“It’s a rare gamma-grade sorcerer ice spell,” he said. “When cast upon an object, it acts much like a beta-level ice spell, freezing it. However, if cast upon a person, it induces temporary hypothermia, rendering the target unconscious. There were four options, weren’t there?”

“Three…no, the movie theater makes four.”

“Four options. Ergo, if I provide you with four spells…”

“Now who’s greedy?”

“I’m only asking whether the implied promise of one spell for one option could be reasonably translated to mean four spells would get me—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, pick an option already. It’s not like you wouldn’t get any of them anytime you wanted.”

“True,” he said. “But I like the added challenge of attaining it. Four spells for four options.”

“That wasn’t—”

“There’s our flight.”

He picked up our carry-ons and headed for the boarding area before I could get in another word.

The official “meet-the-parents” visit. Has there ever been a greater torture in the history of dating? I speak from hearsay, not experience. Sure, I’d technically met plenty of old boyfriends’ parents, but never through the formal introduction process. More like bumping into them on the way out the door. The “Mom, Dad, this is Paige. See ya” kind of introduction.

I’d met Lucas’s mother, but there hadn’t been a lead-up. She’d appeared at our door one day, housewarming gifts in hand. Had I known she was coming, I’d have been terrified. Would she disapprove because I wasn’t Latino? Wasn’t Catholic? Was living with her only child after exactly zero weeks of dating? It didn’t matter. If Lucas was happy, Maria was too.

The Cortezes were another matter. Benicio had four sons, of whom Lucas was the youngest. The older three worked for the Cabal, as was traditional for all members of the central family. So Lucas was already the odd man out. His position wasn’t helped by the fact that Benicio and Maria had never married, likely because Benicio had still been married to his wife at the time of Lucas’s conception, which would make Lucas…not the most popular guy at family reunions.

In a Cabal central family, like any “royal” family, matters of succession are all-important. It is assumed that a son of the CEO, usually the oldest, will inherit the business. Not so with Benicio. While his three eldest sons spent their adult lives toiling to improve the family fortunes, who had Benicio named as his heir? The illegitimate youngest son who had devoted his adult life to destroying the family business, or at least buggering it up real good. Does this make any sense to anyone besides Benicio? Of course not. Either the man is a mastermind of family manipulation or just plain f**ked in the head. I don’t use that word much, but in somecases, nothing else fits.

We took a cab from the airport into the city. Lucas had the driver let us out in front of a café, where Lucas suggested we stop for a cold drink because it was at least ninety degrees and, with the full sun beating down, felt more like a hundred, especially after the chill of an Oregon autumn. I argued that I was fine, but he insisted. He was stalling. I scarcely believed it, but after twenty minutes of sitting on the café patio, pretending to drink our iced coffees, I knew it was true.

Lucas talked about the city, the good, the bad, and the ugly of Miami, but his words were rushed, almost frantic in their desperation to fill time. When he took a sip of his drink, more reflex than intention, his cheeks paled and, for a moment, he looked as if he might be sick.

“We don’t have to do this,” I said.

“We do. I need to make the introduction. There are procedures to be followed, forms to be completed. It must be official. You aren’t safe if it isn’t.” He lifted his gaze from the table. “There’s another reason I’ve brought you here. Something else that’s worrying me.”

He paused.

“I like honesty,” I said.

“I know. I’m just afraid that if I pile on one more disadvantage to being with me, you’re going to run screaming back to Portland and change the locks.”

“Can’t,” I said. “You put my return ticket in your bag.”

A soft laugh. “A subconsciously significant act, I’m sure. By the time today is over, you may very well want it back.” He sipped his coffee. “My father is, as we expected, less than overjoyed by our relationship. I haven’t mentioned this because I felt there was no reason to confirm your suspicions.”

“It was a given, not a suspicion. I’d be suspicious if he was overjoyed at the thought of his son dating a witch. How loudly is he complaining?”

“My father never voices his objections in anything above a whisper, but it is an insidious, constant whisper. At this point, he is merely raising ‘concerns.’ My concern, though, is that with his trip to Portland he appears to already be assessing your influence over me. If he decides that your influence will negatively affect his relationship with me, or my likelihood of becoming heir…”

“You’re afraid I’ll be in danger if your father thinks I’m coming between you two?”

Lucas paused.

“Honesty, remember?” I said.

He looked me square in the eye. “Yes, I’m concerned. The trick, then, is not to allow him to think that will happen. It would be even better if I could convince him that my happiness with you will be beneficial to him. That the strength of our relationship might bolster, rather than tear down, the other relationships in my life.”