Page 6 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“But not inaccurate.” He started up the steps.
The grand staircase was more of the same carved dark wood and I was relieved when I could see a glimpse of the upper hallway, which was just as overdone as the floor below but with coved plasterwork on the ceiling featuring grapesand vines and musical instruments that ran the length of the passageway above cheery pale yellow walls.
“If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you to the Museum of Literature, Zoe?” Jasper paused one step below the top.
“I don’t mind.” I glanced over my shoulder at him as I stepped onto the landing, noting we were now the same height.
“But you’re not going to enlighten me?” He cradled his book to his chest with one hand while he ran his other hand through his unruly hair. It fell back into place as if it knew exactly how to frame his sharp cheekbones to their best advantage.
“How do I know I can trust you with such top secret information?” I asked. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to flirt. I was trying to divert his attention with nonsense because I had no idea how to explain the mysterious book in my bag.
“A secret? Are you on a mission?” He cupped his chin with his hand and narrowed his eyes. “Now I’m intrigued.”
His deep voice and direct stare were too much to handle and I felt myself get flustered, which, for the record, never happened to me. I turned away from him to study my surroundings and get my bearings.
Across the landing was an enormous portrait of a man and a woman sitting on a settee with a cocker spaniel at their feet. Judging by their Gilded Age clothing—an off-the-shoulder gown trimmed with lace for her and a black jacket and white shirt, collar points up, held securely by a white bow tie for him—I assumed they must be Thomas and Mabel Stewart. They gazed at each other with such devotion. I found myself wondering if it was true love or if the artist had manufactured their look of affection.
“Mabel was the love of Thomas’s life and she was his,” Jasper said as he moved to stand beside me.
“I was just wondering if the artist had purposefully enhanced that look between them,” I said.
“He had no need to. By all accounts, theirs was a genuine love story.” I turned to find a very tall, very curvy, blond woman approaching us. I knew from the pictures I’d seen online with her bio that this was the museum director. She held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Claire Carpenter.”
“Zoe Ziakas.” I clasped her hand briefly and let go. Claire’s hair was up in a neat French twist, accentuating her cheekbones and long neck. She wore a dark gray pencil skirt, spiky black heels, and a flattering silk blouse in a shade of blue that perfectly matched her eyes. If I lived a thousand lifetimes, I would never possess her effortless style.
“Welcome to the museum,” she said. “I see you’ve met Jasper.”
“He was kind enough to escort me here.” I turned to him. “Thank you.”
“It was a…pleasure.” Jasper looked me up and down as if trying to figure me out. Then he smiled. “I’ll look forward to hearing more about your secret mission, Zoe.”
Claire glanced between us and I felt my face grow warm. Why was this awkward? There was no reason to feel weird just because this incredibly hot guy was a little flirty with me. He was probably like that with everyone, which made the heat in my face even more mortifying.
“See you at this afternoon’s meeting, Claire.” He nodded at her and then turned and strode down the hallway.
“Nice to meet you, Zoe.” Claire smiled and it lit hereyes, making it feel genuine. “Agatha has told me so much about you.”
Quite intentionally, after an exhausting and overly dramatic childhood, I’d chosen to live a very quiet life, preferring the company of books to people and my home to social events. Given that, I couldn’t imagine what Agatha would have told Claire about me that could be longer than a sentence or two, and even that could only be managed if Agatha was embellishing. I assumed Claire was being polite, so I returned her smile.
“Agatha is all the family I have, so she might be a tad biased.”
“That doesn’t make her wrong.” Claire gestured toward the end of the hallway. “Shall we talk in my office? You can show me the book there.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s perfect.”
I walked beside her. She was several inches taller than me and she glided down the hallway with a confident stride. Since I only wore my spiky heels for annual library board meetings, my gait was not nearly so smooth. More like the galumphing of a seal on land, to be honest, but I did try to step lightly with marginal success.
The double doors we approached were antique paneled glass. One stood open and we entered an anteroom with more decorative plaster and a chandelier overhead. Judging by the second set of fancy doors on the far side of the room, we were in an assistant’s office. The desk was vacant, but the space was extremely tidy.
“My assistant, Sebastian, went to fetch us some refreshments,” Claire said. She led me through the second set ofdoors into the coolest office I’d ever seen. It was massive, with arched windows that overlooked the lawn and gardens below, the reservoir and park to the west, and all of Midtown to the south.
Built-in bookshelves lined the other windowless walls, and they were packed. An immense mahogany desk was on the far side of the room while a seating area with a couch and two armchairs was in front of a cold fireplace.
There were two people already there and they stood when we entered. They were both tall like Claire, but where she was robust, they were on the lithe side. The man had untamed pure-white hair, which seemed even more so against his tanned complexion and gave him a mad-scientist vibe. He completed the look with wire-framed glasses, a brown cardigan over a blue-plaid shirt, and khaki pants.
The woman was strikingly pale and dressed all in black, from her turtleneck sweater to her wool pants and pointy suede shoes, which didn’t help her unnatural pallor at all. She had a thick mass of dark hair held in a clip at the nape of her neck, and her features were handsome rather than pretty, with a square jaw, high cheekbones, and dark eyes framed by arching eyebrows, one of which had a small scar severing it in two.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Claire said to me. “I invited our head of Special Collections and one of his staff to join us.”
