“Mr. Cortez, sir? It’s central security. Our switchboard just received a call from your brother.”

My mouth opened to say “which brother?” before I realized I’d never again have to ask that.

“Carlos called?”

“Yes, sir. He sounded in some distress. We lost the connection before he could convey his message, but we managed to track the location of the call. Should we dispatch a team there now?”

“No, Griffin and I will take it. Could you please send the GPS coordinates to-” I glanced through the divider at Griffin, who lifted four fingers, “-car four.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you have a tape of Carlos’s call?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll play that for you now.”

THE TAPE TOLD me little. Nothing, in fact, except that it did appear to be Carlos and not someone who’d found his phone and randomly hit speed-dial. He demanded to know why the network circuits were jammed and why a call to our father hadn’t gone through. And he wanted to speak to “whoever was in charge there.” Carlos wouldn’t know the names of anyone “in charge” of the security center.

The operator then made the mistake of asking “Is this Carlos Cortez?” Perhaps she was unable to believe the subject of the intense manhunt that was jamming the circuits was actually calling in. Or perhaps she was simply following protocol, confirming his identity before passing the call along.

Her reward was a string of profanity, and a threat that she’d be jobless if she didn’t transfer the call in five seconds. As for what happened next, I’m sure there would be an inquiry into the matter, and someone might indeed become jobless, because the line went dead. Carlos may have hung up. Or the flustered operator had made a mistake. Or the overloaded circuits disconnected the call.

The operator had called Carlos back, but only got his voice mail. Then she’d phoned me.

Had the call been a clumsy attempt to provide himself with an alibi? Pretend not to know why the circuits were jammed and our father unavailable, as if his ignorance would prove he hadn’t been responsible? Or in light of my father’s survival, might Carlos be trying to betray his comrades in the conspiracy to save himself? Or perhaps Carlos was not involved at all and was, this moment, at risk himself?

For my father’s sake, I hoped for the last explanation and I hoped we would arrive in time.

THE ADDRESS TOOK us into southern Little Haiti, to a street that seemed to be trying to edge into the adjacent Design District. The art community had claimed about one quarter of the storefronts, and the “cafes and coffees” trend consumed another. In the remaining half, family-run Haitian businesses struggled to hold on, resisting the move to gentrification.

It was a commercial area and, at this time of night, the sidewalks were empty, the stores lit only for security. Even the cafes had long since closed. We shared the road with a single sports car, cutting through on its way elsewhere.

“One block over,” Griffin said. “You want me to drive by?”

“In this monster?” Paige murmured under her breath. “Might as well have cherries on the roof.”

“The vehicle is quite distinctive,” I said. “To Carlos or anyone else associated with the Cabal. Just find a parking lot…or perhaps an empty lot will be just as obvious.”

“Will it fit in an alley or service road?” Paige asked.

“I’ll try.”

He drove half a block, and wedged into a service lane so tight that Paige had to slide over and get out my side. I closed the door quietly, but the click still seemed to ring out like a gunshot.

If there was anything more obvious than driving a massive SUV through the empty streets, it was sneaking down them trailed by a six-foot-four bodyguard.

At the end of the service road, I lifted a hand to stop, then whispered, “Paige and I will look to the north and Griffin, you can continue-”

A slow shake of his head, arms crossed.

“I’ll go north,” Paige said. “You two continue-”

Another head shake. Paige and I exchanged a look, contemplating our chance of making a run for it. Tempting, but for a forty-year-old of his size, Griffin was surprisingly fast.

I was hoping to find a convenient alley that would lead us to our destination. Of course there wasn’t one. As I considered the absurd problem of getting to our target, I was aware of time ticking.

“We can use blur spells,” Paige said. “Griffin can follow with his armor intact. He’ll seem to be alone, and he’s safe from anything they can throw at him.”

As we headed north, Griffin stayed close to the storefronts, hidden in shadow, his footfalls remarkably soft, his presence betrayed only by the occasional scuff on uneven pavement.

As we closed in on the GPS location, the street looked identical to the one behind us-lined with closed shops and no signs of life.

What would Carlos be doing here?

The signal had originated a half block east. I squinted in that direction.

Paige whispered, “An art gallery, a vegan restaurant and, I think, a boutique.”

Clearly it was time to consider rescheduling that optometrist appointment I’d missed last fall.

“Someone really should circle around behind,” Paige said, glancing at Griffin, standing with his back to the building so he could spot all comers. “He’ll let me leave before he’ll let you.”

Not the solution I’d prefer, but she was right.

“Go,” I said, before I could think better of it. “I’ll be-”

“-watching out for me.” She smiled. “I know.”

LUCAS: 14

THE GPS SIGNAL LED US to a narrow passage between an art gallery and a boutique clothing store. Halfway down, a service door stood ajar.

Paige was at the other end of the alley, hidden under a cover spell. I would have preferred to discuss that open door with her, but I was stuck with Griffin. I’d cast a cover spell over him, but it was less than perfect-because of his size or my lesser competence with witch spells.

“I hope you aren’t thinking that door being propped open is a lucky coincidence,” he said.

“In light of what’s happened tonight, does Carlos think my father himself will come to his rescue?”

“Maybe. Or that maybe you will.”

I hadn’t considered that.

The door was barely ajar, enough to look accidental, as if someone hadn’t noticed it didn’t close behind him. Inside there could be anything from a lone assassin to a small army.

“I’m going in,” Griffin said.

I caught his arm. “You might be impervious to normal harm, but you aren’t immortal.”

“Maybe not, but it’s my job.”

He tried to pull away, but I held on. “There must be another entrance.”

I was breaking my cover spell to motion to Paige when the door flew open. I quickly recast.

A dark figure stepped out and eased the door all but closed, as if he’d left something jammed at the base to prevent it from shutting.

His build matched Carlos’s, as did his dark hair.

My mind wanted to leap to the obvious conclusion and balked when I resisted. I could not make any assumptions.

Griffin had backed into the shadows. His eyes were narrowed, obviously doing the same thing I was-studying the figure with uncertainty. All we could see from this distance was that he was dark haired and clean shaven, like Carlos.

I looked toward Paige’s end of the alley. When the man turned in the other direction, she peeked around the corner, breaking her cover spell for a look. Then she gave an exaggerated shrug, meaning she couldn’t confirm his identity either.

The man lifted a radio to his lips, seemed to think better of broadcasting in such a quiet alley and reached for the door again. Before he had it half open, Griffin flew down the alley, grabbed him by the collar and threw him against the wall, his hands pinned behind his back.