to get anyone’s attention. As I invited him inside, a harder look confirmed my error. The son I’d met had been in his early forties, and this man was another twenty years older. It was an understandable mistake, though. Smooth some of the deeply etched lines on his face and Benicio would be a carbon copy of his son. Both men were wide-shouldered, stocky, and no more than five seven, in contrast to Lucas’s tall, rail-thin physique.
“I knew your mother,” Benicio said as he crossed the room. No “She was a good woman” or “I’m sorry for your loss” tacked on. A statement as emotionless as his stare. His gaze swept the room, taking in the secondhand furniture and bare walls. Part of me wanted to explain, and another part of me was horrified by the impulse. I didn’t owe this man an explanation.
Benicio stepped in front of the couch—part of a perfectly serviceable if threadbare set. He looked down at it as if debating whether it might soil his suit. At that, a small inkling of the old Paige bubbled to the surface.
“Don’t bother sitting,” I said. “This isn’t a tea-and-crumpets kind of visit. Oh, and I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
Benicio turned his empty stare on me and waited. For at least twenty seconds, we just looked at one another. I tried to hold out, but I broke first.
“As I told your men, Lucas is in court, out of town. If you didn’t believe me—”
“I know where my son is.”
A chill tickled the nape of my neck as I heard the un-spoken qualifier: “I always know where my son is.” I’d never thought of that, but hearing him now, there was no doubt in my mind that Benicio always knew exactly where Lucas was, and what he was doing.
“Well, that’s funny,” I said. “Because your men said you had a message for him. But if you know he’s not here, then…Oh, I get it. That was only an excuse, right? You know Lucas is gone and you came here pretending to want to deliver a message, hoping for a chance to meet the new girlfriend. You wouldn’t want to do that with Lucas around, because you might not be able to control your disappointment when you confirm that your son is indeed dating—whoops, living with—a witch.”
“I do have a message,” he said. “For both of you.”
“I’m guessing it’s not ‘congratulations.’”
“I have a case that might interest Lucas,” he said. “One that might be of particular interest to you as well.” While we’d been talking, his eyes had never left mine, but now, for the first time, he truly seemed to be looking at me. “You’re developing quite the reputation, both for fending off the Nast Cabal’s attempt to take Savannah and for your role in ending that business with Tyrone Winsloe last year. This particular case would require someone with such expertise.”
As he spoke, a thrill of gratification rippled through me. On its heels came a wave of shame. God, was I that transparent? Throw a few empty words of praise my way and I wriggled like a happy puppy? Our first meeting and Benicio already knew what buttons to press.
“When’s the last time Lucas worked for you?” I asked.
“This isn’t working for me. I’m simply passing along a case that I believe would interest my son—”
“And when’s the last time you tried that one? August, wasn’t it? Something about a Vodoun priest in Colorado? Lucas turned you down flat, as he always does.”
Benicio’s cheek twitched.
“What,” I said, “you didn’t think Lucas told me about that? Like he didn’t tell me how you bring him a case every few months, either to piss off the other Cabals or to trick him into doing something at your request? He’s not sure which it is. I’m guessing both.”
He paused. Then he met my gaze. “This case is different.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.”
“It involves the child of one of our employees,” he said. “A fifteen-year-old girl named Dana MacArthur.”
I opened my mouth to cut him off, but couldn’t. The moment he said “fifteen-year-old girl,” I needed to hear the rest.
Benicio continued. “Three nights ago, someone attacked her while she was walking through a park. She was strangled, hung from a tree, and left to die.”
My gut clenched. “Is she…?” I tried to force out the last word, but couldn’t.
“She’s alive. Comatose, but alive.” His voice softened and his eyes filled with the appropriate mix of sorrow and indignation. “Dana wasn’t the