in hand. I reached up to rub my face and nearly toppled the IV onto the bed. Adam grabbed it just in time.
“Shit,” he said. “I finally convince Lucas it’s safe to leave for a few minutes and you decide to wake up. If he comes back, close your eyes, okay?”
I managed a weak smile and opened my mouth to speak, then made a face. I pointed to the water. Adam poured me a glass. He started to put in the straw, but I grabbed the glass and took a gulp. The water hit my parched throat and bounced back, dribbling out my mouth.
“That’s attractive,” he said, reaching for a tissue.
I snatched it before he could do anything as humiliating as wipe my face. He picked up something from the dresser.
“Brought you something.” He handed me a stuffed beanbag bear dressed in a black witch’s hat and dress. “Remember these?”
“Hmmm.” I struggled to focus, still woozy. “Right. The dolls.” A small smile, as the memory surfaced. “You—” I wet my lips and tried again. “You used to buy them for me. Gifts.”
He grinned. “Every ugly wart-faced witch doll I could find. Because I knew how much you loved them.”
“Hated them. And you knew it. Used to lecture you on sensitivity and stereotyping.” I shook my head. “God, I was insufferable sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
I swatted him and laughed, then gasped as pain shot through my stomach. Adam grabbed for the call button, but I lifted my hand to stop him.
“I’m okay,” I said.
He nodded and sat down on the side of the bed. “You had us pretty worried. At the house everything seemed okay, but then, boom, you blacked out and your blood pressure dropped—” He shook his head. “Not a good scene. I was freaked, and Lucas was freaked, which only freaked me out even more, ’cause I figured this guy doesn’t scare easy and if this scares him, there must be reason to be scared and—” Another shake of the head. “It wasn’t good.”
“Paige.”
I looked up to see a figure in the doorway. The voice told me it was Lucas, but I had to blink to double-check. Pale and unshaven, he was still dressed in the suit he’d worn for the missionary ruse at Weber’s house, but the jacket and tie were gone. His shirt was wrinkled and splattered with coffee stains. One sleeve of his shirt was charred at the forearm, with bandages peeking through the gaping hole. That was the drawback to working with Adam—when he got mad, you had to stay out of his way, or you paid the price in second-degree burns.
“I’ll be outside,” Adam said, shifting off the bed.
He slipped out the door. As Lucas approached I saw that the stains on his shirt weren’t coffee brown, but rust red. Blood. My blood. He followed my gaze.
“Oh, I should change. I—”
“Later,” I said.
“Do you want to call Savannah? I can—”
“Later.”
I held out my hand. He took it, then reached down to hug me.
An hour later, I was still awake, having persuaded the nurse to hold off on my pain medication. First I needed answers.
“Are they holding Weber in L.A.?” I asked.
Lucas shook his head. “My father won that battle. Weber is in Miami, with a trial date set for Friday.”
“I don’t get that,” Adam said. “Why bother? They know the guy’s guilty. What are they going to do, say ‘Whoops, we didn’t issue a proper warrant’ and let him walk?”
“He’s entitled to a trial,” Lucas said. “It’s Cabal law.”
“But is it a real trial?” I asked.
“A Cabal trial mirrors a human law trial at its most basic level. Lawyers present the case to judges who determine guilt or innocence and impose sentence. As for Weber being released on a technicality, it’s unlikely to the point of impossible. The concept of civil rights is much more narrowly defined in a Cabal court.”
“You don’t need to worry about this guy, Paige,” Adam said. “He’s not coming back out.”
“That’s not—” I turned to Lucas. “Has he confessed?”
Lucas shook his head. His gaze slipped to the side, just barely, but I’d been with him long enough to know what this meant.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I said. “Something’s happened.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Another Cabal teen died Friday night.”
I bolted upright, sending shock waves of pain through me. Lucas and Adam both sprang to their feet, but I waved them down.
“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Let me explain. Matthew Tucker was the nineteen-year-old son