Industrial Magic

Laying the Blame



OF THE NEXT HOUR I REMEMBER ONLY IMAGES AND SNIPPETS that whizzed past at MTV speed. Lucas stanching my wounds. Adam pacing behind us. The SWAT team leader barking orders. A man examining my wounds. Adam snapping questions. Lucas reassuring me. A weight on my chest, slowly bearing down. Gasping for air. Lucas shouting orders. A door slamming. Road rumbling beneath tires.

The next time I came to, I was lying on some kind of bed that vibrated and swayed. I struggled to open my eyes, but could only pry them open a slit. When I inhaled, the air was sharp, metallic. I felt a light pressure around my mouth. An oxygen mask. A surge of panic made my head hurt. I dipped toward unconsciousness again and fought my way back.

A soft jolt and the vibrations ceased.

“Finally.”

Lucas’s voice, distant and muffled. A squeeze on my forearm. I felt the warmth of his fingers, resting on my arm. Then his breath tickled my ear.

“We’re here,” he said, still sounding as if he was a room-length away. I had to concentrate to make out the words. “…you hear me?”

A clang, then the whoosh of an opening door and the dim light turned midday bright. Lucas’s grip on my arm tightened.

“What are you doing here?” he said, voice cold.

Another voice answered. Familiar…Benicio. “I came in with the team. Our team. The one you requested. How is she?”

A clatter, and the low murmur of other voices. My bed jerked. Lucas’s fingers brushed my forehead as my bed lifted. A jolt, a murmured apology, and I was tugged into the sunlight. A few bumps, then the squeak of wheels and the rush of air. Lucas’s hand found mine and gripped it as we moved.

“You’re upset,” Benicio said, his voice low.

I managed to open my eyes enough to see Lucas at my side, walking fast, Benicio beside him, leaning in for privacy.

“And that surprises you?” Lucas clipped his words, voice colder than I’d ever heard it.

“I don’t blame you for being angry, but you know I had nothing to do with this.”

“It was all a misunderstanding. Or a coincidence. Have you decided yet? If not, may I suggest you choose misunderstanding? It provides more opportunity for prevarication.”

Benicio reached for Lucas’s free arm. “Lucas, I—”

Lucas swiped at his father’s hand, catching it and knocking him back. Benicio’s eyes went wide. Lucas’s face twisted as he spun to say something, but as he wheeled around, he noticed my eyes were half open and stopped in mid-turn. He bent over me, nearly tripping as he tried to keep pace alongside the stretcher.

“Paige? Can you hear me?”

I tried to nod, but had to settle for fluttering my eyelids. He squeezed my hand.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re in a hospital—a private hospital. Robert arranged it. They need to…”

I slid back into unconsciousness.



The cuts on my neck proved the least of my injuries. The blade had left only shallow gashes that required no more than a quick cleaning and small bandages. I’d sustained two other injuries—one serious but relatively painless, the other minor but painful as hell. The chest wound had cut my lung, collapsing it. The doctors had inserted a chest tube, cleared out the blood, and reinflated my lung, which now seemed fine, although they had to keep the chest tube in for a day or two. The abdomen cut had sliced only through muscle—well, okay, undoubtedly more fat than muscle, but the doctors said “muscle” so I’m sticking to their version. Though the wound was superficial, every time I moved, it was like getting stabbed all over again.

The next morning I opened my eyes to see Adam hunched over a psychology textbook, highlighter in hand. I reached up to rub my face and nearly toppled the IV onto the bed. Adam grabbed it just in time.

“Shit,” he said. “I finally convince Lucas it’s safe to leave for a few minutes and you decide to wake up. If he comes back, close your eyes, okay?”

I managed a weak smile and opened my mouth to speak, then made a face. I pointed to the water. Adam poured me a glass. He started to put in the straw, but I grabbed the glass and took a gulp. The water hit my parched throat and bounced back, dribbling out my mouth.

“That’s attractive,” he said, reaching for a tissue.

I snatched it before he could do anything as humiliating as wipe my face. He picked up something from the dresser.

“Brought you something.” He handed me a stuffed beanbag bear dressed in a black witch’s hat and dress. “Remember these?”

“Hmmm.” I struggled to focus, still woozy. “Right. The dolls.” A small smile, as the memory surfaced. “You—” I wet my lips and tried again. “You used to buy them for me. Gifts.”

He grinned. “Every ugly wart-faced witch doll I could find. Because I knew how much you loved them.”

“Hated them. And you knew it. Used to lecture you on sensitivity and stereotyping.” I shook my head. “God, I was insufferable sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

I swatted him and laughed, then gasped as pain shot through my stomach. Adam grabbed for the call button, but I lifted my hand to stop him.

“I’m okay,” I said.

He nodded and sat down on the side of the bed. “You had us pretty worried. At the house everything seemed okay, but then, boom, you blacked out and your blood pressure dropped—” He shook his head. “Not a good scene. I was freaked, and Lucas was freaked, which only freaked me out even more, ’cause I figured this guy doesn’t scare easy and if this scares him, there must be reason to be scared and—” Another shake of the head. “It wasn’t good.”

“Paige.”

I looked up to see a figure in the doorway. The voice told me it was Lucas, but I had to blink to double-check. Pale and unshaven, he was still dressed in the suit he’d worn for the missionary ruse at Weber’s house, but the jacket and tie were gone. His shirt was wrinkled and splattered with coffee stains. One sleeve of his shirt was charred at the forearm, with bandages peeking through the gaping hole. That was the drawback to working with Adam—when he got mad, you had to stay out of his way, or you paid the price in second-degree burns.

“I’ll be outside,” Adam said, shifting off the bed.

He slipped out the door. As Lucas approached I saw that the stains on his shirt weren’t coffee brown, but rust red. Blood. My blood. He followed my gaze.

“Oh, I should change. I—”

“Later,” I said.

“Do you want to call Savannah? I can—”

“Later.”

I held out my hand. He took it, then reached down to hug me.



An hour later, I was still awake, having persuaded the nurse to hold off on my pain medication. First I needed answers.

“Are they holding Weber in L.A.?” I asked.

Lucas shook his head. “My father won that battle. Weber is in Miami, with a trial date set for Friday.”

“I don’t get that,” Adam said. “Why bother? They know the guy’s guilty. What are they going to do, say ‘Whoops, we didn’t issue a proper warrant’ and let him walk?”

“He’s entitled to a trial,” Lucas said. “It’s Cabal law.”

“But is it a real trial?” I asked.

“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 Micahel 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.