Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5) - Allyson James Page 0,27

to repair the thing, and Fremont found you at a sci-fi con in Tucson?”

Flora shrugged. “Funny how things work out. Anyway, I need to finish, or I’ll get behind, and Fremont asked me out to dinner.”

She beamed at me and bustled away up the stairs.

I watched her go, my mouth open again. Flora gave me a little wave before she knocked on one of the guest room doors, then opened it with her key and slipped inside, humming a little tune.

I made myself turn away, entered the saloon, and caught Cassandra’s eye. She was busy being gracious hostess, but she finished with the customers and came to me, and we moved back into the kitchen.

“Flora?” I asked her.

Cassandra actually let down her cool facade to look chagrined. “Sorry, Janet. I don’t like to hire people without asking you, but she’s fine, and we needed the help. No taint, no sign that she works for someone like Emmett.”

“Did she tell you she thinks she can fix the magic mirror?”

Cassandra nodded. “I don’t know if I believe her, but she insists she can do it. Not that I let her near it while you were out.” She paused. “You talked about having dreams. What happened in them?”

I shook my head. “I think I was reliving when I first met Mick, which probably was a good dream. Why’d you all wake me up?”

I was joking, but Cassandra gave me a dark look. “Visions can be compelling, Janet. Don’t let them seduce you.”

“No worries there.” I tried to sound reassuring. “It was only a dream induced when I was knocked on the head by a demon slave.” Or so I kept telling myself.

Cassandra went back to the customers in the saloon, and I made my way to my office. There I found a note on my desk from Mick.

Gone to meditate and make some phone calls. Be back for dinner. Mick.

I’d have known the note was from Mick even if he hadn’t signed it. He has the best handwriting of anyone I know. While many guys these days write with a scrawl if they bother writing at all, Mick’s handwriting could have been taken from the Declaration of Independence. But who knows? He might have helped with the final copy of the thing.

The fact that he left the note warmed me. A year ago, he would have simply disappeared with no explanation and then expressed surprise that I worried about him. The notes were a courtesy to me.

There was absolutely nothing for me to do in my office. Cassandra had taken care of all the details. Orders were up to date, reservations neatly input, every room filled but not overbooked. The staff had gotten paid as well, the invoices done and the data sent to the paycheck service without error.

I felt superfluous, so I left the hotel in Cassandra’s capable hands and struck out across the parking lot to Barry’s bar. It was open, going full steam under the dusky sky, and Barry was taking a delivery through the back door.

I’d never seen much expressiveness in Barry other than a scowl or careful neutrality, but when he saw me, his craggy face lit up with gladness.

“Janet! Heard you finally woke up. You all right?”

“A little shaky, but not bad,” I said. “Thanks.”

The relief in Barry’s eyes was clear. “We were seriously worried. Mick, man … I thought he was going to die. He’s really into you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I shrugged. “Well, I’m okay.”

Barry looked embarrassed now. He wasn’t good with outpouring of emotions. “So what’s up? Want a beer? On the house.”

I doubted I should drink after being out for two weeks, so I declined. I wasn’t much good with alcohol at the best of times. “Can I take a look around inside? I want to go over the sort-of scene of the crime.”

“Sure, but nothing happened after you and Mick followed those guys that night,” Barry said. He waited until the deliveryman went past with a dolly stacked with crates of beer, then ushered me inside through the back door. “It’s been quiet—well, as quiet as my regulars ever are.”

The barroom was full, the place fairly dark. Guys were drinking, talking, playing pool, or with arms around women who were as tough as they were. I scanned the room. I was looking for auras—unusual ones, demon ones. Anything out of place.

I found nothing. Everyone here was human, no doubt. I recognized most of them as regulars, and any