Though I’d kept my gaze on my drink, sending clear “I am so not interested” vibes, one of the remaining trio had decided the leftovers didn’t look too unappetizing and slid in beside me. I wanted nothing more than to return to my quiet hotel room and mourn for Dana by planning my next step in finding her killer. Yet here I was, trapped against the booth wall, listening to Jaime’s war stories, nursing my second Mojito, and fending off the wandering hands of my unwanted companion. And I was starting to get a little pissed.

The guy beside me, Dale—or was it Chip?—wriggled closer, though we were already closer than I liked getting to anyone I wasn’t sleeping with.

“You have really nice eyes,” he said.

“Those aren’t my eyes,” I said. “Look up. Way up.”

He chuckled and lifted his gaze to my face. “No, I’m serious. You have beautiful eyes.”

“What color are they?”

“Uh…” He squinted in the darkness. “Blue?”

They were green, but I wasn’t helping him out. I’d already repeated the “I’m seeing someone” line until it sounded like a challenge. Nearly as often I’d told Jaime that I really should be going, but she pretended not to hear me. When I tried again, she launched into another ribald story.

Nice to see she’d recovered from her traumatic experience at the hospital. I’d begun to suspect “traumatic” was an overstatement. Mildly disturbing maybe, on a par with realizing you’d left the house wearing brown shoes with a black dress. Nothing that couldn’t be cured with a few Cosmopolitans and some wicked thumping bass.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to—”

“Use the little girls’ room?” he said, and laughed as he slid from the booth.

“Hold on, boys,” Jaime said. “The ladies need to freshen up.”

“Uh, no,” I said as she extricated herself from the booth. “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Already? I haven’t finished my drink.”

“That’s okay. You stay, have fun.”

She clutched my arm, more for balance, I think, than to keep me from going. “You’re abandoning me? With these three?”

She cast a leering grin at the men. Dale blinked, then staggered to his feet.

“Hey, no, babe,” he said, bleary eyes fixed in my general direction. “I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, I bet you’d like to,” Jaime said. “But Paige already has a guy. A friend of mine. And you don’t want to mess with him.” She leaned into Dale’s ear. “He’s connected.”

Dale frowned. “Connected?”

“Like the Kennedys,” Jaime said.

“Morelike the Sopranos,” I said.

Dale sat down.

“You stay and enjoy yourself,” I said to Jaime.

“No can do. I told Lucas I’d look after you in the big bad city.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I appreciate that, but—”

“No buts. My prodco got me a room way the hell out in the burbs and I am not going all that way tonight. I’m getting a room at your hotel. So come on, girl.”

She started to steer me from the table. One of her companions leapt up.

“Can we give you a lift—?”

“Ooops, sorry about that. I might not get to finish my drink, but I can’t forget my nightcap.” She turned and sized up the two men. “Decisions, decisions.”

The blonde grinned. “Two-for-one special.”

“Tempting, but I’m too old for that shit. One per night.” She looked them over. “Hmmm, this is tough. Only one way to do it.” She pointed at the dark-haired one. “Eeniemeenie…”

Once out of the taxi, and away from Jaime and her “date,” I called Lucas, but only got a cellular service recording saying he was out of range. Odd. I left a “call me” message, then phoned Adam and filled him in on the case. By that time, it was nearly midnight even in California, and Robert had gone to bed. It didn’t matter. Getting that list of necromancers was no longer high priority. Whatever Jaime’s personal shortcomings, she’d done her job with Dana.

I hadn’t slept since arriving in Miami, and my brain seemed to protest this lack of rest by making sure my sleep that night wasn’t sound. I dreamed of being back in the hospital room, watching Jaime release Dana back to the realm of the dead. She dropped the hand she’d been holding, letting it fall back to the sheets. I stared at that hand, expecting to see chewed fingernails and a frayed braided bracelet. Instead the hand was plump and wrinkled, and bore a familiar gold watch.

“Mom?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Jaime said. “You lost the Coven. She handed it to you on a silver platter, and you still screwed up.”

“No!”

I shot from my chair, stumbled, and fell into a bed smelling of hotel laundry soap. I pushed into the pillow and moaned. Suddenly, the bed tilted and I grabbed with both hands, struggling to stay on. I saw Lucas sitting on the edge. He had his back to me, and was peeling the label from an empty champagne bottle.

“One month,” he said. “You knew what I meant.”

He stood and the bed tumbled into a yawning pit of black. I started to scream, but the sound turned to a happy shriek.

“Cortez! You’re getting champagne—get that bottle away from the bed!”