“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cortez,” Paige said. “We know this is an inconvenience to both you and your husband, and we wouldn’t have come without calling again if his father hadn’t insisted. If you’d like to phone Mr. Cortez…”

Paige intended to calm Bella with the assurance that we had my father’s blessing, but the fear in the woman’s eyes only grew. Afraid of arousing Hector’s anger by calling my father? Or fear of my father himself?

Because my father refused to name Hector heir, Hector insisted he was robbing his grandchildren of their birthright and therefore deserved to play no significant role in their lives. So they had little contact with him. A decision that hurt my father like nothing else Hector could have done. As for Bella’s fear, I could only imagine what stories he told them to keep his sons from wanting to know their grandfather better.

“Mom?”

Stockinged feet appeared on the steps, then a stocky youth dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Emilio,” the butler mouthed to me.

My sixteen-year-old nephew.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Emilio said as he came down.

“I’ll call Hope,” Paige murmured, and backed away.

Emilio stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at me, then the guards, then back to me, his face registering not an iota of recognition.

“They need to speak to your father,” the butler said. “They’re from the office and they’ll be gone just as soon as they can.”

I fought to hide my growing frustration. Hector was probably less than fifty feet away. We could check on him and be gone in five minutes.

“Who’s this?” Emilio said, jutting his chin at me.

“He works with your father.”

“Yeah, you said that.” He looked at me. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“No,” I said softly. “You haven’t. I work in the Pacific Northwest. I’m sorry, Emilio, but I need to speak—

”

“How do you know my name?”

“He works for the company, sir,” the butler said, now openly struggling with his exasperation.

Emilio looked at me. “Then it’s not Emilio to you. It’s Mr. Cortez.”

I felt a flicker of true impatience, and maybe something more, but said, calmly, “As you wish.” I turned to the butler. “Now, the office is—”

“I really don’t think—” Bella began.

“I’ve got it, Mom,” Emilio said, with a snap in his voice that, at his age, would have earned me a five-hundred-word essay on the nature of respect for one’s parents.

Bella didn’t reprimand him. In fact, I swear I saw her flinch.

“Go see Ramon,” Emilio said to his mother. “He was looking for his gym uniform.”

With that, Bella hurried off up the stairs. I felt that familiar chill down my spine as I looked back at Emilio.

“Lu—” Paige began, then stopped herself, just in case. “We really should hurry.”

As she spoke, she kept her gaze down, which seemed odd—Paige never avoids eye contact. Then I realized why she’d stepped away so quickly.

“Yes, right,” I said, then to Emilio, “I’m sorry. Please excuse—”

He jumped into our path so quickly it startled Paige, and she looked up. Their eyes met. His went wide in shock. Then his lip curled.

“A witch?” He turned to me. “You brought a witch into our house?”

“No, I brought my wife.” The words came out before I could help myself. I took Paige’s arm. “If you’ll excuse—”

“No, I don’t excuse you, and she is not welcome in my house.”

Under other circumstances, Paige wouldn’t have stood for that. But Emilio was young, and it was not the time to educate him on the follies of prejudice, so she laid her fingers on my arm and said, “I’ll be in the car.”

With a nod to the guards, who parted to give way, she started forward, then stumbled, feet flying out, hands going up to brace against a fall. As I scrambled to grab her, I saw Emilio’s fingers raised, and knew she hadn’t tripped.

“Walk faster, witch,” he sneered, and lifted his hand in another knockback spell.

I wheeled on him and caught his hands so quickly he yelped.

“Don’t,” I said.

“You—”

Emilio froze, caught in Paige’s binding spell.

“Go,” she said. “I’ll keep him.”

Her expression was annoyance mingled with regret—this was a step she’d rather not have taken.

I strode behind the butler, who seemed not at all perturbed by his young employer’s predicament…and perhaps somewhat amused to see the boy trapped by a witch’s spell.

One guard followed at my heels. The other, after a motion from me, stayed with Paige.

LUCAS: 11

THE BUTLER PAUSED at the wooden door.

“I have to knock, sir.”

This was one routine he didn’t dare break, even at my father’s bidding.

The butler rapped. From within I could hear a rock ballad that predated my musical experience, from the seventies perhaps. When I frowned at the lack of response, the butler said, “He probably hears us. Mrs. Cortez was right, sir. He really doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Then I’ll take responsibility for doing so.”

I tried the door. Locked but with nothing complicated. I removed a card from my wallet and, ignoring the butler’s fidgeting, swiped it through the crack.

The office was everything one would expect from a Cabal CEO…or a man who expected to become one.

Wood was the primary decorating material, and the air reeked of lemon cleaner. The room was at least five hundred square feet, with a cavernous feel, as if Hector had declared this was the size of office befitting his station, then hadn’t known how to adequately fill the space. The lack of clutter made it easy to see that it was unoccupied.

I walked to the bathroom. Empty.

“Is there another exit?” I asked.

The guard said, “No, sir. This room was constructed like your father’s home. All the windows are impenetrable and immovable, and secured with spells. There are no exterior exits.”

As the guard spoke, the butler’s gaze shifted, just a little, to the side.