Personal Demon (8 page)

Jaz tugged me toward the edge, then let go, lowered himself to the roof and stretched on to his stomach, arms crossed under his chin, staring out at the city. After a moment, he glanced back at me.

“Well, come on.” He waved for me to lie down.

I glanced at the ground.

“It’s not that dirty. You’re washable.” He peered across the roof. “Yo! Sonny!”

Sonny appeared, sighed and shook his head, but sat down beside his friend, knees drawn up. I hesitated, then laid down.

The city stretched out before us, and it was breathtaking. A few blocks away, a bay glittered with the reflection of a hundred lights. Boats bobbed on the water like toy ships. Salsa music drifted on the brine-scented breeze. The humidity from earlier was all but gone, the night air pleasantly cool.

“People knock Miami, but they’re just envious,” Jaz said. “Look at it. Sand, surf, sun every day of the year.

Goddamned perfect.”

He went quiet for a moment, then stretched out his hand, pointing to the skyscrapers ringing the bay. “You see that one? Third left from the tallest? You know what that is?”

“No.”

“Cortez Cabal headquarters. I bet if you had binoculars, you could see Benicio himself, up in his penthouse office, counting his billions.”

I laughed.

“Can you imagine working there?” Jaz said. “A waterfront view from every window? How much does real estate like that even cost? And that’s only the location. I hear they have marble floors in the damned bathrooms. The toilets probably run on Evian.”

“Perrier, I think,” Sonny said.

“You know what I mean. All that money. All that power. And where do the Cortezes get it? Not by casting their own spells, that’s for sure. They use our powers to line their coffers. The supernaturals working for them think they’ve got it made. Like our parents, Sonny. Never a bad thing to say about the St. Clouds, no matter what the bastards did to them. They were just happy to have a job. Used them up and spit them out. Like slaves in the cotton fields, pouring out their lifeblood for the masters.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Guy too long,” Sonny said.

I knew we should be going, but neither seemed in any hurry, and sitting out here, when our mark could return anytime, set my heart tripping with a steady stream of chaos.

As I glanced at the distant Cabal headquarters, I found my excuse for staying longer: using the opening about the Cabals to get information.

“So Guy doesn’t care for the Cabals?” I said. “I can see his point. They make life cushy for supernaturals—

access to health care, special education for our kids, a community that understands us—but the employees pay for those perks. Still, it’s not really much different from any corporation. They use your skills and give you a sweet benefits package in return.”

“But in a corporation, if you screw up, they don’t kill you. Unless you work for the Mafia.”

“Which is what some say a Cabal really is. So that’s what bothers Guy, then? The abuses of power?”

“More the concentration of power. The old-boys club, to the nth degree.” Jaz waved at the building. “If you worked there, Faith, you wouldn’t have a shot of getting to the upper floors unless you wanted to be a secretary. Not because you’re a woman, but because you aren’t one of them. None of us are. Maybe everyone on those upper floors isn’t a Cortez, but you can bet your ass he’s a sorcerer. No magicians or druids or half-demons. And if you were a werewolf or vampire? You couldn’t get through the front door. Even Guy, who’s a sorcerer, wouldn’t rise very high, as smart as he is. He doesn’t have the connections.”

“Does he talk about this a lot?”

Jaz laughed. “You mean: are you going to have to sit through political sermons? Nah. He might talk about it now and then, but he’s usually quiet.”

“Except with Jaz,” Sonny said.

Jaz shrugged. “He’s got a lot of good ideas. I think it’s just been bugging him lately, so he wants someone to talk to—someone he can sound off to about the stuff that’s been happening.”

“Stuff?”

“With the Cortez Cabal.”

“There’s been trouble?”

“This and that. Dustups.”

Apparently there were a few details Benicio hadn’t included in my debriefing. Surprise, surprise.

“Guy’s been playing it down, but he’s getting pissed off. I think he—” He tossed a pebble over the edge.

Watched it drop. “Anyway, he’s not the only one who’s worried about the Cortezes. The mood isn’t good, and I don’t just mean in the gangs. The old man isn’t getting any younger.”

“Benicio? He’s not that old.”

Jaz shrugged. To him, sixty years old meant wobbling on the brink of a six-foot drop. Jaz was only a few years younger than me, but it had been a long time since I’d felt my age. Working for the council, hanging around with Karl, I’d been trying to act more mature even as I told myself I didn’t care what he thought of me.

“You mean the succession question,” I said.

Sonny snorted. “Question? According to Benicio Cortez, there is no question.”

Jaz rolled onto his side, facing me. “That’s the big problem, one that Guy says proves Benicio Cortez doesn’t give a shit about his employees. He has three sons, all in the business. Oldest is what, forty? Been with the company all his life. Has what it takes to lead, everyone says. But who does Benicio name as his heir?”

“Lucas,” I said.

“The illegitimate youngest son who wants nothing to do with the family business. Who’s spent his adult life trying to fuck up the Cabals in any way he can. This is the guy Benicio Cortez wants to take his job.”

I sat up. “Most people I talk to don’t really think Lucas is the heir. They figure Benicio’s just being wily, keeping his older boys in line.” Lucas himself believed that.

“Guy thinks the old man’s serious. And if he dies? If Lucas Cortez takes over the Cabal?” He shook his head.

“But if Guy thinks it means the end of the Cabal, isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s not the Cabal
concept
Guy’s against. It’s the way they’re run—the imbalance of power. He’d love to upset that balance, give some back to the little guys like us. But destroy the Cabal altogether, like Lucas Cortez would do? What would that do to supernaturals in Miami? To people like our parents, with Cabal jobs? To the gangs? Guy wants reform, not annihilation.”

So what, if anything, did Guy plan to do? I couldn’t ask. Not yet. But I had my lead. Benicio was right—

there was trouble brewing.

Dropping the subject was tough. The reporter in me could see the answers lying there, right under the surface. At least I could dig around the site, see what else popped up.

“You guys ever met Lucas Cortez?” I asked.

Sonny shook his head.

“I met a guy who went to college with him,” Jaz said.

“Law school?”

“Nah, undergrad. This was back before Lucas got into his ‘fight the power’ shit. This guy knew who Lucas was because his dad worked for the Cortezes. Otherwise, he said, he never would have noticed him. A geek and a loner, the kind of kid you only talk to if you need someone to do your homework.”

Sonny shook his head. “And this is the son Benicio wants to run the Cabal.”

“I’ve met him,” I said.

Jaz dropped the pebble he’d been playing with. “Lucas Cortez?”

“I was dating a thief who’d had trouble with Lucas. After we pulled one job, he came after us.”

“Seriously?”

“
Seriously
would be overstating it. My ex got rid of him pretty easily. Like you said, he’s a geek. A loser who fancies himself some kind of crusader.” I sent up a mental apology to Lucas.

Jaz considered my words for a moment, then said, “Guy would like to hear this. Get your impressions.

Would that be okay?”

Exactly what I’d hoped. I nodded and said I’d do my best, even call my ex if it would help.

CALL MY EX…

I’d spent the break-in trying to focus on Karl in the most neutral terms. My contact. My mentor. My friend.

I’d called him my “ex” with Guy this afternoon and now with Jaz because that would be easy for them to understand. The truth was that “boyfriend” was the one word I couldn’t pin on him, let alone “ex.”

Karl Marsten…

A guy who should never have been part of my life, and there were days when I wished he never had been.

Karl, the werewolf jewel thief I was supposed to capture for Tristan, my bogus council contact. Karl, who’d shown me I was actually working for a Cabal, who’d introduced me to the real council and got me a job with them.

Karl, who knew why I really worked for the council—my less than honorable motivation—and not only knew, but understood.

After that first meeting, almost two years ago, he’d kept coming around, his intentions murky. Chemistry we had, and sometimes even explored, but we both seemed more comfortable with friendship. He’d show up, let me poke holes through his ego, sometimes return the favor. We’d banter for a while, then slide into confessions and concerns neither of us shared with anyone else.

When he’d hinted about coming to one of my mother’s charity galas, I’d teased that he was getting old and needing easier access to jewels. He’d joked that he wanted to meet my mother, see whether she approved of him.

Then, at the Valentine’s ball at my brother’s Texas ranch, he’d shown up on the doorstep, ticket in hand.

If he’d been serious about wanting to come, we should have discussed the pros and cons of letting the supernatural side of my life seep into my family life. But the anger I’d felt on seeing him hadn’t lasted.

Charm was Karl’s specialty, but that night he’d used none of his usual too-clever charm that sent society matrons into vapors as he divested them of their jewels. My mother wouldn’t have fallen for that. Instead, Karl had charmed her by being himself—or as close to it as he ever was around others.

When the party ended, I’d given him the grand tour of the grounds. The stable visit didn’t go so well—his werewolf scent spooked the horses. When the groom had come down, wakened by the noise, we’d raced out like kids caught at a prank.

We’d stopped at the pool, tucked behind the gardens. I’d opened the gate.

He’d peered in. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

“I can probably find one for you.”

“Don’t bother.”

He’d stripped off his jacket and shirt, and I’d known, even as I let my dress fall around my ankles, that this was why he’d come. To take the step we’d been dancing around for two years.

Afterward, he scooped me up out of the pool, grabbed towels from the cabana and carried me into the woods.

As perfect a night as any romantic would want. Perfect even for a cynic like me.

I’d woken to see Karl on the edge of the clearing, his back to me, staring out at the dawn. I’d watched him and I’d felt…

But it didn’t matter what I felt. What mattered, as I’d soon discovered, was how
he
felt because, with Karl, it was always about that. What he felt. What he wanted. And one night, no matter how wildly romantic, couldn’t change that.

HOPE: HISTORY LESSON

I
called Benicio the next morning. When he learned I had something to report, he asked me to meet Troy for breakfast and fill him in. In other words, he hadn’t expected results so soon and didn’t want them conveyed over the telephone.

I KEPT AN
eye out as I left the building. No one in the gang knew where I was staying—even Guy hadn’t asked. But I could see him putting new recruits under surveillance.

When the cab dropped me off, I saw Troy across the road, standing by a storefront, studying a map. His gaze flicked my way as I got out, but he didn’t budge.

The restaurant was an anonymous little diner, the sort you can find anywhere. I took a booth at the back and had a full coffee cup before Troy came through the door.

He slid in across from me.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. The cloak-and-dagger stuff is just protocol.”

He seemed in no rush to get down to business. We ordered breakfast and he asked how I was settling in, how the apartment was.

“You need anything, don’t be afraid to call,” he said. “When Mr. Cortez opens his wallet, take advantage. I do.”

He gave me some pointers on the neighborhoods—recommending shops and restaurants near my apartment and the club, along with ones to avoid. If I needed a break, he said he’d be happy to squire me around on his night off, maybe get out of the city, show me the area. The invitation was half flirtatious, half friendly, open for me to interpret as I wished.

When breakfast arrived, we shifted to business.

I told Troy what Jaz had said about Guy and his issue with the Cabal.

Troy snorted. “Same shit, different day. I’ve been hearing that crap since I was a teenager. Cabals are businesses, not charitable organizations. Sure, they use their employees. Doesn’t every corporation? That’s the point: use your resources to build your capital. And yeah, there are sides to Cabals that are just plain ugly. You won’t catch me waving pompoms and spouting the party line, not even in front of Mr. Cortez. But you know what?

As far as he’s concerned I’m entitled to my opinions…as long as I don’t share them with the stockholders. Whatever my beefs, you don’t see me quitting either, and that’s not because I’m afraid I’d be fitted for cement shoes. Maybe in the Nast Cabal or the St. Cloud or the Boyd, but where I am, Mr. Cortez doesn’t want me here unless I want to be here.”

“Makes sense.”

“You want some guy watching your back if he’s only doing it because he has to? I don’t do this for a good medical package or to protect some Cabal ideology. I don’t believe in that crap. But I do believe in the guy whose back I’m watching.”

He speared a home fry and chomped it down before continuing. “That’s what really burns me about some gang punk spouting that bullshit about Lucas, that naming him heir proves Mr. Cortez doesn’t care about the Cabal.”

“So it’s true.”

“It’s true that Lucas is the
named
heir, but that’s all anyone but Mr. Cortez himself can say for sure.”

He slowly drained half his cup of coffee, as if deciding how to continue.