Along with some of her powers, she’d retained enough of her sanity to never let Benicio near her again. Lucas, though, was another matter. Not only had she known him since he was a child, but she never turned down the opportunity to help anyone who fought the Cabals. So she’d given Lucas carte blanche to use her powers. Yet he never had. Although she assured him that the occasional “seeing” wasn’t going to damage her already ruined mind, he’d always been unwilling to take the chance. Now, though, we had nowhere else to turn.

The nursing home was a century-old manor in a neighborhood where most homes had long since been converted to medical and legal offices, as the cost of maintaining the monstrosities overshadowed their historical value. From the street, the nursing home appeared to be one of the few still used as a private residence, with no signage and a front yard that hadn’t been converted into a parking lot.

We parked in the driveway, behind a minivan. At the door, Lucas rang the bell. A few minutes later, an elderly black man opened the door and ushered us inside. When the door closed, it was like stepping into Cortez headquarters. All street noise vanished; I suspected the house had first-rate soundproofing, probably to keep the neighbors from realizing this wasn’t a private home.

Inside, nothing disturbed this veneer of domestic normalcy, not a reception desk or nurse’s station, not even the usual hospital stink of disinfectant and overcooked food. The front door opened into a tastefully decorated hallway with a parlor to one side and a library on the other. A woman’s laugh fluttered down from the second level, followed by a low murmur of conversation. The only smells that greeted us were fresh-cut flowers and fresher-baked bread.

Lucas exchanged greetings with the caretaker, Oscar, and introduced me. As Lucas had explained earlier, both Oscar and his wife, Jeanne, were shamans, a race whose reputation for compassion and stability made them excellent nurses for the mentally ill. This was a long-term care facility, and none of the eight residents were ever expected to leave. All were former Cabal employees. All were here ostensibly because of excellent employee benefits packages, but in reality because the Cortez Cabal was responsible for their madness.

“It’s good to see you,” Oscar said, patting Lucas on the back as we headed down the hallway. “Been over a year, hasn’t it?”

“I’ve been—”

“Busy.” Oscar smiled. “It was an observation, not an accusation. We all know how busy you are.”

“How is Faye?”

“No better. No worse. I told her you were coming, so she’s ready. Woman’s got the strength of a bull. She can be completely catatonic, but the moment I say someone’s coming to see her, she pulls it together.” He grinned over at me. “Well, unless she doesn’t want tosee them, in which case she plays possum. I suppose you two are here about those kids being killed.”

Lucas nodded. “Does Faye know about it?”

“The damn woman’s clairvoyant, boy. Course she knows. We tried to keep the news from her, but she sensed something was up and badgered one of her outside friends into spilling the beans. Been pestering us to get hold of you ever since, but we said, no, Faye, if he wants your help, he’ll come get it.”

“Has she…seen anything?”

“If she had, I’d have tracked you down. Everyone’s been careful not to give her any details. That way she won’t start fishing around that big psychic pond and strain herself.”

“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.

Black Hole of Hate

FAYE 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.