Book of miracles II

"As soon as you're ready," she said, her eyes twinkling.  "Although it would make things a little easier if I knew what kind of miracle you're hoping to perform."
"Why?"  I didn't mean to snap, but I'd thought she'd be more professional than to ask me that.  Well, I'd expected her not to ask why I wanted the book, but it was much the same thing.  I thought.  She didn't look perturbed though, or even particularly bothered by my rudeness.  It could have been the stroke, helping her hide her reaction, but there was no hesitation when she spoke again, no hint of rancour in her voice.
"Because, as I said, each book records miracles that have happened.  If I show you a book that doesn't contain the miracle you're after then that book is worthless to you."  She stopped there, and looked down at the table.  As I opened my mouth to speak, my thoughts racing to be the first one said, she looked up at me, and said,
"Unless you're only interested in buying, or otherways... acquiring... that book.  In which case my fee for taking you will be higher, to reflect the significantly increased danger, both to myself and my line of business, but the book may be easier to get to."
"Otherways?"  It was stupid, it was the last thing I was interested in, but asking it bought me time to think.  Did I tell her what I was wanted?  Or did I pretend that I just wanted to steal the book and pay the higher price?  Hang on, I didn't know what the lower price was yet, if I could even afford that!
"A portmanteau."  She said the word as though she were savouring it.  "A collapse of 'otherwise, in other ways," into a simpler word.  Like 'anywhen," or 'everywhen,': words that people need but don't think to create."
"Who needs anywhen and everywhen?"
"I do."  There is was again, that half-smile that was making me wonder if it was always a half-smile, if the stroke wasn't so much as hiding her feelings from me, but hiding the fact that she was hiding her feelings from me.  I started to feel a little dizzy with all the meta-analysis I was doing.
"Your price?" I finally said, deciding that I needed answers to my questions no matter how poorly I negotiated for them.  I waved a hand, and the waitress I pulled here last week came over.  She smiled at Isabella and poked her tongue playfully out at me.  I caught her hand, kissed it, and said,
"I'll take a liquid cocaine, sweetheart.  And don't skimp on the Red Bull, either.  Isabella–"
"Mx Bonfontaine," she said, pronouncing the first word mix.  "At least until we've set a price for business."  She looked at the waitress, who was looking more impressed than I was comfortable with.  "I'll take one of those top-shelf artisanal vodkas you have, a Sipsmith I should think.  Neat.  Two doubles, in two glasses."
The waitress disappeared and I looked at Isabella, wishing that I felt more in control of this conversation.  "Mix?" I said, feeling hopeless.
"A very modern appellation," she said, laughing throatily and sending a shiver down my spine.  "I believe it's used by people who don't wish to talk about their gender so that everyone is aware that there's something to talk about.  It's supposed to tell you not to ask, particularly if they seem a little more masculine than you'd expect for a woman, or if you're just plain having trouble telling."
"Does it matter what gender someone is?" I said.  I'd never met anyone I couldn't classify as male or female at a glance, and I was quite happy with that.
"To them.  Anyway, you asked for a price, and I still don't know what we're doing exactly so: for ten thousand I will take you to the nearest book of miracles on the assumption that you want to view it, and potentially conduct business with it's owner.  If you'd like to be a little more explicit about the miracle you want, I'll take you to the book that has the best chance of helping you; the fee will be more than ten thousand in that case, but should be under twenty thousand with a single exception, where the fee would be twenty-five thousand, five thousand up front for the purchase of the equipment we would need.  If you think you may need to take the book away with you, then my fee goes up by thirty-thousand over the original; and that fee can be applied at any time if I believe you are intending to steal, repossess, or otherwise acquire the book I'm taking you to."
Our drinks arrived; mine was fizzing happily, while Isabella's had the serious air of a woman who was considering signing your death-warrant after she'd finished writing out your birthday card.
"Ok," I said.  Isabella sniffed her vodka, cocked her head slightly on one side and nodded.  Our waitress smiled with relief, laid the bill in front of me, and disappeared, just enough of a jaunt in her hips to let me know I had a date tonight if I wanted it.
"Ok to what?"
"Ok, I'll pay all you ask for.  I'll have fifty thousand in an escrow account by the end of the week, with you having immediate access to ten thousand of it.  I'd like us to leave on Saturday."
"And where will we be going?"
"Very loosely speaking," I said, only now knowing that I was going to tell her more than I'd originally intended to, "I'd like the kind of miracle that doesn't seem very miraculous to the people who get caught up in it."
Isabella nodded.  "Just because something terrible happens doesn't mean it's not a miracle," she said.  "If this has to happen just so, and that has to unexpectedly to the other, and all manner of coincidences have to go wrong in just the right way, then it's still a miracle.  Those are rarely recorded, but there are some.  I shall consult my notes, but I think we shall be going to Europe."
I nodded, and knocked my drink back in one.  Then I started coughing.
Part 3