Damsel Under Stress by Shanna Swendson

turned out to be pretty smart, for he didn’t look like he was the least bit taken in by her attempt at charm.
    I remembered that I was supposed to be a brassy oil heiress, so I waded through the carpet and stuck my hand out at her. “Sue-Ellen Hunt, of the Texas Hunts,” I said, thickening my drawl as much as I could and still be understood. “Nice place you got here. I bet this office runs you about as much as my daddy’s whole estate back home. We like things big in Texas, you know.” I was beginning to annoy myself, so I was sure this act was like fingernails on a blackboard to a New Yorker.
    “Miss Hunt is my fiancée,” Philip said, not missing a beat. “When she heard about my appointment with you she thought it would be beneficial for her to meet with you, as well.”
    “I gotta do something with my trust fund other than buy shoes, right?” I said with as much gusto as I could muster.
    “Please, have a seat,” Miss Meredith said, gesturing toward a pair of plush wingback chairs. Only the tiniest hint of annoyance showed in her eyes, but I got the feeling that meant she was steaming inside. Nothing but the strongest emotion would get past her icy facade.
    I more or less tuned out the financial discussion while I checked out the setting. There was a row of portraits on one wall, going from a modern photograph of a white-haired, stern-jawed man on one end to oil paintings of men wearing powdered wigs at the other end. About five portraits in from the modern end, the look of the people changed abruptly. They went from having Philip’s refined features and golden hair to looking coarser and meaner. It was obvious when the company had been usurped. Other than the skeletal creature still lurking in the corner, I didn’t spot anything obviously magical. An uninformed person who wasn’t immune to magic wouldn’t have noticed anything odd.
    When I blinked back to the meeting, it seemed to be wrapping up. “Thank you for the information. I shall have to consult with my advisors,” Philip was saying.
    Sylvia eyed him warily. I hoped she hadn’t noticed the resemblance between him and all those portraits on the wall. “You won’t find our specialized services anywhere else,” she said. “We’re one of the only high-level banking houses exclusively serving the magical community.” She turned to me and added, “I hope what we have to offer interests you, as well.”
    “Oh, I let Philip handle all my major decisions,” I drawled. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your uncle. I hope he gets better real soon.”
    A flicker of reaction crossed her face, but before I could decipher it, she managed to tamp it down. “Things don’t look good,” she said, sounding more determined than sad. I had the strongest suspicion that she had something to do with that “stroke.” She walked us to her office door, and I felt the tingle of magic in use nearby. It didn’t affect me, but I was worried about what it would do to Philip. I moved to stand between her and him, then caught his arm to make sure I had some sort of control over him as we left the building.
    We both let out deep breaths when we were safely on the sidewalk and well away from the building. “Did you notice anything untoward?” he asked.
    “Yeah. She had a nasty-looking bodyguard in there that I’m sure was hidden from you. And, oddly enough, it was a kind of creature my big enemy happens to be fond of. Are walking skeletons popular on magical goon squads?”
    “I’m not familiar with that kind of creature.”
    “I thought so. I wonder if she’s in league with Idris, then. That would make things interesting. Oh, and she tried to use magic on you when we were leaving.”
    “I noticed. I’m not certain that it worked, but I will be careful.”
    “That lady is bad news. And I don’t think you can count on her saying, ‘Oh, so sorry my ancestor put you under a spell, you should take over.’ She probably would have you killed—like I bet