Trio of Sorcery by Mercedes Lackey Page A

she didn’t even move all night, because she woke up in the same position she’d fallen asleep in.
    Alrighty, then. She lay there, just enjoying the fact that she didn’t have to get up for class, and that although shehurt, it was that good sort of after-workout hurt. She’d done a good job last night.
    Trouble was, it hadn’t been what she’d been Called to do.
    And in the cold light of morning, she knew what she had to do. She had to stop dancing around the situation and stop trying to pretend that there wasn’t some sort of magical connection here.
    She had to visit Tamara.
    With a groan that was strictly internal, Di pried herself out of bed and went hunting for some clothes. When you had hair as long as she did, it took some time to brush it out after you’d washed it, and that gave her time to think.
    Occam’s Razor.
    What if the simplest solution was the one that Zaak kept insisting on? What if Tamara was tangled up in the kidnapping? Forget that it had been a male “cop” who took the kid, forget that it didn’t look like there was any connection between Tamara and the Fitzhughs…forget about hunting for motives. Motives were what you figured out after you caught the bad guy. Concentrate on finding the kid and catching the bad guy.
    Di put her hair up in a bun, grabbed a bagel and tomato for breakfast, and went shopping at the Star Mart. She was pretty sure that Tamara wasn’t an early riser; most of her kind weren’t.
    Back home, she put almost everything away, then usedsome of her purchases to do a little “special” preparation. A picnic shaker of salt got consecrated, and so did the water that went into a tiny spray bottle meant for perfume. Then she made a little corsage out of the oak, ash, and thorn leaves she’d picked up off the street on the way home and pinned it to the shoulder of her poncho. An iron horseshoe nail went into one pocket, and a silver crucifix into the other.
    She called the number on Tamara’s card. She wanted to do this before the Scooby-Doo team woke up and decided to go with her.
    The woman who answered Tamara’s phone had a curiously deep, throaty voice and a Slavic accent that was as phony as a plastic flower. Yes, there might be a booking free. She would go and see if someone had canceled. Why, Susan was in luck, one of Tamara’s clients had phoned in to say she was ill. If she hurried, she could just make the appointment. “And bring a fresh egg,” she added.
    Well, well. I know where this is going.
    The first, the very first thing she did was to write several identical notes saying exactly where she was going. She distributed the copies around the apartment. There was one pinned prominently to the bulletin board, one on the kitchen table, and in case something happened to her and Tamara actually figured out her real address, one under the pillow on the bed, one in the stack of manuscript, and one rolled up and stuck into the laundry hamper. She’dnever had much patience for the sort of book or movie where the hero wandered off into danger without telling anyone where he was going.
    Then she called Lavinia and told her.
    With that done, Di packed the shoulder bag she’d bought at Goodwill. First in were the perfume bottle and the salt shaker, plus the egg, wrapped in tissue to protect it. Besides that, for verisimilitude, she dropped in a pack of gum from which she removed two sticks; a new (cheap) lipstick and matching nail polish; a new, unused comb; a freshly opened pack of tissues; a used paperback romance; and a bandana with peace signs all over it. Plus the three things that she actually needed—enough money for bus fare, Tamara’s fee, and maybe a cup of coffee and a donut; her keys; and a wallet with a phony ID. She had a stash of them from when she and Memaw had gone after the phonies. This one was from when she was seventeen—perfect for the purpose now.
    According