Thirteen
Page 63
A bubble of a laugh burst across the line. “The weather in L.A. is perfect, as always. And there?”
“Crappy, as always.”
A chuckle now. “I had a call from Mitchell DeLong. Do you remember Mitchell?”
“Vaguely. Necromancer. Lives in Seattle.”
“Correct. Except that last night, apparently, he was near Portland, heading to a cemetery to perform a summoning for a client. It was late, and he was tired and driving erratically. An officer pulled him over and discovered that Mitchell had forgotten to properly stow his summoning materials, including three desiccated human fingers.”
“Never good.”
“Particularly when dealing with a small-town police force that doesn’t appear to understand that desiccated flesh indicates extreme age. They’re quite certain the rest of Mitch’s victim is nearby and they’re holding him until they find it. He’d like me to come in and clear the matter up.”
“Uh-huh. Did you tell him we’re a little busy?”
“I did. He hadn’t heard anything about the situation. No matter, though. He understands that we are otherwise engaged and therefore has offered to pay double our usual fee.”
Paige smiled. “Has he?”
“In light of that, I suggest we consider the offer. I’ll tell my father that while we realize that this end-of-the-world business is important, we do have a detective agency to run, bills to pay, a reputation to uphold, and so on. We’ll simply pop up to Portland for a couple of days.”
“Me, too?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and settled into her seat, curling her legs up under her.
A moment of silence, then he said, “We are going back, Paige. I know that’s the elephant in the room, the topic we are both trying so hard to avoid—whether all this will mean we can’t go back to Portland, to the agency, to our regular life. Whether my responsibilities at the Cabal will at last prove too great to ignore. They won’t, I promise. My father is healthy. The Cabal is healthy. This tragedy at the Nasts will ripple through all the Cabals, and will require some additional work from me, but once this is over, we’re going home.”
“Okay …” She said the word carefully, uncertainly. Go home. It sounded so simple. So obvious. Why wouldn’t we go home? We had a house, an agency, a life there.
But they had a life here, too. Even a home, having finally accepted a condo from Benicio a few years ago. They had work here, too. She used to think that only applied to Lucas. But, although she had no job title, no official responsibilities, her inbox and voice mail were always filled with messages from Cabal employees asking this or that, needing this or that. If they couldn’t get to Lucas, they came to her.
Did that make her his assistant? He’d say no. Emphatically. She was his partner. And yet to the rest of the Cabal, “assistant” was closer to the truth.
God, how she would have bristled at that ten years ago. Playing helpmate to her husband? Never. She was Paige Winterbourne, former Coven leader, leader of the interracial council. But life changes. Perspective changes. She’d come to understand that Benicio wasn’t going to award her a VP title anytime soon, and if he did, it would only be to please Lucas. She’d come to understand, too, that Lucas needed her help. He needed her support—her wholehearted support, untainted by envy or ego. He needed her to be there, at his side, the one person he could count on to keep him on the right path, call him on the bullshit and have his best interests at heart—always. As long as he thought of her as his partner and treated her as such, that was all the validation she needed.
“I mean it, Paige,” Lucas said after a moment. “I know my father will require our assistance once this is over. There is work to be done. But we’re going home first. He’ll get a few days of our time to deal with the aftermath. Then we go home. We rest. We take care of business at the agency. And when that’s done, we come back to do more … until we can leave again.” A pause. “Sound like a plan?”
She smiled. “It does. A good plan.”
“Then that’s what we’ll—Hold on.” He covered the receiver and murmured a few words, then came back. “That was Adam. I need to go. Tell Savannah he says hello.”
“I will. I think that’s her ride coming down right now.”
“Good. I’ll call when I can.”
Paige stood at the edge of the tarmac, as close as they’d let her get to Savannah’s plane. Closer than any regular person would ever get, even to a private flight. There are, admittedly, advantages to being Benicio Cortez’s daughter-in-law. She found herself straining for that first glimpse of Savannah. She’d spoken to her on the phone earlier, but only for a moment or two, both of them surrounded by others, unable to really talk.
Was Savannah upset that Paige hadn’t gone to L.A. with Lucas? She couldn’t—he’d needed her to stay in Miami. Paige was sure Lucas told Savannah that. Even if it slipped his mind, Savannah would have understood there was no place for Paige at that hearing. But logically understanding wasn’t the same as emotionally understanding. Savannah had been arrested for treason by her father’s own Cabal. She’d watched her mother disappear from her life again. She’d seen one grandfather killed by the other. And Paige hadn’t been there for her.
But she was here now, eagerly waiting for Savannah to step off that jet. Was it enough? She hoped so. God, she hoped so.
When Savannah first appeared, there was a moment where Paige thought Eve had somehow stayed in their world after all. It was just that fleeting first glimpse, a tall woman with long, dark hair, her arm hooked through Sean Nast’s. Of course, it was Savannah. But somehow—chalk it up to exhaustion—Paige expected to see a girl get off that jet. The girl she remembered, the one who always needed her, as hard as she tried to pretend otherwise.
Paige didn’t think of Savannah as her daughter. She’d never tried to take Eve’s place. Being only a decade older than Savannah had always made that easy. Savannah was like a little sister and, eventually, as probably happens with most little sisters, she became a friend. When Paige watched her step from that jet, she realized the “little” part was gone now. Savannah didn’t need Paige to hold her hand and tend to her bumps and bruises. She could look after herself. Paige was happy about that. Proud of that. But maybe, just maybe, a little sad, too.
“Crappy, as always.”
A chuckle now. “I had a call from Mitchell DeLong. Do you remember Mitchell?”
“Vaguely. Necromancer. Lives in Seattle.”
“Correct. Except that last night, apparently, he was near Portland, heading to a cemetery to perform a summoning for a client. It was late, and he was tired and driving erratically. An officer pulled him over and discovered that Mitchell had forgotten to properly stow his summoning materials, including three desiccated human fingers.”
“Never good.”
“Particularly when dealing with a small-town police force that doesn’t appear to understand that desiccated flesh indicates extreme age. They’re quite certain the rest of Mitch’s victim is nearby and they’re holding him until they find it. He’d like me to come in and clear the matter up.”
“Uh-huh. Did you tell him we’re a little busy?”
“I did. He hadn’t heard anything about the situation. No matter, though. He understands that we are otherwise engaged and therefore has offered to pay double our usual fee.”
Paige smiled. “Has he?”
“In light of that, I suggest we consider the offer. I’ll tell my father that while we realize that this end-of-the-world business is important, we do have a detective agency to run, bills to pay, a reputation to uphold, and so on. We’ll simply pop up to Portland for a couple of days.”
“Me, too?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and settled into her seat, curling her legs up under her.
A moment of silence, then he said, “We are going back, Paige. I know that’s the elephant in the room, the topic we are both trying so hard to avoid—whether all this will mean we can’t go back to Portland, to the agency, to our regular life. Whether my responsibilities at the Cabal will at last prove too great to ignore. They won’t, I promise. My father is healthy. The Cabal is healthy. This tragedy at the Nasts will ripple through all the Cabals, and will require some additional work from me, but once this is over, we’re going home.”
“Okay …” She said the word carefully, uncertainly. Go home. It sounded so simple. So obvious. Why wouldn’t we go home? We had a house, an agency, a life there.
But they had a life here, too. Even a home, having finally accepted a condo from Benicio a few years ago. They had work here, too. She used to think that only applied to Lucas. But, although she had no job title, no official responsibilities, her inbox and voice mail were always filled with messages from Cabal employees asking this or that, needing this or that. If they couldn’t get to Lucas, they came to her.
Did that make her his assistant? He’d say no. Emphatically. She was his partner. And yet to the rest of the Cabal, “assistant” was closer to the truth.
God, how she would have bristled at that ten years ago. Playing helpmate to her husband? Never. She was Paige Winterbourne, former Coven leader, leader of the interracial council. But life changes. Perspective changes. She’d come to understand that Benicio wasn’t going to award her a VP title anytime soon, and if he did, it would only be to please Lucas. She’d come to understand, too, that Lucas needed her help. He needed her support—her wholehearted support, untainted by envy or ego. He needed her to be there, at his side, the one person he could count on to keep him on the right path, call him on the bullshit and have his best interests at heart—always. As long as he thought of her as his partner and treated her as such, that was all the validation she needed.
“I mean it, Paige,” Lucas said after a moment. “I know my father will require our assistance once this is over. There is work to be done. But we’re going home first. He’ll get a few days of our time to deal with the aftermath. Then we go home. We rest. We take care of business at the agency. And when that’s done, we come back to do more … until we can leave again.” A pause. “Sound like a plan?”
She smiled. “It does. A good plan.”
“Then that’s what we’ll—Hold on.” He covered the receiver and murmured a few words, then came back. “That was Adam. I need to go. Tell Savannah he says hello.”
“I will. I think that’s her ride coming down right now.”
“Good. I’ll call when I can.”
Paige stood at the edge of the tarmac, as close as they’d let her get to Savannah’s plane. Closer than any regular person would ever get, even to a private flight. There are, admittedly, advantages to being Benicio Cortez’s daughter-in-law. She found herself straining for that first glimpse of Savannah. She’d spoken to her on the phone earlier, but only for a moment or two, both of them surrounded by others, unable to really talk.
Was Savannah upset that Paige hadn’t gone to L.A. with Lucas? She couldn’t—he’d needed her to stay in Miami. Paige was sure Lucas told Savannah that. Even if it slipped his mind, Savannah would have understood there was no place for Paige at that hearing. But logically understanding wasn’t the same as emotionally understanding. Savannah had been arrested for treason by her father’s own Cabal. She’d watched her mother disappear from her life again. She’d seen one grandfather killed by the other. And Paige hadn’t been there for her.
But she was here now, eagerly waiting for Savannah to step off that jet. Was it enough? She hoped so. God, she hoped so.
When Savannah first appeared, there was a moment where Paige thought Eve had somehow stayed in their world after all. It was just that fleeting first glimpse, a tall woman with long, dark hair, her arm hooked through Sean Nast’s. Of course, it was Savannah. But somehow—chalk it up to exhaustion—Paige expected to see a girl get off that jet. The girl she remembered, the one who always needed her, as hard as she tried to pretend otherwise.
Paige didn’t think of Savannah as her daughter. She’d never tried to take Eve’s place. Being only a decade older than Savannah had always made that easy. Savannah was like a little sister and, eventually, as probably happens with most little sisters, she became a friend. When Paige watched her step from that jet, she realized the “little” part was gone now. Savannah didn’t need Paige to hold her hand and tend to her bumps and bruises. She could look after herself. Paige was happy about that. Proud of that. But maybe, just maybe, a little sad, too.
