Spellcasters (88 page)

“We can provide her with sufficient details to avoid that,” Lucas said. “Yet, if you feel it would still be too great a strain—”

“Don’t you answer that,” called a strident voice. A small, white-haired woman wheeled herself into the doorway. “You send him away, Oscar Gale, and I’ll make your life hell. You know I will.”

Oscar smiled. “I wasn’t going to do that, Faye. You’ll be fine. You always are.”

Faye reversed her wheelchair, vanishing into the room. We followed.

F
aye Ashton was a tiny woman who, had she stood, probably wouldn’t have topped five feet. I doubted she weighed more than a hundred pounds. Though she was only in her late fifties, her hair was pure white and her face was lined with wrinkles. Her dark eyes danced with energy, giving her face the haunted look of a young spirit trapped within a body that had grown old before its time.

The wheelchair wasn’t the result of age or mental infirmity. Faye had been in one since a childhood battle with polio. That was how the Cabal found her. When Faye’s father, her clairvoyant parent, had been unable to cope with her growing medical bills, he’d contacted the Cortez Cabal and made them an offer. If they would give Faye the best possible care, they could take her. And they had.

As Oscar closed the door behind us, Faye wheeled her chair in a sharp 180.

“Took you long enough … and don’t give me any of that crap about not wanting to hurt me. There’s not enough left to hurt.”

“We had other leads to pursue,” Lucas said.

Faye grinned. “Good answer.” She looked at me. “You must be Ruth Winterbourne’s girl.”

“Paige,” I said, offering my hand.

She took my hand and, with a shockingly firm grip, pulled me down to kiss my cheek. Then she put her hands on either side of my face and held it in front of hers, eyes searching mine. A sheen of perspiration covered her forehead. After a minute, she released me and smiled.

“Wonderful,” she said.

“I think so,” Lucas said.

Faye laughed. “You should. You couldn’t do better. Now, what do you have for me?”

Lucas told her the details, particularly those about Edward. He also gave her a photo of Edward and Natasha that he’d taken from their house, plus
a shirt he’d removed from Edward’s laundry hamper. I hadn’t known he’d taken either. He must have already been considering contacting Faye.

As Faye listened, the sheen of perspiration spread to her cheeks and jaw, then beaded into rivulets of sweat. The room was cool, with a faint air-conditioned breeze that set goose bumps springing up on my bare arms, but obviously that wasn’t enough for Faye. When Lucas finished, I offered to find Oscar and see if we could get Faye a fan or a cold drink.

“It’s not the temperature, hon,” she said. “It’s me. Keeping the old brain clear takes some effort.”

I remembered something my mother had done for a necromancer friend when she’d begun losing her battle with the spirit world.

“Can I try something?” I asked. “A spell?”

“You’re welcome to try.”

I cast a calming spell, then recast it for added strength. Faye closed her eyes. Her lips moved soundlessly, then she peeked one eye open.

“Not bad,” she said, then opened the other eye. She smiled and rolled her shoulders. “Well, that gives a bit of relief. What was it?”

“Just a calming spell. Any witch can do one. I’m surprised they don’t have a witch here. Shamans are great caretakers, but for a nurse, you really should have a witch.”

Faye snorted. “Try telling that to those damned sorcerers.”

“I will,” I said. “I’ll speak to Benicio next time I see him.”

Faye’s eyebrows shot up, and her lips curved just a fraction, as if waiting to burst into a laugh when I acknowledged the joke.

“She’s quite serious,” Lucas said. “She’ll tell him and, even more shocking, he’ll probably listen.”

“I have leverage,” I said, slanting a look toward Lucas.

Faye threw back her head, laughter filling the room. “You found the bastard’s weakness, did you? Clever girl. If you can get me a witch, you’ll move to the top of my approved visitors list. Now, let’s see what I can do for
you
.”

Faye laid Edward’s photo on her lap and stared down at it. I took a chair slightly behind Faye, knowing it was always easier to concentrate when your audience was out of sight. Lucas pulled a chair over beside mine.

After a moment, Faye’s shoulders dropped and she slouched forward. I glanced at Lucas. He nodded, telling me this was normal. At least ten minutes of silence passed. Then Faye’s body tensed. Her mouth opened.

“I have—”

She gasped and her body jerked upright, eyes rolling to the whites. Lucas leapt up. She blinked, recovering, and shooed Lucas away.

“Sorry,” she said. “Wrong tactic. I was too open. Got an emotional shock wave.”

“You found him?” Lucas said.

“Big black hole of hate? That’d be him. Damn thing nearly sucked me right in.” She shivered, then straightened. “Okay, round two coming up. This time, I’ll turn off the emotional radar and stick to the visuals.”

Faye dropped her head and, this time, took only a minute to hone in on Edward.

“He’s sitting on the edge of a bed, staring at the wall. That doesn’t help you much. Let me look around. Bed, dresser, television, two doors … wait, there’s something on the back of the door. A fire escape plan. So we’re talking motel or hotel. No surprise there. Details, details … I see a window. Looks out over the top of buildings, so let’s narrow that down to hotel, something with at least three floors, he’s probably on the third or fourth. The room’s clean. Not so much as a sock on the floor. Okay, start directing.”

“Back to the window,” Lucas said. “Describe the buildings you see outside.”

“Two. Both concrete, lots of windows. A tall one in the far distance, the shorter one in front of it, maybe fifty feet from the window. Doesn’t leave much of a view.”

“Any distinguishing marks on either?”

“No—wait, there’s a sign on the farther one, on the roof, but it’s too far to read.”

“Do you see the sun?”

“No.”

“Shadows?”

“There’s one cast by the window.”

“Which direction is the shadow falling?”

Faye smiled. “Clever boy. The shadow slants straight into the room, meaning the window points south.”

“Back to the fire evacuation notice. Can you get close enough to read it?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t list the hotel name or room number. Already thought of that.”

“Does it have the room rate?”

“Ah, yes. One hundred dollars even.”

“Good.”

Lucas directed Faye around the room some more, but found nothing useful. Though I cast the occasional calming spell, she was starting to sweat again, so Lucas concluded the search.

“One last thing,” Faye said. “Let me do a quick read. He’s still sitting there, so he must be thinking. If he’s planning something, I might be able to give you a heads-up.”

She went quiet, dropping her head to her chest again. A minute of silence passed, then she shuddered and her head jerked back, pupils flicking like someone in REM sleep. Lucas laid his hand on her shoulder. After a moment, she shuddered again.

“Sorry, it’s that damned black hole again. It’s … I’ve never felt anything like it. She meant so much to him.” Faye swallowed. “Well, even Hitler loved his dog, right? Doesn’t make someone a good person, and this one definitely isn’t. Only thing he cared about was her. Okay, let me have another go—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’ve got it. Just hold on.” She exhaled and let her head fall again. “He’s frustrated. The killing—it doesn’t help, doesn’t fill the void. He needs more. There’s one he was saving for last, but he can’t wait. He’s going to—” Her head snapped back, hitting the wheelchair headrest so hard it jumped.

“Oh.” The single word came like a gasp.

Her arms gripped the sides of her wheelchair as her body stiffened, torso rising out of the chair. Lucas and I both jumped up. Before we could reach her, her body went as straight as a board, and she slid from the chair. Lucas lunged and grabbed her before she hit the floor. She convulsed, eyes rolling, mouth open. I grabbed a pen from a nearby table, opened her mouth, and stuck it in to hold her tongue down. Then she stopped. Just stopped, as if frozen in place. Lucas gently lowered her to the floor.

“I’ll get Oscar,” he said.

“Is she—”

“She’ll be okay. This is, I fear, her normal state. Catatonic.”

As he left, I rearranged Faye’s arms, trying to make her more comfortable, though I knew she was beyond caring. As I adjusted her head, I caught a glimpse of her eyes, wide and unseeing. No, not unseeing. Leaning over her, I saw movement there, her pupils contracting and flickering, ever so slightly, like someone watching television. Only it wasn’t a television screen she was seeing, but the tiny screen in her own mind, playing a hundred movies of a hundred lives, all glimmering past so fast her brain could no longer make any sense of them.

I
would
talk to Benicio about getting Faye a witch nurse. It wouldn’t cure her, but anything had to be better than … this. Yes, that would mean
advocating that a witch take a job with a Cabal, something I’d never thought I’d do, but the sad truth was that there were dozens of witches eager for Cabal employment, and if it meant they could help someone like Faye, well, for now, that was the best I could do.

B
y evening we’d checked out nearly half the hotels in Miami as we’d searched for one with a view that matched what Faye had seen outside Edward’s window. We’d started by targeting those hotels with rack rates of a hundred dollars. Tougher than it might sound. It was a nice, even number, and many hotels had at least a few rooms at that rate.

When we first left Faye, we’d called Jaime, who’d offered to split the phone-book list with us. After we found a few possibilities, Jaime suggested she and Cassandra take over the phone calls while we did the footwork. A wise arrangement, except that Jaime and Cassandra found so many hotels with rooms at a hundred dollars that we couldn’t begin to keep up.

At eight, Jaime called.

“We’re still working on the last batch,” I said when I answered.

“That’s what I figured. I’m calling to say we’re holding the rest of the list hostage. You guys have been at it for six hours, and I know you haven’t eaten dinner. Probably skipped lunch, too.”

“We just need to—”

“No. Seriously, Paige. Time to call it a day. Better to quit now, get food, get sleep, and get cracking again at daybreak.”

As much as I hated to quit, this did make sense. With night falling, we could barely make out the buildings surrounding the hotels. I relayed the advice to Lucas, who agreed.

“Good,” Jaime said when I told her. “There’s a bar down the road here, advertises full-kitchen service until midnight. I’ll meet you there in half an hour. If you keep working, you’ll keep me waiting. I can cause a lot of trouble left alone in a bar. Remember that.”

We did keep Jaime waiting fifteen minutes, but only because Lucas had another idea that he wanted to pursue immediately. The Cabal had satellite photos of Miami. Maybe with those we’d have more luck picking
out the configuration of buildings Faye had described. Cortez headquarters was on the way, so we stopped by, and had copies of the photos in less than twenty minutes.

Despite her threat, Jaime hadn’t caused any trouble at the bar. She wasn’t alone, either. When I noticed a figure across the table from her, I immediately thought male, then noticed that it was Cassandra. The three of us ordered dinner, while Cassandra nursed her wine.

Jaime had managed to bully Lucas into not examining the photos while we ate, but the moment the plates left the table, he had them out. I tried helping, but we only had one magnifying glass, and the details were too small to see with the naked eye, so I let Jaime talk me into a post-dinner drink.

Halfway through the drinks, Cassandra got off a “celebrity necro” jab at Jaime, who responded by bringing up her favorite issue.

“I’m not dead,” Cassandra said, barely ungritting her teeth enough to let the words out.

“Care to test that theory? Let’s say you find a guy lying on the ground, and you’re not sure if he’s dead or alive. How do you tell? Three ways. Heartbeat, pulse, breathing. Here, Cass, give me your wrist, let me check your pulse.”

Cassandra glared and sipped her wine.

“Not seeing any condensation on that glass, Cass. Something tells me you’re not breathing.”

Cassandra’s glass rapped against the tabletop. “I’m not dead.”

“Geez, you sound like that Monty Python skit. You guys ever see that one? They’re cleaning up the plague victims and one keeps saying: ‘I’m not dead yet.’ Sounds just like you, Cassandra. Well, except he had a British accent.” Jaime sipped her drink. “Anyway, I don’t see what the big deal is. You
look
like you’re alive. Now zombies, there’s a nasty afterlife.”

“Speaking of zombies,” I began, eager to segue off this subject. “I heard some necro in Hollywood raised a real one for that movie, oh, what was it called—”

“
Night of the Living Dead
?” Lucas said.

His leg brushed mine under the table. Last spring we’d tried to overcome a hellish day by watching that movie, before moving on to better methods of distraction. Our first night together. Our eyes met and we both grinned, then Lucas returned to his work.

“No, not that one,” I said. “Something recent.”

“I heard the rumor,” Jaime said. “Makes a good story, but it’s not true. The only living dead in Hollywood is Clint Eastwood.”

I sputtered my drink. Jaime patted my back and laughed. “Oh, I’m kidding. But he kinda looks it, don’t you think? The man has not aged well.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Cassandra murmured.

“Well, I would,” Jaime said. “And what I want to know is why, in every goddamned movie, he gets paired up with some hot little number a quarter his age.”