As he spoke, a thrill of gratification rippled through me. On its heels came a wave of shame. God, was I that transparent? Throw a few empty words of praise my way and I wriggled like a happy puppy? Our first meeting and Benicio already knew what buttons to press.
"When's the last time Lucas worked for you?" I asked.
"This isn't working for me. I'm simply passing along a case that I believe would interest my son--"
"And when's the last time you tried that one? August, wasn't it? Something about a Vodoun priest in Colorado? Lucas turned you down flat, as he always does."
Benicio's cheek twitched.
"What," I said, "you didn't think Lucas told me about that? Like he didn't tell me how you bring him a case every few months, either to piss off the other Cabals or to trick him into doing something at your request? He's not sure which it is. I'm guessing both."
He paused. Then he met my gaze. "This case is different."
"Oh, I'm sure it is."
"It involves the child of one of our employees," he said. "A fifteen-year-old girl named Dana MacArthur."
I opened my mouth to cut him off, but couldn't. The moment he said "fifteen-year-old girl," I needed to hear the rest.
Benicio continued. "Three nights ago, someone attacked her while she was walking through a park. She was strangled, hung from a tree, and left to die."
My gut clenched. "Is she...?" I tried to force out the last word, but couldn't.
"She's alive. Comatose, but alive." His voice softened and his eyes filled with the appropriate mix of sorrow and indignation. "Dana wasn't the first."
As he waited for me to ask the obvious question, I swallowed it and forced my brain to switch tracks.
"That's...too bad," I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I hope she recovers. And I hope you find the culprit. I can't help you, though, and I'm sure Lucas can't, either, but I'll pass along the message."
I walked toward the front hall.
Benicio didn't budge. "There's one more thing you should know."
I bit my lip. Don't ask. Don't fall for it. Don't--
"The girl," he said. "Dana MacArthur. She's a witch."
We locked gazes for a moment. Then I tore mine away, strode to the door, and flung it open.
"Get out," I said.
And, to my surprise, he did.
I spent the next half-hour trying to code a customer feedback form for a client's Web site. Simple stuff, but I couldn't get it to work, probably because ninety percent of my brain was endlessly cycling through what Benicio had told me. A teenage witch. Strangled and strung up from a tree. Now comatose. Did this have something to do with her being a witch? Benicio said she wasn't the first. Was someone targeting witches? Killing witches?
I rubbed my hands over my eyes and wished I'd never let Benicio into our apartment. Even as I thought that, I realized the futility of it. One way or another, he'd have made sure I knew about Dana MacArthur. After all these years of bringing cases to Lucas, he'd found the perfect one, and he wouldn't quit until we knew about it.
A faint rustling from the kitchen interrupted my brooding. My first thought was "We have mice," followed by "Well, doesn't that just make my day complete." Then the loose floorboard by the table creaked, and I knew whatever was in the kitchen was a lot bigger than a rodent.
Had I fastened the deadbolt? Cast the lock spell? I couldn't remember, but somehow I suspected I'd been too overwhelmed by Benicio's visit to take care of such mundanities. I mentally readied two spells, one to deal with a human intruder and another, stronger spell, for the supernatural variety. Then I pushed up from my chair and crept toward the kitchen.
A dish clattered, followed by an oath. No, not an oath, I realized as I recognized the voice. Simply a wordless exhalation of pique. Where anyone else would mutter "shit" or "damn," this was one person who never uttered even a profanity without first considering its appropriateness to the situation.
I smiled and peeked around the corner. Lucas was still dressed for court, wearing a dark gray suit and equally somber tie. A month ago, Savannah had bought him a green silk tie, a splash of color she declared long overdue. Since then, he'd made three trips out of town, each time packing the tie and, I was certain, never wearing it.
When it came to his appearance, Lucas preferred the disguise of invisibility. With wire-rimmed glasses, dark hair cut short, and an unexceptional face, Lucas Cortez didn't need a cover spell to pass through a room unnoticed.
Now he was trying very hard to be silent as well as invisible as he poured coffee from cardboard cups into mugs.
"Playing hooky, Counselor?" I said, rounding the corner.
Anyone else would have jumped. Lucas only blinked, then looked up, lips curving in the crinkle I'd learned to interpret as a smile.
"So much for surprising you with a midmorning snack."
"You didn't need that to surprise me. What happened with your case?"
"After the debacle with the necromancer, the prosecution began pursuing a twenty-four-hour recess, to find a last-minute witness. Initially I was reluctant, wanting to end the matter as quickly as possible, but, after speaking to you last night, I decided you might not be opposed to an unexpected visit. So I decided to be magnanimous and agree to the prosecution's request."
"Won't it hurt your case if they find their witness?"
"They won't. He's dead. Improper handling of a fire-swarm."
"Firearm?"
"No, fire-swarm."
I shook my head and sat down at the table. Lucas placed two scones on a plate and brought it over. I waited until he took his first mouthful.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's a fire-swarm and what did it do to your witness?"
"Not my witness--"
I tossed my napkin at him. His quarter-smile broadened to a grin and he launched into the story. That's one thing about being a lawyer to the supernatural. The pay is crap and the clientele can be lethal, but any time you take supernatural events and try to present them in a human courtroom, you're bound to get some great stories. This time, though, no story, no matter how amusing, could distract me from what Benicio had said. After the first few sentences, Lucas stopped.
"Tell me what happened last night," he said.
"Last--?" My mind slowly shifted gears. "Oh, the Coven thing. Well, I gave them my spiel, but it was pretty obvious they were more interested in not missing their dinner reservation."
His gaze searched mine. "But that's not what's bothering you, is it?"
I hesitated. "Your father came by earlier this morning."
Lucas stopped, fingers tightening around his napkin. Again he searched my eyes, this time looking for some sign that I was making a very poor joke.
"He sent his guards in first," I said. "Supposedly looking for you, but when I said you weren't here, he wanted to talk to me. I...I decided it was best to let him. I wasn't sure--we'd never discussed what I should do if--"
"Because it shouldn't have happened. When he found I wasn't here, he shouldn't have insisted on speaking to you. I'm surprised he didn't already know--" He stopped, eyes meeting mine. "He knew I wasn't here, didn't he?"
"Er, uh...I'm not sure really."
Lucas's mouth tightened. He shoved back his chair, strode into the front hall, and pulled his cell phone from his jacket. Before he could dial out, I leaned into the hall and lifted a hand to stop him.
"If you're going to call him, I'd better tell you what he wanted or he's going to think I refused to pass along the message."
"Yes, of course." Lucas tucked the cell phone into his pocket, then pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses with the motion. "I'm sorry, Paige. This wasn't supposed to happen. Had I thought he might come here, I would have forewarned you, but no one from my father's organization was supposed to contact you or Savannah. He gave me his word--"
"It was fine," I said, managing a smile. "Short and sweet. He just wanted me to tell you he's got another of those cases that might interest us--well, you
."
Lucas frowned and I knew he'd caught my slip.
"He said it would interest both of us," I said. "But he meant you. He was just throwing in the 'us' part to pique my curiosity. You know, get the new girlfriend intrigued and maybe she'll pester you to give in."
"What did he say?"
I told him Benicio's story. When I finished, Lucas closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I can't believe he'd--no, I can believe he'd do that. I should have warned you."
Lucas paused, then steered me back into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," he said. "These last few months haven't been easy for you, and I don't want you affected by this part of my life any more than necessary. I know I'm the reason you can't find any witches to join your Coven."
"That's got nothing to do with it. I'm young and I haven't proven myself--well, not beyond proving that I can get kicked out of the Coven. But whatever their hang-ups, it's got nothing to do with you."
A small, wan smile. "Your lying hasn't improved."
"Well, it doesn't matter. If they don't want--" I shook my head. "Why are we talking about me anyway? You have a call to make. Your father is already convinced I'm not going to relay his message, so I'm going to hound you until you do."
Lucas took out his phone, but only stared at the keypad. After a moment, he looked over at me.
"Do you have any critical projects to complete this week?" he asked.
"Anything due this week would have been done last week. With Savannah around, I can't let deadlines creep up on me, or an emergency could put me out of business."
"Yes, of course. Well..." He cleared his throat. "I'm not due in court until tomorrow. If Savannah was able to stay at a friend's tonight, would you be able--or should I say willing--to join me on an overnight trip to Miami?"
Before I could open my mouth, he hurried on, "I've postponed this long enough. For your own protection, it's time to formally introduce you to the Cabal. I should have done this months ago, but...well, I hoped it wouldn't be necessary, that I could take my father at his word. Apparently not."
I looked at him. It was a good excuse, but I knew the truth. He wanted to take me to Miami so I could hear the rest of Dana MacArthur's story. If I didn't, worry and curiosity would gnaw at me until I found some way to get the answers I needed. This was the reaction Benicio wanted, and I desperately didn't want to give it to him. And yet, was there really any harm in hearing what had happened, maybe seeing this witch and making sure she was all right? Benicio said she was a Cabal employee's daughter. The Cabals looked after their own. That much I knew. All we had to do was say "No, thanks," and the Cabal would launch an investigation, and Dana MacArthur would get her justice. That was good enough for me. It had to be.
So I agreed, and we made plans to leave immediately.
Mastermind of Manipulation
WE BOOKED SEATS ON A FLIGHT FOR MIAMI. THEN WE arranged for Savannah to stay at a friend's house overnight, called her at school, and gave her the news. An hour later, we were at the airport.
We hadn't had a problem booking last-minute tickets, and we hadn't expected to. Just over a month ago, terrorists had driven planes into the World Trade Center, and many travelers opted not to fly the not-so-friendly skies if they could avoid it. We'd arrived early, knowing that passing through security wouldn't be the speedy process it had once been.
The guard opened Lucas's bag and rifled through it, then pulled out a cardboard tube. He passed his metal detector over it, then gingerly removed the end cap and peered inside.
"Paper," he said to his partner.
"It's a scroll," Lucas said.
Both men glowered at him as if this might be a new street name for an automatic rifle.
"A sheet of paper bearing ancient text," Lucas said.
One guard pulled it out and unrolled the scroll. The paper was brand-new, gleaming white, and covered in precise, graceful strokes of calligraphy. The guard screwed up his face.
"What does it say?" he asked.
"I have no idea. It's Hebrew. I'm transporting it for a client."
They handed it back, unfurled and creased. As they checked out my laptop and overnight bag, Lucas straightened the scroll and rolled it. When they finished, Lucas hoisted both bags and we headed toward the boarding area.
"What is that?" I whispered. "My spell?"
"I thought you might need a distraction after today."
I smiled up at him. "Thanks. What does it do?"
"I'm choosing option two."
I remembered the option game and laughed. "Too late, Cortez. The deal was that you had to tell me last night. You're home now, so the scroll is mine, option-free."
"I would have selected an option, had you not distracted me from my purpose."
"What, my listing the options prevented you from choosing one?"
"Most effectively. Option two."
"Hand it over, Cortez."
He thumped the scroll into my outstretched hand. "I've been robbed."
"Well, there is a solution. You could get me another spell."
"Greedy," he said, steering me to a quiet spot along the wall. "An unquenchable thirst for spell-casting power and variety. This does not bode well for our relationship."
"Why? Because you're just as bad as I am?"
With a fluid two-step, Lucas moved from my side to my front, and turned to face me. He arched one brow.
"Me?" he said. "Hardly. I'm a disciplined and cautious spell-caster, well aware of my limitations and with no desire to overcome them."
"And you can say that with a straight face?"
"I can say everything with a straight face, which makes me a naturally gifted liar."
"So how many times did you try my spell?"
"Try your spell? That would be wrong. Grievously impolitic, not to mention impolite, rather like reading a novel before you wrap it as a Christmas gift."
"Twice?"
"Three times. I would have stopped at two, but I had a modicum of luck with the second effort, so I tried again. But, sadly, a successful cast eluded me."
"We'll work on it. So what does it do?"
"Option two."
I socked him in the arm and started unrolling the spell.
"It's a rare gamma-grade sorcerer ice spell," he said. "When cast upon an object, it acts much like a beta-level ice spell, freezing it. However, if cast upon a person, it induces temporary hypothermia, rendering the target unconscious. There were four options, weren't there?"
"Three...no, the movie theater makes four."
"Four options. Ergo, if I provide you with four spells..."
"Now who's greedy?"
"I'm only asking whether the implied promise of one spell for one option could be reasonably translated to mean four spells would get me--"
"Oh, for God's sake, pick an option already. It's not like you wouldn't get any of them anytime you wanted."
"True," he said. "But I like the added challenge of attaining it. Four spells for four options."
"That wasn't--"
"There's our flight."
He picked up our carry-ons and headed for the boarding area before I could get in another word.
The official "meet-the-parents" visit. Has there ever been a greater torture in the history of dating? I speak from hearsay, not experience. Sure, I'd technically met plenty of old boyfriends' parents, but never through the formal introduction process. More like bumping into them on the way out the door. The "Mom, Dad, this is Paige. See ya" kind of introduction.
I'd met Lucas's mother, but there hadn't been a lead-up. She'd appeared at our door one day, housewarming gifts in hand. Had I known she was coming, I'd have been terrified. Would she disapprove because I wasn't Latino? Wasn't Catholic? Was living with her only child after exactly zero weeks of dating? It didn't matter. If Lucas was happy, Maria was too.
The Cortezes were another matter. Benicio had four sons, of whom Lucas was the youngest. The older three worked for the Cabal, as was tradit
ional for all members of the central family. So Lucas was already the odd man out. His position wasn't helped by the fact that Benicio and Maria had never married, likely because Benicio had still been married to his wife at the time of Lucas's conception, which would make Lucas...not the most popular guy at family reunions.
In a Cabal central family, like any "royal" family, matters of succession are all-important. It is assumed that a son of the CEO, usually the oldest, will inherit the business. Not so with Benicio. While his three eldest sons spent their adult lives toiling to improve the family fortunes, who had Benicio named as his heir? The illegitimate youngest son who had devoted his adult life to destroying the family business, or at least buggering it up real good. Does this make any sense to anyone besides Benicio? Of course not. Either the man is a mastermind of family manipulation or just plain fucked in the head. I don't use that word much, but in some cases, nothing else fits.
We took a cab from the airport into the city. Lucas had the driver let us out in front of a cafe, where Lucas suggested we stop for a cold drink because it was at least ninety degrees and, with the full sun beating down, felt more like a hundred, especially after the chill of an Oregon autumn. I argued that I was fine, but he insisted. He was stalling. I scarcely believed it, but after twenty minutes of sitting on the cafe patio, pretending to drink our iced coffees, I knew it was true.
Lucas talked about the city, the good, the bad, and the ugly of Miami, but his words were rushed, almost frantic in their desperation to fill time. When he took a sip of his drink, more reflex than intention, his cheeks paled and, for a moment, he looked as if he might be sick.
"We don't have to do this," I said.
"We do. I need to make the introduction. There are procedures to be followed, forms to be completed. It must be official. You aren't safe if it isn't." He lifted his gaze from the table. "There's another reason I've brought you here. Something else that's worrying me."
He paused.
"I like honesty," I said.
"I know. I'm just afraid that if I pile on one more disadvantage to being with me, you're going to run screaming back to Portland and change the locks."