"Two words. Serious psychotherapy."
I grinned. "We'll go halfsies and get her a gift certificate for Christmas."
Elena was about to reply when the door opened. Savannah walked in, carrying my key card in one hand and a steaming coffee cup in the other. I was sure that whatever was in that cup, it wasn't hot chocolate, and probably wasn't even decaf, but I said nothing. I doubted Clay realized she was too young for coffee. I only hoped Elena would step in when the wine and whiskey came out.
Savannah held the door open for Clay, who walked through carrying a cardboard cup holder with three cups.
"That was fast," Elena said. "Too fast. What'd you do? Run all the way there? Or drive?"
"It was only half a block."
"Uh-huh."
"He's right," Savannah said. "It was closer than Paige thought, but we're just dropping off your drinks, then we're going to check out the marina while you guys talk."
Elena glanced at Clay, tensed, as if waiting for him to refute this. When his mouth opened, her fingers tightened on the sofa cushion.
"First, we're taking your suitcase down to the car," he said to Savannah. He turned to Elena and handed her a coffee cup. "When you're done here, just come and get us."
She smiled up at him. "Thanks. I won't be long."
He nodded and passed me a cup.
"Tea," he said, then glanced at Savannah. "Right?"
"Chai," she said.
I took the cup with thanks, then laid it down and helped Savannah get ready.
A Fortuitous Collision of Circumstances
SAVANNAH WAS, AS SHE'D SAID, ALREADY PACKED, BUT I wasn't letting her go without an armful of instructions, most of which were some variation on "be good" or "be careful."
Handing Savannah over to anyone, even to people I knew would protect her with their lives, wasn't easy for me. Elena made it easier, though, by arranging a twice-daily check-in time of eleven in the morning and eleven at night. If either of us would be busy at the designated time, we'd forewarn the other, so no one would be left worrying about a call not made or not answered. Yes, it bordered on obsessive-compulsive, but neither Elena nor Clay made me feel I was overreacting, and I truly appreciated that.
I planned to walk down with Elena and see them off, so Savannah and I didn't bother with good-byes. As the door swung shut behind them, I turned to Elena.
"Clay's really good with Savannah," I said.
"Uh-huh."
"You don't think so?"
She plunked down onto the sofa. "No, I'm just waiting for part two of that comment."
"You mean the part that goes 'You know, he'd probably make a pretty good--'"
She held up a hand to stop me. "Yep, that part."
I laughed and plunked into my chair. "Any progress on that front?"
"He's moved from hints disguised as jokes to outright hints. That took a year, so I figure I have another year before he insists on progressing to actual discussion. He's being pretty good about it, though. Taking his time, getting me used to the idea before he pops the question."
"He knows you're not ready."
"Problem is, I'm not sure I'll ever be. I want kids. I really do. I always assumed I'd grow up, marry a nice guy, live in the suburbs, and raise a houseful of kids. But with Clay, well, I always thought a life with him meant giving up all of that. Even the 'growing up' part."
"Highly overrated."
"I think so." She grinned and stretched her legs along the sofa. "Kids, though, well, it's a big step, and not just for the normal reasons. Clay knows I'm not going anywhere, so it isn't a question of commitment. It's the werewolf issue. Two werewolves having a baby? Never been done. Who knows what--" She rubbed her hands over her arms. "Well, I'm just not ready, and right now, I don't have time to worry about it, not with all these recruitment problems."
I put down my Chai. "That's right. You met that new recruit this week. How did--"
Two raps at the door cut me off.
"Guess Clay's getting antsy," I said. "At least he tried."
Elena shook her head. "That's far too polite a knock for Clay."
"And it's the wrong door," I said, following the sound. "That'd be our bodyguard."
Elena laughed. I opened the door that joined the two suites and she saw Troy.
"Shit," she murmured. "You weren't kidding."
"I just saw Mr. Cortez's car pull into the lot," Troy said. "Figured you might like some advance warning. I thought I heard"--he leaned into the room and saw Elena--"voices. Hello."
He leaned farther into the room for a better look, and it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere without an introduction.
"Troy, this is Elena; Elena, this is Troy Morgan, Benicio's bodyguard, temporarily on loan."
Elena stood and extended her hand. Troy nearly tripped over his feet to take it. As usual, I don't think Elena noticed the attention, and certainly didn't reciprocate.
"You're a, uh, friend of Paige's?" he said.
"A fellow council member," I said. "She just stopped in for a visit...with her husband."
"Hus--" He looked down at Elena's hand and saw her engagement ring. "Oh." He stepped back, reluctantly. "The interracial council, huh? So you're a supernatural. Let me guess--"
"Sorry," I said. "But if Benicio's coming up, we'd better get Elena gone."
Another rap at the door, this time the hall one.
"Come on," Troy said to Elena. "We'll duck out through my room."
"Say good-bye to Savannah for me," I said. "I'll call you tonight."
Elena let Troy usher her into his room. I paused, then opened the hall door and invited Benicio in. His new bodyguard stayed in the corridor. Before I'd even closed that door, the adjoining door reopened and Elena popped her head through. She motioned toward the hall, mouthing "guard." I discreetly waved her inside. Better for her to go out the main door, and arouse Benicio's suspicions a bit, than have the guard see her sneak from Troy's room and raise Benicio's suspicions a lot. I doubted Troy usually had women spend the night while he was on duty.
"Is Savannah here?" Benicio asked, looking around. He saw Elena.
"She was just leaving," I said.
Elena brushed past Benicio with a small smile and a nod. I held the door open, then closed it behind her and turned to Benicio.
"Now, where were we?" I said. "Oh, you brought the case files. Thanks."
I took the files. Benicio glanced at the half-open bedroom door, trying to see through it.
"Is Savannah--"
"Did Lucas get to Chicago okay?" I asked. "He was worried about being late. He cut it pretty close this morning."
"The plane landed at eleven."
"Time to spare, then. Good."
Benicio slipped a look through the bedroom doorway. "I assume Savannah--"
"Is everything in this?" I said, hoisting the file.
Before he could answer, I walked to the window and spread the file on the wide sill, pretending to look through it as I surveyed the parking lot below. I saw Clay and Elena's blond heads bobbing through the scattering of cars, moving fast, Savannah's dark head between them.
"Let's see. Incident reports..." Elena, Clay, and Savannah stopped at a car. A convertible, of course. A moment's pause, then Clay tossed Elena the keys and they climbed inside. "Scene photos, medical reports..." The car peeled from the lot. "Looks like everything's here. Now, you were saying...?"
"Savannah," he said. "I don't see her here, Paige, and I certainly hope you wouldn't be foolish enough to let her wander around the hotel unaccompanied."
"Of course not. She's staying with friends while I investigate this."
"Friends?" He paused. "The woman who just left, I presume. Perhaps you don't realize how serious this is. You cannot turn Paige over to a human--"
"She's a supernatural. Someone who will take very good care of Savannah."
Benicio paused, only for a moment, processing everything he knew about my supernatural contacts in less time it would take most
people to name the capital of France.
"The werewolf," he said. "Elena Michaels."
I'll admit to a moment of disconcertion. The werewolves valued their privacy, which was why I hadn't told Troy who Elena was. When Benicio did his homework, he didn't miss anything.
"Werewolf?" Troy murmured behind us. "She was a werewolf? Shit. Now there's a story that'll buy me a few rounds at the club."
"No," Benicio said. "You won't tell anyone."
Troy straightened. "Yes, sir."
"As a matter of interracial courtesy, we must respect the werewolves' privacy. You may, however, take a few drinks on my club tab, to compensate."
Troy grinned. "Yes, sir."
"I don't mean to criticize, Paige," Benicio said. "And I don't wish to insult your friends, but I must point out that the Cabal is far better equipped to protect Savannah. You lack experience in such matters, and what may seem like a good idea to you is not necessarily the wisest option."
"It wasn't my idea."
"Then who--?" He stopped, realizing the only possible answer. Then he nodded. "If Lucas thinks this is best, we'll leave the girl with them...for now. If the situation worsens, though, we may need to reconsider our options."
"Understood," I said. "Now, what can you tell me about this case?"
Benicio ordered a room-service lunch for us, which we ate in the hotel room while discussing the case. If Benicio had any problem discussing Cabal problems with a witch, he gave no sign of it, but was as generous with his information and offers of assistance as I could want. More generous than I wanted, to be honest. I was uncomfortable enough taking a case Benicio had brought to us. I didn't want to work with him any closer than necessary.
There were a few strategic moves I could make that made me feel less like I'd been suckered into working for Benicio. Earlier, I'd notified the hotel that I'd be staying on, and asked them to change the billing to my credit card. They were less than a third full, with no hope of major bookings soon, so after some dickering, we'd agreed on an affordable rate. I didn't tell Benicio that I'd switched the billing. By the time he found out, it'd be too late for him to argue.
I also gave Benicio back his bodyguard. When he protested I argued that with Griffin on grief-leave, Benicio needed one of his regular guards, and my own investigating would be less conspicuous without a half-demon shadow.
Benicio left at one. Lucas still hadn't called about the necromancer. While I waited, I read through the files. I kept my cell phone on the desk, checked for messages twice, and adjusted the ring volume once. A bit anxious for Lucas's call? Nah.
When the phone finally rang, I checked caller ID, and answered with "You found someone?"
"I apologize for taking so long. Two of my contacts were slow in phoning back, then I had to wait for court to recess."
"But you found someone?"
"A fortuitous collision of circumstances. A first-rate necromancer who just happens to be on business in Miami this week." His voice sounded oddly strained, as if forcing cheerfulness. Must have been the connection.
"Perfect," I said. "When can he meet me? Or is it she?"
"Early this evening, as a matter of fact. Very fortunate. The only other possibility couldn't make it until Monday, so this is quite the lucky break."
Did it sound as if he was trying to convince me? Or himself?
"Okay, so tell me about--"
"Hold on." A muffled word or two to someone else. "It appears the recess ended sooner than I expected. Do you have a pen?" He gave me the address and directions. "Now, everything's been arranged. Someone will meet you there. They're expecting you between six-thirty and seven. It's a reasonably good section of town, but I'd still advise that you ask the cab driver to wait until you're inside. Go to the rear door, knock, and give your name."
"Speaking of names, what's this necro--"
"They're calling me in now. I have to go, but I'll phone you tonight. Oh, and Paige?"
"Yes?"
"Trust me on this one. However things may appear, please trust me."
And with that, he was gone.
The Meridian Theater Proudly Presents...
"IS THIS IT?" THE DRIVER ASKED.
I leaned forward and read the sign: PARKING FOR EMPLOYEES AND GUESTS OF THE MERIDIAN. ALL UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES WILL BE TOWED AT OWNER'S RISK AND EXPENSE. Was I a guest of the Meridian? What was the Meridian? Damn Lucas. I'd left a message on his cell, asking him to call me back with more information, but obviously court was running late today.
The directions he'd provided had taken the cab on a convoluted path through an industrial area when, according to my new Miami map, I could have accessed the same street off a major thoroughfare. Of course, the driver hadn't suggested a shorter route, though I had caught him smiling at the meter once or twice.
The address Lucas gave me was right here. The parking lot. What exactly had he said? There'd be a rear door. To my left was a block-long wall dotted with air vents and barred windows, plus two entrances: a loading dock, and a double set of gray-painted metal doors.
I asked the driver to wait, got out, and walked to the doors. They were indeed solid, with no handles or locks. Beside them was a doorbell marked DELIVERIES. I double-checked the address, and rang the bell.
Thirty seconds later, the door swung open, letting out a blast of shouting voices, rock music, and power tools. A young woman squinted out into the sunlight. She wore cat's-eye glasses, red leather pants, and an ID badge with an obscenity in the name space.
"Hi, I'm--" I raised my voice. "I'm Paige Winterbourne. I was supposed to meet--"
The woman shrieked over her shoulder. "J.D!" She looked back at me. "Well, come in, girl. You're letting out all our air-conditioning."
I excused myself while I paid the cab driver, then hurried back to the building. As I stepped inside, a fresh song started, volume cranked. At first wail, I winced.
"Isn't that god-awful?" the young woman said, slamming the door behind me. "It's Jaime's warm-up song. 'My Way.'"
"Tell me that's not Frank Sinatra."
"Nah, some dead Brit."
"Recorded as he was dying a long, painful death."
The woman laughed. "You got that right, girl."
A fortyish man appeared, slight, balding, carrying a clipboard, and looking harried to the point of exhaustion. "Oh, thank God. I thought you weren't going to make it."
He grabbed me by the elbow, tugged me into the room, and propelled me through a mob of drill-wielding men working on what looked like a scaffold.
"You are Paige, right?" he asked, moving us along at warp speed.
"Uh, right."
"J.D. I'm Jaime's production manager. They didn't send you around the front, did they?"
I shook my head.
"Thank God. It is a zoo out there. We've been sold out since last week, but some moron at WKLT has been announcing all day that we still have seats available, and now we have a line from here to Cuba of very unhappy folks."
A pink-haired woman appeared from behind a heavy velvet curtain. "J.D., there's a problem with the sound levels. The acoustics in here are shit, and--"
"Just do your best, Kat. We'll take it up with the booking agent later."
He pushed me past the woman, then through the curtain. We stepped out onto a side stage, in front of a rapidly filling auditorium. I stopped to gape, but J.D. tugged me along, crossing the stage to the opposite side.
"What kind of--" I began. J.D. stopped in mid-stride and I nearly bashed into him.
"I don't believe this," he said. "I don't fucking believe it. Tara! Tara!"
A woman scurried up the steps. She could have been J.D.'s twin, carrying a matching clipboard, just as slight and harried, not balding but looking ready to tear out her own hair.
"Front row," J.D. said. "Second seat right of the aisle. Is that not reserved for Jaime's guest?"
Tara consulted her clipboard. "A Ms. Winterbourne. Paige Winterbourne."
"This is Ms. Winterbourn
e," J.D. said, jerking a finger at me. Then he jabbed the same finger at the sixty-year-old platinum blond in the second seat. "That is not Ms. Winterbourne."
"I'll get security."
Tara disappeared behind the curtain. J.D. surveyed the theater, now nearly three-quarters full, with a steady stream flowing in.
"I hope they didn't overbook. Houston overbooked and it was an absolute nightmare." He stopped. "Oh, my god. Take a look at what's coming through the door now. Do you see what she's wearing? I didn't think those came in purple. Some people will do anything to catch Jaime's attention. In Buffalo last month--Oh, good. Your seat is clear. Follow me."
He kept his hand on my elbow, as if I might otherwise be swallowed by the crowd. A security guard escorted the platinum-haired grandmother down the aisle. She turned and shot a lethal glare at me. J.D. quick-marched us down the steps.
"Is front row okay? Not too close for you?"
"Uh, no. It's fine. This, uh, Jamey, is it? Is he around? Maybe I could--"
J.D. didn't seem to hear me. His gaze was darting over the crowd, like a sheepdog surveying an unruly mob of ewes.
"We needed more ushers. Ten minutes to show time. I told Jaime--" A watch check. "Oh, God, make that eight minutes. How the hell are they going to get everyone in here in eight minutes? Go ahead, sit down and get comfortable. I'll be out to see you at intermission. Enjoy the show."
He darted into a group of people and disappeared.
"Okay," I muttered. "Enjoy the show...whatever it is."
As I sat, I glanced at the people on either side of me, hoping one of them might be this Jaime guy, who I assumed was the necromancer I'd come to meet. To my left was a teenage girl with piercings in every imaginable location...and a few I would have preferred not to imagine. On my other side was an elderly woman in widow's weeds with her head bowed over a rosary. Talk about audience diversity. Now I was stumped. I couldn't imagine what kind of show would interest both of these people.
I looked around, trying to pick up some clues about the show from the theater, but the walls were covered in plain black velvet. Whatever the show was, I hoped I wasn't expected to sit through it before I spoke to this Jaime. Maybe after it started, he'd come out and get me. I guessed he was the theater owner or manager. Someone important, from what J.D. said. An odd profession for a necromancer. Unless this Jaime wasn't the necromancer. Maybe he was only the guy who would take me to the necromancer. Damn it! I didn't have time for this. I pulled out my cell phone, called Lucas's number again, but only got his voice mail.