Tales of the Otherworld (36 page)

I slipped across the kitchen to a chair, having realized my hopes of a quick end to the conversation were futile. When I drew close enough to pick up the conversation, I tried ignoring it…until I heard my name.

“I have to tell Lucas,” she was saying. “I know I have to. But …” A moment’s silence, then her voice dropped, barely audible. “I don’t know how I’m going to break it to him. He’s going to …” She inhaled sharply. “Oh God, I don’t want to be the one to tell him.”

My mind threw up a dozen explanations, none of them remotely related to our relationship. Of all the uncertainties in my life, our marriage was the thing I was sure of.

“No, it’s not your—” Pause. “No, you were right to tell me. If you hadn’t, and I found out you knew, there’d have been hell to pay.”

They bantered over Paige’s threat, then she said, “I guess I have twenty-four hours to figure a way to tell him.”

While Paige signed off with Adam, I laid a gift box on our tiny kitchen table. As gifts went, it was hardly worth the fancy box and bow. New spells were the exchange of choice in our marriage, but I’d been unable to find one, as often happened on shorter business trips.

My backup gift was candy or pastries, something small and rich from a specialty shop. Paige struggled, not with a serious weight issue, but with the issue of self-perception, vacillating between “I really should lose a few pounds” and “I’m healthy and comfortable, so I’m okay with it.” The candies and pastries were my way of saying “I’m more than okay with it.”

Today’s gift was a quartet of handmade truffles. I was adjusting the bow when she hung up. I darted into the back hall.

Her soft footfalls entered the kitchen, then stopped.

“Lucas?”

I glanced around the corner. Seeing me, her face lit up—so radiant that, as always, I faltered, caught in that split second of “Is this really my wife?” shock.

“When did you get in?” she asked, crossing the floor to meet me.

“Just now. It became clear that my presence at the trial—”

Her arms went around my neck.

“—while welcome, was in no way a necessity—”

Her face turned up to mine.

“—so I decided that any further consultation could be conducted—”

She pulled me down, her lips going to mine, stopping the end of my explanation, which, I suppose, had already been sufficient.

Her kiss swallowed all thought, and I lost myself in the faintly spicy taste of her mouth, flavored by herbal tea with notes of lemon and chamomile—

Her tongue slid into my mouth, light and teasing, as the kiss deepened. As her body pressed into mine, I lifted her and set her on the edge of the table. Our kiss broke as we shifted, and when I moved in to recapture it, she pulled back, face tilting up to mine, hands moving to the sides of my face.

She gave a slight smile—half happy, half wistful—and I read her sentiments as surely as if she spoke the words. Yet she
wouldn’t
speak them. She used to. After my first few business trips, she’d met me at the airport or at the door with a passionate kiss and an equally fervent “I missed you.” And I’d stumbled into apologies, promising I’d be home longer, wouldn’t be gone for as long next time, would find more local work soon. Three years later, those local jobs had yet to materialize.

Portland didn’t have a Cabal office. That meant it was a city that I felt was safe for Paige and Savannah, and a place where I could escape my family name. But no Cabals meant few supernaturals, and that meant no work for a twentysomething self-employed lawyer with a spotty formal employment record. After passing the Oregon bar exam, I’d managed to secure only a few human clients. Most of my work remained in the few states, like Illinois, where I’d passed the bar
and
had supernatural clients.

Soon, seeing how much it pained me to be gone, Paige had stopped saying she’d missed me. But that didn’t resolve the underlying issue, which was that I
was
away too much and, as much as we struggled to pretend otherwise, we keenly felt the separation.

“I believe I may be able to forgo the Cleveland trip next week,” I said. “I can, instead, provide long-distance consultation with the local lawyer my client has retained to represent her in court.”

“That would be nice,” she said. “But if you can’t, we’ll work it out.”

Her lips touched mine. I held back, wanting to promise that whatever arose in the Cleveland case, I would remain firm, and refuse to fly out and solve it myself. But I could make no such promise. There were
always complications—emergencies and contingencies—and my cases were so specialized that there was never anyone else to handle them.

So I lost myself in her kiss again, pushing aside other thoughts as she was clearly doing herself, endeavoring to forget whatever crisis Adam had mentioned.

As the kiss deepened and she pulled me closer, I snuck a look at the microwave clock.

“Savannah’s going to a friend’s after school,” Paige murmured.

“Ah.” I pulled back and smiled. “In that case, I declare a change of venue unnecessary.”

She pulled me back into a kiss and I started unbuttoning her blouse.

Two hours later, leaving Savannah with her homework and a delivered pizza, Paige and I went out for dinner. Now sixteen, Savannah could be left on her own for an evening—a milestone that had seemed a long time coming. I’ll admit that falling for a young woman with a teenaged ward hadn’t been what I’d consider an ideal situation. I suppose, though, that if I said I’d been overjoyed to find that my life partner came with a thirteen-year-old girl in tow, that would reflect most suspiciously on
me.

But I’d always known that Paige and Savannah were a package deal. Were it not for her guardianship of Savannah, we would never have met.

Four years ago, Savannah had been kidnapped, her mother killed. Before her death, Eve had told Savannah to take refuge with Ruth Winterbourne, the Coven leader. Only Ruth had died, leaving Paige to take Savannah…and fight Kristof Nast for custody.

At the time, no one, even Savannah herself, had believed Kristof was her father, so Paige had taken up the battle. I’d offered my services. Paige lost everything in that fight, but in the end, we’d won, more by default than anything—Kristof had died, and his family didn’t pursue the claim.

Tonight I’d taken Paige to her favorite bistro in Portland, a tiny place where the view was as exquisite as the food. Sitting there, watching her nibble a slice of duck confit, her eyes closed for that first bite, I heard my father’s voice, telling me that this was how she should be treated every day—not as a special occasion when I had a little extra money.

I
had
money, he’d remind me, and even if I refused to touch my trust fund for myself, I shouldn’t deprive Paige of the luxuries it could bring.
Vying with my father’s voice, though, was Paige’s, telling me that if I ever dipped into that hated trust fund for something as frivolous as buying her fancy dinners, she’d—well, she never specified the threat, but the message was clear enough.

“That’s the first smile I’ve seen from you all evening, Cortez,” she said. “And you’ve hardly said a word.”

“I could say the same for you on both counts.”

Her smile faltered, and I upbraided myself for reminding her of Adam’s call. Now it sat on the table between us, ruining a rare private meal. Would I spoil it more by pushing the matter to a resolution? Was it not crueler to watch her suffer and feign ignorance?

I sliced through my stuffed pork tenderloin. “When I professed earlier to having ‘just’ arrived home when you entered the kitchen, I was being somewhat fallacious. I had in fact arrived sooner, when you were in conversation with Adam.”

“Oh.”

“And while I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, I did inadvertently overhear a portion of the conversation—one pertaining to myself and a problem Adam had brought to your attention.”

She sipped her wine, her fingers tight around the glass as she tried to figure out a way to salvage our peaceful meal without lying.

I forced a smile and ducked to catch her eye. “Were it not for Adam being the one bearing the news, I’d be convinced that my father was behind this problem. As that cannot be the case—” My smile turned genuine. “Well, then, it can’t be that bad, can it?”

She looked up at me, and my smile froze.

“It is my father, isn’t it? But what would Adam have to say about my—” I winced. “Graduation. Adam is preparing for graduation and seeking employment. My father has offered it to him.”

Paige nodded, and took a long drink of wine.

“Well …” I said slowly. “An Exustio half-demon is a rare prize for any Cabal. While I had hoped he’d stopped mentioning Cabal employment possibilities after Adam expressed disinterest, we all feared he was simply waiting for Adam to graduate. Disappointing and frustrating but, I’m afraid, not unexpected. Is he pushing the matter? Or is that, I suppose, a silly question?”

“He isn’t pushing yet. The problem—” Paige inhaled. “He
has
offered Adam a post. As head of security for a new Cabal satellite office.”

I stopped, my fork partway to my mouth. “Security? I don’t blame Adam for being upset, then. Though it’s a prestigious position, it’s hardly what Adam envisioned when he returned to college.”

“That’s not it. The problem is the location of the new office.”

I took my bite of tenderloin and chewed as I thought. Had my father decided to go ahead with the satellite office in Anchorage? Or a new one overseas?

But if Adam wasn’t interested in the position, what difference did the location make?

“He’s putting it here,” Paige said. “In Portland.”

My head jerked up so fast the meat slid into my throat, and I started to choke.

S
EAN BACKED OUT OF THE CLOSET, HIS GAZE
glued to the bloodless corpse. A vampire kill? It looked like one, but
here
? With no serious attempt to even hide the body?

Don’t analyze it. Just get out.

He turned and smacked into the dark-haired young man with the cell phone.

“Hey,” the guy said. “I was just coming to tell you
that’s
not the exit—”

He looked over Sean’s shoulder. And Sean froze, brain screaming advice—close the door, stall, run—none of it useful unless he cared to be a murder suspect.

“Holy shit! Is that—?”

He pushed past Sean and crouched beside the body.

“He’s dead,” Sean said. “I was just going to call the police, but…I have to take off. I can’t— I can’t be found here.”

The guy glanced up.

“Door’s down there,” he said, pointing.

Sean blanched, seeing the same contemptuous look he’d given the businessmen who had tried picking him up, and he knew he wasn’t in danger of ending up like them—he already had. Maybe he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend at home, but was he any different otherwise? Sneaking in here on a business trip? Running from a crime scene to avoid being caught at a gay bar?

Epiphanies for another time. Right now he
did
need to get out
of here. A Cabal son at the site of a vampire kill? Not the time to take a stand.

As the dark-haired guy reported the death, Sean turned and almost smacked into a trio of men, two older business types and a kid younger than Bryce.

“Hey, bud,” the kid said, his eyes glazed. He hooked his thumb in the direction of the storage room. “That free?”

And Sean Nast—scion of the Nast Cabal, descended from a line of men who could talk or bully their way out of any situation—stood there, mouth open, brain blank.

Sean wished his father were still alive. There were many reasons he wished that, but what he missed most often was his father’s guidance. Of all the lessons not yet imparted, this was chief among them: how to act like a Cabal son.

If Kristof Nast had been here, no one would have gotten into that storage room. He’d have bluffed and intimidated his way out of this dilemma. Then there was Sean …

“The, uh, room—? No, it, uh, it’s not free …”

One of the businessmen had already brushed past, too eager to wait for Sean’s reply. Sean reacted on instinct, reaching deep into his genetic pool, throwing up his chin, steeling his gaze, and stepping into the man’s path.

“You’ll have to move back, sir,” Sean said. “This is a crime scene.”

Even as the words left his mouth, Sean realized his error, and cringed as the cry went up.

Crime scene.

Sean wheeled, seeing the hall stretch before him, the exit somewhere at the end. But his chance had passed. Run now and he’d be chased down as a suspect.

People crowded into the storage room doorway. Gasps and cries of “Is he dead?” rose from all sides.

“Back away,” Sean heard the dark-haired young man inside say. “You heard the guy. This is a crime scene.”

Sean came to life then, mustering that air of authority to move the bystanders back. Not the way to keep a low profile, but it was the right thing to do.

“Yes, he’s dead,” Sean said, waving people back as he moved into the doorway to block it. “The police are on the way.”

“What’s wrong with him?” someone asked.

“He’s all pale,” another answered.

“Everyone, please—” Sean began.

“I saw bite marks. Fang marks, in his neck.”

“Oh my God,” the kid with the glazed eyes said. “Blood drained. Fang marks. It’s gotta be—”

Sean cut in quickly. “The cause of death has yet to be—”

“It’s El Chupacabra!” someone shouted.

El Chupacabra.

Sean had no idea what the hell that meant, but in his language, it translated into trouble.

He’d given his statement to the Middleton police. Even used his real ID, as he’d been taught. When other kids were being told how to behave if pulled over for speeding, Cabal boys were drilled on how to handle criminal investigations. If you’re not involved and the crime isn’t Cabal related, never risk using fake ID.

He’d cooperated fully, and asked that his privacy be respected. He was sure that many patrons had asked the same thing, but that didn’t make the look the officer gave him go down any easier. Just another closeted businessman on the make. Pathetic.