"If I'm keeping you, Kristof--"
"I'm in court, but I requested a ten-minute recess."
An afterlife with lawyers, three-piece suits and wristwatches. If I ever needed proof that Kristof Nast had ended up in a hell dimension, this was it.
"Is there some way you can get Eve for me?"
"I can try. She isn't supposed to be disturbed, but if it's urgent, I can petition for a special allowance. I presume it's urgent?"
Something in his gaze begged me to say it was, but with Kristof, it was wise to be wary. "Well, I'm not sure it's urgent--"
"If you say it's urgent, that's all I need."
Ah. So I wasn't the only one Eve was out of contact with. That's why he was here. Certainly not to help me. My only contact with Kristof in life--not in person, but through his employees, naturally--had not been one to encourage friendship. Eve was the only thing we had in common.
"If you did get access and it wasn't for something important, would Eve be pissed off?"
"Hardly. She'd welcome the break." His eyes glittered. "I'd even go so far as to say she'd be grateful."
"So, wherever she is, she isn't there by choice?"
His smile faded. "You know I'm not allowed to discuss that. But if you need her, which you obviously do, I can petition--"
"And if it's not urgent, would Eve get in trouble?"
That stopped him. "There's no way for her to know what you might consider urgent..." Another pause, then a sigh. "Is it urgent?"
It was. To me. But I suspected "saving Jaime Vegas from pestering spooks" wasn't a problem you should petition deities to fix, so I said, "Not really."
He swore under his breath. Then asked, reluctantly, "Is there anything I can do?"
He hated offering. But she'd want him to offer, and that's what counted.
I could ask him about ritual sacrifice. But sorcerers like Kristof Nast don't conduct dark-magic rites--they hire people to do them. So I thanked him for his time, then watched him go.
TIME TO reach out to others. Jeremy had suggested Paige and Lucas, and that was the logical next step. Paige was the witch member of the interracial council. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest delegate, as well as the most energetic. Just watching her work was tiring.
For Paige, helping supernaturals was a life mission. Together with her husband, Lucas, she ran a legal-firm-cum-detective-agency devoted to protecting supernaturals from the Cabals--the corporate Mafia of our world. The fact that Lucas's father was CEO of the most powerful of those Cabals made their lives all the more complicated.
They would help, of course...as soon as they could. The spirits weren't going anywhere, and I wasn't in mortal danger. Whomever they were helping right now probably was in mortal danger. So they couldn't be expected to drop everything for me, but I knew they wouldn't turn me down if I showed up on their doorstep and only asked for an hour or two of their time. I could run the problem past them, get their input and ask them to point me to their library or computer files, so I could do the research myself.
According to my schedule, I only had one work obligation today. I was supposed to sit in on some discussions with the parapsychologists--playing "interviewer" as they explained their methods--but Angelique could take my place. In fact, if I suggested it, the offer might go a long way toward easing the animosity between us.
Now for an excuse...I decided to use my mother, claiming she was ill and needed me. Most people would feel guilty using a parent like that, but the way I see it, it's a fair exchange. She used me for years. Still does. Her spot in the retirement village costs more than my condo in Chicago, and she isn't the one paying for it.
Last time I heard from my mother had been when she'd decided she wanted to upgrade her monthly spa package. When I argued, she'd used her usual threat: to tell the tabloids about my abortion at sixteen, conveniently leaving out the fact that she'd arranged it and I'd thought I was going to the doctor for a prenatal checkup. I'd paid for the upgrade, as I always did, not so much because her threat worried me but because it was easier to throw money at her than to deal with her. A coward's ploy, maybe, but with some wounds, slapping on a bandage and pretending it isn't there is easier than dealing with the pain.
ZOMBIE SLAVES
IT WAS DURING TAKEOFF that I began to repent my haste. Was flying to Portland really necessary? When I'd called Jeremy and told him, I'd heard the hesitation in his voice, though he'd taken the change in stride and switched his plane ticket to Portland, where he'd meet me for dinner and help me slog through Paige's files.
Exactly how much faster would this route be, when I wouldn't get back on the set before tomorrow? How annoyed would Grady and Angelique be when they realized I'd swanned off--even if it was on a family emergency?
Yet as foolish as I felt, I knew why I'd done it. To prove to myself that I could handle this.
I'd gotten my job as necromancer delegate because, frankly, no one else wanted it. I had zero experience at resolving supernatural problems and, as I quickly realized, no one cared. They expected me to do what the last guy did--answer necromancy questions when called, but otherwise sit back and let the others work.
I wanted to be a full-fledged delegate, doing everything the others did, including the investigative work. So far, they'd included me, but with lots of supervision and safety nets, until I felt like the overeager rookie everyone fears will just mess things up.
Last year, I'd done something just like this--flown to help Jeremy and Elena when a phone call would have sufficed. And even then I'd had to fight for every step I took off the sidelines.
But this was my case. And I couldn't bear to call up Paige or Robert and push the research--and maybe the entire investigation--onto their laps. It probably would have made more sense to swallow my pride and call, but now it was too late, and part of me was glad of that.
I STOOD on the sidewalk and tried not to shiver. I'd been so wrapped up in getting here that I was still dressed for Southern California. So I'd go to Paige and Lucas looking like a ditz who couldn't even remember to wear a warm coat to Portland in November. It would be nice to make a different impression now and then, just for variety's sake.
I looked up at the building. Double-checked the office address Paige had given me when I'd called from the airport. I wondered whether I'd misheard. The taxi idled behind me, the driver apparently as uncertain as I was.
The building seemed to have been a warehouse or other industrial sort, deep in a neighborhood of industrial sorts. It had no nameplate or other sign, but when your clientele is supernaturals, you don't advertise with flashing billboards.
I waved the driver on. Then I decided to check the street name before knocking on the door. As I approached the corner, a young woman in jeans and a shearling coat hurried across the empty road.
"Excuse me!" I called.
She didn't slow. In this neighborhood, that was probably wise. I trotted another few steps.
"Excuse me! Is this North Breton Road?"
She turned and lifted her sunglasses, features drawn in confusion. I'd seen that "you talkin' to me?" look often enough and my gut sank as my gaze dipped to take a closer look at her outfit--bell-bottom jeans, tie-dyed shirt, fringed purse...
"Uh, sorry," I said. "I thought you were...Sorry."
I turned and marched back toward the building, my heels clacking along the empty road.
"In a hurry, necromancer?" she called from behind me.
I cursed under my breath, plastered on a vacant grin and turned to see the young woman bearing down on me.
"No, of course not," I said. "I was looking for directions and--"
"You didn't think I could provide them? Being dead and all?"
"I didn't want to presume. So is this North Breton Road?"
She kept walking until she was well into my personal space, something ghosts can do much better than people. Her hands passed through my shoulders as she gestured.
"You aren't worried about asking something I can't
answer. You're running as fast as you can before I ask you something."
"I wasn't--"
"Cut the crap. I've met your kind before. Two years after I die, I'm lucky enough to bump into a necromancer at a KISS concert, and I beg the guy to pass along a message to my kid sister. Just a phone call, no big deal. He gives me this lecture on the proper way to approach a necromancer."
"Some necros can get a little touchy, especially at social events--"
"Ten years later, I see another, I try again and she walks away. Doesn't even have the courtesy to answer me."
"Well, I can't promise anything, but if you'd like me to get in touch with your sister--"
"She's fifty years old! Do you think she wants to hear from me now?"
"I'm sorry you had a bad experience--"
"Fuck you." She wheeled and stalked away.
As I walked back toward the building, I concentrated on the questions I'd ask Paige and Lucas, and tried to forget the young woman. Another day, another ghost. One of hundreds. Hundreds of hopeful, disappointed--
I cut off the thought and picked my way past a ripped-open garbage bag to the front doors. They were full-length dark glass--one-way glass, I presumed, so they could see out and I couldn't peek in.
I pulled on the handle. Locked. To my left was a small speaker marked "Deliveries and Visitors." I buzzed.
"Hey, Jaime!" It was Savannah, Eve and Kristof's seventeen-year-old daughter. Not a ghost, thankfully, but very much alive and the ward of Paige and Lucas.
Savannah's voice was so clear, I looked around to see where she was. When she laughed, I spotted a tiny camera lens.
"High-tech, huh?" she said. "We get all the bells and whistles. Very cool...and complicated as hell. I need a damned instruction book for this--Oh, there it is." The door buzzed. "Come on in. We're on the second floor. You'll need to take the stairs. The elevator's card-activated."
In the background, Paige yelled for Savannah--something about boxes--and a male voice cursed. Obviously not Lucas--if he used profanity, I'd never heard it.
As I entered, it was like stepping into an upscale corporate office under construction, the gleaming floors dusty with footprints, the richly painted walls awaiting artwork, cardboard boxes stacked by the gleaming elevator doors. I should have remembered that this was originally supposed to be a Cortez Cabal satellite office. I'd been in one once, and it had been just like this--a grungy exterior hiding plush offices.
As for how Benicio Cortez's anti-Cabal youngest son ended up with an office that was built for a Cabal, I only knew that Lucas's father had been building it in Portland and somehow Lucas and Paige ended up buying the unfinished offices instead. That had been over a year ago, and they were just moving in now. A big leap for a young couple, but I guess it was better than having Daddy and his mob move into town.
The stairwell was as silent as the foyer, but the moment I opened the second-floor door, it was like someone had hit "play," the air filling with noise: the whine of a drill, a woman's laugh, the bang of a dropped box, a man's shout. Top-notch soundproofing between floors--another bonus from the Cabal construction crews.
The drilling came from one direction, the voices from the other.
"Don't touch the books. I have a system."
"What system?" Savannah answered. "Dump them all in a pile?"
It took me a moment to recognize the first speaker. Adam Vasic, one of my fellow council members, who was joining his friends in their new venture.
"Just leave the books." Paige's voice, a deep contralto. "Adam, keep bringing up those boxes. Savannah, make sure all the books get into Adam's office, but don't unpack them. They'll need to be arranged in a recognizable system, so we can all find what we need when our librarian isn't here."
"Librarian?" Adam said. "The title is head of research."
"And security guard," Savannah added.
"Head of security."
"Right. In charge of all those other librarians and security guards we've hired."
"It's a growth position. Just like yours. Someday, I'm sure you'll be in charge of the entire secretarial pool."
"These boxes aren't moving on their own," Paige cut in as I approached the open door. "I need them all upstairs and sorted into the proper rooms. Then I need Adam assembling the bookcase while Savannah helps Lucas with that alarm system. And when that's done there's--"
"A shitload more," Savannah said. "You know what you really need? Zombie slaves."
"I've got you two. Close enough."
"You don't want zombies," I said as I walked in. "You'll spend a fortune on air fresheners."
Adam was digging through a box of reference texts. He didn't look much like a librarian...unless the library catered to surfers. A stereotypical California boy, well built and tanned with sun-bleached hair and a quick smile. He didn't look much like a kid with a demon for a dad either, but that was typical for half-demons. They appeared and acted human, inheriting from their father only a set of abilities, usually elemental or sensory. Adam's power was fire. When he lost his temper, his touch could give third-degree burns. Fortunately, it was hard to piss him off.
Paige was busy on the computer, fingers flying and eyes on the monitor even as she spoke. A voluptuous twenty-seven-year-old with long dark curls, she was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Practical moving-day attire. It was rare to see Paige out of a skirt. A girly girl, as Savannah always teased.
Savannah didn't follow her guardian's tastes in clothes--or much else. One look at the seventeen-year-old--almost six feet tall and slender with long dark hair and perfect bone structure--and anyone who'd known Eve could tell who Savannah's mother was. Only her eyes, big and bright blue, came from Kristof.
Even in ripped jeans, old sneakers and a tight concert T-shirt, Savannah exuded elegance and grace...until she opened her mouth. Paige no longer commented on her ward's language. I guess parents need to pick their battles, and with Savannah, there were far more important ones. As the daughter of a sorcerer and a half-demon witch, she was a powder keg of supernatural power. At thirteen, panicked and trying to contact her dead mother, she'd leveled a house--an incident that I suspected was responsible for her father's death, though even Kristof pretended he'd died in an unrelated accident.
Savannah greeted me with an exuberant hug. Paige started to rise, but I waved her down and leaned in for a hug.
"I guess that lock on the front door still isn't working," Paige said. "I'll have to get Lucas to take another look at it. Poor guy. Really not his area of expertise."
"It's working," Savannah said. "I buzzed Jaime in."
"And didn't go down to escort her up?"
"How? You've got us working our asses off while you play on the computers."
"I'm getting the network up. If we don't have everything in place by tomorrow--"
"The earth will stop revolving around its axis. And we might lose our first paying client."
"Which is even more important." Paige looked up at me. "Sorry. Things are a little nuts. We've been slowly moving in, but now we've got a lead on a very big client...who expects to see a fully functioning professional office--tomorrow."
"Well, don't worry. I won't take up much of your time. I just want to run a scenario by you."
"Sure. We'll grab coffee and talk." A glance at the others. "Can I leave you two alone?"
"Please." Savannah turned to me. "Take her for as long as you want."
Paige pulled a face and ushered me out of the office. The drilling down the hall had stopped, replaced by Lucas's voice, quiet but insistent. We found him on his cell phone, examining a drill hole in the wall.
He peered at his drill work, his already serious face dropping into a frown. Paige caught his attention, and his eyes lit up.
"No, I don't believe you understand," he said into the phone. "We allowed for leeway on the understanding that if our needs changed and we needed the work completed promptly, it would be. If you cannot provide that..." He paused. "Good. Then I shal
l expect a crew at...?"
He lifted two fingers to Paige, who nodded. He signed off, then hung up.
"We were coming to see whether you have time for a coffee break," she said. "But I'm guessing the answer is no."
"I'll take one anyway. I could use the air. Jaime, was your flight--"
His cell phone rang. A soft sigh and he checked the number. "Jack McNeil."
"The client," Paige explained to me. "Take it. We'll bring you back a coffee. Jaime can explain her situation then."
WE WALKED to a bakery a block up. Paige swore the neighborhood wasn't as bad as it looked. I put my trust in her hands...and her defensive spells. We were still catching up when we returned to the building, coffees in hand.
"Savannah's working for us this year while she decides what she wants to do about college."
"Is she still leaning toward graphic design?" I asked.
"She is, but she wants our advice and we're really torn. Part of me wants to tell her she's doing the right thing, preparing for a reliable career while she pursues her art in her spare time. The other part wants to say 'forget practicality' and tell her to enroll in a fine-arts program."
"Getting a job to fall back on isn't the worst idea. Jeremy worked as a translator for years before his paintings started to sell."
She led me onto the elevator. "I think that's who she's taking her cue from. But I worry that Lucas and I are both too inclined to push practicality and maybe that's what's driving her decision. Anyway, she has a year to think about it."
We met Adam and Savannah in the hall.
Savannah lifted her hands. "Before you crack the whip, we're heading out for more boxes."
"Take this one instead. Brownies, plus a Coke for Adam, and a mocha cappuccino for you."
"Thanks," Adam said.
"Don't thank her," Savannah said. "It's zombie slave fuel. Sugar and caffeine to keep us going."
"You got it. And sandwiches for later, so you don't need to take off for dinner. Jaime? The meeting room is the first door on the right. Go on in while I find Lucas."
BE PREPARED
"I ASSUMED IT WAS A NECROMANCY PROBLEM, but now I'm thinking dark magic," I said after I told them what was happening.