“Well, it doesn’t matter. If they don’t want—” I shook my head. “Why are we talking about me anyway? You have a call to make. Your father is already convinced I’m not going to relay his message, so I’m going to hound you until you do.”

Lucas took out his phone, but only stared at the keypad. After a moment, he looked over at me.

“Do you have any critical projects to complete this week?” he asked.

“Anything due this week would have been done last week. With Savannah around, I can’t let deadlines creep up on me, or an emergency could put me out of business.”

“Yes, of course. Well…” He cleared his throat. “I’m not due in court until tomorrow. If Savannah was able to stay at a friend’s tonight, would you be able—or should I say willing—to join me on an overnight trip to Miami?”

Before I could open my mouth, he hurried on, “I’ve postponed this long enough. For your own protection, it’s time to formally introduce you to the Cabal. I should have done this months ago, but…well, I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, that I could take my father at his word. Apparently not.”

I looked at him. It was a good excuse, but I knew the truth. He wanted to take me to Miami so I could hear the rest of Dana MacArthur’s story. If I didn’t, worry and curiosity would gnaw at me until I found some way to get the answers I needed. This was the reaction Benicio wanted, and I desperately didn’t want to give it to him. And yet, was there really any harm in hearing what had happened, maybe seeing this witch and making sure she was all right? Benicio said she was a Cabal employee’s daughter. The Cabals looked after their own. That much I knew. All we had to do was say “No, thanks,” and the Cabal would launch an investigation, and Dana MacArthur would get her justice. That was good enough for me. It had to be.

So I agreed, and we made plans to leave immediately.

Mastermind of Manipulation

WE BOOKED SEATS ON A FLIGHT FOR MIAMI. THEN WE arranged for Savannah to stay at a friend’s house overnight, called her at school, and gave her the news. An hour later, we were at the airport.

We hadn’t had a problem booking last-minute tickets, and we hadn’t expected to. Just over a month ago, terrorists had driven planes into the World Trade Center, and many travelers opted not to fly the not-so-friendly skies if they could avoid it. We’d arrived early, knowing that passing through security wouldn’t be the speedy process it had once been.

The guard opened Lucas’s bag and rifled through it, then pulled out a cardboard tube. He passed his metal detector over it, then gingerly removed the end cap and peered inside.

“Paper,” he said to his partner.

“It’s a scroll,” Lucas said.

Both men gloweredat him as if this might be a new street name for an automatic rifle.

“A sheet of paper bearing ancient text,” Lucas said.

One guard pulled it out and unrolled the scroll. The paper was brand-new, gleaming white, and covered in precise, graceful strokes of calligraphy. The guard screwed up his face.

“What does it say?” he asked.

“I have no idea. It’s Hebrew. I’m transporting it for a client.”

They handed it back, unfurled and creased. As they checked out my laptop and overnight bag, Lucas straightened the scroll and rolled it. When they finished, Lucas hoisted both bags and we headed toward the boarding area.

“What is that?” I whispered. “My spell?”

“I thought you might need a distraction after today.”

I smiled up at him. “Thanks. What does it do?”

“I’m choosing option two.”

I remembered the option game and laughed. “Too late, Cortez. The deal was that you had to tell me last night. You’re home now, so the scroll is mine, option-free.”

“I would have selected an option, had you not distracted me from my purpose.”

“What, my listing the options prevented you from choosing one?”

“Most effectively. Option two.”

“Hand it over, Cortez.”

He thumped the scroll into my outstretched hand. “I’ve been robbed.”

“Well, there is a solution. You could get me another spell.”

“Greedy,” he said, steering me to a quiet spot along the wall. “An unquenchable thirst for spell-casting power and variety. This does not bode well for our relationship.”

“Why? Because you’re just as bad as I am?”

With a fluid two-step, Lucas moved from my side to my front, and turned to face me. He arched one brow.

“Me?” he said. “Hardly. I’m a disciplined and cautious spell-caster, well aware of my limitations and with no desire to overcome them.”

“And you can say that with a straight face?”

“I can say everything with a straight face, which makes me a naturally gifted liar.”

“So how many times did you try my spell?”

“Try your spell? That would be wrong. Grievously impolitic, not to mention impolite, rather like reading a novel before you wrap it as a Christmas gift.”

“Twice?”

“Three times. I would have stopped at two, but I had a modicum of luck with the second effort, so I tried again. But, sadly, a successful cast eluded me.”

“We’ll work on it. So what does it do?”

“Option two.”

I socked him in the arm and started unrolling the spell.