“Mr. Cortez asked you a question,” Griffin said.

“I—I want immunity.”

The demand fell into a plea, blood dripping down his chin. If he could still talk, though, the blow had been softer than it looked.

I waved for Griffin to hold back—pure theater, as he had no intention of hitting the youth again if it could be avoided. Then I nodded for the young man to continue.

“It’s all gone to hell,” he said, slumping in Griffin’s grip. “He said it would be easy, but now the girl’s dead and—”

“What girl?” Paige said before stopping herself. An apologetic look my way. “Sorry. You said the girl’s dead and…”

He shook his head.

“Where’s Carlos?” I asked.

“I don’t—”

The young man stopped short, gaping at me. Then he slumped in Griffin’s hands. Griffin jerked him upright again, but his head lolled, and when Griffin pulled back his hand, it glistened wetly in the dim light.

Something stung my shoulder. Then another blow, this one square in my back, so hard it knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling into the gravel.

“Down!” Griffin shouted as he shoved me.

“Paige!”

I saw her pale face, eyes wide, uncomprehending. I grabbed her legs and yanked her down. The bullet struck the ground a foot from Griffin’s boot, sending up a geyser of dirt.

I reached for the door, but Griffin already had it open. He grabbed for me, but I dove through, shouting for him to get Paige instead. I slid across a carpeted floor, the pile burning my cheek, my injured shoulder colliding with a desk chair. I threw it aside and scrambled back to Paige as Griffin slammed the door.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I just—I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. A sniper?”

Griffin gave a grunt of assent and, for a moment, we all stayed there, in the dim light, our breathing the only sound. We were in a small office, with a desk, chair, filing cabinet, coffeemaker and nothing more.

Paige whispered and I moved closer to hear her, then realized she was casting a spell.

“No one’s here,” Paige said, voice still low. “Is he—? The boy. Is he dead?”

“Think so,” Griffin said.

“Can we get him in here? To check?”

Griffin looked at me.

“Please,” I said.

He waved us away from the door, peered out through a crack, then threw it open, grabbed the fallen youth’s legs and yanked him inside. He tossed aside a wedge of wood used to keep it open, slammed it shut, and turned the dead bolt with a thunk.

Paige cast and a fiery light ball appeared over her hand. A flip of her wrist and it hovered over the boy as she examined him. He’d been shot through the chest. I pictured us in the alley again. Had Paige moved at that moment, she would have caught this bullet. Had I not pulled her down a moment later…I tried not to think of that.

The young man was dead. As Paige closed his eyes, Griffin called headquarters and ordered a SWAT team to our location, warning them of a sniper in the building to the south.

Then he gazed down at the dead youth. “How do our kids get mixed up in shit like this? Where are their parents?”

I knew Griffin was thinking of his son, Jacob, who would have been about this young man’s age. Jacob hadn’t joined a gang. His only mistake had been sneaking out on a school night when a killer had been targeting the children of Cabal employees. One would think that tragedy would have been enough to make a parent reconsider his employment, but Griffin had stayed on, his loyalty unwavering.

Paige had gone quiet and I knew she was thinking of Jacob too. She’d been the one to find his body, and had never forgotten it. She straightened, gaze turning my way.

“Your shoulder,” she said. “Let me see it.”

In the commotion, I’d almost forgotten the sting in the alley before Griffin knocked me to the ground. I lifted my hands to my shoulder. My shirt was ripped, blood trickling down my chest.

“Just a graze,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Right. Until you need to use your arm and it gives out mid-punch.”

“We don’t have time. We need to—”

“I’m casting a healing spell, Cortez, even if I need to have Griffin restrain you to do it.”

I let her cast it as I looked around, wondering what had drawn the young man in here. The filing cabinet was locked—a thief wouldn’t relock. The trash can was empty. While there was some minor untidiness, it didn’t look as if the office had been ransacked.

Paige headed for the interior door. I bit back a “be careful.”

As she reached for the door handle, she glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

I managed a wry smile.

She craned her head to look around, then shut the door again. “It’s the gallery.”

The young man certainly didn’t look like an art thief. What were the chances of us stumbling over supernaturals conducting a burglary unrelated to tonight’s events? In the very place Carlos had phoned from?

Griffin slipped into the gallery to search. He’d been gone for less than a minute when a crash sounded.

Paige peered through the door, but the noise hadn’t been Griffin. He stood in the middle of the room, looking up. The sound must have come from overhead.

I eased past her. The gallery was a single room with only two exits—through the office or the front door. A third door, tactfully hidden behind a partial screen, stood open, revealing a tiny bathroom.

Paige looked up. “Storage space maybe? If so, how do they get there? I don’t see a hatch and I didn’t notice any door outside. Was there even a second floor? Or just an attic?”

I mentally replayed our approach.

“It’s a complete floor, with barred windows. I believe there was a front door on the other side of this one.

Leading to apartments, I would presume.”

We looked up. If there were inhabited apartments overhead, then noises would not be unexpected.

“The question remains,” I murmured. “Why come in here?”

My gaze traveled to the bathroom.

Griffin looked at me. “To take a leak? No offense, but…”

“Highly unlikely, I know.”

The bathroom was tiny, and awkwardly set up, the toilet and sink facing one another, with barely enough room for knees. A poor design, but necessary—there was a second door directly across from the entrance. A closet with a deadbolt.