The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

deliberately misinterpreted it as concern. ‘I just wish I knew where
he
was,’ she added pointedly. She did wish that, even if it wasn’t the main thing on her mind.
    ‘He didn’t leave you any clues?’ Dee asked sympathetically.
    ‘Not one.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I told him to set up an email address to get in touch, but if he ever did, it was too realistically junk mail-like for me to even notice.’ She certainly had been getting plenty of junk mail since she’d become associated with the Dorans. Vendors were still fighting to work on her wedding, which had gone off in such spectacular fashion three weeks before. She twisted her lips wryly. ‘I think I got caught up in the
Mr and Mrs Smith
-ness of the situation, but I really probably should have been a little more specific. I really wish that I at least knew . . .’ Jane waved her hands vaguely; there was so much she didn’t know about Malcolm’s current situation that pretty much any information would be an improvement.
    A beach somewhere. Maybe some palm trees,
she reminded herself firmly, returning to the vision of Malcolm she had imagined earlier that day in the bank. His full lips curled up in the warm, tropical sunlight. Jane felt some of the tension in her body relax.
    Dee frowned, turning her champagne glass so the glow of the street twelve floors below them made gentle gold sparks in the liquid. ‘You read minds, though,’ she pointed out, although it sounded as though her mind was on something else.
    ‘I do,’ Jane admitted, ‘but I think I need to see the person. Or . . . not, because I did hear Malcolm’s mind when he was locked in the basement. So maybe I need to be nearby, or be able to see them, and I get a little more distance if I know the person . . .’ She trailed off and spread her hands helplessly. ‘I have no idea how this stuff works.’
    ‘I do,’ Dee said, still thoughtfully. ‘I’ve been putting all of those pity shifts at Book and Bell to good use, research-wise. I just have to sift out the nonsense from the rumours from the true stuff, which is much harder to do without a real, live witch to experiment with.’ She grinned, and Jane smiled back, but the amber eyes were still somewhere far away. ‘I think it’s time for bed,’ Dee announced, standing and stretching to her full, purple-pajama’ed height. ‘I’ve got a little reading to do, now that . . .’ she waved her long-fingered hands to encompass Jane, the apartment, and possibly the leftover pitas.
    ‘Sure,’ Jane agreed uncertainly. ‘I’m sleepy myself. Big day.’ But Dee was already vanishing down the high-ceilinged hallway that led to her room, and Jane sighed. No matter how dire things had been lately, she had a wonderful new roof over her head and a good friend underneath it with her. She felt a silly smile creeping back onto her face at the thought of the progress she had made towards fixing her life in just one day.

Five
    ‘W AKE UP !’ D EE ’ S muffled voice came from the other side of the door. ‘Jane, it’s, like, nine.’
    ‘G’way,’ Jane called back before burying her face in her squishy white pillow. The bars of sunlight creeping closer to the white rug under her bed made it clear that Dee was right about the hour, but Jane didn’t intend to care until the sun was directly in her eyes.
Which could take hours, with any luck.
Between strange nocturnal noises and her own nightmares, Jane hadn’t got a single full night of sleep in three weeks at the Rivington.
    Dee went quiet for a moment, and Jane could hear her shifting awkwardly behind the door. ‘Um . . . Misty’s kind of on her way, and mostly to see you. I hope that’s okay. She was all worked up, and I didn’t know you were this anti-morning.’
    Jane threw her pillow at the door. It hit the wood with a completely unsatisfying lack of thud. Then there was really nothing to do but swing her legs out from under the cream-on-white quilt and shuffle off to her en suite bathroom. It was tiny, but closing her eyes and standing under the waterfall showerhead, she could almost convince herself that the last month had just been a bad dream, and she was really on her honeymoon in Belize.
With Malcolm.
She sighed and groped blindly for a towel. The romantic part of their relationship was done; she was sure about that. Too many secrets; too many belated confessions. There was no amount of charisma, attentiveness, money, good looks, or even phenomenal sex that could