apartment. Four months ago, my house near Boston had burned to cinders, along with everything I owned. I was now the proud renter of a lousy two-bedroom apartment in a lousier neighborhood in Portland, Oregon. Yes, I could afford better, but I hated digging into the insurance money, terrified I’d wake up one day with nothing in the bank and be forced to spend eternity living beneath a deaf old woman who watched blaring talk shows eighteen hours a day.
For the first two months, I’d been fine. Lucas, Savannah, and I had spent the summer traveling. But then September came and Savannah had to go to school. So we set up house—apartment—in Portland, and carried on. Or, I should say, Savannah and Lucas carried on. They’d both lived nomadic lives before, so this was nothing new. Not so for me. I’d been born near Boston, grown up there, and never left—not even for school. Yet in my fight to protect Savannah last spring, my house hadn’t been the only thing to burn. My entire life had gone up in smoke—my business, my private life, my reputation—all had been dragged through the tabloid cesspool, and I’d been forced to relocate clear across the country, someplace where no one had heard of Paige Winterbourne. The scandal had fizzled out quickly enough, but I couldn’t go back. The Coven had exiled me, which meant I was forbidden to live within the state boundaries. Still, I hadn’t given up. I’d sucked in my grief, dried my tears, and marched back into the fight. My Coven didn’t want me? Fine, I’d start my own. In the last eight weeks I’d met with nine witches. Each one said all the right things, then turned me down flat. With each rejection, the abyss widened.
We went out for dinner, followed by an early movie. My way of apologizing to Savannah for inflicting another witch-recruitment session on her.
Back at the apartment, I hustled Savannah off to bed, then zoomed into my room just as the clock-radio flipped to 10:59. I grabbed the cordless phone, jumped onto the bed, and watched the clock. Two seconds after it hit 11:00, the phone rang.
“Two seconds late,” I said.
“Never. Your clock must be running fast.”
I smiled and settled back onto the bed. Lucas was in Chicago, defending a shaman who’d been set up by the St. Cloud Cabal to take the fall for a corporate espionage scheme gone awry.
I asked Lucas how the case was going, and he filled me in. Then he asked how my afternoon had gone, specifically my meeting with the witches. For a second, I almost wished I had one of those boyfriends who didn’t know or care about my life outside his sphere of influence. Lucas probably noted all my appointments in his Day-Timer, so he’d never do something as inconsiderate as fail to ask about them afterward.
“Shot down,” I said.
A moment of silence. “I’m sorry.”
“No big—”
“Yes, it is. I know it is. However, I’m equally certain that, given the right circumstances and timing, you’ll eventually find yourself in a position where the number of witches clamoring to join your Coven will far exceed your requirements.”
“In other words, give it time and I’ll need to beat ’em off with a stick?”
A soft chuckle floated down the line. “I get even less coherent after a day in court, don’t I?”
“If you didn’t talk like that once in a while, I’d miss it. Kind of like I’m missing you. Got an ETA for me yet?”
“Three days at most. It’s hardly a murder trial.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, another case was brought to my attention today. A half-demon killed in Nevada, apparently mistaken for another who was under Cabal warrant for execution.”
“Whoops.”
“Exactly. The Boyd Cabal isn’t admitting their mistake, let alone conducting a proper investigation and procedural review. I thought perhaps you might be able to assist me. That is, if you aren’t busy—”
“When can we leave?”
“Sunday. Savannah could spend the night at Michelle’s, and we’d return Monday evening.”
“Sounds—” I stopped. “Savannah has an orthodontic appointment Monday afternoon. I’d reschedule, but…”
“It took six weeks to get it, I know. Yes, I have it marked right here. Three o’clock with Doctor Schwab. I should have checked before I asked.” He paused. “Perhaps you could still come along and leave early Monday morning?”
“Sure. That sounds good.”
The words came out empty, the elation that surged only a moment ago drained by this sudden glimpse of my future, calendar pages crammed with