Spellcasters (65 page)

“A Cabal trial mirrors a human law trial at its most basic level. Lawyers present the case to judges who determine guilt or innocence and impose sentence. As for Weber being released on a technicality, it’s unlikely to the point of impossible. The concept of civil rights is much more narrowly defined in a Cabal court.”

“You don’t need to worry about this guy, Paige,” Adam said. “He’s not coming back out.”

“That’s not—” I turned to Lucas. “Has he confessed?”

Lucas shook his head. His gaze slipped to the side, just barely, but I’d been with him long enough to know what this meant.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I said. “Something’s happened.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Another Cabal teen died Friday night.”

I bolted upright, sending shock waves of pain through me. Lucas and Adam both sprang to their feet, but I waved them down.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Let me explain. Matthew Tucker was the nineteen-year-old son of Lionel St. Cloud’s personal assistant. When Lionel came to Miami for the meeting Thursday, Matthew came along with his mother. On Friday night, while we were watching Weber’s house, a group of the younger Cabal employees decided to go clubbing, and Matthew joined them. After a few drinks, they wandered out of a nightclub district and into a less savory neighborhood. The group split up, and everyone thought Matthew was with someone else. When they returned without him, the Cabals sent out search teams. They found him shot to death in an alley.”

“Shot?” Adam said. “Then it’s not our guy. Stabbing and strangulation. That’s his MO.”

“The Nast Cabal has since confirmed that their second victim, Sarah Dermack, was shot.”

“Did this Matthew call the emergency number?” Adam asked.

Lucas shook his head. “But neither did Michael Shane, the St. Cloud victim.”

“Was Matthew on Weber’s list?” Adam asked.

“No,” I said. “And if he lives with his mother, who’s not a bodyguard, he doesn’t seem to satisfy the criteria. He’s also older than the others. But still, it does seem—”

“Like something completely different,” Adam cut in. “The guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got shot.”

“What are the Cabals saying?” I asked Lucas.

“Almost to the word, exactly what Adam just said.”

Our eyes met and I saw my own doubts reflected back.

“So we have questions, then,” I said. “If the Cabals aren’t going to ask them, we need to do it ourselves. That means we need to go to Miami and talk to Weber.”

Lucas went quiet. Adam looked from him to me.

“My opinion?” Adam said. “You both take this ‘protecting the innocent’ thing way too far, but if you’ve got questions, then you’d better get them answered before it’s too late. Yeah, I know you don’t want to take Paige to Miami, and I can totally understand that, but Weber’s locked up. He’s not going to hurt her.”

“It’s not Weber he’s worried about.” I turned to Lucas. “How does your father explain what happened?”

At first, Lucas didn’t respond, seeming reluctant to give his father’s rationales a voice. Then he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “His explanation is that he has no explanation. He assumes that, in mentioning Weber’s name to the Nasts, he inadvertently provided them with the impetus to begin their own investigation, which culminated in the SWAT raid.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” I said. “I know you think your father did this intentionally, but you were in that house, too. He’d never put you in danger like that.”

“Paige is right,” Adam said. “I don’t know your dad, but from the way he was acting yesterday, this was as much a shock to him as it was to you.”

“So it’s settled,” I said. “We’re going to Miami.”

“On one condition.”

The hospital I was in was a small private clinic, far less opulent than the Marsh Clinic in Miami, but serving a similar purpose. This one was run not by a Cabal, but by half-demons. Doctors, nurses, lab techs, even the cook and janitor were half-demon.

San Francisco, like several other big American cities, had a sizable half-demon enclave. Half-demons had no central body like the witch Coven or werewolf Pack. As with most distinct groups in a larger society, though, they recognized the comfort and advantages of community, and many who didn’t work for a Cabal gravitated toward one of these half-demon cities.

One of the major advantages to living near other supernaturals is medical care. All the major races avoid human doctors and hospitals. Of course, supernaturals can be and have been treated in hospitals. If you get hit in a head-on collision, you can’t tell the paramedics you want to be flown to a private clinic hundreds of miles away. In most cases, such hospital stays are uneventful. But sometimes they aren’t, and we do what we can to avoid taking this chance.

Lucas’s condition was that, since I needed ongoing medical care, I must transfer to another hospital. Therein lay the problem. Miami was Cortez Cabal territory. The nearest non-Cabal supernatural-run hospital was in Jacksonville. Not only was that a six-hour drive from Miami, but it was run by sorcerers. If a witch was injured in Jacksonville, she’d stand a better chance of recovery by going home and treating herself than by showing up at a clinic staffed by sorcerers.

Benicio wanted me to recuperate at the high-security condo/hospital reserved for family, but Lucas refused. Instead I’d go to the Marsh Clinic and Lucas would stay with me. He’d order all my meals from restaurants and he’d administer my medication, which the San Francisco clinic would provide. The Marsh Clinic would give me a bed and nothing more. If my recuperation hit a speed bump, an outside doctor would be flown in.

Adam switched the phone to his other ear. “Elena’s letting you stay up how late? Does Paige know this, ’cause, as a friend, I should tell her.” He shot me a grin. “Uh-huh, well, I don’t know … Bribery works, though.” He paused. “Oh, no. No way. This calls for a T-shirt, at least. And none of those cheap three-for-ten-dollars tourist shirts, either.”

I’d made my morning call to Elena early today. At eleven we’d be in the air, and I didn’t want to worry her by not phoning. On Saturday morning, Lucas had been an hour late phoning because I’d been in surgery, and Elena had been ready to pack her bags and fly out to find us.

I finished brushing my hair and surveyed the results in the mirror on my hospital bed table. After two days in a hospital bed, it wasn’t good. A hair clip was my only hope. And maybe a hat.

We were leaving within the hour. Lucas was in a conference with my doctor, getting last-minute nursing instructions and medication.

On the phone, Adam continued to tease Savannah and, although I couldn’t hear her end of the conversation, I knew she was lapping it up. From the moment Savannah met Adam, he’d been the subject of a serious girlhood crush. I thought it would wear off after a few months, as adolescent crushes usually do, but a year later Savannah showed no signs of wavering in her affections, which were displayed through endless teasing and insults. Adam handled the situation admirably, acting as if he had no idea that she saw him as anything more than a pesky substitute big brother. Lucas and I did the same, never saying or doing anything that would embarrass her. She’d outgrow it soon enough. In the meantime, well, there were worse guys she could have a crush on.

“Uh-oh,” Adam said. “I hear Paige coming back. Last chance. T-shirt or I tattle. No?” He turned from the phone. “Hey, Paige—!” He paused. “Medium? Not likely. I’m a large.” Pause. “Ouch. Nasty. Hanging up now.” Another pause. “Yeah, okay. Say hi to Elena and Clay for me. And get to bed early.”

He hung up my cell phone, then thumped onto the edge of the bed, making my hand bounce and brush mascara on my forehead. I glared at him, grabbed a tissue, and erased the damage.

“You’re doing okay, aren’t you?” he said. “After everything … you’re doing pretty good.”

“Better than I was a few weeks ago, you mean, right? I know. I just needed a kick in the pants, and this case did it.”

“Not just that,” he said. “I mean, in general, you’re doing good. You had a rough couple months settling in, but now, and this summer when you guys stopped by, I thought, she’s happy. Really happy.”

“I’ve still got a few things to figure out, but yes, I’m pretty darn happy.”

“Good.”

As I zipped up my makeup bag, Adam slid off the bed, walked to the window, and looked out. I watched him for a moment.

“Still mad about Miami?” I said.

He turned. “Nah. Sure, I’d love to help and, yeah, I’m a bit pissed at being left behind, but Lucas is right. His dad already made a point of introducing himself to me and dropping hints about post-college ‘employment opportunities.’ I’m probably better off avoiding the Cabals
until I get my shit together. Which reminds me … you were saying last month that we need to do something about Arthur.”

“Definitely. We need a necromancer on the council, and it does no good to anyone to have one who’s never around. That whole fiasco with Tyrone Winsloe? Arthur didn’t even return our calls until it was over. I’ve been hinting that he should find a replacement, but he ignores me.”

“Guy’s a miso—what do they call it? Doesn’t like women? Not gay, I mean, but …”

“Misogynist.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Adam perched on my bed. “So I was thinking, maybe I should talk to him instead. What do you want me to do?”

Advice flew to my lips, but I bit it back. “What do you think?”

“Maybe if he’s ignoring us, we should ignore him. Just get a replacement and let him find out about it whenever he bothers showing up at a meeting. How’s that?”

I stifled the urge to give my opinion. Difficult bordering on painful. “We—
you
could do that. Maybe ask your dad if he has any suggestions for a replacement.”

I noticed Lucas walk past the door—for the second time. God forbid he should interrupt a conversation. When I called out to him, he popped his head in.

“Ready if you are,” I said.

He disappeared, then returned, pushing a wheelchair.

“That better not be for me,” I said.

“You’re quite welcome to attempt walking. However, if you pass out halfway to the front door, you may wake up back in this bed, recuperating, while I interview Weber in Miami.”

I glared at him and waved the chair over. Adam laughed.

“Oh, hey,” Adam said. “Before I forget, what do you want to do about that motorcycle?”

Lucas helped me into the wheelchair. “I should wait. It’s hardly a necessary expenditure—”

“Tell your friend yes,” I said to Adam. I looked up at Lucas. “You want it. I know you do. Take the bike and if you don’t want to use your insurance money, consider it an early Christmas gift from me. I know you don’t have a place to work on it yet, but you will sooner or later.”

“Probably sooner,” Adam said, grinning. Then he looked over my shoulder at Lucas and the grin vanished. “The, uh, housing market’s good right now, I mean. It’s always slow in fall, so maybe you’ll find a place.”

“No rush,” I said. “We’re still settling in.”

Adam looked at Lucas again and I craned my neck, trying to intercept the look that passed between them, but it vanished before I could catch it. Lucas reached for his satchel.

“Here, let me take that,” Adam said. “You get the girl, I’ll carry the bags.” A quick grin. “Not exactly fair, but I won’t be doing the grunt work forever. You just wait.” He looked at me. “As soon as I get home, I’m asking Dad about those necro replacements for Arthur. I’ll have that all set up by the next meeting.”

I smiled. “Great. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Adam accompanied us to the airport, where we thanked him for all his help, and I promised to keep him updated on the case. Then we said our good-byes and boarded the plane.

W
e took the Cortez jet back to Miami. Like staying in their hospital, using their jet was a question of safety versus, well, safety. Was I in greater danger on their plane or on a commercial flight? I’d have been happy taking my chances on a regular plane. Not that I expected to be attacked in mid-flight by Cortez hitmen, but because it was in my nature not to make a fuss where my own health was concerned. Lucas disagreed and, considering I couldn’t yet sit upright for longer than a few minutes, he was probably right.

Back in Miami, Benicio was scrambling to make peace with Lucas in the only way he could—by arranging for us to see Weber. Although Weber was being held in Cortez custody, each Cabal had assigned a guard. Such cooperation would be heartwarming, if they hadn’t done so only to safeguard their own interests in the prisoner. No one, not even the son of a CEO, was getting near Weber without approval from every Cabal.

I thought our request was simple enough. We’d promised to comply with any security precautions. We were on the same side. Moreover, without us, they wouldn’t have Weber. Yet, as quickly became obvious, that was probably more a deterrent than an asset. The Cortez Cabal had scored a major coup when we found Weber, and the other Cabals seemed to be refusing our request out of pure spite.