The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

knee-length black boot in next to its mate. Everything had fit just fine on the way from New York, but she had also been a lot less upset when she had packed the first time around. With a hiccupping sob of a sigh, she dumped everything out onto the carpet and began again, rolling and folding and angling each item as carefully as she could manage through the tears that were finally starting to fall.
    So I go back. And then . . . and then . . .
And then nothing that she could think of, she admitted with a regret that bordered on nausea. She had nine days left as Ella, and she would have to keep being Ella for all of them. And after that she would have to go back to being Jane – or, more realistically, Amber Kowalsky or one of the other names on the passports Malcolm had given her, until she could get some fresh ones of her own.
    She felt even sicker when she thought of her daring plan of staying in New York – right under Lynne’s nose, she had gleefully thought at the time. It was certainly true, but now there was nothing gleeful about the idea. It was just plain reckless; it had been from the beginning. She had been revelling in risking her neck because of some far-fetched theory that she might somehow take down the formidable witch who held all the cards. Jane, an orphan just barely scratching the surface of her own power, wasn’t some scrappy underdog who was about to shock the world by turning the tables. She was just an underdog. Sooner or later, Lynne would find her and put her down.
    She surveyed the room; there was nothing left to do at all except book herself on the next flight back to New York. She was sure, though, that that wouldn’t be until morning . . . and in the meantime she would just have to begin her useless waiting right where she was. She sat down heavily on the bed again, then reached over and dialled the front desk. She told the crisp British accent on the other end that she would be checking out in the morning. He assured her briskly that he understood and then clicked off, leaving her with a buzzing dial tone.

Thirty-two
    J ANE STARED AROUND Ella’s now-familiar suite at the Lowell Hotel. Everything was just where she had left it, although the sharp corners of the linens and total absence of dust confirmed that housekeeping had been busy while she was gone. A blank-faced bellhop arranged her navy suitcase on a stand in the bedroom, then ducked out again before Jane had the time to remember that Americans usually tipped for things like that.
    She sighed and flipped her gold Vertu open, pressing the ceramic power button lightly. To her surprise, when the screen glowed to life, it informed her that she had three messages waiting, the first one more than two days old. After staring at the date for a moment, Jane realized that she must not have bothered to get any kind of international plan with her fancy new phone. She rolled her eyes and tapped the keys to play back the messages, hoping she hadn’t missed anything urgent. The middle one was from Elodie (who obviously did have international roaming), but the other two were from Dee.
    I should just go back to the apartment,
Jane thought fretfully as she listened to the first one. In it, Dee wondered where Jane was, told a funny-but-you-had-to-be-there story involving Kate and a piping bag, wondered where Jane was, again, and hung up.
I can’t believe we’ve got so far apart. . . I didn’t even think to tell her I was leaving town.
    It was true: she had been so worn out after the second spell she had done to find Anne, then so preoccupied with André the next morning, that it hadn’t occurred to her to check in with her friend. She almost hung up immediately and called Dee back, but then she remembered the third message on her phone, and decided to finish them all first.
    ‘Hey, Ella,’ Dee’s throaty voice began, as careful as it always was now that Jane was in disguise. ‘I’m not sure where you are – hopefully somewhere good – but I wanted to let you know I won’t be around this weekend. Harris’s folks invited us out to their place in the Hamptons. Can you believe I’ve lived in New York so long and never been? Anyway, back on Tuesday, and if I don’t hear from you by then I’m breaking into your hotel to look for clues. So call me, okay?’
    Jane ended the call and sat looking at her phone for a few silent minutes. In the hours since her frantic packing in London, her misery had faded into a sort of fragile numbness,