Industrial Magic

An Offer I Can Refuse



THE MOMENT I STEPPED INTO MY APARTMENT, I HAD TO grip my fists tight to keep from slamming the door and throwing shut the deadbolt. I was about to meet Benicio Cortez. And to my shame, I was afraid.

Benicio Cortez headed the Cortez Cabal. The comparison between Cabals and the Mafia was as old as organized crime itself. But it was a bad analogy. Comparing the mob to a Cabal was like comparing a gang of teenage neo-Nazis to the Gestapo. Yet I feared meeting Benicio, not because he was the CEO of the world’s most powerful Cabal, but because he was Lucas’s father. Everything that Lucas was, and everything he feared becoming, was embodied in this man.

When I’d first learned who Lucas was, I’d assumed that, having dedicated his life to fighting the Cabals, Lucas wouldn’t have any contact with his father. I soon realized it wasn’t that simple. Benicio phoned. He sent birthday gifts. He invited Lucas to all family functions. He acted as if there was no estrangement. And even his son didn’t seem to understand why. When the phone rang and Benicio’s number appeared on the caller ID, Lucas would stand there and stare at it, and in his eyes I saw a war I couldn’t imagine. Sometimes he answered. Sometimes he didn’t. Either way, he seemed to regret the choice.

So now I was about to meet the man. What did I truly fear? That I wouldn’t measure up. That Benicio would take one look at me and decide I was’t good enough for his son. And the worst of it? Right now, I wasn’t sure he’d be wrong.

A single rap at the door.

I took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. I saw the man standing there, and my heart jammed into my throat. For one second, I was certain I’d been tricked, that this was not Benicio but one of his sons—the son who’d ordered my death four months ago. I’d been drugged and, coming to, the first thing I’d seen were Lucas’s eyes—a nightmare version of them, their deep brown somehow colder than the icy blue of Troy Morgan’s stare. I hadn’t known which of Lucas’s half-brothers it had been. I still didn’t know, having never told Lucas what happened. But now, as I stared into those eyes, the steel in my spine turned to mercury and I had to grip the door handle to steady myself.

“Ms. Winterbourne.”

As he spoke, I heard my mistake. The voice I’d heard that day was riveted in my skull, words bitten off sharp, staccato, and bitter. This one was velvet-soft, the voice of a man who never has to shout to get anyone’s attention. As I invited him inside, a harder look confirmed my error. The son I’d met had been in his early forties, and this man was another twenty years older. It was an understandable mistake, though. Smooth some of the deeply etched lines on his face and Benicio would be a carbon copy of his son. Both men were wide-shouldered, stocky, and no more than five seven, in contrast to Lucas’s tall, rail-thin physique.

“I knew your mother,” Benicio said as he crossed the room. No “She was a good woman” or “I’m sorry for your loss” tacked on. A statement as emotionless as his stare. His gaze swept the room, taking in the secondhand furniture and bare walls. Part of me wanted to explain, and another part of me was horrified by the impulse. I didn’t owe this man an explanation.

Benicio stepped in front of the couch—part of a perfectly serviceable if threadbare set. He looked down at it as if debating whether it might soil his suit. At that, a small inkling of the old Paige bubbled to the surface.

“Don’t bother sitting,” I said. “This isn’t a tea-and-crumpets kind of visit. Oh, and I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

Benicio turned his empty stare on me and waited. For at least twenty seconds, we just looked at one another. I tried to hold out, but I broke first.

“As I told your men, Lucas is in court, out of town. If you didn’t believe me—”

“I know where my son is.”

A chill tickled the nape of my neck as I heard the un-spoken qualifier: “I always know where my son is.” I’d never thought of that, but hearing him now, there was no doubt in my mind that Benicio always knew exactly where Lucas was, and what he was doing.

“Well, that’s funny,” I said. “Because your men said you had a message for him. But if you know he’s not here, then…Oh, I get it. That was only an excuse, right? You know Lucas is gone and you came here pretending to want to deliver a message, hoping for a chance to meet the new girlfriend. You wouldn’t want to do that with Lucas around, because you might not be able to control your disappointment when you confirm that your son is indeed dating—whoops, living with—a witch.”

“I do have a message,” he said. “For both of you.”

“I’m guessing it’s not ‘congratulations.’”

“I have a case that might interest Lucas,” he said. “One that might be of particular interest to you as well.” While we’d been talking, his eyes had never left mine, but now, for the first time, he truly seemed to be looking at me. “You’re developing quite the reputation, both for fending off the Nast Cabal’s attempt to take Savannah and for your role in ending that business with Tyrone Winsloe last year. This particular case would require someone with such expertise.”

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.