Industrial Magic

A Theory



AT SEVEN, STILL TALKING, WE MOVED THE CONVERSATION from the bed to the restaurant downstairs. Dining that early meant we got the best seats, a table in the corner of the atrium.

By nine, the tiny restaurant was full, with a line at the door. We were on our third cup of coffee, breakfast long since done, which earned us plenty of glares from those waiting at the hostess station, but not so much as an impatient glance from our server, probably owing to the size of the tip Lucas had tacked onto the bill.

“Nasha?” Lucas said when I told him the name Dana’s attacker had invoked. “It doesn’t sound familiar.”

“I passed it on through Adam to Robert, to get his opinion. I’d called him yesterday to ask—uh, about some council stuff.”

“And a list of alternate necromancers, I presume?”

“I—uh—” I inhaled. “I’m sorry. I know you said to trust you, and I really tried…”

A smile tickled his lips. “But gave up somewhere between Sid Vicious and the private strip show. Either of which, understandably, would strain the bounds of the deepest trust.”

“Actually, it was after the striptease.”

His smile broadened. “Ah, well, in that case, you outlasted any reasonable expectation of faith. I’m flattered. Thank you.”

“Still, I should have listened to you. You were right. Jaime did just fine.”

“She is very good, though sometimes I think she’d prefer otherwise. Have you ever heard of Molly O’Casey?”

“Of course. Top-notch necro. Died a few years back, didn’t she?”

Lucas nodded. “She was Jaime’s paternal grandmother. Vegas is Jaime’s stage name.”

“I thought it might be. She doesn’t look Hispanic.”

“She isn’t. Her mother chose the name when she started Jaime in show business, as a child. As Jaime tells it, her mother was a flaming racist, and had no idea Vegas was Spanish. To her, ‘Vegas’ meant ‘Las Vegas,’ a good omen for a child with a stage career. Years later, when she found out the name’s origin, she almost had a heart attack. Demanded Jaime change it. But, by then, Jaime was eighteen, and could do as she liked. The more her mother hated the name, she more determined she was to keep it.”

“There’s a story there,” I said softly.

“Yes, I imagine there is.”

We sipped our coffee.

“I thought you were in Chicago,” said a voice above my head.

I turned to see Jaime pulling an empty chair from a table behind us. The trio at the table looked up in surprise, but she ignored them and clattered the chair down beside me, then dropped into it. She was wearing a silk wrapper and, I suspected, little else.

“Isn’t this romantic,” she said, snarling a yawn. “The happy couple, all brushed, scrubbed, and chipper.” She dropped her head onto the table. “Someone get me a coffee. Stat.”

Lucas swept a lock of her hair off his muffin plate, then gestured to the server, who stopped mid-order and hurried over with the pot. Jaime stayed facedown on the table.

“Is your, uh, guest joining us?” I asked Jaime.

She rolled onto her cheek to look up at me. “Guest?”

“The guy? From last night?”

“Guy?”

“The one you took back to your room.”

She lifted her head. “I took a—?” She groaned. “Oh, shit. Hold on. I’ll be right back.”

She stood, took three steps, then turned.

“Uh, Paige? Did I get a name?”

“Mark—no, Mike. Oh, wait. That was the blonde. Craig…or Greg. The music was pretty loud.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples. “It still is. Greg, then. I’ll mumble.”

She staggered across the atrium.

I turned to Lucas. “Interesting lady.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”



Jaime got rid of her “guest,” and joined us for the rest of her coffee, then went back to her room for more sleep. She had a show in Orlando that night, so, in case we didn’t see her again, we thanked her for her help.

Lucas unpacked while I phoned Robert about the “Nasha” connection. After four rings, the machine picked up.

“That’s probably one clue that’s not going to help us much anyway,” I said once I’d left a message. “I’d really hoped to get more from Dana.”

“She’s probably blocked what little she did see. We may want to shift our focus to ascertaining how the killer selected his victims.”

“Damn, of course. He obviously targeted runaways with Cabal parents, but how would he find out something like that? Maybe the parents had a connection, because of their shared circumstances. Like a support group. Do the Cabals offer stuff like that?”

“They do, but separately. They strongly discourage interaction with the employees of other Cabals.”

“What about therapists or social workers? Would they share them?”

Lucas shook his head. “What I believe we’re looking for is someone who has obtained access to employee files at the Cortez, Nast, and St. Cloud Cabals.”

I looked across the room at my laptop. “They’re all computerized, aren’t they? So someone hacked into the system…and I cannot believe I didn’t think of that.”

“You wouldn’t because you aren’t familiar with Cabal record-keeping procedures, and the amount of personal detail they keep. You won’t find many corporations who keep records of their staff’s personal situations. Nothing in a Cabal employee’s life is sacred. If someone’s mother-in-law has a gambling problem, the Cabal knows about it.”

“For leverage.”

“Not just leverage, but security. If that mother-in-law gets in trouble with a loan shark, her half-demon son-in-law may use his powers to permanently solve the problem. Likewise, a runaway Cabal child could be a potential security threat, so they keep track of them, and probably know more about their whereabouts than their parents do. As for hacking into the system, while it’s possible, Cabal security is top of the line.”

“Everyone thinks their security is top of the line,” I said. “Until someone like me slips in the back door.”

“True, but the systems are protected by both technical and supernatural means. To hack them would require a supernatural with an inside knowledge of Cabal security systems.”

“Someone who worked in the computer or security departments. Probably someone who was fired in the past year or so. The old ‘disgruntled employee’ theory.”

Lucas nodded “Let me phone my father. See whether we can find anyone who’d fit that theory.”



Lucas had no trouble getting the Cortez Cabal employee list. Benicio knew that while Lucas might love to keep a copy of that list for his own investigations against the Cabals, he would do the honorable thing and destroy it as soon as it had served its stated purpose. Getting the other Cabal HR departments to cooperate wasn’t nearly so easy. Benicio didn’t tell them Lucas would be accessing the list, but they didn’t want any Cortez getting his hands on their staff records. It took two hours just to get a list of dismissed employees’ names and positions.

Those lists were surprisingly short. I thought the Cabals were holding out on us, but Lucas assured me they looked accurate. When you hire only supernaturals, and you find ones who work out, you bend over backward to keep them. If they don’t work out, it’s better to make them disappear rather than hand them a pink slip…and not just to avoid paying severance. A pissed-off supernatural employee is a lot more dangerous than your average disgruntled postal worker.

Once we narrowed the list down to employees in the computer and security departments, we had two names from the Cortez list, three from the Nasts, and one from the St. Clouds. Put those together and we had five possibilities. And no, there was nothing wrong with my math skills. Two plus three plus one should equal six. So why did we have a list of five names? Because one appeared on two rosters. Everett Weber, computer programmer.

According to the Cortez files, Everett Weber was a druid who’d worked as a programmer in their Human Resources department from June 2000 to December 2000, on a six-month contract. That didn’t qualify as a dismissal, but people often take contract jobs expecting them to turn into permanent positions. We needed to find out how amicable Weber’s leaving had been. And we needed details of his employment with the Nasts. Lucas phoned Benicio again. Seventy minutes later, Benicio called back.

“Well?” I said as Lucas hung up.

“Preliminary reports from the Human Resources department indicate that Weber’s contract ended without rancor, but my father will investigate further. It’s not uncommon for managers to be less than forthcoming when confronted with a potentially unreported employee problem. As for the Nasts, Weber worked in their IT department from January of this year until August, in a contract position.”

“Another six-month contract?”

“No, a one-year contract that ended after seven months, but the Nasts refuse to elaborate.”

I slammed my laptop shut. “Damn it! Do they want this guy caught or not?”

“I suspect the problem is coming from both sides. My father would be reluctant to let the Nasts know we’re raising questions about someone in particular. Otherwise Weber may disappear into Nast custody before we can question him, a definite possibility considering he’s currently residing in California.”

“And the Nast Cabal is based in Los Angeles, meaning they’d beat us to him.”

“Precisely. My father’s suggestion, and one I would second, is that we proceed to California ourselves and investigate Everett further, before we press the Nasts for details.”

“Sounds good, but—”

The ring of my cell phone cut me off. I checked the call display.

“Adam,” I said. “Before I answer, what part of California are we heading to?”

“Close enough to Santa Cruz that you can ask him to join us.”

I nodded and clicked on the phone.



An hour later we were back at the airport, picking up tickets purchased for us by the Cortez Corporation. This was, of course, Benicio’s doing, though it was one step down from what he’d really wanted, which was for us to use the corporate jet. When Benicio offered the tickets instead, Lucas—eager to stop arguing and start investigating—had accepted. Neither of us was happy about the obvious manipulation, but the truth was that we could ill afford to be crisscrossing the country like this. Dana and Jacob deserved better than a low-budget investigation, and we’d make sure they got it, even if it meant accepting transportation expenses from the Cabal.



Of course, Adam didn’t mind playing host and tour guide, not when it came with the opportunity for excitement. I’ve known Adam for half my life, long enough to accept that he’s the kind of guy who does as little as he can get away with—unless the “doing” involves straight-up ass-kicking action. Today, with the prospect of some less-than-legal adventuring, he was keen enough to actually meet our plane on time.

Adam was twenty-four, and good-looking in a wholesome California way with a perpetual tan, light brown hair sun-streaked blond, and the well-built body of a surfer. Like his stepfather, he was a half-demon. Robert had long since suspected Adam was the most powerful subtype of fire demon—an Exustio—but it had only been last year that he’d finally incinerated something and proved Robert right. That marked the culmination of seventeen years of increasing powers, dating back to childhood, when Talia had gone seeking answers for Adam’s early displays of power, not content to accept a psychiatrist’s explanation that Adam’s literally hot temper was only adolescent acting-out. Her search had led her to Robert Vasic, who’d eventually given her the answers she sought…and fallen in love with her.

“So what’s the plan?” Adam said as we climbed into his Jeep.

“We’re starting right at the source,” I said. “A home invasion, if we’re lucky.”

“Sweet.”

“I thought you’d think so.”