SOME PEOPLE ARE BEYOND HELPING. They’ve dug a hole so deep that no rope is long enough to throw to them and I have to say, “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

I had the shaman’s file on my desk, his number right there so I could tell him I wouldn’t represent him in his case against the Nast Cabal. But I hated saying no, so instead I was organizing paper clips. I sorted them by size, then by color, as I listened to the tapping of Paige’s keyboard across the office divider.

Why did we have so many varieties of paper clips, when most of our paperwork was electronic? Was it simply that you couldn’t have an office without paper clips? Or did they serve a higher purpose-a frivolity to occupy the mind while one was supposed to be working?

I pushed the clips aside. Postponing the task wouldn’t make it easier.

Just as I reached for the phone, the outside line lit up. Saved by the bell, which echoed down the quiet hall twice before I heard a drowsy “Good morning. Cortez-Winterbourne Investigations.” Savannah, our eighteen-year-old ward and temporary executive assistant.

I waited for my line or Paige’s to ring, but the light continued to blink. If it was for Adam, Savannah should realize he wasn’t in. Unless we had something exciting on the schedule, he never showed up before nine-thirty.

Savannah appeared in the doorway. “The telephone is for you, sir,” she said, and dropped a curtsey.

A deep sigh fluttered from the other side of the divider.

“Hey, he said I needed to conduct my secretarial duties ‘in a more formal manner.’”

“He said more businesslike,” Paige’s disembodied voice answered.

“Whatever.”

Savannah marched over and perched on the edge of my desk, flipping her skirt over her knees. It’d been a struggle getting her out of blue jeans, but vanity had won out when she’d realized business attire suited her. She’d grown comfortable in the clothes, and in her role. Too comfortable, we worried.

When Savannah had decided to take a year off after high school and work at the agency, we’d presumed that once she discovered how dull secretarial work could be, she’d eagerly embrace college life. But the deadlines for college application were fast approaching, and the forms lay on her dresser, untouched.

As I reached for the phone, she said, “Oh, it’s your dad.”

My stomach executed a familiar flip-flop. Paige peeked around the barrier, green eyes and frowning mouth framed by long dark hair. She shooed Savannah out, followed her into the hall and closed the door behind them. Their footsteps tapped away down the hall until I was left with the hum of the computer and that blinking phone light.

I reached for my water glass and took a deep gulp. Yesterday’s water-warm and brackish. I took another sip, then answered the phone. “Good morning, Papá.”

“Lucas. This isn’t too early, is it?”

“I’ve been in since eight.”

“Good, good. How’s Paige?”

And so it went for five minutes. How was Paige? How was Savannah? How was business? Was the new office working out? I had no objection to small talk with my father, but I knew it was only the preliminary step to some less pleasant subject. He’d called at exactly nine Pacific time-the earliest reasonable moment. That could mean it was important or just that he wanted me to think it was. With my father, either was equally likely, and equally a cause for concern.

“The reason I’m calling…” he finally said.

“Yes, Papá?”

“It’s Hope Adams. I’ve offered her a week of contract work investigating a local gang, and she’s accepted.”

He went on to explain the situation, in far more detail than it warranted, hammering home the message that he wasn’t hiding anything, which almost certainly meant he was.

“Is this in regards to the debt Hope and Karl owe?” I asked.

“They don’t owe me anything, Lucas. I’ve told you that. This is an independent project.”

“And Hope in no way feels obligated or coerced?”

“Absolutely not. She’s here on the plane now. You can speak to her if you’d like.”

I flicked a stray paper clip back into the pile. “This seems very sudden. I haven’t heard any rumblings of an impending gang insurgence.”

“They’ve been small so far, but they are there, and it’s a problem best nipped in the bud.”

“Particularly if ‘nipping it in the bud’ provides an excuse to test a young Expisco half-demon, evaluate her powers and demonstrate to her the benefits of Cabal employment.”

He laughed. “I won’t say I wouldn’t love to have Hope on staff. But I know better than to poach her from the council.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Paige, then. She’s the council member, so she’s the one who should be apprised-”

“Which is exactly what I hope you’ll do.”

There was no reason to go through me-he was on very good terms with Paige. So what was he up to?

“Are you concerned about the job, Lucas?” he asked after a moment.

“Frankly, yes. Hope is a capable young woman, but this could be a dangerous situation, particularly without Karl as backup.”

“Having Karl would be ideal, but he’s not available so…” He paused. “I know. Why don’t you and Paige come to Miami? Finish up your work today and I’ll send the jet for you tonight. You can provide Hope with backup and direct supervision.”

I pinched my nose as I pushed my glasses up. I’d leapt straight into that one.

My father had done this before, calling with a case that would “benefit” from my attention. And while I was in Miami, he’d pester me to attend board meetings, client dinners, review recent organizational changes…anything to involve me in Cabal life.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll provide her with direct access to Cabal security. I’ll oversee her investigation from here.”

“If you change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know. Now, if you’ll give me a moment to update Paige, we’d like to speak to Hope.”

If the situation alarmed Lucas, there was no trace of it in his voice. He was his usual self-calm and serious, words chosen with care, as if he was addressing a courtroom.

Lucas confirmed everything his father had told me about the gangs. He agreed I was a good choice to infiltrate one and he saw nothing suspicious in his father’s proposal. He would monitor the situation from Portland and, if I had any concerns or questions, he was only a phone call away.

Then Paige came on, and the tone changed. Was I comfortable with the job? How did I feel about it? Did everything seem okay? If the job bothered me at any point, even just a sense that something was amiss, I could call her, day or night-at home, at work or on her cell.

Not knowing the root of my powers-the chaos hunger was my guilty secret-they saw nothing odd about me taking this job. I was relieving myself of an obligation while gaining some experience, and that seemed perfectly reasonable to them.

Nor did they suggest the job might be more than I could handle. That would have been the first comment out of Karl’s mouth. I chalked that up to age. Karl was at least fifteen years older than me-with a werewolf’s slow aging, it was hard to tell exactly-but Paige was my age, and Lucas a year or two older. They could handle a job like this, so they knew I could.

When I hung up, I relaxed, my mind able to refocus on the task at hand.

“I need to know more about this gang,” I said as Benicio sat across from me. “You said there were rumblings. Exactly what are we talking about? Causing more trouble than usual? Or planning a strike against the Cabal?”

“The latter, I suspect, though at this point, it is only rumblings. I doubt they’re considering anything specific yet. You’re only there to get a better idea of the situation.”