"It's a Scout," she said. "An Indian Scout. It's, like, an antique. What year did you say again?"
"It's from 1926, but we need to leave, Savannah."
"It's a collector's item," Savannah said. "Really rare."
"Expensive, huh?" I said, shooting a look at Cortez. "Like the designer shirt. Pretty sharp for a struggling lawyer."
"I restored the bike. As for the clothing, a suit is hardly appropriate for motorcycle riding. My wardrobe contains a limited supply of casual wear, the majority of it gifts from my family whose budget and taste exceed my own. Now, we really should--"
"I'm not going anywhere," I said.
Cortez made a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl of frustration. "Paige, this is not the time--"
"I'm not being difficult. I don't think it's a good idea to run. People in there saw me. They'll tell the police, who'll come after me and wonder why I took off."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Quite right. I'd suggest we find an officer to take your statement."
"First, I'm getting those people out, before someone has a heart attack."
Savannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Who cares about them? They wouldn't help you. Tell her, Lucas."
"She's right. Paige, I mean. We should get them out."
"Not you, too," Savannah said. "Oh, God. I'm surrounded."
I waved her to silence and we headed for the back door.
I won't give a play-by-play of what happened next. Between the two of us, Cortez and I managed to undo all of Sandford's spells, unlocking the jammed doors and disengaging the tripwire illusions.
As for Cary and the other walking dead, they simply stopped walking. By the time everyone escaped and the authorities got inside, the necromancer's incantation had worn off. Or so Cortez explained. As I've said, I know nothing about raising the dead. Any necromancer can do it, but I've never met one who dared. The necromancers I know use their power only for communicating with spirits. Returning a soul to a dead body is against every moral code in the supernatural world.
In the chaos outside the funeral home, it took me twenty minutes to find a police officer, who insisted I follow him to the station and give my statement.
Of course, the police thought I'd played a role in what happened. Yet they didn't know what had happened. Sure, they heard the stories, witness after witness babbling about dead people walking and talking. But when the police had finally entered the building, they found only corpses strewn across the floor. Horrifying, yes, but hardly proof of the unthinkable.
When I told my story, I repeated only those portions I deemed believable. I'd been lured to the memorial service and tricked into entering the crowded hallway of mourners. Then the lights had gone out. Someone had shoved me into the visitation room and bolted the door. I'd heard people screaming, but could see very little in the near-dark. Soon I found my way into a back passage and escaped.
I did admit that, while escaping, I encountered a frightening image blocking the hall, but I'd passed through it without incident and figured it must have been some kind of hologram. Finally, themselves dazed with disbelief and information-overload, the police had to let me go. My story made sense and it checked out against that of the witnesses--barring the fact that I hadn't seen the dead rise. With no small reluctance, they released me.
CHAPTER 20
REBEL WITH A CAUSE
We'd taken my car to the police station, Cortez leaving his motorcycle at the funeral parlor. By the time we exited the station, it was nearly five o'clock and Savannah reminded me that she hadn't yet had lunch. Since Cortez still owed me an explanation, we decided to pick up something to eat at a drive-through on the highway and find a quiet place to talk.
We stopped at the first fast-food restaurant we hit. The plan was to go through the drive-through, but then Savannah announced she needed to use the bathroom, and I had to agree I could use one as well, so we went inside. As we walked in, a few people turned to look. I tried to tell myself it was simply the idle curiosity of bored diners, but then one woman leaned over and whispered something to her companions and they all turned to stare. No, not stare. Glare.
"If you'll give me your order, I'll get it while you use the ladies' room," Cortez murmured.
"Thanks."
We told him what we wanted and I gave him some money, then we slipped off to the bathroom.
When we came out, Cortez was waiting by the condiment stand, take-out bags in hand.
"I should do the same before we leave," Cortez said, glancing toward the bathrooms. "Shall I walk you to the car first?"
"We're fine."
I took the bags and shepherded Savannah out. A few glares flew our way, but no one said anything. A few minutes later, Cortez joined us in the car.
"Took out your contacts?" Savannah said as he climbed in. "How come?"
"They're well suited for wearing under a helmet but, for all other situations, I prefer glasses."
"Weird."
"Thank you."
I sneaked a fry from the bag while they were still warm. "Speaking of helmets, what's with the motorcycle? You had a rental car this morning."
"And I still do, back at my motel. After our ... altercation this morning, I thought it best to undertake discreet surveillance, should my assistance be required. In my experience, a motorcycle is much more conducive to surveillance work. It operates very well in alleyways and other places where one couldn't hope to fit a car. As well, the full helmet provides an excuse for shielding one's face. Usually, it's less conspicuous, though I realize now that may not be the case in East Falls."
"Motorcycle population: zero. Until today."
"Quite right. After this, I shall park the bike and rely on the rental car."
I pulled into a deserted picnic area just off the highway. As I locked the car, Cortez said a few words to Savannah. She nodded, took her take-out bag, and headed to a picnic table on the far side of the lot. Cortez led me to one closer to the car.
"What'd you say to her?" I asked.
"Simply that it might be easier for you and me to speak privately."
"And how many bribery bucks had to go along with that suggestion?"
"None."
I looked over at Savannah unpacking her bag. She saw me watching, smiled, and finger-waved, then sat down to eat.
I turned to Cortez. "Who are you and what have you done with the real Savannah?"
He shook his head and settled on the bench. "Savannah is a very perceptive young woman. She understands the importance of enlisting aid in this situation. She's willing to give me a second chance, but she realizes it may not be as easy for me to persuade you to do the same."
He unfolded his burger and tore open a ketchup package.
"So that brings us to the first part of my last question," I said. "Who are you?"
"I told you that I am in no way associated with the Nast Cabal, nor do I work for any Cabal. That is entirely accurate. However, I may have intentionally fostered the misconception that I am not associated with any Cabal."
I nibbled the end of a fry while I untangled that last sentence.
"So you are 'associated' with a Cabal," I said. "Like what, a contract employee?"
"No, I work for myself, as I said." Cortez folded the half-empty ketchup package and laid it aside. "At the Coven meeting, an older woman mentioned a Benicio Cortez."
"Ah, a relative, I presume?"
"My father."
"Let me guess ... your father works for a Cabal."
"It would be more accurate to say a Cabal works for him. My father is CEO of the Cortez Cabal."
I coughed, nearly sputtering up a half-eaten fry. "Your family runs a Cabal?"
Cortez nodded.
"Is it ... big?"
"The Cortez Cabal is the most powerful in the world."
"I thought you said the Nast Cabal was the biggest."
"It is. My father's is the most powerful. I say that as a matter of record, not out of any pride in the fact. I p
lay no role in my father's organization."
"You just told me yesterday that Cabals are family-based, led by a sorcerer and his sons."
"In practice, that's true. The son of a Cabal head is introduced to the organization at birth and, in virtually every instance, that is where he remains. However, while a son may grow up in the Cabal, he is still required to undergo formal initiation on his eighteenth birthday. Since Cabal membership is, theoretically, voluntary, it is possible for a son to refuse initiation, as I did."
"So you just said, 'Sorry, Dad, don't want to be part of the family business'?"
"Well ..." He adjusted his glasses. "Technically, of course, since I failed to accept the initiation, I'm not a member of the Cabal. Nor do I consider myself one. Yet, because, as I said, such a thing is extremely rare, I find myself in a position where most people still consider me part of my father's organization. It is generally accepted that this rebellion is a temporary situation, a perception which my father, unfortunately, shares and promotes, meaning I am accorded the privileges and protections such a position would provide."
" Uh-huh."
"This position provides me with some stature in the Cabal world and, though I'm loath to take advantage of that association, in some cases it is beneficial, allowing me to initiate activities the Cabals would not permit, were I not who I am."
" Uh-huh." A headache was forming behind my eyes.
"I've decided that the best use of my position, a position I neither want nor encourage, is to use it to counteract some of my race's worst abuses of power. Clearly, taking a young witch away from the Coven and placing her into the hands of a Cabal is such an abuse. Upon learning of Kristof Nast's initiative, I followed Leah and Gabriel and waited for an opportune time to introduce my services."
" Uh-huh. Let me get this straight. Having abandoned the family fortunes, you now use your power to help super-naturals. Like the Caped Crusader ... in permanent Clark Kent disguise."
I would have sworn he smiled. His lips twitched, at least. "The Caped Crusader is Batman, whose alter ego would be Bruce Wayne. Clark Kent is Superman. Neither analogy, I'm afraid, is quite accurate. I lack the tormented brooding sexiness of the Dark Knight and, sadly, I've not yet learned to fly, though I did manage to sail a few yards when Leah threw me this afternoon."
I couldn't resist a small laugh. "Okay, but seriously. You know how this whole 'Rebel with a Cause' routine sounds?"
"Unlikely, I know."
"Try crazy. Insane. Preposterous."
"I haven't heard those particular adjectives before, doubtless only because no one dares say them to my face." He pushed aside his untouched burger. "Before you dismiss my story completely, please speak to Robert Vasic. I am confident that he will have sources who can vouch for my sincerity."
"I hope so."
"I can help you, Paige. I know the Cabals, know them more intimately than anyone you could hope--or would want--to meet. I can operate within that world with little fear of reprisals. As Savannah saw today, the Nasts don't dare touch me. That can be very useful."
"But why? Why go through all this to save a stranger?"
He glanced over at Savannah. "Preposterous, as you said. I can't imagine anyone doing such a thing."
I tore a crispy fry tip off, stared at it, then tossed it onto the grass. A crow tottered over for a closer look, then fixed me with a cold, black eye, as if to ask whether it was safe to eat.
"You still lied," I said. "About Leah."
"Yes, and, as you've said, I'm very good at it. For a Cortez, it's a skill we learn as other boys are learning to swing a baseball bat. For me, lying is a survival reflex. Placed in a situation where truth-telling may be risky, I often lie before I even make a conscious decision to do so. All I can say in my defense now is that I will make every effort not to do so again."
"You do, and that's it. I've got serious trust issues with this arrangement already, aligning myself with a sorcerer."
"Perfectly understandable."
"And I am going to speak to Robert first. I need to do that, for my own peace of mind."
"Again, understandable. You expect him back soon, I hope."
"He's probably already called the house, trying to find me."
"Good. Then I will accompany you home, you can go in and return his call, then we'll come up with a plan of action."
"What about your bike?"
"I'll retrieve it later. Right now, getting this situation straightened out is my first priority."
CHAPTER 21
FEEDING FRENZY
As I rounded the second-last corner to my street, Cortez turned sideways in his seat, so he could see both me and Savannah.
"Now, as I said, it is possible that some members of the media may have established themselves in the vicinity. You must be prepared. Perhaps we should go over the plan again. The most important thing to remember is--"
"No comment, no comment, no comment," I said, with Savannah chiming in.
"You're quick studies."
"Keep the script simple and even us witches can learn it."
"I'm very impressed. Now, when we get out of the car, stick close to me--"
Savannah leaned over the seat. "And you'll protect us with lightning bolts and hail and hellfire."
"I cannot protect you at all if Paige hits the brake and you go flying through the windshield. Put on your seat belt, Savannah."
"It is on."
"Then tighten it."
She slipped back into her seat. "God, you're as bad as Paige."
"As I was saying," Cortez said. "Our primary objective is to--Oh."
With that one word, my breath caught. A simple word, not even a word really, a mere sound, an exclamation of surprise. But for Cortez to be surprised, worse yet, for him to stop in the middle of explaining one of his grand plans to make such an exclamation--well, it boded no good.
I'd just rounded the corner onto my street. A quarter mile ahead was my house. Or so I assumed. I couldn't be sure because both sides of the street were lined with cars, trucks, and vans, crammed into every available space, some even double-parked. As for my house, I couldn't see it, not because of the cars, but because of the crowd of people spilling over the lawn, onto the sidewalk and across the road.
"Pull in the next driveway," Cortez said.
"I can't park here," I said, taking my foot off the accelerator. "I'm sure my neighbors are pissed off enough already."
"You're not parking. You're turning around."
"You want me to run?"
"For now, yes."
I gripped the steering wheel. "I can't do that."
I kept my face forward, but I could sense his gaze on me.
"Getting into your house won't be easy, Paige," he said, his voice softer. "This type of situation ... it doesn't bring out the best in people. No one would blame you for turning around."
I looked through the rearview mirror at Savannah.
"Paige is right," she said. "If we back down now, Leah will know we're spooked."
"All right, then," Cortez said. "Pull in wherever you see an opening."
As I scouted for a parking space, nobody spoke. My eyes traveled from group to group. To the national news crews sipping coffee from the Belham Starbucks. To the scattered clusters of people with camcorders and curious eyes. To the state police arguing with five bald people in white robes. To the men, women, and children pacing the sidewalk, carrying signs condemning my soul to damnation.
Strangers. All strangers. I scanned the crowd and saw not a local newsperson, not a village cop, not a single familiar face. Up and down the street every door was closed, every curtain drawn. Everyone willing to shut out the June sun and cool breezes if it meant they could also shut out whatever was happening at 32 Walnut Lane. Shut it out and wait for it to go away. Wait for us to go away.
"When Paige stops the car, get out immediately," Cortez said. "Undo your seat belt now and be ready. Once you're out, keep moving, don't even pause to look around. P
aige, take Savannah's hand and head to the front of the car. I'll meet you there and clear a path."
When we'd turned the corner, a few people had looked over, not as many as you might expect, considering they were waiting for a stranger to arrive, but maybe they'd been there so long, seen so many strangers drive by, that they'd stopped jumping every time a new car appeared.
When the car slowed, more glanced our way. I saw their faces then. Bored, impatient, almost angry, as if ready to snap at the next rubbernecker who falsely aroused their expectations. Then they saw me. A shout. Another. A ripple of movement, escalating to a stream, then a wave.
I turned the wheel to wedge in sideways behind a news van. For a second, I saw nothing but the call letters of a TV station in Providence. Then a rush of people swallowed the van. Strangers jostled against the car, rocking it.
A man, knocked flying by the mob, sprawled across the hood. The car bounced. The man scrambled up. I met his eyes, saw the hunger there, the excitement, and for one second, I froze.
As the flood of people engulfed the car, I saw the very real possibility that I'd be trapped. I grabbed the handle and flung the door open, putting all my strength behind it and not caring who I hit. I leaped from the car, wheeled, and grabbed Savannah as she got out.
"Ms. Winterbourne, do you--"
"--have you--"
"--allegations--"
"Paige, what do you--"
The cacophony of questions hit me like a fifty-mile-an-hour wind, almost knocking me back into the car. I heard voices, words, shouts, all blending into one screaming voice.
I remembered Cortez saying to meet him at the front of the car. Where was the front of the car? The moment I stepped away from the vehicle, people surrounded me, the noise engulfed me. Fingers grabbed my arm. I jerked away, then saw Cortez at my side, his hand around my elbow.
"No comment," he said and pulled me from the fray.
The crowd released me for a moment, then swallowed me again.
"--do you--"
"--living dead--"
"--Grantham Cary--"
"--dragons and--"
I opened my mouth to say "no comment," but couldn't get the words out. Instead, I shook my head and let Cortez say them for me.
When he managed to free us again, I pulled Savannah closer, my arm going tightly around her waist. She didn't resist. I tried to look over at her, but everything around us moved so fast, I caught only a glimpse of her cheek.
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