As he waited for me to ask the obvious question, I swallowed it and forced my brain to switch tracks.
“That’s…too bad,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I hope she recovers. And I hope you find the culprit. I can’t help you, though, and I’m sure Lucas can’t, either, but I’ll pass along the message.”
I walked toward the front hall.
Benicio didn’t budge. “There’s one more thing you should know.”
I bit my lip. Don’t ask. Don’t fall for it. Don’t—
“The girl,” he said. “Dana MacArthur. She’s a witch.”
We locked gazes for a moment. Then I tore mine away, strode to the door, and flung it open.
“Get out,” I said.
And, to my surprise, he did.
I spent the next half-hour trying to code a customer feedback form for a client’s Web site. Simple stuff, but I couldn’t get it to work, probably because ninety percent of my brain was endlessly cycling through what Benicio had told me. A teenage witch. Strangled and strung up from a tree. Now comatose. Did this have something to do with her being a witch? Benicio said she wasn’t the first. Was someone targeting witches? Killing witches?
I rubbed my hands over my eyes and wished I’d never let Benicio into our apartment. Even as I thought that, I realized the futility of it. One way or another, he’d have made sure I knew about Dana MacArthur. After all these years of bringing cases to Lucas, he’d found the perfect one, and he wouldn’t quit until we knew about it.
A faint rustling from the kitchen interrupted my brooding. My first thought was “We have mice,” followed by “Well, doesn’t that just make my day complete.” Then the loose floorboard by the table creaked, and I knew whatever was in the kitchen was a lot bigger than a rodent.
Had I fastened the deadbolt? Cast the lock spell? I couldn’t remember, but somehow I suspected I’d been too overwhelmed by Benicio’s visit to take care of such mundanities. I mentally readied two spells, one to deal with a human intruder and another, stronger spell, for the supernatural variety. Then I pushed up from my chair and crept toward the kitchen.
A dish clattered, followed by an oath. No, not an oath, I realized as I recognized the voice. Simply a wordless exhalation of pique. Where anyone else would mutter “shit” or “damn,” this was one person who never uttered even a profanity without first considering its appropriateness to the situation.
I smiled and peeked around the corner. Lucas was still dressed for court, wearing a dark gray suit and equally somber tie. A month ago, Savannah had bought him a green silk tie, a splash of color she declared long overdue. Since then, he’d made three trips out of town, each time packing the tie and, I was certain, never wearing it.
When it came to his appearance, Lucas preferred the disguise of invisibility. With wire-rimmed glasses, dark hair cut short, and an unexceptional face, Lucas Cortez didn’t need a cover spell to pass through a room unnoticed.
Now he was trying very hard to be silent as well as invisible as he poured coffee from cardboard cups into mugs.
“Playing hooky, Counselor?” I said, rounding the corner.
Anyone else would have jumped. Lucas only blinked, then looked up, lips curving in the crinkle I’d learned to interpret as a smile.
“So much for surprising you with a midmorning snack.”
“You didn’t need that to surprise me. What happened with your case?”
“After the debacle with the necromancer, the prosecution began pursuing a twenty-four-hour recess, to find a last-minute witness. Initially I was reluctant, wanting to end the matter as quickly as possible, but, after speaking to you last night, I decided you might not be opposed to an unexpected visit. So I decided to be magnanimous and agree to the prosecution’s request.”
“Won’t it hurt your case if they find their witness?”
“They won’t. He’s dead. Improper handling of a fire-swarm.”
“Firearm?”
“No, fire-swarm.”
I shook my head and sat down at the table. Lucas placed two scones on a plate and brought it over. I waited until he took his first mouthful.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a fire-swarm and what did it do to your witness?”
“Not my witness—”
I tossed my napkin at him. His quarter-smile broadened to a grin and he launched into the story. That’s one thing about being a lawyer to the supernatural. The pay is crap and the clientele can be lethal, but any time you take supernatural events and try to present them in a human courtroom, you’re