Enchanted, Inc.
As I walked I mulled over my situation. I was trapped between two worlds, not really belonging to either. I wasn't magical, and facing the reality of magical life—like kissing frogs—freaked me out. But I wasn't totally normal, either, for the magical world had a nasty habit of spilling over into the rest of my life. If I thought my social life was complicated before, now it was a tangled mess. I adjusted my grip on the roses, then gasped when I accidentally hit a thorn. I paused on the sidewalk to suck my injured finger, stepping out of the way so I wouldn't block the person I heard walking behind me. I froze when the sound of footsteps behind me also stopped.
My heart pounding in my chest, I moved forward again, walking faster. Now I didn't hear those other footsteps at all. Maybe I'd imagined them in the first place, or maybe the person behind me had turned off to step into a building or down a side street. The thought didn't calm me down much.
I had enough street smarts to know that if you think you're being followed, it's best to immediately head to a safe place, preferably one that's well lit and full of people.
There was a Duane Reade ahead, open twenty-four hours, and usually with at least one cop in there buying snacks or antacid at all times. I'd just make it one more block, go into the store, and mill around enough to make sure I wasn't being followed. If I was still nervous and if there was a cop in there, I might be able to play Southern belle and sweet-talk him into walking me home, only a block or so away.
I was halfway down the block when I felt the tingle and pressure in the air that meant someone was doing magic nearby. That made me nervous, even though I knew I'd be relatively safe. Magic couldn't affect me directly. Was someone trying to use that control spell on me, without realizing I was immune? I'd have to let Merlin and Owen know about this.
Then I felt the tingle again, followed by a rush of wind and a loud pop. Something dark came out of nowhere and grabbed me hard around the waist, knocking the air out of my lungs so that I couldn't even scream for help.
Before I moved to New York, I took a self-defense class at my hometown's karate studio/tanning salon, mostly to make my mother feel better about me going to the big bad city. This was exactly the kind of situation the class had been designed to teach us to deal with, but my mind had gone frighteningly blank. It was like something out of a nightmare, being in danger but being so paralyzed with fear that I couldn't scream or move.
It seemed like hours later, but it could only have been a second or two before I thought of what to do. I shoved the roses into the guy's face to distract him. He sneezed, but he didn't release his grasp. Then I remembered something from the self-defense class about kicking the guy in the knee. That was supposed to be a weak spot. I was wearing pointy-toed heels, so I lifted my right leg and gave my attacker a good wallop in the kneecap. The theory was that the pain would distract him enough to loosen his grip on me so I could get free. He did loosen his grip, but it was so fast that my leg was still raised from kicking him, so I lost my balance and hit the pavement.
I hadn't been the best student in the class, needless to say.
A hand grasped my arm and I squeaked—which was an improvement over paralyzed silence, but still not very effective. "It's okay, Katie, it's me." I recognized Rod's voice and let him help me to my feet. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so. Only my dignity, I imagine." I found my shoe, put it back on and gave myself a quick survey, but from what I could tell, I hadn't even torn my stockings. "What's going on? What are you doing here?"