When Victoria finished, I stormed out of the building, undoing the door lock spell, then crashing through the security perimeter and hoping the mental alarm gave the Elders a collective migraine. How dare they! The Coven existed for two purposes, to regulate and to help witches. They'd all but abdicated the first role to the interracial council. Now they were denying responsibility for the second. What the hell were we becoming? A social club for witches? Maybe we should become a real book club. At least then we might have some hope of intelligent conversation.
I strode across the empty baseball field, fuming but knowing I couldn't leave. Savannah was still inside. The Elders wouldn't allow her or anyone else to come after me. Like a child throwing a tantrum, I was expected to walk it off and return.
"May I assume it's not going well?"
I wheeled to see Cortez behind me. Before I could blast him, he continued,
"Yesterday I noted a seven-thirty book club appointment on your calendar, which I feared you might be obstinate enough to attend, despite the danger inherent in pursuing regular activities--"
"Speak English," I snapped.
He continued, unperturbed. "However, I now realize that you were not acting rashly in attending a mere book club but, instead, wisely conferring with your Coven and enlisting their help implementing our plan. As you may recall, step three of the initial list requires enlisting the members of your Coven to discreetly support you--"
"Forget it, Counselor. They aren't going to be supporting me, discreetly or otherwise. I am hereby forbidden to impose my problem--my problem--on any member of the Coven."
I regretted the words as they left my mouth. Before I could backtrack, though, Cortez murmured, "I'll handle this," and strode off, leaving me trapped in a split second of blind panic, as I realized what he was about to do. By the time I tore after him, he was at the community center doors. He gestured sharply, undoing any spells, and marched through.
CHAPTER 14
FOX IN THE HENHOUSE
I got to the meeting room door as Cortez started to speak. "Ladies," he said. "I apologize for interrupting your meeting."
A collective gasp drowned him out as eighteen witches realized they had a sorcerer in their midst. And what did they do? Hex him? Cast repelling spells? To my embarrassment--to my shame--they drew back, gasping and chattering, like a bunch of chickens seeing a fox in the henhouse. Witches in their prime, witches with fifty years of spell-casting experience, cowering before a twenty-five-year-old sorcerer. Only Savannah stayed where she was, perched on the pastry table.
"You again?" she said. "You don't take a hint, do you?"
"He's--" Therese stammered. "He's a--"
"A sorcerer," Savannah said. "Get over it."
"Lucas Cortez," he said, striding to the front of the room. "As you know, Paige is undergoing a custody challenge and, as a result, has now been implicated in a murder investigation. In order to prevent further legal proceedings and protect Paige's reputation, there are several actions I will require from each of you."
At this point, I could have jumped in and explained that he wasn't my lawyer. But I didn't. I was still smarting from the Coven's rejection. Maybe if they thought I was forced to accept outside help--from a sorcerer, no less--they'd change their minds. And maybe, yes, maybe a small part of me liked watching the Elders squirm.
Cortez hefted his satchel onto the front table. "I don't suppose you have access to an overhead projector."
No one answered. No one even moved. Savannah jumped off the table, crossed the room, handed him a marker, and pointed to the flip-chart. Then she sauntered back to the pastry table, grinning, and winked at me before resuming her perch.
I'd have to speak to Savannah about taking pleasure in the discomfort of others. Still, it was kind of funny, Cortez standing up there, writing down his list, explaining each point, so serious and intent, as the Coven sat and gawked, each one of them hearing nothing but the endless loop of an internal voice, repeating "A sorcerer? Is that really a sorcerer?"
"Are there any questions?" Cortez said after his presentation.
Silence.
Eleven-year-old Megan, the youngest neophyte, raised her hand. "Are you a bad sorcerer?"
"I lack some proficiency in the higher-order spells but, at the risk of sounding overconfident, I must say there are worse sorcerers."
I sputtered a laugh, covering it with a cough.
"Mr. Cortez is right," Abby said. "We all need to come together and help Paige in any way we can."
Silence.
"And on that note," I muttered under my breath.
"Cortez," murmured Sophie Moss who, at ninety-three, was the oldest witch in the Coven and fast succumbing to Alzheimer's. "I knew a Cortez once. Benicio Cortez. Back in '72, no, '79. The Miami affair. Horrible--" She stopped, blinked, frowned, then looked at Cortez. "Who are you, boy? This is a private meeting."
On that fitting note of mental acuity, the meeting ended.
After the meeting adjourned, Savannah walked over to Cortez as every other witch practically tripped over her own feet getting as far from him as possible. I was heading to the front of the room to join Savannah and Cortez when the Elders waylaid me.
"Now I have seen everything," Victoria said. "Your mother must be rolling in her grave. Hiring a sorcerer--"
"I haven't hired him," I said. "But I have to admit, I'm considering it. At least someone is offering to help me."
"A sorcerer, Paige?" Margaret said. "Really, I can't help but wonder if you're doing this to spite us. Even speaking to a sorcerer is against Coven policy, and you've obviously been doing that." She glanced toward the front of the room, where Savannah was chatting with Cortez. "And allowing my niece to do the same."
"Only because your niece is getting zero help from her aunt," I said.
Therese motioned for me to lower my voice. I didn't.
"Yes, I've talked to him. Why? Because he is the only person who's offered to help me. He got me out of jail today. You three couldn't even bother sending Margaret to the police station to make sure Savannah was safe. You guys don't seem to get it. You know I'm not the type who likes to ask for help, but I'm asking now."
"You don't need a sorcerer."
"No, I need my Coven."
"Get rid of the sorcerer," Victoria said.
"And then you'll help me?"
"I'm not making a deal," she said. "I'm giving an order. Get rid of him. Now."
With that, she turned and left, the other two trailing in her wake.
Cortez materialized at my shoulder.
"Perhaps you'd care to reconsider my offer?" he murmured.
I saw the Elders watching us. Victoria's glare ordered me to get rid of Cortez. The urge to flip her the finger was almost overwhelming. Instead, I did the figurative equivalent.
"You're right," I said to Cortez, voice raised. "We should talk. Savannah, come on. We're going."
I motioned for Cortez to lead the way.
We drove to Starbucks in Belham--taking separate cars, of course. After I'd parked, Cortez took the spot in front of me and still managed to be standing beside my door before I pulled my keys from the ignition. He didn't try to open the door for me but, once I pushed it open, he held it steady while I got out of the car.
Once inside, I ordered Savannah a child-sized hot chocolate. She changed it to a venti cafe mocha. I downsized that to a small decaf cafe mocha. She negotiated a chocolate chip brownie and we settled. Here this stuff was finally getting easier for me, and Kristof Nast wanted to spoil it all. Very unfair.
Although the place wasn't exactly booming at nine-thirty on a Sunday night, Cortez opted for a side room where the staff had already put the chairs upside down on the tables. As we headed in, the cashier leaned over the counter, a half-pound of necklaces and amulets clanging against the laminate.
"That section's closed," she said.
"We'll tidy up when we're done," Cortez replied, and nudged us back to the farthest table. Once we
were seated, he turned to Savannah. "I'm afraid this is going to be another of those very boring conversations. There's a magazine stand over there." He reached for his wallet. "May I buy you something to read?"
"Nice try," she said and slurped a mouthful of whipped cream.
"All right, then. Let's review that list I gave you."
"Didn't bring it."
"That's quite all right." He hoisted his satchel to the table. "I have extra copies."
"Fine," she said, taking the five-dollar bill from his hand. "I don't know why you're bothering. We aren't going to hire you. If we wanted a sorcerer lawyer, I could get someone a whole lot older and more experienced than you."
"I'll remember that."
While I watched Savannah buy her magazine, Cortez shuffled papers. Only when she'd settled at a table across the room did I turn my attention to him.
"Okay," I said. "You want to persuade me that you're on my side? Skip the lists. Tell me everything you know about Cabals. And I mean everything."
"Everything?" He checked his watch. "I believe they close in a couple of hours."
"You have thirty minutes," I said. "Fill it."
He did--the full thirty minutes. I figured he'd toss me a few tidbits and hope that would be enough to shut me up. Instead he laid it all on the table, literally, drawing me diagrams, maps, listing key figures and so on.
Here's the condensed version. Pretty much everything I'd heard about Cabals was true. Cabals were very old, established groups formed around a central sorcerer family. Like a family-run business, only think Mafia, not the neighborhood deli. That's my comparison, not Cortez's. He never mentioned the Mafia, though the parallels were obvious. Both were ultrasecretive, family-oriented organizations. Both insisted on complete employee loyalty, enforced through threats of violence. Both mixed criminal activity with legitimate enterprise. Cortez didn't try to gloss over the uglier parts, simply stated them as fact and moved on.
In structure, though, the Cabal was more Donald Trump than Al Capone. At the top was the CEO, the head of the sorcerer family. Next came the board of directors, composed of the CEO's family, radiating out in power from sons to brothers to nephews to cousins. Within the lower ranks you had unrelated sorcerers, half-demons, necromancers, shamans, whomever the Cabal could hire. No werewolves or vampires, though. According to Cortez, the Cabals had strict policies against employing any supernatural being that might mistake them for lunch.
Everyone in the Cabal, high and low, pursued the same goals: gaining money and power for the Cabal. The more business they brought in, the quicker they rose in the ranks. The more profitable the company was, the more the employees received in year-end bonuses and stock options. Yes, Cabals were listed on the NYSE. Might have been a nice investment, too, if you didn't mind a little blood on your dividends.
On the surface, Cabals seemed more benign than the Mafia. No car bombs or shoot-outs. Sorcerers were not common hoodlums. Oh, no. These guys were serious businessmen. Double-cross a Cabal and they wouldn't blow up your house and family. Instead, they'd have an incendiary half-demon torch the place, making it look like an electrical accident. Then a necromancer would torture your family's souls until you gave the Cabal what they wanted.
If all this was true, why didn't the interracial council do something about it? The council was dedicated to pursuing misuse of supernatural power. Here was the biggest, most widespread misuse. Now I understood Robert Vasic's concern.
"What part is Leah playing in all this?" I asked.
"Only a member of the Nast Cabal could answer that with any certainty. Whatever information I could impart would be based purely on rumor, and I prefer to deal in fact."
"I'll settle for hearsay. What have you heard?"
"I'm not comfortable--"
"Let me start, then. Last year, Leah and a sorcerer named Isaac Katzen infiltrated a human project to kidnap super naturals, Katzen as an informant and Leah as a captive. Their plan was for Katzen to point out powerful supernaturals, let the humans take the risks of capturing and containing them, then have Leah win their confidence while imprisoned. A cheap and easy way to recruit supernaturals for the Nast Cabal--"
"They weren't working for any Cabal. That much I know as fact. It is assumed that they were attempting to build their own organization, a scaled-down version of a Cabal."
"Go on."
He hesitated, then said, "They say Leah approached the Nast Cabal after you killed Katzen."
I bit back a denial. I hadn't killed Katzen, had only brought about the circumstances leading to his death, but if this sorcerer thought I was capable of killing his kind, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
Cortez continued, "There have been rumors about Savannah's paternity for years, though Kristof was either unable to locate the girl or unwilling to incur Eve's wrath by interfering in their lives. With Eve gone, Leah offered to help him get Savannah."
"So you think Nast really is her father?"
"I don't know, and I think it has little or no bearing on the case. The Nasts want Savannah. That's all that matters."
I sipped my chai. "How bad is he? This Kristof? Well, I mean, you may not consider him 'bad,' I guess, but how ... criminal is he?"
"I understand the concept of good and evil, Paige. Most sorcerers do. They simply choose the wrong side. Among sorcerers, Kristof Nast's reputation is average, meaning you should consider him a dangerous man. As heir to the Nast Cabal, he is backed by immense resources."
I leaned back and shook my head. "At least now I know where the Illuminati myth comes from."
"If it arises from the Cabals, the connections are tenuous at best. The Illuminati were believed to be a secret group of powerful men using supernatural means to overthrow the government. A Cabal's interest in politics is minimal, and far more mundane. Yes, there are Cabal members in government, but only to support fiscal policies that benefit the Cabal. It's all about money. Remember that, Paige. The Cabal does nothing that acts against its own financial interests. It's not the Illuminati or the supernatural Mafia or a Satanic cult. It doesn't ritually murder people. It doesn't abduct, abuse, or kill children--"
"Oh, right. Savannah's thirteen, so technically, she's not a child."
He continued in the same calm voice. "What I meant is that they don't follow the classic description of a Satanic cult in that they do not abduct children for ritualistic purposes. To the Cabal, Savannah means profit. Always look at the bottom line and you'll be better prepared to deal with the Cabals."
I checked my watch.
"Yes, I know," Cortez said. "My time is up."
I sipped my nearly cold chai and stared down at the diagrams Cortez had made. Now what? Send Cortez packing again? I didn't see the point. He'd only come back. To be honest, though, it was more than that. The guy had helped me. Really helped me.
It was a sad world when a witch had to rely on a work-starved sorcerer for help, but I couldn't waste my time whining about how things should be. Cortez was offering to help when no one else would, and I'd be a fool to refuse. I had seen absolutely no proof that he was anything other than what he claimed to be, a young lawyer willing to take on the shittiest cases to launch his career.
"What would you charge?" I asked.
He took a sheet from his satchel and spent the next few minutes explaining the fee schedule. His terms were reasonable and fair, with a written guarantee that every charge would be explained in advance and he would do no work that I hadn't preapproved.
"The moment you feel my services are no longer fulfilling expectations, you may dismiss me," he said. "All that will be clearly outlined in a contract, which I would strongly suggest you have examined by another legal professional before signing."
When I hesitated, he folded the fee schedule in half and passed it to me, then placed his business card on top.
"Take tonight to think about it. If, in the meantime, you have any questions, call me, no matter what the hour."
I reached for the paper,
but he laid his fingertips lightly on it, holding it to the table, and met my gaze.
"Remember, Paige, I can offer you more than normal legal help. No human lawyer you could engage will understand this situation as I do. More than that, should you require additional protection, I will be there. As I've said, I'm not the most proficient sorcerer, but I can help, and I'm quite willing to do so. It may come to that."
"I know."
He nodded. "I'll speak to you in the morning, then."
He gathered his papers, and left.
CHAPTER 15
ALOHA!
On the way home Savannah asked what Cortez had said. In the midst of brushing her off, I stopped myself and, instead, told her Cortez's Cabal story.
"I don't get it," she said when I finished. "Okay, maybe Leah wants me for her Cabal. That makes sense. These Cabals, they're always recruiting. Mom told me, if someone ever tries to sign me up, I should--" Savannah paused. "Anyway, she said they're bad news. Like joining a street gang. You join, you join for life."
"Your mom say ... anything else about the Cabals?"
"Not really. She said they'd come after me, so this makes sense, what Leah's Cabal is doing. But if she wants me, why doesn't she take me? She's a Volo. She could run our car off the road and grab me before we knew what hit us. So why doesn't she?"
Savannah peered at me through the darkness of the car's interior. I glanced into my side mirror, averting my eyes from hers. Okay, this had gone too far. I had to say something.
"Cortez says Leah works for the Nast Cabal."
"Huh."
"You've heard of them?"
She shook her head. "My mom never mentioned names."
"But she said they might come for you. Did she mention any Cabal in particular? Or why they'd want you?"
"Oh, I know why they'd want me."
I held my breath and waited for her to go on.
"Cabals only hire one witch, see? They'd probably rather not hire any at all, but we've got special skills, so they overlook the whole witch-sorcerer feud just enough to hire one of us. Anyway, they figure, if they have to hire a witch, they want a good one. My mom was real good, but she told them where to stick it. She said they'd come for me, and I wasn't to listen to any of their lies."