Cassandra’s glass rapped against the tabletop. “I’m not dead.”

“Geez, you sound like that Monty Python skit. You guys ever see that one? They’re cleaning up the plague victims and one keeps saying: ‘I’m not dead yet.’ Sounds just like you, Cassandra. Well, except he had a British accent.” Jaime sipped her drink. “Anyway, I don’t see what the big deal is. You look like you’re alive. Now zombies, there’s a nasty afterlife.”

“Speaking of zombies,” I began, eager to segue off this subject. “I heard some necro in Hollywood raised a real one for that movie, oh, what was it called—”

“Night of the Living Dead?” Lucas said.

His leg brushed mine under the table. Last spring we’d tried to overcome a hellish day by watching that movie, before moving on to better methods of distraction. Our first night together. Our eyes met and we both grinned, then Lucas returned to his work.

“No, not that one,” I said. “Something recent.”

“I heard the rumor,” Jaime said. “Makes a good story, but it’s not true. The only living dead in Hollywood is Clint Eastwood.”

I sputtered my drink. Jaime patted my back and laughed.

“Oh, I’m kidding. But he kinda looks it, don’t you think? The man has not aged well.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Cassandra murmured.

“Well, I would,” Jaime said. “And what I want to know is why, in every goddamned movie, he gets paired up with some hot little number a quarter his age.”

“Jealous?” Cassandra said.

Jaime snorted. “Yeah, like I want to walk around with an eighteen-year-old guy on my arm. Nothing wrong with having fun, but you gotta keep your dignity. My rule: no guys more than a decade older or five years younger. The whole cougar thing is so…” She shuddered and pulled a face.

“Cougar?” Lucas said, glancing up from his photos.

“Women who date significantly younger men,” I said.

“Why are you looking at me, Paige?” Cassandra said.

“I wasn’t—”

“I can hardly date men my own age, can I?” Cassandra added.

Jaime laughed. “Got a point there, Cass. How old were you when you die—changed? About my age, I’ll bet.”

“Forty-five.”

Jaime nodded. “If I could stop aging at some point, it’d be here. I know, most women—hell, most people—they’d go for their twenties, maybe thirties, but I like forty. Got the experience under your belt, but the body is still in perfect working order. A damn fine age for a woman.” She lifted her glass. “Take that, Clint.”

We ordered another round of drinks, talked a bit longer, then headed back to the hotel.

On the plane we’d agreed to meet Benicio for breakfast the next day, to shareprogress on the case. Now that we had a solid lead, we hated to waste time on something as trivial as eating. Yet when Lucas suggested that we needed to start our day early, Benicio offered to meet us at our hotel for breakfast at six, and keep his visit short. Not much we could say about that.

When we got to the restaurant, Troy slipped in ahead of us. He cornered the hostess, murmured something, and passed her a folded bill. A minute later, the hostess returned and escorted us to the patio. Our table was in the far corner. The three closest tables sported RESERVED tent cards. I supposed that was what the extra tip was for, guaranteeing our privacy. Since the restaurant was almost empty at this hour, it was a request easily accommodated. Troy and Morris took the next nearest table.

After we ordered our meal, I asked Benicio about hiring a witch nurse for Faye.

“A calming spell, hmm?” he said, unfolding his napkin. “Never could get that one to work myself. Do you think it would help the other residents as well?”

I hesitated, not because I wasn’t ready with an answer, but because the thought of Benicio Cortez practicing witch magic…well, it was enough to render even me momentarily speechless.

“Er, yes,” I said. “I think it would. That’s just an educated guess, of course. You’d have to test it on the others.”

He nodded. “I’ll hire a witch part-time for Faye then, and if she can help the others, we’ll make it a full-time position. Now, my contacts in the witch community are, as you might guess, quite poor. We’ll discuss this later, but I may need your help finding someone qualified—”

“I’m sure you can do so without Paige’s assistance, Papá,” Lucas said. “Witches apply for Cabal positions all the time. Human resources should be able to provide all the contact names you need.”

“Perhaps, but if I have any questions, Paige, may I call you?”

I glanced at Lucas, who gave a soft sigh, then the barest nod.

“If it means getting a good witch nurse for Faye, you can call me,” I said.

Benicio opened his mouth with what I was sure was another “request,” but was diverted by the arrival of our coffee. We spent the next minute in silence, each fixing our drinks.

“So, Paige,” Benicio said after his first sip of coffee. “How do you like Miami?”

A new topic. Thank God. I relaxed into my chair. “Can’t say I’ve had much time for sightseeing, but I’ve certainly enjoyed the sunshine.”

“Miami has its charms, though the pace isn’t to everyone’s taste. Nor the violence. Before you go, Lucas, you should take Paige for a drive, show her where you grew up.” He turned to me. “It’s a beautiful area. A fraction of Miami’s crime rate, the safest streets in Florida, an excellent school system—”