Spellbound (26 page)

I glared at him. “Yes, I'm not as smart as you, okay?”

“No, you're just a helluva lot less considerate than I am.”

“Excuse me? Considerate? This from the guy who probably walked in here today without acknowledging a single employee, snapped at them if they dared say hello, told them off if they asked whether he'd like a coffee—”

“Apples and oranges.”

“Like hell. You're rude and dismissive—”

“To people I don't know and don't care about. You'd never catch me treating Jeremy or Elena the way you treat Adam. Back then, Adam said that you couldn't have a party, and explained why. Now, he says you need to come to Miami, and explains why. Both times he was right. Both times you went ahead and did your own thing. Both times you dragged him into it with you. At fifteen, that's just teenage arrogance and rebellion. At twenty-one, it's a complete and utter lack of respect for someone you're supposed to care about.”

“I
do
care about—”

“You're in love with him.”

“No, of course not. He's a friend and—”

“You're in love with him. Always have been and everyone knows it. Everyone except Adam. You're as bad as Jaime was with Jeremy. Sure, you don't make an idiot of yourself over him, but it's just as obvious. You never would have caught Jaime treating Jeremy like that, though. You know why? Because she's an adult.”

“And I'm not.”

“Most times, yeah, you act like an adult. But what everyone else calls recklessness, I call a lack of basic respect for others. That's immature, and that's why you're never going to have a shot at anything with Adam. The age difference makes it tough enough for him to see you that way. The maturity difference means he can't.”

I nodded and picked up another file.

“Not going to run away?” he said.

I shook my head.

“Good.”

I let him make a few more notes, then said, “So, having diagnosed my romantic issue, are you going to suggest how I can fix it?”

Clay looked at me. “You're asking for relationship advice from the guy who panicked and bit his fiancée when things went wrong?”

“Good point.”

“If you want that kind of thing, call Nick. His advice is shit, but he really likes to give it.”

I laughed and shook my head. I opened a file, then glanced at him again.

“You may have screwed up more than any guy on the planet, but you got Elena back. How do I convince Adam I've changed?”

“You can't convince him of anything. You need to do it. Change. Grow up.”

“Right. So . . . any advice on a slightly . . . smaller scale?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

 

 

Grow up. Yes, there was a plan I could execute before dinner. What Clay meant, though, was that I needed to mature before Adam could see me as a potential girlfriend. While I'd like to see that as proof that Clay thought I had an actual chance of reaching that goal, I knew better.

Right now, I just needed to get back to where Adam and I were before. Friendship. That didn't seem to require a maturity time-warp. Just a little bump in that direction. Maybe a big bump.

Step one should be the apology. Only I thought back to the party incident . . . and all the other times I'd taken Adam for granted or manipulated our relationship to my advantage. Then I'd apologize, and he'd say that was fine, no big deal . . . and it would be a long time before we really got back on track. To him, the apology was obligatory, as was his acceptance. Adam's anger burned out fast, but left embers that smoldered for weeks.

I started by writing my apology in a letter. I told myself that was the best way of making sure I covered everything, but halfway through, I realized I was writing it to avoid saying it. Not very mature. I needed to do this in person.

The problem was getting a chance to do that.

 

 

I didn't see Adam for the rest of the day. Elena and I were making plans for dinner when Benicio came by and took me aside.

“What's up?” I said.

“I'm having trouble with the Nasts.”

“Surprise, surprise. Let me guess. You tried to warn Thomas Nast that these people are after Adele's baby and he said, ‘What baby?' Right before hanging up on you.”

“Precisely. Your grandfather can be very difficult.”

“You think? Try being the witch granddaughter he wants nothing to do with. Are you asking me to speak to Sean?”

“If you could. I don't need confirmation of the child's existence . . .”

“Though you'd like it, if possible.”

“Yes. More importantly, though, I want to be sure they are taking the threat seriously, because the more of these ‘signs' this Giles collects, the more followers he'll sway.”

“Sean's in Hong Kong. Meaning I'd have to deal with Bryce. That's as impossible as dealing with Thomas. I'll call Sean. I doubt he can do much from across the world, but I can at least let him know.”

“Thank you.”

I left a message on Sean's voice mail. After dinner, I continued sifting through files, after making sure everyone knew I was available for whatever other tasks they had in mind. No one took me up on the offer.

Soon it was time to go to bed. Paige and Lucas had a condo in Miami—a recent concession they'd accepted from Benicio, so they wouldn't need to stay in hotels every time they had business in town.

For the first time in my life, it seemed strange going home with them. It wasn't that I felt unwanted, just that it suddenly seemed odd, at my age, to be scooped up and taken “home” by my “parents” for the night. I suppose it had been odd for a while. I just hadn't noticed.

I drank Paige's sleeping tea while we talked about the case. This was the part I'd miss if I moved out, the late nights staying up, sometimes watching movies or playing games, but mostly just talking. After ten years of this, my own apartment would seem very quiet. I guess that's part of growing up.

When I woke, I had a message from Sean.
Please call ASAP.
The call history showed he'd phoned a few times overnight. I called from bed.

“Hey, how's Hong Kong?” I said when he answered.

“It was fine when I left it. I've been recalled to L.A. Seems we've had an asset disappear.”

I sat up, pillows tumbling to the floor. “Adele's baby?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I know you asked about him once—”

“And you couldn't talk about it. I understand. So the Nasts did have him. Or had him. He's been taken, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“How'd they manage that? Your secured floor has got to be at least as good as the Cortezes'.”

“Larsen is two years old, Savannah. We may commit some serious ethical oversights, but we don't confine toddlers to maximum security. He was being raised by the family of our clairvoyant. Under heavy security, of course, but it's hardly solitary confinement.”

“What happened?”

“At this point, we only know that he's gone. His security detail didn't do their regular nightly check-in, and when we sent a car to the house, no one was there.”

“The group grabbed him.”

“That would be the obvious answer. However, Granddad and Uncle Josef are convinced it was Benicio. They think he's blown this threat out of proportion with the express intent of kidnapping Larsen.”

“Warn Thomas that Larsen is in danger, then take him and blame a scapegoat. Which works really well when I'm the only person saying this group wanted the kid.”

“Right.”

“And you think?”

“I trust you. I don't trust Benicio. So either this group has targeted Larsen and taken him, or they've targeted Benicio, and when you told Benicio, he used the excuse to take him.”

If there's one thing Lucas taught me about his father, it's that you never, ever say, “Benicio wouldn't do that,” because as soon as you do, he'll prove you wrong, and you'll be left looking like a fool.

Sean continued, “So we've got a kidnapping and a potentially ugly diplomatic situation. Which means we need Lucas here. Whether his dad took Larsen or not, this is going to cause exactly the kind of chaos a rebel group will take full advantage of.”

“Once they hear Benicio is a suspect, they'll use it. I'll tell Lucas.”

“Can you come, too? You know this threat better than anyone, it seems.”

“Right. And the Nast Cabal will be so happy to listen to me.”

“Just come, Savannah. Please.”

“All right.”

A pause, then, “Are you okay? I know it's early and I probably woke you, but you seem . . . not yourself.”

“I lost my spells.” The words came out before I could stop them.

“You lost your . . . ?”

“Magic. Spellcasting mojo. It's gone. Something's happened and—” I sucked in air. “Not important at the moment.”

“It is to you. I'm sorry.”

As he said that, I realized he was the first one who had. Everyone else rushed in with promises that we'd get it fixed or that it didn't matter, which was nice, but I needed to hear this.

“Even more reason for you to come then,” Sean said. “We'll solve a mystery and squelch a Cabal war and a rebellion. Hopefully by dinner.”

I smiled. “It's a plan.”

I
n light of Sean's call, our day started early, with a breakfast meeting at headquarters. Caterers served crepes and fruit plates and fresh-squeezed orange juice. When you're Benicio Cortez, you can call up the best eatery in town and say, “I'd like breakfast for twelve and I'd like it in an hour.”

“I didn't take the boy,” Benicio said as we settled in. “Though I know no one expects me to claim otherwise.”

The show of support was overwhelming. It sounded a lot like silence, broken only by the clink of spoons in coffee cups.

“I suspect you didn't take him,” Lucas said finally. “There would be little to gain from kidnapping a child who isn't even old enough to have demonstrated clairvoyance. But the matter does need to be settled and it's best settled by a trip to Los Angeles. I can deal with the political fallout while Savannah and Adam investigate.”

Adam's head shot up, and he blinked like he'd barely been listening. “Invest—? Oh, right. Um, sure. Unless you want me to stay here for research. You could send a guard with Savannah.”

Adam turning down the chance for an adventure? One that would get him out of the research chair? Unheard of.

“He should stay,” I said. “Whatever. It doesn't really . . .” I got to my feet. “It doesn't matter. You guys decide. Just call me when it's time to go.”

I made it as far as the door before I regretted it. If I wanted to be mature, running out of a room really wasn't the way to do it. But the alternative was to stay and put on a game face when it was obvious I was hurt. No, better to shore up my dignity and leave before I made things any more awkward.

I kept going, calm and purposeful . . . until I made it to the hall and heard the patter of Paige's pumps behind me, and ducked around the first corner, escaping before she could catch up.

 

 

I tried to make up for the maturity lapse by not running off and sulking. I called Sean and told him we were coming, then gathered the files I'd been reading and found a place to continue going through them until Benicio called to say the car was ready to take us to the airport. Paige texted right after, with the same message, only asking me to meet her in Lucas's office and we'd walk down together. I replied saying I had to grab some stuff and I'd meet Lucas at the car.

I was in the parking garage, when footsteps echoed around me.

“Shouldn't you have an escort?”

I turned as Adam walked over. I nodded toward the idling SUV, where Troy stood at the driver's door, waiting.

“Don't worry,” I said. “I've learned my lesson.”

“I didn't mean—”

“You did, and you're right.” I hefted my bag onto my shoulder. “I went through more of those files you gave Clay. They're upstairs, with my notes on top. No references to Giles or Althea, but I found some that could be Severin and Sierra. I also pulled everything on Balaam.”

“I'll get someone to grab them. I'm going with you.”

“Where's your overnight bag?”

“At my hotel. We can swing by.”

I shook my head.

“I want to go,” he said. “It sounds like an adventure and you know—”