Spellcasters (7 page)

Here was the perfect opening for a query that might help answer the question of Savannah’s paternity, something like “Did your mother, uh, know a lot of sorcerers?” Of course I didn’t ask. I never asked anything about Eve. If Savannah wanted to tell me, she would.

“Witches don’t work with sorcerers,” I said.

“Oh, please. That’s for Coven witches. A real witch works with anyone who can help her. A sorcerer lawyer could help, as long as we picked carefully. Most of them are real jerks—they won’t have anything to do with witches—but Mom knew a few who’d take a case like this, if you paid them enough.”

“I’m not hiring a sorcerer. I’m getting a human lawyer.”

“Are you serious? Don’t be stupid, Paige. You can’t—”

“Why can’t I? They won’t be expecting it. If I get a human lawyer, Leah will need to handle this case by the books. The
human
law books. No secret meetings discussing sorcerers and Cabals—”

“What about the Cabals?”

“I’m just saying, they can’t talk about that kind of thing in front of a human lawyer. If they want to play by human laws, let them. I’ll play right along.”

She frowned, and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “That might not be such a stupid idea after all.”

“Glad you approve.”

Friday morning started off feeling very familiar. Like the day before, I decided to keep Savannah home from school, picked up her assignments, took her to Abby’s, then returned to the Carys’ law office for another ten o’clock meeting.

This time my meeting was with Grant Cary, Jr. Yes, I chose Grant junior. Despite my misgivings about the guy’s moral compass, he was a good lawyer. He knew me … well, not as well as he’d like, but well enough. When I spoke to him on the phone yesterday, he seemed interested in the case and we’d arranged to meet at ten. I’d set up a conference with Leah and Sandford for eleven.

I’d been sitting in Cary’s office for twenty minutes, gazing out the oversized window behind his desk while he read through my papers. So far everything had gone well. Other than a lingering look at my boobs when I walked in, he hadn’t done anything untoward. I’d probably been too harsh on the guy. I seemed to attract a lot of Cary-types—forty-something married guys who see me, if not as a gorgeous blonde who’d look great on their arm, then as a young woman who might enjoy and appreciate the attention of an older man.

From what I’d seen of Grantham Cary, Jr., he likely hit on every younger woman he met. You know the type. All-American boy of 1975, the town’s brightest star, every girl in town wetting her pants if he so much as looked at her. Fast-forward to 2001. His weekly golf game no longer keeps his love handles in check, he’s recently resorted to a slight comb-over to cover that growing bald spot, he squints to avoid wearing the bifocals he hides in his desk drawer, and he spends his days in an office filled with decades-old sports trophies. Still a good-looking guy, but these days more likely to be coveted for his bank account than his biceps.

“Well,” Cary said, returning the last sheet to the stack. “This certainly is unusual.”

“I—I can explain,” I said. I could?

“Let me guess,” Cary said. “You’re not really a witch and this is simply a ploy to gain custody of Savannah by dredging up an uncomfortable element of East Falls’s past and playing on the historical paranoia of this particular region of New England.”

“Uh, yes,” I said. “Something like that.”

Cary laughed. “Don’t worry, Paige. It’s a very transparent scheme obviously dreamed up by folks who don’t know much about modern-day Massachusetts. You say this man, Kristof Nast, has no proof that he’s Savannah’s father? But I assume he’s willing to submit to a DNA test?”

“DNA?”

“We can’t just take his say-so on the matter.”

Of course they couldn’t. This was a human court, which played by human rules. A court that wouldn’t understand why Kristof Nast couldn’t submit DNA. Any supernatural knew that we couldn’t risk having humans study our DNA, but to a human judge, it was evidence so easily given that to refuse would be tantamount to an admission of fraud.

“He won’t give DNA,” I said.

Cary’s brows shot up. “Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” I said, breaking into a grin. “Is that good?”

Cary leaned back in his chair and laughed. “That’s better than good. It’s wonderful, Paige. If Sandford’s client refuses to submit DNA, he has no case. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “You haven’t seen my bill.”

He laughed loudly, as if unaware this was a very old joke, but I was in the mood to be generous, so I laughed along. We spent the next thirty minutes discussing the case. Then we wrapped it up and prepared for the meeting with Leah and Sandford. I hadn’t told them Cary was representing me. They thought they were coming for a private conference with me.

I do love surprises.

I was sitting in the meeting room, alone, when Lacey ushered in Sandford and Leah on the dot of eleven o’clock. Cary had agreed to wait a few minutes before joining us.

Leah fairly bounced in, like a kid on Christmas morning. Sandford followed, trying—but not very hard—to conceal a self-satisfied smirk.

“Do you have the papers?” I asked, injecting a quaver into my voice.

“Of course.” Sandford slid them across the table to me.

For a few minutes, I stared down at the pages that would relinquish my custody rights to Savannah. I inhaled deeply.

“I know this is tough,” Leah said, her voice stuffed with gloating sarcasm. “But it’s for the best, Paige. It really is.”

Another couple minutes of staring at the pages, replete with tortured sighs. Then I said, “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” Sandford said.

“No, really, I can’t.” I shoved the papers back to him, with a grin to mirror his. “I’m not giving her up.”

“What?” Leah said.

“Oh, it was a clever plan, I’ll give you that. Threaten me with exposure and make sure the Elders hear about it. If I don’t cave, they’ll force me. Well, you underestimated the Coven. With their support, I’m fighting this petition.”

The look on their faces was a memory to cherish forever.

“And what does Margaret Levine say about this?” Leah asked.

“You want to know?” I asked. I lifted the phone. “Call her. I’m sure you have the number. Call all the Elders. Ask them if they support me.”

“This is bullshit.” Leah aimed a glare at Sandford, as if it was his fault.

“No,” I said. “It’s not bullshit. I assure you, I understand that this is a serious legal matter and, as such, I’m treating it very seriously. To that end, I’ve hired legal representation.”

I walked to the door and waved in Cary, who’d been waiting in the hall.

“I believe you’ve met Mr. Cary,” I said.

Their jaws dropped. Okay, they didn’t actually drop, like in the cartoons, but you get the idea.

“But he’s a—” Leah began before stopping herself.

“A damn fine lawyer,” I said. “And I’m so glad he’s agreed to represent me.”

“Thank you, Paige.” Cary’s smile held a bit more personal warmth than I liked, but I was too happy to care. “Now, let’s get straight to the heart of the matter. About the DNA test. May I assume your client is willing to submit to one immediately?”

Sandford blanched. “Our—my client is a … a very busy man. His business interests make it quite impossible to leave Los Angeles at the moment.”

“Otherwise he’d be here now,” I said. “Hmmm, doesn’t that seem odd? He’s so interested in gaining custody of his daughter, but can’t find a few days to fly out and meet her.”

“He could provide the sample in California,” Cary said. “Our firm may be small, but we have contacts in San Francisco. I’m sure they’d be happy to oversee the testing.”

“My client does not wish to submit to DNA testing.”

“No DNA, no case,” Cary said.

Sandford glared at me.

“Checkmate,” I said. And grinned.

When Sandford and Leah left, Cary turned to me and smiled.

“That went well, don’t you think?”

I grinned. “Better than well. It was perfect. Thank you so much.”

“With any luck, it’s all over. I can’t imagine them pursuing the case without DNA.” He checked his watch. “Do you have time for coffee? We can discuss the final details before my next appointment.”

“Details? But if it’s over …?”

“We hope it is, but we need to cover every contingency, Paige. I’ll let Lacey know we’re leaving.”

C
ary and I walked to Melinda’s Bakery on State Street. Even by my jaded big-city standards, Melinda’s was a first-rate bakery. The coffee alone almost made living in East Falls bearable. And the scones? If I ever persuaded the Elders to let us move, I’d be making weekly runs to East Falls for Melinda’s raisin scones.

I would have preferred a window table, but Cary selected one near the back. Admittedly, even the main street of East Falls has little to offer in the way of people-watching and, since we were discussing confidential legal matters, I understood why Cary picked a more private seating arrangement.

When we sat down, he pointed at my scone. “I’m glad to see you’re not one of those girls who’s always on a diet. I like women who aren’t afraid to look like women.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The girls these days, dieting until they’re so thin you can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl. You’re different. You always look so”—his gaze dropped to my chest—“put together. It’s so nice to see a young woman who still wears skirts and dresses.”

“So you think they’ll drop the case?”

Cary added three creamers to his coffee and stirred it before answering.

“Reasonably certain,” he said. “There are a few more things I need to do.”

“Like what?”

“Paperwork. Even in the simplest case, there’s always paperwork.” He sipped his coffee. “Now, I suppose you want to hear how much this is going to cost you.”

I smiled. “Well, I can’t say I want to hear it, but I should. Do you have an estimate?”

He pulled out his legal pad, ripped off the top sheet, and started tallying figures on a clean page. As the list grew, my eyes widened. When he wrote a total at the bottom, I choked on a mouthful of coffee.

“Is that—Please tell me there’s a decimal missing,” I said.

“Legal expertise doesn’t come cheap, Paige.”

“I know that. I have legal work done for my business all the time, but my bills don’t look like that.” I pulled the legal pad toward me and flipped it around. “What’s this? Nine billable hours accrued? We only met today, from ten until”—I checked my watch—“eleven-forty.”

“I did need to review your case last night, Paige.”

“You reviewed it this morning. In front of me. Remember?”

“Yes, but last night I was researching similar cases.”

“For seven hours?”

“ ‘Billable hours’ is a complex concept that doesn’t necessarily correspond to actual time spent.”

“No kidding. And what’s this? Three hundred dollars for photocopying? What did you do? Hire Franciscan monks to transcribe my file by hand? I can make copies at the 7-Eleven for ten cents a page.”

“We’re hardly dealing with the straight cost of copying, Paige. You have to take into consideration the costs of labor.”

“Your wife does all your secretarial work. You don’t even pay her.”

“I understand it may not be easy for you to pay this, Paige. I sympathize. I really do. That’s one of the fundamental problems with the practice of law. Those who are most deserving of our help often can’t afford it.”

“It’s not that I can’t afford—”

He held up a hand to stop me. “I understand. Really I do. It’s a difficult burden to place on someone who’s only trying to do what’s best for a child. Making you pay this much wouldn’t be fair. I only wanted to show you how much something like this could cost.”

I eased back into my seat. “Okay. So—”

“Unfortunately, this is how much my father and Lacey will expect me to charge you. What we need to do is discuss this further, see how we can reduce the cost.” He checked his watch. “I have a client in twenty minutes, so we can’t do this now. How about I finish the case, then we can meet over lunch and discuss the full bill.” He took out his DayTimer. “Say Monday?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. We’ll go someplace nice. Someplace in Boston. Do you still have that dress you wore to the Memorial Day picnic? Wear that.”

“Wear—?”

“And find a sitter for Savannah after school. We probably won’t be back until evening.”

“Evening—?”

He smiled. “I like long negotiation sessions. Very long. Very intense.” He leaned forward, leg rubbing against mine. “I know how difficult it must be for you, Paige. Living in East Falls. Caring for a child. Not a lot of eligible young men in town, and I doubt you get many opportunities to get out and meet someone. You’re a very attractive young woman. You need someone who can appreciate your … special needs. It could be a very profitable alliance for you.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re saying you’ll waive your fees if I have sex with you.”

Half the people in the restaurant turned. Cary leaned forward to shush me.

“But the bill’s only a couple grand,” I said. “For that you’d be lucky to get a hand job.”

He motioned me to silence, eyes darting from side to side, trying to see who might have overheard.

“Does Lacey know about this creative financing arrangement?” I continued. “How about I call and ask her? See if she’s willing to forgo this much profit so her husband can get laid.”

I took my cell phone from my purse. Cary grabbed for it, but I waved it out of his reach. I hit a few buttons. He flew across the table, hands out like a wide receiver lunging for the game-breaking pass. I shoved my chair out of his reach, then leaned over and dropped the phone back into my purse. Cary lay stretched across the table for a few seconds, then slowly raised himself up, adjusted his tie, and glanced around, as if trying to convince himself that not everyone in the bakery was watching.

“I hate to eat and run,” I said, standing. “But I have to go pick up Savannah. In case you didn’t guess, the answer is no. Don’t take it too hard. It’s not just because you’re married. It’s because you’ve been married longer than I’ve been alive.”