Thirteen (23 page)

Kaufman nodded and whispered back to me, “I’m going to need to keep my gun holstered as we leave.”

“Okay.”

“Once we’re out, we’re getting in a cab. There’s a car waiting, but it’s a few blocks away. Farther from headquarters.”

“Got it.”

Kaufman eased open the door and stepped out. Adam followed, then me, with an energy bolt at the ready. Curry whispered in my ear, “It’s going to be okay, miss. Everything will be okay.”

Did I look nervous? Maybe I was. Silly, considering we were sneaking into a coffee shop. A little surreal, too.

In front of us, Kaufman straightened. We did the same. Just four people walking out of the hall marked Staff Only. Two of them in security uniforms and two wearing blood-flecked clothing that looked like they’d slept in it on a filthy floor. We could only hope everyone was too busy talking about the play to notice us.

As we approached the swinging door into the café, the buzz of conversation grew louder. Men and women talking and laughing, forks tinkling against china, mugs clanking against tabletops.

“It’s going to be okay, miss,” Curry whispered again. “Just stay calm and don’t panic, whatever happens.”

From the tremor in his voice, I wasn’t the one who needed the reassurance. Kaufman waved me up beside him. Adam put his arm around my waist. Casual. Just act casual.

Kaufman pushed open the door. We stepped out. And twenty “patrons” leaped to their feet, guns pointed at us.

TWENTY-TWO

“You bastard,” I snarled as I spun on Curry. “You set us up.”

“I’ve got kids, miss. I—”

I sent him flying with a knockback spell. As I turned to confront our ambushers, Adam grabbed my arm and whispered, “No.”

He was right. Kaufman had his hands raised and he looked two seconds from throwing up. He was a dead man. If he’d thought he had a hope in hell of fighting his way out of this, he would have, but he raised his hands and said, “I want to speak to Sean Nast. This is his sister—”

“You bought that line of bull, Captain?” An officer stepped forward. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“No, she is his sister,” Curry said. “Her blood opened the security gate. She’s a Nast—”

A rap at the front door. The shades were all drawn, including the one over the door. A louder knock.

The lead officer waved for his people to move out of the way, walked over, pulled the shade back a few inches, and yelled, “We’re closed.”

An ID badge slapped against the glass. The lead officer winced and mouthed a curse.

“An intra-Cabal security team,” he said. “Everyone maintain position, but lower your weapons.”

He opened the door to admit a grizzled, thickset man. Two others followed. All wore suits and looked more like FBI agents than security.

Curry whispered, “That’s what I meant, miss. I told the Nasts. I had to. I’ve got kids. Helping you escape—it’s treason. But I made sure you’d be safe. That’s why I called the intra-Cabal office. I sent Sean a message, too. He’ll know what happened. You won’t go back to the cells. They’ll have to do this fairly. You’re okay.”

I glowered at him. “I’d be a lot more okay if I was in a cab right now.”

“I—I’ve got kids, miss.”

“Stop whining,” Kaufman hissed. “Sean trusted you, Frank, and you screwed him over. Do you think you’ll get your golden handshake now? Both sides will consider you a traitor.”

Curry paled. I turned away from him. The grizzled man in the suit walked over to us.

“Miss Levine? Mr. Vasic? Bo Stein. I’m going to accompany you back to Nast headquarters for a proper hearing into these allegations.”

“That’s funny,” Adam said. “I could swear that was where we were headed twenty-four hours ago. Before we got locked in a filthy cell with no bed and a pail to piss in.”

Stein’s lips tightened. “Those allegations will be heard as well, sir. I’ve been told the Cortezes have also been notified and they are on the way with their legal team. This will be handled properly from now on.”

“We’re not going back into a cell of
any
kind,” I said.

“You won’t. We’ll be with you until—”

“And I want my mother.”

Stein stared at me, as if the shock of my incarceration had scrambled my brain.

“Eve Levine was with us,” Adam said. “Captain Kaufman can attest to that. She was brought over from the afterlife. Manifested.”

Kaufman nodded. “It’s true, sir.”

I said, “I haven’t seen her since we were put on the plane in New Orleans. I want her found. If they try to say she passed over again, I want Jaime Vegas of the interracial council brought here to make contact.”

“We’ll begin investigating—”

“Before we take one more step we also want to speak to Lucas Cortez,” Adam said. “You say you’re with intra-Cabal security, but I don’t know you.”

Stein handed Adam his cell phone. Adam passed it to me.

I called Lucas. He answered on the second ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” I said.

A pause. Then a sigh, so soft it was more a whisper. “Savannah. Since you’re calling on Agent Stein’s line, I presume the extrication attempt was thwarted.”

“It was.”

“We’d hoped otherwise. Sean only learned of Frank Curry’s intentions thirty minutes ago, making it too late to warn Captain Kaufman. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. So’s Adam, though they beat the crap out of him when we were arrested. Mom’s missing, but they say they’ll look into that. Stein’s okay, then? We can go with him?”

“You’ll have to, I’m afraid. But yes, he is a legitimate representative of the intra-Cabal agency. We’ll have this mess sorted soon. Sean is already on his way. He was staying near the airport, so I had him take the jet. I’m following with the legal team on a commercial flight. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

And that was that. Nothing more to be done except submit to Nast custody and trust that this time we’d get our due process.

They took us back to headquarters. To the executive board-room, no less, where Stein said we’d rest—under his guard—until everyone arrived for the hearing.

While we waited, we were allowed to take showers in the executive wing. Then a Cabal doctor tended to Adam’s injuries and confirmed that, yes, his ribs were cracked, but already healing nicely. We were back in the boardroom, getting ready to eat, when the guards brought Mom in.

She walked in with her usual confident stride, her hair sleekly brushed, the sword on her back, gaze fixed on me, her smile genuine. When I hurried over and hugged her, she didn’t wince, gave no sign she was hiding injuries.

“Hey, baby, you okay?”

I nodded. “You?”

“Better than you, I bet.” She kissed my cheek, then checked out my rumpled clothing and shot a glare around the room. “Seems the company advisers decided that while they weren’t convinced of my angel-hood, it was best not to take any chances by mistreating me. They locked me up in a lead-lined cell, but I was comfortable enough. I think they were hoping the Fates would spirit me back and they could wash their hands of the matter.”

“They let you keep the sword.”

“Mmm.” She twisted around. It was bound by a sparking red wire. “Major mojo. Cost a prisoner his life. It seems to be holding, though. Unfortunately. How’s Adam?”

I’d thought he was right beside me, but now I realized he’d stayed across the room.

“Are you going to introduce us?” Mom said.

“Intro—?”

Adam and my mother had never met. Even as I realized that, there was a moment where I thought I must be wrong. They’d each been such a huge part of my life, but of opposite halves of it. Although I’d had some contact with my mother for years—and Adam had been there when she’d been “around” in ghostly form, with Jaime mediating—they’d never met face to face.

I glanced over at him, now pouring soda into cups for both of us. I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets.

“It’s okay, baby,” Mom said, tugging one hand out and squeezing it. “I know.”

That’s all she said—“I know.” But when I looked at him, I knew she knew what Adam meant to me. My cheeks heated.

“Something’s changed, hasn’t it?” she said.

I started to nod, then shrugged, feeling like I was eleven years old again, when I’d told her about a boy at school who wanted me to come to the dance and I thought he might like me, but I wasn’t sure.

“Maybe,” I said. “I think so.”

“It has,” she murmured. “I can see it in the way he looks at you.”

I went bright red at that. As we approached, Adam set down the cups and turned to greet us. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual grin. Not nervous, either. Guarded maybe? It wasn’t what I expected and it threw me a little.

“Adam, this, uh, is my mom,” I said.

“Are you sure?” His grin peeked out now. “Because I don’t see a resemblance.”

Mom laughed and she embraced him, catching him off-guard. As I said, Mom isn’t the hugging type, so it startled me a bit, too.

As she pulled back, she whispered in his ear, probably thinking I couldn’t hear. “I should have sent her back to Miami. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s all—” he began.

“It’s not all right,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

When she stepped back, that guarded look had disappeared, and I understood that Adam had been angry with her for taking me along in New Orleans. He didn’t want to be angry—and he sure as hell didn’t want me knowing he was angry—but he had been.

“Will you eat now?” he whispered as he came over with my drink.

I nodded, took a plate, and loaded it up. Fast food—not much else open at this hour—but it’s not like I don’t eat the stuff by choice anyway.

We ate without saying much. Not much we could say, surrounded by guards. It was just past three in the morning. Sean would be here soon, Lucas and Paige shortly after. Would Thomas insist on waiting for a more reasonable hour, letting us all stew? No one knew. Or if they did, no one told us.

An hour later, there was a commotion in the hall. I hoped it was Sean, but the door stayed closed. Mom had wandered from the table. She’d seemed distracted, and I thought she was just restless, but when I glanced up she was standing in the corner, her back to me.

I walked over to her.

“—so it’s a mess,” she was saying. To no one.

“Mom?”

She turned. A faint flush rose on her cheeks and she led me back to the table.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked.

“Oh. Um, no one. Probably. Just …” A shrug, then she put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I’m tired, baby. Haven’t
been
tired in ten years. I think it’s affecting my brain. So what’s going on?”

“No idea,” Adam said as she sat.

I looked back at the corner. My father. She sensed him here. Was he?

Another commotion in the hall. The door flew open. In walked two massive bodyguards followed by two guys in suits that screamed “lawyer.” With the pomp normally reserved for rulers of despotic nations, they ushered in Thomas Nast.

I’d seen my grandfather before. Met him several times … if you can call it a “meeting” when you’re in the same room and he’s studiously pretending you don’t exist. But my first thought on seeing him today was
My God, he’s gotten old
. Thomas has always been old—to me, anyway. I remember the first time I saw him, tall, white haired, slightly stooped, and thinking “This is the guy? The one everyone’s so scared of? He doesn’t seem so bad.” He’d looked … grandfatherly.

Yes, I hate to admit it, but the first time I saw Thomas Nast, I’d felt a buzz of hope, because he looked like someone I could imagine as a grandfather. Proud and stern, but softhearted. Um, no. The only person who softened Thomas Nast’s heart was Sean.

As Thomas walked in, though, it was my other brother I thought about. I’d seen the way Thomas acted when Bryce was around—the same way he acted with everyone except Sean. Short-tempered. Overbearing. Irritated, as if they were all incompetents hell-bent on making his life difficult. The same way he treated the man who had followed him into the room.
His
younger son. Josef.

I’d never met Thomas while my father was alive, but I bet he’d treated Kristof the way he did Sean. The favored child. The heir. The only one who mattered.

I’d seen what such favoritism had done to Bryce. The choices he’d made. How miserable and angry he was. In thirty years, would he become another Josef Nast? Willing to kill me, not because I was any threat to him, but because it might have pleased Thomas. He might finally have pleased his father.

Neither Thomas nor Josef looked my way. I didn’t expect them to. Their people fanned out around them, getting their chairs just right, pouring them coffee and ice water, bending over to whisper and point out items on papers and digital displays. Shielding them from any need to acknowledge our presence.

The moment Thomas had settled, Mom stood. She stayed standing for at least three minutes. Daring him to look at her. When he didn’t, she started forward, chin up, sword glowing stronger, as if it fed off her resolve. Or her rage.

Thomas still didn’t look up. Others did. Until now, they’d struggled to pretend there was nothing unusual about having the long-dead alleged mistress of their former heir in their midst, a woman now whispered to be an angel. They turned. They stared. A few stepped closer, protecting their leader. More stepped back.

“Tho—” Mom began.

The door opened. Voices drifted in.

“I’m sorry, sir,” someone in the hall said. “But they aren’t permitted to join the proceedings.”

“They aren’t joining.” Sean’s voice. I exhaled in relief. “They’re here as observers. Ms. Michaels is a delegate—”

“I understand, sir, but we don’t allow her … kind—”

“The word is werewolf.” Clay’s southern drawl. “It’s okay. You can say it. It won’t bite.”

“There is a council delegate on trial,” Sean said. “Ms. Michaels is here to represent Adam Vasic and the council—”

The door closed, muting their voices. I caught just enough to realize they weren’t going to permit a werewolf in the hearing, and there were no provisions that required a council delegate to be present when another one was on trial.