The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

hopefully, tracking the movements of a small army of silent waiters bearing trays laden with full flutes. At her current rate, she would probably be pretty tanked herself by the time any of the other witches got tipsy enough to leave her alone.
At least Ella has a higher tolerance than Jane,
she thought anxiously, raising her glass and then self-consciously lowering it again. Even without the curves she had lost, the eight extra inches of height allowed for more food and drink than her old body could comfortably handle.
    ‘André, I’ve just been
dying
to get a moment with you. Would you excuse us, dear?’
    Jane blinked; Cora McCarroll had seemingly come out of nowhere, and deftly inserted herself between Jane and her date. She linked her arm in his and led him away before he could even open his mouth to protest. Jane froze, feeling as exposed as a deer in headlights.
    Halfway across the room, one corner of Lynne’s peach-lipsticked mouth twitched up, and then her black-and-white Chanel dress began to move purposefully towards Jane. Jane glanced around for some sort of cover, but saw nothing except a crowd of unfamiliar faces in her immediate vicinity. The plain, recessed wooden door that led to the back staircase was only a few yards away, practically taunting her with its nearness. Jane scowled at it, then turned back towards Lynne.
    But the vintage Chanel was no longer in view, because someone had directly blocked Lynne’s path. The sharply muscled planes of the woman’s exposed back and her severe black haircut were instantly recognizable: Katrin had put herself between Lynne and Jane. Jane held her breath expectantly for a short moment, but Lynne’s face did not reappear around Katrin. She was obviously eager to discover what Ella knew about her son, but not so eager that she would alienate the Dalcaşcus in order to find out.
Careful woman, keeping all her options open until one of them works out.
    Jane backed quickly towards the staircase door. The last thing she saw before she reached it was André, striding back to the place where she had been moments before, his face nearly as angry as Lynne’s. Jane shivered at the sight of him, feeling a moment of real fear. Her hands felt numb, but she forced them to work with the handle of the door until, finally, it swung open and she all but fell through.
    Jane’s breath rasping was the only sound in the suddenly silent air. She fumbled with the catch on her clutch, forcing it open with wooden fingers and fishing out the crumpled baggie inside. It contained four smaller plastic bags, and Jane turned one of them into a makeshift mixing bowl for the rest.
Annette Doran,
she thought fiercely, closing her eyes.
Annette Doran. Annette Doran.
A vision of the girl’s square jaw and dirty-blond waves of hair floated in front of her.
Annette Doran. Annette Doran. Annette Doran.
The girl’s dark eyes stared out of her golden skin and bored into Jane’s closed ones.
Annette Doran,
she thought violently, smearing the combination of powders on her eyelids.
    The stairway looked exactly the same when she opened her eyes again, and she fought off a wave of disappointment. The spell wouldn’t work until she saw something that belonged to Annette, so there was no real way to tell whether she’d performed it correctly. But Jane felt a strange, eerie tingling in her fingertips and eyelashes, and decided that magic was definitely happening.
    She tapped down the stairs as quickly as care allowed, stopping at the seventh floor. That floor was mostly bedrooms, including the one she had shared with Malcolm, so it seemed like the best place to start. Her heart pounding audibly, Jane entered the same code André had used for the main entrance, and was relieved when the door swung open. It was possible that the Dorans could have grown more paranoid since her great escape the month before, but all the keypads apparently still responded to the authorized codes. Jane, scanning telepathically for all she was worth, stepped into the corridor.
    It was dark and silent. Jane felt one of Lynne’s thousands of Oriental carpets beneath her feet, and she moved quietly to the nearest door.
Linen closet,
she realized disappointedly, closing it again quickly. The next one was closer to what she was looking for: the door revealed a high four-poster bed, a teak armoire, and a few overstuffed chairs near a mosaic-inlaid fireplace. The bed was perfectly made, the armoire looked empty, and the dim