“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.”