Once Upon Stilettos (Enchanted, Inc. #2)

Once Upon Stilettos (Enchanted, Inc. #2) Page 44

“Mom!” I protested, but it didn’t do any good. She was on a roll.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to wear a little more makeup so you don’t look so bland. Maybe you should wear more lipstick, or a darker shade. I brought a few samples with me that might look good on you.”

By that time of day, I was lucky if I had any lipstick on at all other than on my teeth. “Mom, New York women don’t wear that much makeup,” I said.

“It’s true,” Gemma agreed. “The natural look is the goal.”

My mom, who never left the house without doing her face in the full Mary Kay lineup, looked horrified. “Really? Well, then, Katie, who knew? You’ve always been in style.”

“Katie looks fine,” Dad said from behind his menu.

“Of course she does. But it wouldn’t hurt her to liven up her look. We don’t want our little country mouse to fade into the background in the big city.”

“Mom, I have a boyfriend. I think I’m doing okay,” I said, trying not to cringe visibly. I felt mousy enough most of the time without any help. Then I realized how easily I’d let the word “boyfriend” roll off my tongue and hoped I wasn’t overselling the relationship.

Gemma, bless her heart, came to my rescue. “So anyway, here’s the plan for the week,” she said. “I’m getting off work early tomorrow, so I’ll show you around in the afternoon. That might be a good day to go to the Empire State Building. I know someone who works there who can get us past the usual lines.”

“My boss gave me Wednesday off, so I’m all yours then,” I said. “Then Thursday and Friday are holidays, and we’ll have the weekend.” With any luck, I wouldn’t have killed anyone or died of embarrassment by Sunday night.

Then again, embarrassment was a pretty minor consequence compared with everything else that might happen, I realized as I looked up and noticed a man walking across the restaurant toward our table. It was none other than Phelan Idris. I’d never faced him without Owen by my side, and while I knew he couldn’t hurt me magically and I suspected I could hold my own against him physically—especially with my friends and parents close at hand—I didn’t want to have to deal with him at all. I glanced around the restaurant, for once hoping for a glimpse of gargoyle or fairy, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. All I could hope was that an incognito human wizard was nearby.

I held my breath and willed him not to recognize me, to keep walking right out of the restaurant, but no such luck. With a smile that could only be described as evil, he came straight to our table, put a hand on the back of my chair, and leaned over me. “Well, now, if it isn’t Katie Chandler,” he said. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your boyfriend nearby.”

I should have come up with a witty remark while I watched him approaching us, but I was drawing a complete blank. All my snappy comebacks to him involved referring to magic, which left me with nothing to say in front of my friends and family.

And he knew it, I could tell. He smirked and said, “Boy, does he know how to show a girl a good time, walking her to and from work every day. I always knew he was dull, but I had no idea it was that bad.” He patted me on top of my head. “Let me know if you ever want to try something a little more interesting. I did set you up with some friends of mine at that party on Friday.”

Every head at my table swiveled to look at me. “Sorry, they weren’t my type,” I said. “But you know what they say about birds of a feather.”

He laughed. “Good one. And speaking of birds, you know some of my feathered friends seem to have a thing for that boyfriend of yours.”

I shivered at the memory of the harpy tearing into Owen’s shoulder and at the thought of the other one that had attacked us on the street last week. I dared a glance at my family and friends and saw that they looked utterly baffled. So far, he hadn’t said anything that was outright about magic, but he’d said enough strange stuff that I was sure I was going to have to come up with an explanation.

“Well, considering the other options, I can hardly blame them,” I managed to quip. When he didn’t respond, I turned to look at him. He was staring at Gemma.

“Well, aren’t you pretty?” he said, his eyeballs practically popping out of their sockets. “Are you a model?” She got that a lot, considering she was tall, thin, elegant, and worked in fashion. Still, I wondered what it said about me that even my mortal enemy couldn’t stay focused on me for long. Maybe I did need brighter lipstick. Or a brighter personality.