The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

conciliatory-looking desk agent handed the unhappy woman a new key card, mouthing what looked distinctly like profuse apologies. Jane rolled her eyes and fished the cherry out of her drink. Was Ella the type of person who made a scene to get stuff for free? It would distinguish her from Jane, but hopefully there were enough other differences between them that such desperate measures wouldn’t be necessary. She bit into the cherry, letting the soft burn of the liqueur spread to every corner of her mouth.
    The woman at the desk spun on one totally overkill-for-daytime stiletto and headed for the bank of elevators on the far side of the lounge, and Jane’s gasp caused half of the cherry to lodge in her throat.
Mystery Witch.
Even without the sunglasses, there was no doubt: the woman who had been stalking Jane all over Manhattan was now in her brand-new hotel. Jane tried to inhale, but couldn’t, around the cherry. She coughed instead, which helped, and then glanced around for the closest emergency exit.
    But how is she even doing this?
her mind complained.
Did Lynne hide some kind of tracking device under my skin?
The theory was a little too plausible to laugh at, especially now that Mystery Witch was bearing down on her at an alarming rate.
Screw this. If she can find me here, I’m just going to have to fight her and be done with it.
Jane turned a little in her chair and started pulling in her magic. She didn’t have as much time as she had had for the last week’s prepared spells, but she had the major advantage of fury working for her, and she had a respectable amount of power burning before her eyes before Mystery Witch had drawn even with her.
I should question her first,
Jane realized in alarm.
Also, fighting to the death is
so
not appropriate in public.
    As she hesitated, Mystery Witch swept past her and into an open elevator, leaving a cloud of L’Air du Temps in her wake.
    What the—?
    Jane looked around, completely baffled now. Mystery Witch hadn’t even seemed to see her . . .
because I’m not me,
she realized finally. Her stalker hadn’t followed her all the way to the Upper East Side; Jane had moved to the Upper East Side and stumbled across her stalker. At her hotel. By chance.
    Jane finished her drink in a hurry and signalled the bartender for another one. Following Laura to brunch had been a lot of good planning combined with a lot of good luck, but this was just pure serendipity, and it was hard to wrap her mind around. She was literally right under Mystery Witch’s nose, and the other woman had no idea. With a little ingenuity, Jane could find out who had sent her and what she wanted, and figure out her next moves accordingly.
    Her fresh drink arrived, and Jane reached for it eagerly. The rim of the glass was at her lips before she noticed that it had come to her in the hands of Tall, Dark, and Handsome from the corner.
Ella really
is
one lucky girl,
Jane decided, smiling coyly at the stranger. From this close she could smell the rich, musky leather of his bomber jacket, and she inhaled deeply, letting its pheromones saturate her brain.
    ‘When I saw you here, I thought,
This beautiful woman must be having a very bad day, or else a very good one,’
Tall, Dark, and Handsome told her softly. His voice was low and soothing, with just a trace of an accent that made Jane hope he would speak more. ‘So I felt I must come to you and ask you which it was.’
    Jane nodded to the chair across from hers, and the man slid into it with the controlled grace of a panther. ‘It’s been a bit of both,’ she told him honestly, running a finger around the rim of her glass.
    ‘Improving, I hope,’ he offered with raised eyebrows that suggested thoroughly insincere humility, and Jane smiled a little. Something about him reminded her of the men she had flirted with in France, before she had met Malcolm.
I wish I could place the accent,
she mused.
    Every movement and gesture of his said ‘Old World’, and Jane automatically copied her friend Elodie’s cool confidence along with her borrowed accent. ‘I suppose that depends on how good the company is,’ she told him, leaning back slightly in her chair as she sipped her Manhattan. This one didn’t burn her throat on the way down, and she guessed that she was already tipsier than she had realized through her adrenaline haze.
Good thing I don’t have to fight, after all,
she decided,
although flirting with this particular man might be nearly as