The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

any threat of legal suspicion, it did nothing to make Dee any safer from the witches’ retaliation.
    ‘Ja— Are you kidding me? Is that you?’ There was a scuffling noise, and Jane guessed that Dee might be taking her phone to a more private place.
She’s probably at that Misty woman’s bookstore,
Jane reminded herself.
There might be customers.
Dee’s oldest friend in New York owned an occult bookstore, and Jane had been fairly sure that Dee would go there to lie low. ‘Wait.’ Dee’s voice came a little more clearly through the speaker now. ‘Actually, I think I need you to prove that it is you. I don’t really know what’s possible for . . . you know . . . people like you.’
    Jane felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. ‘ “People like me”? Seriously? Fine: ask me something only I would know. Ask me about how I nearly set your living room on fire during that Wicca meeting, or about the cookies you gave to Mal— um, my husband – to give to me on my wedding day, like a total reckless idiot. Which were delicious, by the way.’
    ‘Damn right they were.’ Dee chuckled, and Jane could hear that she was smiling, too. ‘I’m at Book and Bell,’ she went on. ‘Misty’s been putting me up on her couch, but I’m hoping I can sublet from one of the girls who was at that Wicca meeting when she goes to Peru next month. Everything’s fine over here, but Jane, I’ve been reading the tabloids. Are
you
okay? The phone number you’re calling from is . . .’
    . . .
a 917 number,
Jane realized.
A Manhattan cell code.
    ‘Jane,’ Dee whispered, and Jane heard real fear in her voice. ‘You’re still here. But they’re looking for you, which means that they haven’t found you, so . . . Jane, I don’t get it. What the hell are you doing?’
    ‘Renting an apartment,’ Jane quipped brightly. ‘Wanna be roommates?’
    There was a long pause, during which she wasn’t even sure that she could hear Dee breathing. ‘Yes,’ Dee answered finally, although Jane could hear a ‘but’ coming, which she hurried to cut off.
    ‘Cool. I don’t remember the exact address, actually, but I’m about three blocks west of Washington Square Park. Meet you under the arch at six? I’ll need a little time to get the paperwork taken care of, and you’ll probably need to pack everything up from your . . . couch.’
    ‘Washington Square at six,’ Dee repeated dutifully, and then lowered her voice to a husky whisper. ‘Jane, are you sure this is safe for you?’
    ‘I’m done with the cringing-in-a-dark-corner thing,’ Jane announced firmly. ‘I’ve got some unexpected resources – courtesy of the people who cost us our old jobs and apartments, in an indirect sort of way – and I’m ready to get back into the game here. Oh! And before I forget: my name is Caroline Chase now.’
    Dee giggled throatily. ‘Do I get a code name, too? Can I be Anna Chapman? I think I have time to pick up a red wig.’
    Jane rolled her eyes at the phone. ‘Absolutely not. Although, now that you mention it, I’m a brunette these days, too.’
    A heavy sigh came from the receiver. ‘You couldn’t have picked a disguise that flattered your complexion?’
    ‘You sound like my mother-in-law,’ Jane growled playfully, and Dee laughed.
    Jane ended the call and looked around. She was pretty sure that she hadn’t said anything that would tie her to her old life or the tabloid stories about her, but the real-estate agent might understandably be a little curious about why her newest renter had recently changed her name and appearance.
Must find out if there’s a way to erase memories,
Jane noted to herself. It wouldn’t be the nicest, most ethical use of her magic, but it would certainly come in handy now and then.
And now.
She had had some success in tampering with someone’s mind, she realized: just before her escape from the Dorans’ mansion, she had been locked in the attic with Malcolm’s crazy brother, Charles, whom their mother had hidden from the world due to the severe damage her magic had done to him during her last dangerous pregnancy. It had been a desperate attempt to have a daughter who could inherit Lynne’s power, but poor Charles had turned out less than satisfactory in absolutely every regard. When she had been imprisoned in the attic, Jane had persuaded him to help her by reorganizing the thoughts in his head, moving them around like squares on a Rubik’s Cube to convince him that they were friends.