she’d sent him to pick up something for her. Seemed damn odd—pardon, girls, darn odd—but he had a business card, and . . .”
Bob’s words faded away, a puzzled look on his face, and I felt something in my stomach go cold. Whoever this boy was, he’d used magic on Bob, that was for sure. I’d seen that look of confusion on people after Ryan had done his Mage thing on them. It’s what Shelley at the motel had looked like when Blythe had finished with her.
And in Bob’s case, who knew just how much magic had been done on him over the years? There were Saylor’s spells, whoever this boy was—and what had he meant by Saylor’s “boss”? Alexander? Some other Ephor before they’d all been wiped out?
I reminded myself to tell Blythe not to even attempt a mind wipe here. Lord only knew what it might do to Bob after this much magic. I wasn’t even going to risk Ryan’s magic rose lip balm stuff.
“What did this boy look like, if you don’t mind my asking?” Blythe said, sweet as pie, and Bob’s hazy eyes shot to her.
“Oh. Well. He was . . . tall? Young, not much older than you girls. Figured he was an intern or something. Asian fella, handsome as all get out.”
That description wasn’t familiar to me, but Blythe’s lips tightened, and her hands, clasped in her lap, flexed a bit.
“Y’all need me to go up with you?” Bob asked, and we both shook our heads.
“No, we know what we’re looking for,” I said, even though I was pretty sure we didn’t. “Won’t be a tick.”
The stairs creaked slightly as Blythe and I made our way up, Blythe heading unerringly for the last door on the left past the landing.
“So who was the handsome guy?” I asked, and she glanced back at me. When she didn’t answer immediately, I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on,” I said. “You clearly knew who he was talking about.”
Another little frown. “Dante,” she answered. “Alexander’s assistant . . . another Mage.”
I raised my eyebrows at that. “Another one?”
“It’s a long story,” she replied. “And one we don’t have time for now.”
With that, she turned to the nearest door on her left.
“You don’t know what we’re looking for?” I whispered, and she tossed her hair over her shoulders, turning the doorknob.
“I’ll know it when I see it.”
Saylor’s childhood bedroom looked a lot like . . . well, like mine. Sure, it was still solidly stuck in the 1970s, but apparently Saylor hadn’t been a trend follower any more than I was. The bed was dark cherrywood, the coverlet white Battenburg lace, and other than a peeling poster of some band called Bay City Rollers—guys even more devoted to plaid than David—on the wall, there wasn’t much to mark it as belonging to a teenage girl. Still, I was struck by something as I stood there, looking out the window to the empty lot across the street.
“She was normal,” I heard myself say.
Blythe had already moved past me, opening drawers and rifling through them. “What?”
I glanced back out in the hall, worried that Bob would come upstairs and find us pawing through Saylor’s stuff. True, we’d told him we were looking for something, but I didn’t think he’d be happy with just how roughly Blythe was treating Saylor’s things. I wasn’t sure I was happy with it, to be honest.
“This is stupid,” I whispered to Blythe even as I crossed over to a bookcase and began to looking for anything resembling a journal or a diary. “We have no idea where she could have hidden a spell. Or why she left it here, for that matter.”