“More like impossible. I’m more likely to order us a pizza, text gibberish to my cousin, or accidentally empty my bank account than to get that driver here.”
I held my tongue.
“Should we…wait here for the invisibility to wear off?” Imogen asked.
The sky was growing darker by the moment. There was no way to know how long it would take for Noah to come once the spell wore off, and the longer we waited, the more likely we were to run into the unicorn or the sheep again.
“No,” I said, rubbing my forehead with my free hand. “We should retire to our hostel for the night.”
“All of my clothes are in the trunk of that Whirl,” Imogen said.
“As are mine.”
We walked down the road back toward town. Eventually we became visible once more, and I got a good look at Imogen’s sagging shoulders and defeated expression.
“The clothing will be recovered.” I slipped my hand from hers and gave her a reassuring tap on the shoulder.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, her voice as despondent as her expression.
“Are you capable of using the telephone ride application now?” I asked.
“Sure.” Imogen made quick work of contacting our driver through the app. She stared at the screen as she walked.
“How long until Noah arrives?” I asked.
“Uh…about that.” Imogen licked her lips. “He hasn’t confirmed that he’s coming.”
“He’s supposed to be our designated driver,” I said. “He agreed.”
“Well he seems to be logged off for the night.”
What kind of professional failed to honor his commitments? No professional at all.
We walked the rest of the way to the hostel and checked in. The room was small but clean, with a shared desk and multiple built-in bunks. We grabbed a bite, did our best to clean ourselves up, and retired to our beds. Imogen was uncharacteristically quiet, which I appreciated.
Then, almost immediately upon climbing into her bunk above mine, Imogen began to snore.
The beds were more tubes than anything, like cadaver drawers at the morgue, with thin mattresses and fresh bedding. There was enough room to sit upright, enough to lie down so long as I didn’t try to spread out at all, and a small curtain at the end for privacy. Someone across the room made wind, disrupting the silence and adding their own brand of odor to the communal mix.
I sat up, pulled the file out of my purse, and retrieved the photograph of Cornelius Kurnbottom standing in front of the museum. I stared at his hooked nose, at his sunken eyes, at histhin combover. How did I know him? I was certain I did, and that he was somehow connected to my mother.
I closed my eyes and pictured his face.
He smelled sickeningly sweet, almost like corn? No, that was Imogen’s influence making a connection that wasn’t there. The sweet smell was true, though.
It had been dark…I’d been small, hiding behind the counter in my mother’s magic shop. His voice was deep and…upset.
They were arguing.
I was losing it. I squeezed my eyes shut harder. It didn’t help. The memory faded.
Cornelius Kurnbottom had been to Marshmallow, decades ago, to fight with my mother. This is why the boss had chosen me for this mission—it was connected to the great Molly Fernsby. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how many times I had proved myself as an independent, competent librarian, my true use to them was always the same—my heritage. It was inescapable.
I gathered the papers, returned them to the safety of their envelope, and stashed the envelope in my magical bag. This mission, the amulet—everything was connected to my mother. I was uniquely qualified to solve the case, and to do that, I needed to find Cornelius Kurnbottom.Now.
I stood by Imogen’s bare feet and debated whether I should let her know I was going back out. After our day, she was clearly exhausted, so letting her be was for the best. I closed her curtain, slipped on my heels, and headed outside.
The night air was just as humid as that of the day, but the weight of it lifted with the sunset. I retrieved the flashlight from my bag and started in the direction of the museum.