Spellcasters (51 page)

We headed into a long corridor. As the door behind us closed, I slowed, sensing something out of place. It took a moment to realize what it was. The silence. No piped-in Muzak, no voices, not even the clatter of keyboards. Not only that, but the hall itself was unlike any office corridor I’d ever seen. There were no doors along either side. Just a long hallway, branching off in the middle, and ending in a huge set of glass doors.

As we passed the midway intersection, I snuck a glance down each side. There were actually two diagonal corridors off each side, each ending in a glass door. Through each of the four glass doors I could see a reception desk and secretarial staff.

“Hector’s office to the left,” Lucas murmured. “My eldest half-brother. To the right, William and Carlos’s offices.”

“Who has the other office?” I asked. “Beside Hector’s?”

As soon as I said the words, I knew the answer, and wished I hadn’t asked.

“It’s mine,” Lucas said. “Though I’ve never worked an hour in it. An absurd waste of prime real estate, but my father keeps it staffed and stocked, because any day now I’m bound to come to my senses.”

He tried to keep his tone light, but I could hear the tightness creeping in.

“And if that ever happens, which office do I get?” I asked. “ ’Cause you know, I’m not going to be one of those silent-partner wives. I want a seat on the board and an office with a view.”

He smiled. “Then I’ll give you this one.”

We’d come to the end of the hall. Through the glass door I saw a reception area three times as large as the ones I’d glimpsed down the side hallways. Though it was now past six o’clock, the office was manned by a squadron of secretaries and clerks.

Like the other door, this one was automatic, and, like the last time, someone had it open before we came within ten feet. As the doors opened, the sea of staff parted to give us a path to the reception desk. The younger secretaries heralded our arrival with unconcealed gapes and stammered hellos. The older ones welcomed us with subdued smiles before quickly returning to their work.

“Mr. Cortez,” the receptionist said as we approached the desk. “A pleasure to see you, sir.”

“Thank you. Is my father in?”

“Yes, sir. Let me—”

“He’s in a meeting.” A heavyset man walked from an interior hall and headed for a bank of filing cabinets. “You should have called.”

“I’ll buzz him, sir,” the receptionist said. “He’s asked to always be notified of your arrival.”

The man across the room shuffled papers loudly enough to draw our attention. “He’s busy, Lucas. You can’t show up unannounced and drag him out of meetings. We’re running a business here.”

“Hello, William. You’re looking well.”

William Cortez. Middle brother. I could be forgiven for not reaching that conclusion earlier. The man bore little resemblance to either Lucas or Benicio. Average height and about seventy pounds overweight, with soft features that might have been girlishly handsome once, but had faded into doughy blandness. William turned to us for the first time, zapping
Lucas with an irritated glare. His gaze crossed over me with only a small headshake.

“Don’t page my father, Dorinda,” William said. “Lucas can wait like the rest of us.”

She glanced at her fellow secretaries for help, but they worked harder, pretending not to notice her sinking into the quicksand of conflicting authority.

“Perhaps we should ascertain the exact nature of the request,” Lucas said. “Did my father say he
could
be notified or that he
should
be notified?”

“Should, sir. He was very clear on that.” She snuck a sidelong glance at William. “Very clear.”

“Then I’m sure neither William nor myself wishes to get you into any trouble. Please notify him that I’ve arrived, but tell him I’m not here on a matter of any urgency, so I can wait for his meeting to end.”

The receptionist fairly sighed with relief, nodded, and picked up the phone. While she called, Lucas steered me over to William, who was still at the filing cabinet.

“William,” Lucas said, dropping his voice. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

William slammed the drawer, cutting him short. He hefted a pile of folders under his arm.

“I’m busy, Lucas. Some of us work here.”

He turned on his heel and stalked out the main doors.

“Mr. Cortez?” the receptionist called from the desk. “Your father will be right out. He’d like you to wait in his office.”

Lucas thanked her and led me down the hall to the glazed-glass double doors at the end. Before we reached them, a door to our left opened and a trio of men in standard-issue middle-management suits strode out, then stopped to stare at Lucas. After a quick recovery, they offered welcomes and handshakes to the crown prince, their greetings falling just a hair short of obeisance. I snuck a peek at Lucas. As someone who normally passed through life unnoticed, what was it like to be recognized here at every turn, to have VPs twice his age falling over themselves to pay their respects?

Once they were gone, we headed through the double doors, into a small reception room, and through yet another set of double doors before we reached Benicio’s inner sanctum. Had I seen a picture of his office earlier, I’d have been shocked. Now, having seen the rest of the building, it was exactly what I’d expect. Simple, understated, and no larger than the
office of the average corporate VP. The only remarkable thing about it was the view, made all the more spectacular by the window itself, which was a single pane of glass stretching floor-to-ceiling across the entire wall. The glass was spotless and the lighting in the room had been arranged so it cast no reflection, meaning you saw not a window, but a room that seemed to open right into the bright blue Miami sky.

Lucas walked to his father’s computer and typed in a password. The screen blinked to life.

“I’ll print off a copy of the security forms while we wait,” he said.

While he did that, I perused the photos on Benicio’s desk. The first one to catch my eye was of a small boy, no more than five, at the beach, staring at the camera with the most serious expression any five-year-old at the beach has ever had. One look at that expression and I knew it was Lucas. Beside him, a woman pulled a face, trying to get him to smile, but only making herself laugh instead. The broad grin infused her plain face with something approaching beauty. Maria. Her grin was as unmistakable as Lucas’s sober stare.

What did Benicio’s other sons think when they saw their father’s former mistress’s picture so prominently displayed, yet none of their own mother, his legal wife? Not only that, but of the three photographs on Benicio’s desk, Lucas occupied two while the three of them shared one group portrait. What went through Benicio’s head when he did something like that? Did he just not care what anyone thought? Or was there a deeper motive at work, purposely fanning the flames between his legitimate sons and the “bastard heir”?

“Lucas.”

Benicio wheeled through the door, a broad smile lighting his face. Lucas stepped forward and extended his hand. Benicio crossed the room in three strides and embraced him.

The two bodyguards who’d accompanied Benicio to Portland slipped inside, surprisingly unobtrusive for men of their size, and took up position against the wall. I smiled at Troy, who returned it with a wink.

“Good to see you, my boy,” Benicio said. “This is a surprise. When did you get in?”

Lucas extricated himself from his father’s embrace as he answered. Benicio had yet to acknowledge me. At first, I assumed this was an intentional slight, but as I watched him talk to Lucas, I realized Benicio hadn’t even noticed me there. From the look on his face, I doubted he’d notice a raging gorilla if it was in the same room as Lucas. I searched his face, his manner, for some sign that he was dissembling, putting on an act of
fatherly affection, but saw none. Which made everything else all that much more inexplicable.

Lucas stepped back beside me. “I believe you’ve met Paige.”

“Yes, of course. How are you, Paige?” Benicio extended a hand and a smile almost as bright as the one he offered his son. Apparently Lucas wasn’t the only Cortez who could make nice.

“Paige told me you wanted to speak to me,” Lucas said. “While that could, of course, be easily accomplished by telephone, I thought perhaps this would be a good time to bring her to Miami and ensure the proper security clearance forms are completed, so there is no misunderstanding regarding our relationship.”

“There’s no need for that,” Benicio said. “I’ve already sent her vital stats to all our field offices. Her protection was assured the moment you told me about your … relationship.”

“Then I’m simply clarifying it with a paper trail, to please the insurance department. Now, I know you’re busy, Father. When would be the best time to discuss the details of this case?” He paused, then pushed on. “Perhaps, if you don’t have plans, the three of us could have dinner together.”

Benicio blinked. A small reaction, but in that blink and the moment of silence that followed, I read shock, and I suspected it had been a while since Lucas had voluntarily shared a meal with his father, much less extended an invitation to do so.

Benicio clapped Lucas on the back. “Perfect. I’ll make the arrangements. As for discussing these attacks, though, we’ll leave dinner as social time. I’m sure you’re both anxious to hear more—”

A rustle at the door cut him short. William stepped in, gaze riveted on his father, probably so he didn’t have to acknowledge us.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” William said. “But as I was dropping off the Wang report, I overheard Lucas’s offer and wanted to remind you that you have a dinner engagement with the governor.”

“Hector can take my place.”

“Hector’s in New York. He has been since Monday.”

“Reschedule, then. Tell the governor’s office that something important came up.”

William’s mouth tightened.

“Wait,” Lucas said. “Please don’t rearrange your schedule on my account. Paige and I will be staying the night. We can have breakfast together.”

Benicio paused, then nodded. “Breakfast tomorrow then, and drinks tonight if I can get away from the governor early enough. As for this other matter—”

“Sir?” William said. “About breakfast? You have an early morning meeting.”

“Reschedule it,” Benicio snapped. When William turned to leave, he stopped him. “William, before you go, I’d like you to meet Paige—”

“The witch. We’ve met.”

He didn’t so much as glance my way. A line creased between Benicio’s eyebrows and he rattled off something in Spanish. Now, my Spanish was pretty good, and Lucas had been helping me improve—if only so we could talk without Savannah listening in—but Benicio spoke too fast for my translation skills. I didn’t need an interpreter, though, to guess that he was upbraiding William for his rudeness.

“And where is Carlos?” Benicio said, reverting to English. “He should be here to see his brother and meet Paige.”

“Is it past four?” William said.

“Of course it is.”

“Then Carlos isn’t here. If you’ll excuse me—”

Benicio turned away, as if William had already left. “Where was I? Yes. This other matter. I’ve convened a meeting in twenty minutes to provide you with all the details. Let’s get Paige a cold drink and we’ll head to the boardroom.”

T
wenty minutes later, Lucas opened the conference room door for me. His eyes slanted a silent question my way. Did I want him to go first? I shook my head. Though I wasn’t looking forward to confronting what I knew lay within that meeting room, I had to do it without hiding behind Lucas.

As I stepped inside, my gaze swept across the dozen or so faces within. Sorcerer, sorcerer, sorcerer … another sorcerer. Over three-quarters of the men in the room were sorcerers. Each pair of eyes met mine. Chairs shuffled and voices murmured wordless noises of disapproval. The word “witch” snaked through the room on a chorused whisper of contempt. Every sorcerer in the room knew what I was without being told. One look in the eyes, and witch recognized sorcerer, sorcerer recognized witch, and the introduction rarely pleased either.

Benicio waved Lucas and me to two empty chairs next to the vacant head of the table.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “Thank you for staying late to join us. You all know my son Lucas.”

The men within handshaking distance extended their hands. The rest offered spoken salutations. No one looked my way.

“This is Paige Winterbourne,” Benicio continued. “As I’m sure most of you know, Paige’s mother, Ruth, was Leader of the American Coven. Paige herself has been a member of the interracial council for several years, and I’m pleased to say, in that capacity, she has expressed an interest in the MacArthur case.”

I held my breath waiting for some comment about my exile from the Coven or my embarrassingly short term as Leader. But Benicio said nothing. As much as he might dislike me, he wouldn’t upset Lucas by insulting his girlfriend.

Benicio gestured toward a stocky man near the foot of the table. “Dennis Malone is our head of security. He’s most familiar with the case, so I’ll ask him to begin with an overview.”

As Dennis explained, Dana MacArthur was indeed the daughter of a Cabal employee but not, as I’d assumed, of the Cabal witch. Like Savannah, Dana claimed supernatural blood from both parents, her father being a half-demon in Cortez Corporation sales. Randy MacArthur was currently overseas establishing a commercial foothold in the newly capitalist areas of Eastern Europe. Dana’s mother was a witch named Lyndsay MacArthur. I’d hoped to recognize the name, but I didn’t. Coven witches had little contact with non-Coven witches. Even my mother had only taken notice of outside witches when they’d caused trouble. One of the many things I’d wanted to change about the Coven, and now never would.

According to the background information Dennis provided, Dana’s parents were divorced and she lived with her mother. Dennis mentioned that her mother lived in Macon, Georgia, and the attack had taken place in Atlanta, so I assumed Dana had been traveling or visiting friends. She’d apparently been out walking by herself around midnight—which seemed very strange for a fifteen-year-old girl, but I’d get an explanation later. The important thing was that during that walk, she’d cut through a park and been attacked.