“But . . . but I’m the only Pythia,” I said as the brunette witch dragged me back.
“Witch’s Companion here,” a tiny voice piped up, from somewhere behind me. “We were wondering if you could share a favorite recipe? Maybe a nice fall soup?”
“It has been noted,” the Oracle thundered, “that they match the description of similar creatures glimpsed occasionally through time, and described by some of our most illustrious scholars—”
“Hang your illustrious scholars!” the brunette witch growled, getting in between me and what, at a guess, were a bunch of magical microphones. “I’m telling you, I was here first!”
“First to find her isn’t first to press,” Crystal Gazing’s avatar said condescendingly.
“The Pythia’s first interview cannot be given to a rag like Graphology,” the Oracle agreed, despite the fact that Deino was trying to root it out with her tongue.
“What?” The brunette bristled. “What did you just call—”
“Rag,” Crystal Gazing repeated helpfully. “He called your paper a rag, dear.”
“Or . . . or some decorating tips?” Witch’s Companion said, fluttering around hopefully. “We’re doing the fall cover on quilts—”
“No more than it can to Crystal Gazing,” the Oracle continued pompously. “Which has no better quality of journalistic integrity than—”
“I beg your pardon?” His companion no longer sounded so amused.
“—the majority of American so-called newspapers—”
“Just what are you implying?”
“He’s calling your paper a rag, dear,” the brunette said acidly.
Crystal Gazing bristled. “May I remind you that my paper has been in press longer than either of—”
“Trash always sells. That does not make it any less trash.”
“Bitch said what?” Crystal Gazing demanded. And then went up in flames when the brunette held a lighter under it.
“More than one way to start a fire,” she told Fran?oise.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER IS IN—”
“You’re a reporter?” I asked the brunette, pretty unnecessarily at this point.
“What?” Augustine’s profile appeared over Enyo’s shoulder. The tallest and scariest of the sisters had slapped him on her back facing the other way so he couldn’t look directly at us. But that didn’t stop him from trying. “Are you here to cover the fall line?”
Everybody ignored him.
“Not a reporter,” the brunette told me quickly. “Carla Torres—call me Carla—”
“I have a few other suggestions,” Crystal Gazing muttered, from a burnt-up wad on the floor.
“—senior editor for Graphology,” Carla said, smiling at me determinedly. And grinding the remains of the competition to powder underneath a stylish black heel. “A considerably better choice for you than that ridiculous tabloid Crystal Gazing, or that pompous British toady to the Circle—”
“If you mean the Oracle,” Deino’s captive commented, “you could at least have the courage to say so.”
“I thought I just did!”
“And the girl?” I asked.
“My daughter.” She shoved more frizzy hair out of her face. “You’re rumored to like children. I thought you might find a kid charming—”
“That keed?” Fran?oise said, only to have the mother glare at her.
“You couldn’t have just come up and introduced yourself?” I asked.
“Oh yes!” Carla threw out her hands. “Yes! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“With respect, what do you think we have been attempting to do for weeks now?” the Oracle asked, a little indistinctly, since Deino had managed to push it over into one cheek.
“But you’re never in,” Carla said. “Or you’re never up! Or those damn vampires you live with find some other reason that ensures no access—”
“And we were informed that you don’t have an appointment secretary yet,” the Oracle added, disapprovingly.
“—so when I spotted you in that ridiculous disguise—”
“It’s not a disguise,” I said.
“—which might have fooled the others, I don’t know, but I’ve been doing little except staring at a picture of your face for weeks! I’d know you anywhere, and I’ve been camped out in this damn hotel for days. I barely sleep, I rarely see my family, and I strongly suspect I smell—”
“I wasn’t going to mention eet,” Fran?oise murmured.
“—but damn it! I will have that interview!”
“Or perhaps a pie?” Witch’s Companion burbled. “We have our annual bake-off coming up, and we would love to feature an entry by—”
“Shut up!” everyone told her.
She shut up.
“Well, how about it?” Carla said, breathing a little hard. “You can’t avoid us forever. And, frankly, I know some of my colleagues. If you don’t tell your story, they’ll tell it for you. And after the merry chase you’ve led us, believe me, it won’t be a version you’ll like!”
“That sounds a lot like blackmail,” I pointed out.
“It isn’t,” the Oracle said. “It is—I am loath to admit—merely a cogent commentary on the state of our once great profession. Where will you find a Thomas Bowlby these days? Or a Sir Henry Stanley? ‘Dr. Livingstone, I presume’ has been replaced by celebrity gossip and sycophantic fawning, and I shudder to think what the future may hold for—”
“A ‘she’s right’ would have sufficed,” Carla said dryly.
“My dear woman, I was merely attempting to—”
“Prove that it’s impossible for you Brits to say anything in a single sentence? I’ve often wondered if it actually pains you.”
“Not nearly as much as working with the likes of—”
“Trust me, you would never be working with—”
“Who are all these people?” Witch’s Companion suddenly asked.
“What?” the Oracle said huffily. “What people? My girl, we are trying to discuss important—”
“These people on the concourse. They’re everywhere, and it’s not even ten o’clock yet.”
“The concourse? Where are— My God, she is!” he told someone, sounding outraged. “The little strumpet snuck down while we were distracted and is trying to steal a march on us!”
“I’m not a strumpet!” Witch’s Companion said, her voice coming through clearly, but also hiccupy, as if the owner was being battered around outside. “At least, I don’t think so; I don’t know what that is. And I’m not trying to steal anything. I just want to show the Pythia our latest issue, but these men won’t let me—”
“It’s the damn paparazzi,” Carla snarled, staring at the shop door. “We sit here for weeks and then someone tips them off—”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” the Oracle said. “Everyone knows you obtain half your stories through bribery, chicanery, and deceit—”
“At least we get stories that aren’t a month old! When was the last time you had a scoop?”
“Hey!” Witch’s Companion said. “Hey! Let me go! I don’t want to—”
“We are not concerned with ‘scoops,’” the Oracle said proudly. “We are concerned with the proper reporting of factual, well-researched, well-supported—”
“Can I yawn now?” Carla asked.