Industrial Magic

Time to Empty the Minibar



AFTER THE MEETING, BENICIO WALKED WITH US BACK to his office to get our overnight bags.

“I’d like you to take Troy tonight,” Benicio said. “I’m concerned. If someone’s targeting Cabal children—”

“I believe I’m a decade or so above fulfilling that requirement,” Lucas said.

“But you’re still my child. You know Troy; he’ll be as unobtrusive as possible. I just…I want you to be safe.”

Lucas lifted his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then glanced over at me.

I nodded.

“Let me take a guard from the security pool, then,” Lucas said. “You should keep yours—”

“I’ll still have Griffin,” Benicio said, nodding at Troy’s partner. “That will be enough tonight.”

When Lucas finally agreed, Benicio slid in a few more “requests.” He wanted to pick up the tab for our hotel, to compensate for bringing us here. Lucas refused. Benicio backed off, but followed with another demand. With the combination of this new threat and 9/11, he didn’t want Lucas flying on a commercial airline. He’d make sure the corporate jet was fueled up to take us home. Again Lucas refused. Now Benicio dug in his heels, and kept them dug in until Lucas finally agreed to accept the hotel room, just to get us out of there.

By the time we escaped to the street, Lucas’s forehead had gained ten years of stress-furrows. He stood beside the garden, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

“The sweet smell of freedom,” I said.

He tried to smile, but his lips faltered and fell into a tired line. He squinted up and down the street, then headed east. Troy fell into position two paces behind. After a few yards, Lucas glanced over his shoulder.

“Troy? Please, walk beside us.”

“Sorry,” Troy said, striding up. “Habit.”

“Yes, well, when a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound half-demon follows me, it’s never a good thing. Fleeing for my life is usually involved.”

Troy grinned. “You need a bodyguard.”

“I need a saner life. Or faster feet. Right now, though, we need…”

“Wheels,” I said. “Followed by stiff drinks.”

“Uh, sir?”

Lucas winced.

“Lucas, I meant,” Troy said. “The parking garage is beside the office. We needed to take the walkway across to get the car.”

Lucas sighed. “Now you tell me.”

“Hey, it’s not my place to think. That’s for you sorcerer guys. Me? I’m paid to keep my mouth shut, glare at strangers, and, on a good day, break a couple kneecaps.”

“Cushy job,” I said.

“It has its moments. The kneecap-breaking gets a little stale, though. I’ve tried tossing in the occasional jaw-busting and skull-smacking, but Mr. Cortez, he’s a kneecap man.”

Lucas shook his head and headed back toward the building.



At the hotel, Troy cased our room before allowing us inside. Seemed like overkill to me, but that was his job.

“All clear,” he said, coming out. “There’s a door between our rooms. Knock if you need me. If you go out to dinner…”

“We’ll tell you,” Lucas said.

“I’ll keep out of the way, sit at a corner table, whatever.”

“We’ll probably have a quiet night, order room service.”

“Hey, it’s all paid for, so go for it.” Troy caught Lucas’s look. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like using the old man’s money, but you’re his kid, right? If it was my dad…” He grinned. “Well, if it was my dad, I suppose he’d be offering me a lifetime supply of fire and brimstone, and personally, I’d prefer the cash, but that’s just me. Seriously, though, take advantage of it. Clean out the minibar, rack up the room-service bill, steal the bathrobes. Worst thing that can happen, you’ll piss off the old man and he won’t talk to you for a year.”

“Not the worst punishment I can imagine,” Lucas murmured.

“Exactly. So live it up. And call me if you need help with the minibar.”



I closed the door, cast a locking spell, and collapsed on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I know that was difficult for you, turning them down.”

“Let’s just—let’s not think about it. Not now. Maybe in the morning…Will we have time to stop by the hospital in the morning? See how she’s doing?”

“We’ll make time.”

“Good. I can make sure she’s okay, see if there’s anything I can do from that angle and try to forget the rest. Now, let’s help ourselves to that drink.”

I started pushing to my feet, but Lucas waved me down.

“Stay there. I’ll get it.”

He glanced at the minibar, then at the door.

“The minibar’s closer,” I said. “And if you go out for booze, you’ll have to take Troy. Your father brought us running down here, the least he can do is pay for our hotel and a drink.”

“You’re right. First, the drink. Then dinner. We’ll order in—” He stopped and shook his head. “No, we’re going out. Someplace nice. Followed by a show or a walk on the beach or whatever you want. My treat.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. And, though I neglected to mention it earlier, I have money. Well, some money. I received payment on a legal matter, and I am, for the first time in months, reasonably flush.”

“Is this for the case you’re working now? With the shaman?”

“No, this is from a few years ago, a client whose financial situation has improved and who wanted to repay me. As for the current case, there is the possibility of a payment. A barter, so to speak. He has—” Lucas paused, then shook his head. “A matter we can discuss later, if and when it comes to fruition. For now, I have enough money to treat you to a proper evening out, and pay the rent for the next few months. Let me mix that drink, then I’ll tell Troy we’ll be leaving for dinner within the hour.”

I didn’t miss the “pay the rent” part, however skillfully he slipped it in. I paid the lion’s share of the household expenses. Paid them by choice, I should add. I knew this bothered Lucas—not in an “I am man; I am breadwinner” kind of way, but as a subtler matter of pride.

Lucas barely earned a living wage. Most of his court and investigative work was pro bono, helping supernaturals who couldn’t afford a lawyer or PI. What little money he made usually came from doing legal paperwork for wealthier supernatural clients, many of whom could easily and more conveniently have hired a local lawyer, but who retained Lucas as a way of supporting his pro bono efforts. Even that made Lucas uncomfortable, smacking too much of charity, but his only alternative would be to stop taking nonpaying cases, which he’d never do.

It hurt like hell to see him sleeping in fleabag motels, barely able to afford public transit, saving every penny so he could pay part of our expenses. I had enough for both of us. But how could I turn down his contributions without belittling his efforts? Yet another kink in the relationship we had to work out.



We stumbled back into the hotel room just before midnight, having followed dinner with a few rounds of pool and more than a few rounds of beer. Definite advantage to the whole chauffeur/bodyguard deal: built-in designated driver. The downside, though, was that Troy beat me in two out of three pool games, a serious blow to my ego. I blamed it on the booze. Deadened my reflexes…though it did wonders for helping me forget the rest of the day. As for Lucas, he was feeling better, too.

“I did not cheat!” I said, struggling to wriggle free of the upside-down over-the-back-of-the-sofa position in which I found myself pinned.

He pulled my blouse from my skirt and tickled my ribs. “You so cheated. Second game. Seven ball, left corner pocket. Minor telekinesis spell.”

I squealed and swatted his hands. “I—the ball rolled.”

“With help.”

“Once. Only once. I—stop—” Another embarrassingly girlish shriek. “You—third game—the eight ball. You moved it out of the way of your shot.”

He toppled us over onto the couch and slid a hand under my skirt.

“Diversionary tactics, Counselor,” I said.

“Guilty.” He hooked his fingers over my panties and peeled them off.

“Not so fast, Cortez. You promised me spell-casting.”

“I think you did enough of that at the pool hall.”

He stifled my sputtering with a kiss.

“Wait. No—” I wiggled sideways and dropped to the floor, then scooted out of reach. “How about a game? Strip spell-casting.”

“Strip—?” He rubbed at his smile. “Okay, I’ll bite. How do you play?”

“Just like strip poker, only with spell-casting. We take turns trying the new spell. Each time we fail, we remove a piece of clothing.”

“Given the difficulty of that spell, we’ll likely both run out of clothing first.”

“Then we’ll have to get more creative.”

Lucas laughed and started to say something, but a knock cut him off. He looked at the main door. I pointed at the one linking our suite to Troy’s. Lucas sighed, heaved himself to his feet, and peered around. I picked up his glasses from the floor.

“Thank you,” he said, taking them. “I’ll be right back.”

“Better be. Or I’m starting without you.”

Lucas buttoned his shirt on the way to the door. I crawled onto the sofa, straightened my skirt, and stuffed my panties between the cushions.

Lucas pulled open the adjoining-room door.

“There’s been another attack,” Troy said.

“Where?” I said, popping up from the sofa.

“Here. In Miami.” Troy ran a hand through his hair. His face was pale. “I just got the page. They—I’m on call this week. No one took me off the list tonight. Can you phone in and let them know I can’t make it?”

“Come in,” Lucas said.

“I need—I’ve got some calls to make. It’s—it’s Griffin. His oldest boy. Jacob. I should—”

“You should come in. Please.” Lucas closed the door behind Troy. “Are you saying Griffin’s son has been attacked?”

“I—we don’t know. He called the emergency line and now he’s missing. They’ve sent out a search team.”

“Why don’t you go with them?” I said. “We’ll be fine.”

“He can’t,” Lucas said. “He’d be severely reprimanded for leaving me behind. A problem easily solved if I go along. Care to join us?”

“You need to ask?” I said, getting to my feet.

“No way,” Troy said. “Dragging the boss’s son and girlfriend along on a search-and-rescue wouldn’t get me reprimanded, it’d get me fired. Or worse.”

“You aren’t dragging me anywhere,” Lucas said. “I’m going to help, therefore you’re obligated to follow. I’ll phone in for details on the way.”