Chapter 6: Glamour and Guilt in the Back Room
The zip ties cut into Diego's wrists every time he moved.
He'd stopped moving about ten minutes ago, when he'd realized that the plastic was biting deep enough to draw blood and that neither of the women standing over him seemed particularly concerned about that fact. The flour-dusted prep table was cold against his back, even through his shirt, and the overhead lights buzzed with the kind of aggressive fluorescence that made his eyes water.
Calista leaned over him.
Her silver hair fell in a curtain around his face, blocking out everything else in the room. Her golden eyes were luminous in the harsh light, pupils blown wide, irises swirling with something that wasn't quite human. The air around her shimmered—that was the only word for it, shimmered—and Diego felt his breath catch in his throat.
The glamour hit him like a wave.
It wasn't like anything he'd ever experienced. Not the cheap tricks the Consortium used, the pheromone sprays and the subliminal suggestion tech. This was something older. Something that reached into his chest and wrapped around his heart and squeezed until he couldn't remember why he'd ever been afraid.
"You're going to tell me everything," Calista said. Her voice was warm honey poured over broken glass. "Every detail. Every name. Every order you ever followed or ignored or wished you'd disobeyed."
Diego nodded.
He couldn't do anything else.
"I guarded prisoners," he heard himself say. The words came out of his mouth like water from a cracked pipe. "Low-level magic users, mostly. People the Consortium picked up for questioning. I never touched them. That was the rule. Guards don't touch. Guards just watch."
"Did you watch?" Calista asked.
"Yes."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"No." Diego's voice cracked. "No, I hated it. But I needed the money. I needed—" He stopped. Swallowed. "My family. They don't know what I do. They think I work security. I couldn't tell them the truth."
Katrina shifted on her flour sack.
She'd been sitting there for the entire interrogation, her arms crossed, her grey eyes unreadable. She hadn't said a word since they'd brought him in. She'd just watched, and listened, and waited.
Diego had almost forgotten she was there.
Almost.
"When did you first hear about Rachel Murphy?" Katrina asked.
Her voice was calm. Flat. The kind of voice that didn't need to raise itself to be heard.
Diego closed his eyes.
"Three weeks ago," he said. "I was on guard duty at the Baltimore facility. Inez Murphy came in for a meeting with the regional director. I wasn't supposed to hear anything—I was just supposed to stand at the door and look intimidating—but the walls are thin. They're always thin. The Consortium cuts corners on construction."
"What did she say?"
"She said she'd found her daughter. After a year of searching, she'd finally found her." Diego opened his eyes. Calista's glamour was still pressing against him, but it felt different now. Less like a blanket and more like a weight. "She said the girl was compromised. That she'd been living with magic users. That she'd been—" He hesitated.
"Say it," Katrina said.
"That she'd been corrupted." Diego's voice was barely a whisper. "Inez said the girl needed to be brought home. Needed to be cleansed. And if she couldn't be cleansed, then she needed to be—"
"Needed to be what?"
"Needed to be brought back in whatever condition was necessary." Diego's throat tightened. "She said, 'Bring Rachel home or bring back what's left of her.' Those were her exact words. I remember because I couldn't believe anyone would say that about their own child."
The room went cold.
It wasn't a metaphor. The temperature dropped so fast that Diego could see his breath. Calista had pulled back her glamour, and the absence of it felt like stepping out of a warm bath into a snowstorm.
Katrina stood up.
She crossed the room and stood beside Calista, looking down at Diego with those storm-grey eyes. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that came from thirty years of frozen time, from a body that had never aged, from a face that had been young when the world was different. But right now, she looked ancient. She looked like something that had been carved out of stone and left to weather.
"You're going to help us find Rachel," Katrina said.
It wasn't a question.
"If you don't," she continued, "I'm going to personally see to it that the Consortium's file on you gets leaked to every Order in North America. Every detail. Every guard shift. Every prisoner you watched and didn't help. The Golden Wands will have you in custody within twenty-four hours. The Green Moons will probably just kill you."
Diego nodded so hard his forehead hit the table.
"I'll help," he said. "I'll help. I'll tell you everything I know. I'll do whatever you want. Just—" He swallowed. "Just don't let them take me. Please."
Katrina looked at Calista.
Calista looked at Katrina.
Something passed between them—some silent communication that Diego couldn't understand. Then Calista reached down and pulled a knife from her boot. She cut the zip ties with two quick strokes, and Diego's hands fell free.
He didn't move.
He just lay there, on the flour-dusted prep table, staring up at the ceiling and trying to remember how to breathe.
"The Consortium facility in Baltimore," Katrina said. "That's where Inez was stationed?"
"Yes. It's one of the larger ones. They've been using it as a staging ground for operations on the East Coast."
"Do you know where Rachel is being held?"
Diego shook his head. "I don't. I wasn't high enough to know that. But I know someone who might."
"Who?"
"Eddie Murphy. Rachel's twin brother." Diego sat up slowly, wincing as the blood rushed back into his hands. "He's still with the Consortium. He's been with them since the beginning. If anyone knows where Inez would take Rachel, it's him."
Calista's golden eyes narrowed. "Eddie Murphy. The brother who disowned his sister for being friends with magic users?"
"That's the one."
"And you think he'll help us?"
Diego laughed. It was a bitter, broken sound. "No. I think he'll try to kill us. But he's the only lead we've got."
Katrina was already reaching for her phone.
She dialed Mike's number without hesitation, and Diego heard the line connect after two rings. Mike's voice came through the speaker—tinny, distant, but unmistakably calm.
"Katrina. What's going on?"
"We got something," Katrina said. "Diego's been talking. Inez put a bounty on Rachel's head. She's been using Consortium resources to hunt her daughter, and she's not planning to bring her back in one piece."
There was a pause.
Then Mike said, "Where's Rachel now?"
"With Vane. She's holding her for the bounty. We don't know where, but Diego says Eddie Murphy might know."
"Eddie. The brother."
"The very same."
Another pause. Diego could hear voices in the background—Casey, probably, and maybe Stacy. He could hear the sound of a van engine, low and steady beneath everything else.
"We're on our way to Coral Castle," Mike said. "Mandy tracked Vane's portal signature there. If Eddie knows where Inez would take Rachel, that's useful, but we don't have time to chase him down."
"I can bring him to you."
"How?"
Katrina smiled. It was a thin, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I have my ways," she said. "Give me an hour."
She hung up.
Then she turned to Diego.
"You're coming with us," she said. "You're going to tell us everything you know about Eddie Murphy. His habits, his routines, his weaknesses. Everything."
Diego nodded.
He'd been ready to die when he'd run from the Consortium. He'd been ready to die when he'd stumbled into Mike and Casey's house, bleeding and terrified and desperate. He'd been ready to die when Calista had bound him to the table.
But he wasn't going to die.
Not yet.
Not until Rachel was safe.
Not until he'd done something to make up for all the years he'd spent looking away.
Calista was watching him.
Her glamour was gone now—completely gone—but there was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite name. Something that looked almost like respect.
"You're not as much of a coward as you think," she said.
Diego blinked. "What?"
"I said you're not as much of a coward as you think." Calista shrugged, and the movement made her silver hair cascade over her shoulders in a way that was almost hypnotic. "You ran. You ran from the Consortium, and you came to us, and you told us what we needed to know. That's not cowardice. That's survival."
Diego didn't know what to say.
He'd spent so long thinking of himself as weak—as someone who looked away, who stayed silent, who let bad things happen because it was easier than fighting. But Calista was looking at him like he was something else entirely.
She was looking at him like he mattered.
"We need to go," Katrina said. "The van's outside. Diego, you're riding with me. Calista, you're driving."
Calista nodded. She reached down and offered Diego her hand.
He took it.
Her fingers were warm against his, and he felt a faint tingle of magic—something electric, something alive. She pulled him to his feet, and for a moment they were standing face to face, close enough that he could smell the cinnamon and ozone on her skin.
"You're going to help us," Calista said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," Diego said. "I am."
"Good."
She released his hand. She turned and walked toward the door, her silver hair swinging behind her, her golden eyes already fixed on whatever came next.
Diego followed.
The world was ending.
Or maybe it was just beginning.
He wasn't sure which one he preferred.
The van was cold.
Diego sat in the back seat, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes fixed on the back of Katrina's head. She was driving, her hands steady on the wheel, her gaze locked on the road ahead. Calista sat beside her, scrolling through something on her phone—the glow of the screen casting strange shadows across her half-elf features.
The city passed by in a blur.
Diego had never been to Miami before. He'd expected palm trees and sunshine and the kind of glossy, plastic beauty that he'd seen in movies. Instead he got fluorescent lights and dark water and the sense that something was lurking just beneath the surface.
It reminded him of Baltimore.
It reminded him of home.
"My sister," he said.
Katrina didn't look at him. "What about her?"
"She doesn't know what I do. She thinks I'm a security guard." Diego's throat tightened. "If something happens to me—if I don't make it back—will you tell her the truth? Will you tell her I was trying to do better?"
There was a long pause.
Then Katrina said, "Yes."
That was all.
That was enough.
The van sped on into the dark, and Diego closed his eyes, and somewhere in the distance, the city rose up to meet them.
The van's headlights cut through the humid Miami dark, and Diego watched the city slide past the window in ribbons of neon and shadow.
Katrina hadn't spoken since the bakery. Her hands stayed at ten and two, her jaw set, her storm-grey eyes fixed on the road like she could will the miles to disappear. Calista had put her phone away twenty minutes ago and was staring out her own window, her silver hair catching the glow of every passing streetlight, her golden eyes reflecting nothing.
Diego's hands still ached from the zip ties.
The blood had dried into thin brown lines across his wrists, and every time he flexed his fingers, the skin pulled tight and stung. He didn't mind. Pain was honest. Pain meant he was still alive, still breathing, still capable of doing something other than looking away.
"Your sister," Calista said.
Diego blinked. "What?"
"Your sister. You asked us to tell her the truth if you don't make it back." Calista turned in her seat, and her eyes caught his with an intensity that made his chest tighten. "What's her name?"
"Marisol."
"And what does she think you do?"
"Security guard." Diego laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I told her I worked nights. That I couldn't talk about my job because of confidentiality agreements. She believed me because she wanted to believe me. She's eighteen. She still thinks people are good."
Calista's expression didn't change.
"People aren't good," she said. "But sometimes they try to be. That's what matters."
The van turned onto a narrow road lined with mangroves, and the world outside the windows went dark. No streetlights here. No neon. Just the pale wash of the moon through the clouds and the occasional gleam of water between the trees.
Diego sat up straighter.
"Where are we?"
"Coral Castle," Katrina said. "It's a monument. Some eccentric Latvian built it out of coral rock back in the twenties. The Consortium used it as a staging ground in the eighties because the limestone interferes with most tracking spells."
"And now?"
"Now it's where Vane is holding Rachel."
Diego's stomach clenched. "How do you know?"
"Because I know Vane." Katrina's voice was flat. "She's a scavenger. She goes where the money is, and she uses whatever's convenient. Coral Castle is convenient. It's isolated, it's defensible, and it's full of old Consortium tech she can repurpose for her own security."
"You've dealt with her before?"
"Once." Katrina's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "She tried to sell me to a collector in Prague. I broke her nose and escaped through a window. She's been holding a grudge ever since."
Diego filed that away.
The van rattled over a wooden bridge, and Diego caught his first glimpse of the castle—a strange, sprawling structure of carved coral rock, its walls glowing pale in the moonlight. It looked like something out of a fever dream. Like a fortress built by someone who had never seen a fortress and was working from rumors alone.
Two other vehicles were already parked in the gravel lot out front.
Diego recognized the first one—a battered Chevy van that looked older than he was, its engine ticking as it cooled. The second was a sleek black SUV with tinted windows that practically screamed government. Or maybe ex-government. Or maybe something worse.
Katrina pulled the van in beside them and killed the engine.
Silence rushed in.
"We're here," she said.
Diego followed her and Calista out of the van, his legs stiff from the long drive. The humid air hit him like a wall. He could taste salt on his tongue, could feel the weight of the ocean pressing against the horizon. Somewhere in the distance, a night bird called out—a lonely, searching sound.
A figure detached itself from the group gathered near the castle's front gate.
For a moment, Diego tensed—but then he recognized her. The red hair, the generous curves, the sparking green eyes that seemed to hold their own light. She was wearing a loose sundress that billowed in the breeze, and a small Maltese dog was tucked under one arm, its tiny face peering out at the world with the calm indifference of a creature that had seen everything and judged most of it wanting.
Jan O'Connor.
"Fat Aunt Jan," Calista said, and there was genuine warmth in her voice.
"Calli," Jan said, opening her free arm. "Get over here."
Calista crossed the distance between them and let herself be pulled into a hug. Jan was shorter than her by a good six inches, but somehow she managed to make the embrace feel enveloping anyway. Godfrey, the Maltese, let out a small huff of protest but didn't otherwise move.
Diego stood awkwardly at the edge of the group.
He recognized some of the faces—Mike and Casey, the couple who had taken him in when he'd shown up at their door bleeding and desperate. Rick, their son, his arm around a dark-haired woman who must have been Stacy. Amy and Jason Bryant, holding hands like teenagers. Rebecca and Charlie Winkle, both of them looking older than he'd expected but no less kind.
The others were strangers.
A young woman with shaggy brown hair was leaning against the van, her arms crossed, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. Beside her stood a blonde girl with sharp blue eyes and a posture that suggested she was ready to run or fight, whichever came first. A man with a Scottish accent was talking quietly to a tall, dark-haired woman who had the kind of restless energy that made Diego tired just looking at her. Two others, a young man who was clearly an athlete, and a scholarly-looking blonde, stood to the side.
Beth. Jess. Bruce. Mai. Ben. Felicity.
Diego had heard their names in the van, but he hadn't been able to put faces to them until now.
"Everyone," Jan said, releasing Calista and turning to face the group. "We've got a situation. And by situation, I mean a clusterfuck of epic proportions."
Mike stepped forward. "What happened?"
"Brigid's house was attacked."
The words landed like a bomb.
Amy's hand flew to her mouth. Rebecca went pale. Casey's expression didn't change, but Diego saw her fingers tighten around Mike's arm.
"Brigid?" Mike said. "Is she—"
"She's fine. She was at the hospital when it happened." Jan's voice was steady, but Diego could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her free hand was clenched at her side. "Will and Sarah were home. So were Jenny and Amanda."
"Were they hurt?"
"They're in the hospital. All of them." Jan took a breath. "They're going to recover—the doctors are optimistic—but the attack wasn't random. It was targeted. Consortium agents. They knew exactly where to hit and exactly when."
"This was Inez," Yukio said. Diego hadn't seen her until now—she was standing slightly apart from the group, leaning on a cane, her dark eyes blazing with anger. "She's trying to distract us. She knows we're looking for Rachel, so she's creating chaos somewhere else."
"That's not all." Jan's voice dropped. "They took Cody."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Diego heard someone inhale sharply—Felicity, maybe, or Rebecca—and then the murmuring started. Low voices, urgent whispers, the sound of a family trying to process impossible news.
"Cody?" Amanda's name came from Rebecca, her voice breaking. "They took Cody?"
"He was at the house when the attack happened. The agents grabbed him and left. We don't know where they took him." Jan's jaw tightened. "But we know why."
"Because he's Rachel's brother," Mike said.
"Because he's leverage. Inez wants her daughter back, and she's willing to use her son to make that happen." Jan looked at Mike. "Vane is holding Rachel here. She's got security inside—mercenaries, probably, the kind who don't ask questions when the money's good. But she's also got a bounty to collect, and that means she's expecting someone to show up with payment."
Casey's eyes narrowed. "You want us to go in pretending to be Consortium."
"I want us to go in pretending to be the people who are paying Vane's fee. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Not really, but it sounds better."
Diego watched the exchange—the casual banter, the shared look between Mike and Casey, the way the rest of the group seemed to relax slightly despite the tension in the air. This was how they operated. This was how they survived.
They made jokes when things were terrible.
They kept moving.
"So here's the plan," Jan said. "I use my Green Moon power to make you all look like Consortium agents. The kind who might be there to pay the reward for Rachel. We walk in, we find her, we get her out."
"And if Vane figures out we're not who we say we are?" Jess asked.
Jan shrugged. "Then we improvise."
"That's not a plan," Rebecca said. "That's a hope."
"It's a hope and a prayer and a little bit of magic." Jan grinned, and for a moment she looked almost young. "Besides, when have my plans ever failed?"
Mike snorted. "Do you want a list?"
"I want to have a conversation later. Right now, we've got a half-elf and a mercenary to deal with." Jan set Godfrey down on the ground, and the little dog immediately trotted over to Mandy, who bent down to scratch behind his ears. "Everyone ready?"
Diego stepped forward.
"Wait," he said. "What about me?"
Jan looked at him—really looked at him, her green eyes sharp and assessing. "You're the one who warned us about Inez. You helped us get here."
"I want to help."
"You've done enough."
"I want to do more."
Jan was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded.
"Fine. You stay close to me. If things go sideways, you run. No arguments."
Diego wanted to argue. He wanted to say that he was tired of running, tired of looking away, tired of being the kind of person who stayed silent while bad things happened. But he saw the look in Jan's eyes, the weight of responsibility, the knowledge that she was responsible for every life here.
He nodded.
The group made their way toward the castle's front gate.
Diego walked beside Calista, his hands shoved into his pockets, his heart pounding in his chest. The air was thick with the smell of salt and rust and something else—something ancient, something that tasted like old magic and older secrets.
The gate was a massive iron thing, weathered and rusted, set into a wall of carved coral rock. Two guards stood on either side, their faces obscured by identical dark helmets, their hands resting on bulky weapons that looked more like clubs than guns.
Jan raised her hand.
The air around her shimmered.
And then the glamour hit.
Diego felt it wash over him like a wave—not the same as Calista's power, but similar. This was softer, more subtle. This was the warmth of a fire on a cold night, the comfort of a familiar voice, the certainty that everything was going to be all right.
The guards straightened.
The taller one stepped forward, his voice muffled by his helmet. "Identify yourselves."
Jan smiled.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a badge that Diego knew had to be an illusion but looked real enough to pass any inspection. The Consortium logo gleamed in the moonlight—a sharper version of the gears-and-flask, the sign for pi carved into the center.
"Special delivery," Jan said. "We're here for the Murphy girl."