Industrial Magic

Standoff



LAST TIME I’D SEEN EDWARD, HE’D BEEN RUNNING FOR the portal, so we assumed he’d jumped through right after us. He hadn’t made it. Less than an hour after we disappeared, Edward phoned John in New Orleans asking to be put in contact with Cassandra. John had the good sense to hand over Aaron’s number, rather than try negotiating with Edward himself. When Edward finally got in touch with Cassandra, he demanded that she, as the vampire delegate to the council, negotiate on his behalf with the Cortez Cabal.

This made no sense to me. If Edward knew Natasha was waiting on the other side, why would he want to bargain his way out of a death sentence? Turned out he didn’t. As Cassandra explained, Edward knew he’d be executed for his crimes, and he accepted that…so long as his punishment ended there. In a Cabal court, there is a sentence worse than execution: execution plus an afterlife curse, which sends your soul into limbo. For a vampire, the threat held little power, since most assumed they didn’t have an afterlife. Can’t curse a soul that doesn’t exist. But now Edward knew better. Natasha still lived, in some form, in some place, and he wanted to be with her. Maybe this was why Natasha had been trying to contact Jaime, to somehow negotiate with us or pass along a message to Edward, telling him to stop and accept execution before he went too far. But now he had gone too far. In killing Lucas, he’d ensured that his death would come with every curse Benicio could dream up. His only hope was to negotiate an ironclad settlement before Benicio knew his beloved youngest son was gone.

The problem was that Cassandra knew nothing about portals and Cabal curses, and didn’t even know for certain that we’d found Edward. She knew only that we were missing and he might be to blame. So she did the obvious: demanded to know where we were, whereupon Edward realized everyone knew we’d disappeared, which meant any hope of negotiating with the Cabals had also disappeared, which meant he didn’t need Cassandra to mediate for him. So he’d hung up.

Not surprisingly, no one had heard from Edward since. My first thought was that it was still over. Edward would go into hiding, no more Cabal kids would die, and the problem would be resolved, however unsatisfying that resolution might be. Again, Jaime knew differently. When Edward had been trying to persuade Cassandra to negotiate for him, his terms were that he would stop the killings if the Cabal reopened a portal for him. Of course that made no sense to Cassandra, and Edward hung up before she could demand an explanation. Once I told Jaime what happened, though, she knew exactly what he’d meant.

Once a portal to the ghost world had been ripped open, it remained “hot” for about forty-eight hours. That meant, with the right materials, it could be reactivated. As for what material such a reopening required, Jaime knew only that it involved a sacrifice—a human sacrifice. Yet she also knew it wasn’t as easy as selecting a random victim from the street. She had an idea where she could find details on the ritual, and promised to do so immediately. While I’d explained the situation to Elena and Clay, Lucas had called his father. We talked for another couple of minutes, then set out for our respective rental cars, which were parked in a lot near Edward’s hotel. We got less than a block before a familiar black SUV squealed a U-turn in front of us.

“How the hell…?” I said.

“Cell phone tracking, I would presume,” Lucas murmured.

As the SUV pulled to the curbside, I turned to say something else to Lucas, then saw the bloodstained bullet hole on his shirt.

“Shit!” I said. “Your shirt. A jacket, does anyone have—”

No one did, but it didn’t matter. Before the SUV even stopped rolling, the rear door opened and Benicio flew out. And, of course, the first thing he saw was that bullet hole.

Benicio stopped in mid-stride, gaze glued to that bloodied hole in Lucas’s shirt. All color drained from his face. He took one unsteady step toward his son. Lucas hesitated only a split second, then met Benicio in an embrace.

As the two hugged, Elena slipped off to the side, then returned, grabbed Clay’s arm, and tugged him away, motioning to me that they’d wait around the corner to give us privacy.

Lucas tried to explain away the hole, but it was too late. Benicio had already been to see Faye and she’d told him that Lucas was Edward’s next target. She hadn’t known Lucas had been shot, but the moment Benicio saw that shirt, he knew, and there was no sense fudging the facts. We did, however, gloss over our afterlife visit, saying only that we’d fallen through the portal and reawakened here. Later, Benicio would undoubtedly press for details, but for now he didn’t care. Lucas was safe. That was all that mattered.

“So now we still need to find Edward,” Lucas said. “He’ll probably lie low—”

Benicio shook his head. “He’ll want to reopen the portal.”

“We did…entertain that possibility,” Lucas said. “We have Jaime looking into it now.”

“And I’ll get our researchers on it right away. For now, though, my first priority is you. I’ve made arrangements for you and Paige to be flown to the safe house, where you’ll—”

“No, Papá,” Lucas said quietly.

Benicio met his son’s gaze. “Don’t argue with me on this, Lucas. You are going—”

“I am going to continue what I started. As long as Edward is free, I still have a job to do.”

“Your job is done. It ends here, Lucas. I have never interfered before—”

Lucas gave him a look.

Benicio’s mouth set. “Not with this, I haven’t. I have never tried to stop these crusades of yours or dissuade you from them.” He stepped back. “Do you think I don’t know how often your life is in danger, Lucas? Do you know how many nights I’ve spent worrying? Wondering what kind of trouble you’ll get into next? But I have never said a word. You jaunt off to Boston to take on Kristof Nast over a witch, and I say nothing. You fly to California to confront a potential serial killer, and I say nothing. But now I am saying something. This time, my name isn’t enough to protect you, so I’m damned well going to do it myself. You are going to that—”

“No, Papá.”

They locked gazes and for a minute, just stood there, staring at one another. Then Lucas gave a slow shake of his head.

“No, Papá. This is my fight, just as much as anything else I’ve ever done. You’re right. All the ‘risks’ I’ve ever taken haven’t been risks at all, because of you and who I am. That has always kept me safe. So now, when I am—possibly for the first time—in real danger, do you honestly expect me to hide behind you? What kind of man would that make me?”

“A safe one.”

Lucas met his father’s glare with an unblinking stare. After a moment, Benicio turned away. From his profile, I could see his jaw working, struggling to rein in his anger. Finally, he turned back to Lucas.

“You’re taking Troy,” he said.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Papá,” Lucas said.

“You—”

“He already has one,” drawled a voice behind us.

We turned to see Clay heading our way. Although they’d been twenty feet away, and around the corner, they couldn’t help eavesdropping—one drawback to a werewolf’s enhanced hearing.

“I’ve got it covered,” Clay said. “He needs a bodyguard; he’s got me.”

Benicio looked at Clay. Then his gaze slid to Elena, who was coming up behind Clay. He gave the barest nod, as if making the mental connection.

“Clayton Danvers, I presume,” Benicio said. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Then you know your son is in good hands.”

Benicio hesitated only a moment, then looked at Lucas. “You’ll keep your cell phone on?”

Lucas nodded. “And keep you updated.”

With that, Benicio let us go. A relatively easy victory. Too easy. When Benicio was gone, Lucas told us to expect to be tailed to the hotel by another car, one carrying a Cortez security team. And we were. So Benicio had assigned long-distance bodyguards. An inconvenience, but better than having Troy oversee our every move—and relay our every move back to Benicio.



We took the food back to Jeremy and Savannah, and filled them in.

After we’d finished, Jeremy walked to the nearest window and parted the curtains. “We have about an hour of darkness left. Elena…”

“Get back to the alley and get sniffing,” she said. “Do you guys have anything belonging to Edward?”

“A shirt taken from his clothes hamper,” Lucas said. When Elena gave him an odd look, he explained, “We needed a personal item for a clairvoyant.”

“Clair—? You mean like—?” Elena stopped and shook her head. “My world was so much less confusing when it only had werewolves. A worn shirt is perfect.” She shot a grin at Clay. “Even you could track from that.”

“Yeah? Well, in that case, you won’t mind me coming along…unless you’re afraid I’ll find him first, show you up.”

Her grin broadened. “Never.”

“Good. So—” Clay stopped and looked at Lucas. “Or maybe you’ll need to handle this one on your own, darling. I promised Lucas’s dad—”

“Go on,” Lucas said. “Even my father would admit I’m safe here. Edward could hardly break in and overpower all of us.”

Both Clay and Elena looked over at Jeremy, waiting for permission. I still find that very strange, the idea that Pack werewolves don’t act without their Alpha’s approval. And stranger still that they don’t seem to mind. I’m sure it helps that Jeremy never makes a big deal out of it—he’d never jump in when they’re in the middle of making plans and yell, “Hey, I never said you could do that!” Instead, he does what he did now, intercepted their questioning looks with the barest of nods.

After visiting Faye, we’d left Edward’s shirt in our rental car. Lucas gave Clayton the keys and told him where to find the shirt.

“Paige?” Elena said as they headed for the door. “You want to come along?”

Of course I did, but I also knew it wouldn’t score me any points with Clayton.

“You two go on,” I said. “I should wait here for Jaime’s call.”

“Can I go?” Savannah said, jumping up.

A chorus of nos answered her. She scowled and thumped back onto the sofa.

“Have you tried the arepas?” Lucas asked her. “These are stuffed with chicken, and those over there are beef.”

She sighed, but allowed Lucas to put some arepas on her plate and explain how they were made.



Next, Jeremy suggested that we invite Cassandra and Aaron to join us, so we could all discuss a plan of action. I’d intended to propose this myself, but had been waiting for Elena and Clay to leave. I suspect Jeremy had been waiting for the same thing, knowing neither of them would be pleased at the prospect of working with Cassandra.

Jeremy also suggested that Jaime join us. This was a more difficult decision to make. Aaron and Cassandra already knew the werewolves; Jaime did not. The Pack had only rejoined the interracial council last year, after more than a century of cutting themselves off from the rest of the supernatural world. Elena might joke about her world being easier when it contained only werewolves, but there was a lot of truth in that. For the Pack, coming back to the council meant a trade-off between gaining allies and giving up the layer of protection that came with isolation.

Outside of the interracial council, few supernaturals could name the members of the Pack, and even fewer could put names to faces. Jeremy was happy to keep it that way, and I didn’t blame him. In this case, though, he weighed the danger of identifying themselves to Jaime against the help she could provide with the portal, and decided she had to join us.



At six, Jaime phoned to say she had something, and was coming right over to explain it. Aaron hadn’t returned our messages yet, likely having turned off his cell phone while they hunted for us, so we left another, giving him the hotel address, and told them to meet us here. Moments later Elena called. They’d hit a dead end and were heading back.

While we’d been waiting for Jaime’s call, I’d talked to Jeremy about the case, hoping he might see some clue we’d overlooked. After about twenty minutes, I noticed Lucas had gone quiet, looked over, and found he was asleep. I suppose dying does take a lot out of a person. I’ll admit, though, that on pretense of removing his glasses, I did surreptitiously check to make sure he was breathing. I’d probably be doing that for a while.