“Sorry, it’s that damned black hole again. It’s…I’ve never felt anything like it. She meant so much to him.” Faye swallowed. “Well, even Hitler loved his dog, right? Doesn’t make someone a good person, and this one definitely isn’t. Only thing he cared about was her. Okay, let me have another go—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I’ve got it. Just hold on.” She exhaled and let her head fall again. “He’s frustrated. The killing—it doesn’t help, doesn’t fill the void. He needs more. There’s one he was saving for last, but he can’t wait. He’s going to—” Her head snapped back, hitting the wheelchair headrest so hard it jumped.

“Oh.” The single word came like a gasp.

Her arms gripped the sides of her wheelchair as her body stiffened, torso rising out of the chair. Lucas and I both jumped up. Before we could reach her, her body went as straight as a board, and she slid from the chair. Lucas lunged and grabbed her before she hit the floor. She convulsed, eyes rolling, mouth open. I grabbed a pen from a nearby table, opened her mouth, and stuck it in to hold her tongue down. Then she stopped. Just stopped, as if frozen in place. Lucas gently lowered her to the floor.

“I’ll get Oscar,” he said.

“Is she—”

“She’ll be okay. This is, I fear, her normal state. Catatonic.”

As he left, I rearranged Faye’s arms, trying to make her more comfortable, though I knew she was beyond caring. As I adjusted her head, I caught a glimpse of her eyes, wide and unseeing. No, not unseeing. Leaning over her, I saw movement there, her pupils contracting and flickering, ever so slightly, like someone watching television. Only it wasn’t a television screen she was seeing, but the tiny screen in her own mind, playing a hundred movies of a hundred lives, all glimmering past so fast her brain could no longer make any sense of them.

I would talk to Benicio about getting Faye a witch nurse. It wouldn’t cure her, but anything had to be better than…this. Yes, that would mean advocating that a witch take a job with a Cabal, something I’d never thought I’d do, but the sad truth was that there were dozens of witches eager for Cabal employment, and if it meant they could help someone like Faye, well, for now, that was the best I could do.

Hotel Shopping

BY EVENING WE’D CHECKED OUT NEARLY HALF THE HOTELS in Miami as we’d searched for one with a view that matched what Faye had seen outside Edward’s window. We’d started by targeting those hotels with rack rates of a hundred dollars. Tougher than it might sound. It was a nice, even number, and many hotels had at least a few rooms at that rate.

When we first left Faye, we’d called Jaime, who’d offered to split the phone-book list with us. After wefound a few possibilities, Jaime suggested she and Cassandra take over the phone calls while we did the footwork. A wise arrangement, except that Jaime and Cassandra found so many hotels with rooms at a hundred dollars that we couldn’t begin to keep up.

At eight, Jaime called.

“We’re still working on the last batch,” I said when I answered.

“That’s what I figured. I’m calling to say we’re holding the rest of the list hostage. You guys have been at it for six hours, and I know you haven’t eaten dinner. Probably skipped lunch, too.”

“We just need to—”

“No. Seriously, Paige. Time to call it a day. Better to quit now, get food, get sleep, and get cracking again at daybreak.”

As much as I hated to quit, this did make sense. With night falling, we could barely make out the buildings surrounding the hotels. I relayed the advice to Lucas, who agreed.

“Good,” Jaime said when I told her. “There’s a bar down the road here, advertises full-kitchen service until midnight. I’ll meet you there in half an hour. If you keep working, you’ll keep me waiting. I can cause a lot of trouble left alone in a bar. Remember that.”

We did keep Jaime waiting fifteen minutes, but only because Lucas had another idea that he wanted to pursue immediately. The Cabal had satellite photos of Miami. Maybe with those we’d have more luck picking out the configuration of buildings Faye had described. Cortez headquarters was on the way, so we stopped by, and had copies of the photos in less than twenty minutes.

Despite her threat, Jaime hadn’t caused any trouble at the bar. She wasn’t alone, either. When I noticed a figure across the table from her, I immediately thought male, then noticed that it was Cassandra. The three of us ordered dinner, while Cassandra nursed her wine.

Jaime had managed to bully Lucas into not examining the photos while we ate, but the moment the plates left the table, he had them out. I tried helping, but we only had one magnifying glass, and the details were too small to see with the naked eye, so I let Jaime talk me into a post-dinner drink.

Halfway through the drinks, Cassandra got off a“celebrity necro” jab at Jaime, who responded by bringing up her favorite issue.

“I’m not dead,” Cassandra said, barely ungritting her teeth enough to let the words out.

“Care to test that theory? Let’s say you find a guy lying on the ground, and you’re not sure if he’s dead or alive. How do you tell? Three ways. Heartbeat, pulse, breathing. Here, Cass, give me your wrist, let me check your pulse.”

Cassandra glared and sipped her wine.

“Not seeing any condensation on that glass, Cass. Something tells me you’re not breathing.”