Black ashes and gray bits of paper lay in an otherwise pristine fireplace. In Miami, fireplaces were the sort of thing builders added purely for the emotional impact--a potential buyer sees it, pictures romantic nights by the fire or a faithful dog dozing before the flames, and only later realizes the impracticality of such dreams when the temperature rarely drops below sixty.
I retrieved tweezers from the bathroom, removed the largest scorched pieces and laid them on a blank sheet of paper. The edges were charred, but I could make out a few words in the middle.
"That's the club address, isn't it?" Paige said.
I nodded. The partial address was visible, and below it "11 AM-invent--"
"It's telling him when to expect Bianca to be there doing inventory," Paige said. "It must be a scheduled time--maybe when stock arrives."
The rest was mostly random phrases: "--must be complete--" "--absolutely no one--" "--message that we--"
I carefully gathered the fragile pieces and put them into a bag for lab analysis.
"We should speak to the neighbors," Paige said. "Ortega lived alone, right?"
My father nodded. "He's been divorced for about ten years, with no children."
"And, as far as we can see, no long-term girlfriend, which means it would be easy for him to cut and run. But it also gives me an excuse for talking to the neighbors."
She went to the neighbors and introduced herself as Ortega's new girlfriend, concerned because she hadn't heard from him in two days and he wasn't answering his phones. The couples to the right and across the road couldn't help. Though Ortega had lived here since his divorce, they knew nothing about him. That wasn't uncommon--avoiding unnecessary contact with neighbors is another way for supernaturals to hide what we are.
But the neighbor to the left was a divorcee in her forties who'd probably been eyeing Ortega, and who took one look at Paige and couldn't resist breaking the bad news--that Ortega had been home and probably avoiding her calls. She'd last seen him at nine-thirty that morning, which she recalled because it struck her as unusual for him to be leaving for work so late. Then, seeing him putting suitcases in his trunk, she'd presumed he was on vacation. He'd driven off, alone.
HOPE
SECURITY CLEARANCE
Karl tried to relay over the phone what he remembered of the blueprints, but Lucas insisted--quite rightly--that it should be done in person, so Karl could draw them. He agreed, with great reluctance.
"You wanted to dump it on them and walk away, didn't you?" I said when he hung up.
"What do you want me to do, Hope? Lie to you again?" He turned on his heel and set out toward the rental car. "I suppose if I really cared about you, I'd watch you suffer and do nothing about it. But you're not suffering, are you? You're learning."
"I need to learn to handle it, Karl. You've said so yourself. You encouraged me to join the council--"
"--because I knew you needed a safe way to enjoy chaos while doing some good. And, yes, I encourage you to expose yourself to more. In small doses. Like walking across burning coals to toughen your feet. But your idea of learning to withstand burning is to throw yourself onto the pyre and grit your teeth, because by God you're going to prove you can do it or die trying."
"Karl, I--"
He threw open the passenger door. "Get in and let's finish this."
It was a silent trip to the hotel where Lucas and Paige were staying.
Karl didn't understand why I had to push so hard, and it was wrong of me to expect him to. He believed I was in danger with this job so, to him, there would be no reason to continue. Why should we care what happened to these people? I'd done my duty, paid my debt, and now I should be free to go home. To protect me, he had to lie, because he knew I'd never walk away otherwise. Wrong-headed, but right-hearted.
WHEN I'D FIRST heard about the council, I pictured a group of gray-haired politician types. There wasn't a gray head in the bunch, which wasn't surprising when you considered they had to get out there and resolve problems themselves. The younger, more dynamic council is a fairly recent development, after the council had to face, unprepared, a true and serious threat.
Paige's mother, the council leader, had died fighting that menace and Paige had been thrust into her position. So even before meeting Paige, I'd seen her as a potential friend. Someone just as young, confused and overwhelmed as I was.
And when I saw her for the first time, that feeling only intensified. Paige had "friend" written all over her. A cute and zaftig young woman with green eyes that sparkled with good humor--the sweet, unpretentious girl next door.
Paige was sweet and unpretentious. But
behind that smile was a razor-sharp mind, and the kind of confidence I could only dream about. Paige knew what she wanted from life, and she was going to get it, by sheer force of will and the sort of energy that would make you a millionaire if you could bottle it.
I've known ambitious people, and they're often driven by the kind of self-interest that would make Karl look altruistic. But what Paige wanted was a better life for others. Lead the council into a new era of reform. Help her husband protect the rights of wronged supernaturals. Open a long-distance spellcasting school for young witches without social support systems. And do it all while making a living, maintaining a household, raising the orphaned teenage daughter of a black witch, and being married to the rebel son of the most powerful Cabal leader. Paige gave new meaning to the superwoman cliche. While we got along fine, I'd been too daunted to pursue that imagined friendship.
Paige had the hotel room door open as I was still rapping. She hugged me, greeted Karl, then ushered us inside. Lucas was on the phone.