The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

make up for what had already passed between them. Still, she could imagine worse company to be stuck in a jungle paradise with . . . and after seeing how thoughtfully he had prepared for their post-Lynne life, she was more concerned than ever about his well-being.
He should have someone looking out for him as well as he’s looked out for me,
she thought sadly, shrugging into a terrycloth robe the apartment’s owner had clearly stolen from a very nice hotel at some point.
Which reminds me: once I find out what Misty wants, the rest of the day will just have to be a shop-a-thon.
    She followed the scent of coffee and something richer into the kitchen, and pulled a chair up to the small, spindly table. The ivory granite counters were covered in reusable shopping bags with food practically exploding over their tops. Dee, looking annoyingly efficient and wide awake, plunked down a smooth white espresso cup and a matching porcelain ramekin in front of Jane.
    ‘I was going to just do scrambled eggs,’ Dee explained, ignoring Jane’s death glare, ‘but I don’t know if French people even eat them that way, or if scrambling them is all vulgar and American. So I did them
en cocotte’
– Jane winced at her friend’s appalling version of a French accent – ‘and there’ll be toast.’ Something popped in a corner behind Jane, and she jumped awkwardly in her chair. ‘Toast!’ Dee cheered, leaning across the table to flip a couple of perfectly browned slices onto Jane’s plate.
    Jane carved a creamy wedge of egg out of her ramekin, dropped it on a corner of toast, and bit. The crispy, creamy, salty, and rich combined into a perfectly extraordinary bite, and Jane sat up a little straighter in her chair. ‘Okay. So Misty’s coming?’
    ‘Um.’ Dee plunked down in the other chair, then reached out automatically to stir something on the stove. Steam rose from the pot, and Jane’s stomach growled. She stuffed some more egg into her mouth to keep it calm, and waited. ‘Remember how, last night, you said you were worried about Malcolm and wanted to know if he was okay?’
    Jane tried to wash her bite of egg down with some espresso, but the combination was even tastier than its individual parts, and she decided to savour the food and nod instead of speaking.
    ‘Well, I kind of remembered this thing in Browning’s – like a spell – except I couldn’t find the exact one I wanted. But then there was something similar in this manuscript from – oh, well I don’t have the manuscript, anyway, but they refer to it in
The History of Ritual,
which refers
back
to Browning’s, which makes no sense. So I called Misty, and she actually has the manuscript, or at least a copy in some
other
book, which Rosalie Goddard – you remember her? – referred to as source material for—’
    Jane waved her toast in an impatient ‘get on with it’ motion before taking another chunk out of it with her teeth.
    ‘We think you can find Malcolm. Or see him, or see
with
him, or something we don’t really get, but it should put your mind at ease either way, don’t you think?’
    Jane considered rushing to swallow again, but couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Instead, she leaned across the table, holding her toast safely out to one side, and hugged Dee loosely around the shoulders. She sat back and decided to give her resourceful friend a thumbs-up for good measure.
    ‘Cool. All you need is something of Malcolm’s, to focus the magic on, and Misty’s bringing the rest.’
    Jane wiggled her left hand pointedly. She still hadn’t put her wedding ring back on, but in the safety of the apartment, she had given in to the temptation to put the five-carat, emerald-cut diamond back on her ring finger. It was a lot of ring, after all, and she had had a relatively short amount of time to enjoy it during her whirlwind engagement.
    But Dee shook her head. ‘That’s not Malcolm’s; it’s yours. This is the tricky part: it has to be something that really belongs to the person you’re looking for, present tense. Something meaningful to them, that they would consider their property.’ Jane’s face fell, but Dee waved her concern away. ‘I know it’s a pain, but it’s a good thing if you think about it. Otherwise witches would be able to find you from, like, a napkin you used and left on the table. Or a closetful of designer clothes that you abandoned in someone else’s Park Avenue townhouse in a bit of a hurry,’ she reminded