CHAPTER ONE
Monty’s phone rang as we drove downtown to meet Ezra. He handed me the keepsaker box as he reached for his phone. With the press of a button, he connected the call, sending it to the Dark Goat’s Bluetooth system.
“Prepodavatel—teacher. You need to come to building. Now.”
It was Olga. An agitated, angry-sounding Olga.
“What did she call you…preposition?” I asked under my breath. “She sounds heated for an ice-queen.”
“Stronk,” she said with her usual name-mangling. “Good, you are there. Bring Cece teacher to building—now. You have problem.”
She ended the call abruptly.
“When she says, ‘You have problem’, she means the royal you, right?”
“I think she means any ‘you’ that doesn’t include her. Turn us around. She sounded quite upset.”
“You’re concerned because she sounded upset?”
“Do you recall how you referred to Olga when she convinced me to take on Cecelia as an apprentice?”
“You mean when she threatened to deep-freeze The Moscow?”
“Yes. It was a subtle demonstration of her power.”
“Subtle?” I asked with a shudder. “I remember her freezing most of the table without so much as an eyebrow wiggle.”
“She doesn’t seem the type to fluster easily,” Monty said. “Anything that gets her disturbed warrants paying attention to.”
“Disturbed sounds about right,” I said with a nod. “I remember that convincing session. She turned her office into a fairly passable meat locker.”
At the mention of the word meat, Peaches, who was snoring in the backseat in a mega-sprawl, opened an eye and perked an ear.
<Are we getting meat?>
<No. Is that all you listen for? Is that your entire focus—really?>
<Is there anything more important than meat?>
<We’re going to the place soon. Go back to your nap.>
Peaches went from semi-alert to full-devour mode, including the drool.
<The place? Are we really? It’s been so long since I’ve eaten. I’m so hungry.>
<I guess we’re not going to count the several pounds of meat you ate an hour ago?>
<So long ago. An hour. I’m hungry. Will the old man have meat for me?>
I didn’t bother answering because I knew where the conversation was headed. Monty cleared his throat to get my attention. He somehow always knew when I was “speaking” to Peaches. Must be a mage thing.
“You referred to her as the ‘ice-queen building owner’, which, in retrospect, seems to be quite accurate.”
“You’re saying she is the ice-queen?”
“Not the ice-queen, rather an ice-queen or dignitary,” Monty answered. “I’m still waiting to hear back from my contacts at the Golden Circle. It does make sense, though, considering her level of power and the fact that she owns a substantial amount of prime real estate in this city.”
“Which would require serious wealth.”
“More importantly, considerable influence. No one who has approached her to sell has been successful. She must be connected to the Jotnar in some way, or they never would have entrusted Cecelia to her care.”
“Olga doesn’t seem like the type to fold under strong-arm tactics,” I said, making a U-turn on the Westside Highway at 23rd Street. “To own The Moscow, and keep it—she’s either a very effective business—woman, or dangerous. Or, more likely, both.”
“Indeed. Which means we have a problem.”
“You realize we’re putting Ezra on the back—burner to address this problem with Olga,” I said, stepping down on the accelerator.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a choice,” Monty said, glancing at me. “Ezra will have to wait. Hurry.”
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