Caitlin and Alex followed her into the living room, which was a cavernous space with a wood-beamed ceiling and an enormous fireplace surrounded in Spanish tile.
“My name’s Lucinda, by the way,” the young woman said. “Can I get you some water or something?”
“We’re fine,” Caitlin replied hastily. They were already intruding enough. She certainly wasn’t going to make Lucinda fetch them refreshments.
Alex nodded, and the Santiago witch seemed satisfied with that, telling them she’d be back in a few minutes, and to please have a seat while they waited.
“Wow,” Caitlin commented after what seemed like a safe interval had passed. “This place — it looks like something out of one of those old black and white movies my Great-Aunt Ruby liked to watch. You know, where all the women have that perfectly waved hair and slinky satin dresses.”
“Definitely old Hollywood. Or old Pasadena, I guess. But yeah, this place makes my abuelita’s house look like a mud hut.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Caitlin replied.
A shrug. “I don’t know. If my art history class hasn’t failed me, I’d say that’s a real Picasso hanging over the fireplace.”
She wouldn’t know a Picasso if it came up and punched her in the nose, so she’d have to take Alex’s word for that. What she did know was that this place intimidated her. It spoke of money that had been around a long, long time. Yes, the de la Paz clan had been in southern Arizona since before the territory became a state, but the Santiagos had come to Southern California with some of the earliest Spanish settlers. Their roots went as far back as the founding of Los Angeles itself.
Movement at the entrance of the living room made both Caitlin and Alex go still, and she looked up to see a tall, stately-looking man in his early sixties standing there, surveying them, his daughter standing directly behind him. Crap. Caitlin had to hope he hadn’t overheard any of their conversation, the casual way they’d been discussing the house.
Lucinda cleared her throat. “Father, this is Caitlin McAllister and Alex Trujillo.”
At once the two of them scrambled to their feet. Another man might have told them not to get up, but Caitlin could tell at once that the Santiago patriarch was not that easygoing. His dark eyes surveyed them coldly, and she thought she detected a downward twitch to his mouth when his gaze rested on her for a few seconds.
Somehow she resisted the urge to put her hand to her neck. She thought she’d done a good job of covering up the marks Alex had left there, but what if she’d missed something? Simón probably thought she was a complete tramp.
“Mr. Santiago,” Alex said politely. “I’m — ”
“I know who you are,” Simón broke in. Once again his gaze flickered to Caitlin, then returned to Alex. “What are you doing here in my territory without permission?”
So it was going to be like that. Caitlin could feel Alex wince slightly, but then he replied, his voice firm enough, “My apologies for that, sir. We’ve come here on an urgent matter and didn’t have time to wait for the back and forth of getting permission. My grandmother is not well, and my mother, the prima-in-waiting, is occupied enough with caring for her.”
Simón waved a hand. “I do not care for your excuses. You are here now, so tell me what it is you want.”
Alex hesitated, and Caitlin said, “Mr. Santiago, we’re trying to determine the whereabouts of three warlocks we believe are members of your clan. They — ”
“And how do you know they’re members of my clan?”
The older man’s expression looked so forbidding as he asked the question that Caitlin faltered, not sure of the best way to reply. Was there a best way to describe the situation? She was beginning to think not.
Thank the Goddess, Alex stepped in. “Sir, we don’t know for sure. We’d hoped you’d be able to clear that up. They certainly aren’t members of the de la Paz clan, and although it’s remotely possible that they’ve crossed the border from Mexico, I don’t think that’s the case. Their names are Matías and Jorge and Tomas, and they — ”
At the mention of the three warlocks’ names, Lucinda gave an audible gasp. Simón rounded on her, saying, “Lucinda, go check on your mother. You’re not needed here now.”
Without bothering to protest, she ducked her head and disappeared down the hallway. What the hell was all that about? It seemed obvious enough to Caitlin that Simón’s daughter did in fact know something about the young men in question…and just as obvious that Simón didn’t want her talking about it.