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 we found 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."
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 share progress 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-"