Dark Debt (15 page)

“Let’s go outside,” Malik said. “I could use some fresh air.”

We stayed silent for the trip back down the stairs and, instead of walking toward the front of
the House, snaked around behind them to a set of glass double doors that led to the House’s garden.

The rectangle of neatly clipped grass was divided by a long and narrow granite stream that trickled as it stepped down across the courtyard. There was a row of boxwoods cut into perfect spheres along one long wall, the sticks and orbs of white allium growing between them. A row of bright green
hostas, only just beginning to unfurl, lined the other. Rectangular benches of polished marble were placed at intervals through the neatly clipped grass, and a large, low deck of dark wood planks rose slightly over the grass on the garden’s opposite end. The garden’s design was careful and precise, but didn’t look especially cozy. It wasn’t a place for barbecues or romantic walks. But it did seem
weirdly appropriate for a frank accounting discussion.

We walked to the middle of the courtyard, away from as many prying ears as possible. Unable to resist, I reached down and skimmed fingers over soft, thick grass, comforted by the confirmation that spring was on its way.

When I rose again, Malik’s eyes were on me, concern tightening the corners of his eyes. “You’re all right?”

Luc must have called him. I nodded, but the mere fact of his asking was nearly enough to move me to tears again. “I’m okay.”

“The attack was psychic?”

Ethan nodded.

Malik’s eyebrows lifted with interest. “Does that match your memories of him?” he asked Ethan.

“I knew him as ‘strong,’ sometimes frighteningly so. And always with a sensual bent.”

Malik nodded.

“Tell me about
Navarre,” Ethan said.

“I’ve only reviewed the first layer, but it’s bad enough. Celina did no favors for the House; Navarre and the Circle are entwined as intimately as lovers.”

“So not just debts?”

“Not just,” Malik said. “The House certainly owes money, including several large promissory notes. As Morgan suggested, Celina was not well accustomed to thrift. She had excellent taste,
and liked to dabble in the finer things. She got some return on her investment—she purchased some art and antiques that have retained their value—but much was spent on consumables. Clothing. Shoes. A very well-stocked wine cellar. We’re still determining the full scope. Celina and Carlos are both dead, and she apparently didn’t confide in anyone else about her arrangements.”

“The Circle just
kept giving her the money?” I asked.

“Considering the interest rates we’ve seen so far,” Malik said darkly, “it was a good strategy for them.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“And beyond the debt?” Ethan asked.

“She gave limited powers of attorney over several of the House’s investments and bank accounts to a variety of questionable corporate entities, and put some House properties
in trust for the benefit of others. I’d bet all of them are connected to the Circle.”

“Can you get the list of companies to Mr. Merit? Perhaps the CPD can use them to ID the Circle’s members.”

“Of course. But I expect linking them will be difficult.” Malik rubbed the back of his head. It wasn’t even his House, but his concern was obvious. “They look like anonymous LLCs—limited liability
companies—and the names are all random three-letter acronyms. FAH, GLR, OMQ, that kind of thing. You take that much care to set up bogus LLCs, you’re probably pretty good at laundering the money that comes out of them. It would take time to unravel.”

Ethan nodded. “We’ll leave that to the CPD.”

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“She began incurring the debts approximately
seven years ago—or that’s the earliest we’ve seen so far.”

“Before she outed vampires,” I realized, and Malik nodded.

“She was fairly social, as you know. Morgan has suggested she might have made a connection to the Circle that way, through some social engagement or other. The Circle would have known much about the House’s operation—and probably about the existence of vampires well before
she announced it to the rest of the city.”

We considered that silently. “Is that why she outed us?” I wondered. “Because the Circle forced her hand? Blackmail, maybe?”

Ethan whistled. “This keeps getting better. Riddle me this,” he said. “If the Circle’s so worried about King, why haven’t they made contact again with Navarre?”

“And why haven’t they skipped asking altogether and just
taken the properties and investments they apparently have an interest in?” I asked.

“Both are excellent questions,” Ethan said, then glanced back at Malik. “And another one: Since when is Irina Second?”

“Since Nadia resigned two weeks ago. That’s all I know.”

“You were going to tell me about Irina,” I reminded him.

“She was one of Celina’s very close friends,” Malik said. “Many
thought she’d be appointed Celina’s Second after Carlos. When Morgan got the job instead, there was dissention in the ranks. Those who supported Irina were vocal about their belief Morgan got the position because he and Celina were sleeping together.”

I’d suspected Celina’s and Morgan’s relationship had been intimate, but I hadn’t known his promotion to Second had been controversial.

“So that group was probably especially pissed when he got the House,” I guessed.

“They were,” Malik said. “The faction only strengthened—because now they had something specific to be pissed about, particularly when he appointed Nadia as his Second.”

“She didn’t have a position in the House before that,” Ethan explained. “She was Russian, had protected her sister during the revolution. She
was fearless. She was not a bad pick for Second, but nor was she the most connected to the pro-Celina contingent.”

“So now he’s appointed Irina to keep that contingent happy,” I suggested, and paused to consider Morgan’s difficult history as Master. He’d had the Circle to contend with, and now I realized he had also been trying to prevent Celina’s supporters from revolting.

“What a mess,”
I said.

“It is,” Malik agreed. “And given the faction’s love of Celina, I’d strongly suspect no one has any idea how bad things truly are. And we’re only through the surface layers.”

My stomach picked that moment to grumble, and I squinted with mild embarrassment.

“Let’s not delay the inevitable,” Ethan said. “We’ll get some food. Keep at it,” he said to Malik. “Don’t hesitate to call
if any problems arise.”

“Let us hope it doesn’t,” Malik said.

For vampires, hope literally sprang eternal.

SHE BECKONS

W
e trekked back to the first floor, handed back our guest passes, and signed out again. The guards were no more enthused by our exit than they had been by our entrance.

“Glum dudes,” I said quietly as we pushed open the heavy door and walked outside.

“Would you want that
job?”

“Excellent point, and no.”

The mood between us was lighter now, perhaps buoyed by the reminder that ours wasn’t the only House with troubles. I knew denial wasn’t going to improve my comfort level, not really, but for the moment—and with Ethan at my side—I was happy to pretend Balthasar was merely a memory from Ethan’s past.

“Did you have a place in mind for food?” I asked when
we reached the sidewalk that ran in front of the House.

Ethan glanced left, right, at me. “Actually, I thought I’d let you follow your nose.”

“That’s very nearly insulting.”

“You don’t think you can sniff out the best restaurant in Gold Coast?”

I probably could, but that didn’t make the question any less insulting. “I’m not a bloodhound. But pizza sounds good.”

A corner of
his mouth lifted. “And in this neighborhood?”

“Lou Malnati’s, Gino’s East, Birbiglia’s.” Three more possibilities sprang to mind, but I stopped offering them when I realized I was only helping his argument. “Those are from memory. Not scent.”

Ethan chuckled. “Which way, Sherlock?”

“I’d suggest you go to hell, but if you mean pizza, we should go left. You think it’s safe?”

“Rarely,”
he said grimly. “But I think it’s unlikely Balthasar would have followed us here, plans to attack us as we walk down the street for pizza.”

“Not enough ceremony,” I said, following the train of thought, and he nodded.

“Precisely.”

So we set off down the quiet street in the warm spring air. He’d normally have taken my hand, or put his long fingers at the small of my back to remind me
he was there, or to remind others I was taken. I didn’t mind the machismo, but either he could tell I still needed space, or he was still stinging from my last physical rebuke.

I couldn’t think about that, I told myself. Had to worry about my own needs, had to take care of myself. And hopefully, when all was said and done—and all
would
be said and done—we could find each other again.

*   *   *

Six blocks later, we stood in front of Two Brothers’ Pizza, a new-to-me shop squeezed in a small commercial chunk of the neighborhood between a coffee shop and luxe real estate agency.

Two gold pots stood beside the door, each holding tropical flowers that looked decidedly genital—a white-cupped petal with blushes of pink in the center, and a large protruding stamen right in the
middle.

I snickered like a fourteen-year-old boy.

“Interesting décor,” Ethan said, glancing through the window.

The restaurant was entirely white—white tile floor and walls, white stone bar, white leather bar stools on spindly brass legs. Even the liquor had been poured into white bottles. A giant chalkboard hung behind the bar, a list of apparent possible pizza toppings written in
pretty chalk script.

“Intriguing,” Ethan said, scanning the list.

“I don’t know. I just don’t really see carrots on pizza. Or radishes.” I had an unpleasant memory of Catcher eating “shepherd’s pie” pizza covered in mashed potatoes, peas, and meat. I wasn’t exaggerating to say it was a felony against pizza, and the mere idea of it put me off vegetable toppings completely. If it wasn’t
meat or cheese, it had no business atop a pie.

“The vitamins are good for you.”

“I’m immortal.”

“Strong fangs,” Ethan said, walking inside and stepping up to the counter.

*   *   *

Fortunately, he was willing to compromise. He’d try the triple meat I selected, and I’d try his beet, carrot, and mortadella concoction. Being the gentleman that he was, Ethan offered to carry the
boxes back to Navarre House.

The night was beautiful—a light breeze, white clouds moving across the darkened sky, humans walking dogs or chatting with neighbors in the small, gated entryways that characterized the houses in the Gold Coast. It was a neighborhood of wealth, of
luxury and relative safety. No turf wars, no abandoned lots, very little crime. Those who lived there were lucky, at
least materially.

We were two blocks from Navarre when Ethan’s phone beeped. He pulled it out and stopped short, his magic filling the air. Even the flavor of Ethan’s fear and hatred for his maker was becoming recognizable.

“Where is he?” I asked, my stomach knotting with nerves.

He handed me the phone. Luc had messaged him a photograph—a grainy black-and-white of Balthasar standing
on the sidewalk across the street from Cadogan, his coat billowing around his ankles as he stared at the House.

I handed Ethan the phone again, my buoyant mood suddenly deflated. “He’s showing us that he can get to us. That he’s here and he isn’t leaving.”

“And, as you mentioned, that he’s waiting for my response.” Ethan looked at the phone, which beeped as more messages arrived. “He left
an obvious trail, and Kelley and Tara are on him again.”

“He wants to be found. Wants you to know where he is. Wants you to be able to find him.” Dread settled low in my belly. “He’ll try to find me again, Ethan. Try to get to me again while I sleep.”

“Mallory and Catcher will figure something out. They won’t let him get to you. I won’t let him get to you.”

I looked up at him, let
him see the fear in my eyes. There wasn’t much these nights that scared me, other than losing him or Grandpa or Mallory, or someone else I loved, but Balthasar had scared me, and badly.

There was nothing equivocal in his gaze, in the steadiness of his green eyes. “He was my nightmare, Merit. You are my miracle. He will not touch you again. Yes?”

When I nodded, he smiled.

“We have pizza,
each other, and a very good accountant. Let’s go back to Navarre House and get this job done.”

Just another fun evening for the vampires of Cadogan House.

*   *   *

We turned the corner on Navarre’s street, the hulking white building glowing beneath streetlights and spotlights in the careful landscape.

Nadia stood on the lawn talking to a tall and well-built man with ruddy skin
and reddish hair that fell in tousled curls around his square face. He wore jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt beneath a bulky leather jacket.

I thought, at first, they were embracing. That Nadia had a new lover, and they were sharing a quiet moment on a spring night in Chicago outside the confines of her House. And when they hit the ground, I first thought they’d fallen into a sordid coupling
there on the narrow strip of grass, and nearly at the feet of her former lover.

It took me precious seconds to realize they were fighting—grappling like MMA fighters in the final round of battle. Her legs were twined around his waist, and he’d pulled her arm at an awkward angle as she spat out phrases in quick, staccato Russian. I didn’t recognize the words, but it didn’t take a genius to
figure them out—or that she needed help.

“Get away from her!” I yelled, and took off toward them. At the sound of my voice, the man looked up, spotted us, and stood. Then he pulled something from his jacket, which he pointed at Nadia.

“Stop!” Ethan called out, at the same time the man hit the trigger. And then the Taser’s darts were in the air and Nadia’s
body was convulsing, jerking stiffly
on the ground as she screamed in pain.

He’d Tased her, shot her with bolts of electric current and smiled like a psychopath as she writhed on the ground. His quarry addressed, he looked up at us, dropped the weapon, and bolted.

Take care of Nadia,
I told Ethan silently, and hauled ass after her attacker.

I was fast, but shorter; his strides were longer, and he seemed to gain ground
with each step.

He ran toward the lake, took a sharp right toward downtown when he reached inner Lake Shore Drive. For a moment, he disappeared from view, and my heart stuttered with fear that I’d lost him. I pushed for more speed, forcing my feet to move faster, lengthening my stride, trying to make up the distance between us.

I took the turn sharply, nearly barreled into a group of teenagers
on skateboards, ignored their complaints as I scanned the street ahead of me for a sign of him, finally glimpsed his yellow T-shirt and red hair ahead of me.

Faster,
I demanded.
Just a little faster.
I reached down deep for any bit of energy I could find, promised myself Mallocakes and deep dish for the effort. Exhaustion was irrelevant. The pounding of my feet in high-heeled boots—and that
had been a mistake—was irrelevant. The only relevant thing was the man in front of me, the human who’d Tased a vampire in front of her House.

I didn’t generally wish harm to humans. But if there was ever a time I could use the opportunity to beat someone senseless, this was it. After the beating, sure, I’d probably spend some time considering the ethics of my choices. But for now, there was
only the anticipation of battle.

And the anticipation grew sharper, because he was human, and he was getting tired.

As North Lake Shore turned into Michigan, and condos became retail space, as shaded residential windows became plate glass designed to show off luxury handbags and watches, I gained ground. He glanced back once to check the distance between us, and I let my eyes silver and
fangs descend.

The little bastard had the nerve to smile at me.

That was the first time I thought to really wonder who he was—and why he’d assaulted Navarre’s former Second on Morgan’s front porch.

Because he’d been sent by the Circle, I realized belatedly, ignoring the blare of a taxi as he dashed across Michigan and I followed. He was muscle, come to enforce the Circle’s will, come
to punish Navarre House for failing to take out King when they’d had the chance. Morgan said they’d threatened to take the House’s assets; they’d clearly meant it, and intended to enforce that threat one vampire at a time. On the other hand, his timing had been appalling. He’d made the strike in front of two vampires, both of whom were trained fighters.

Regardless, if I could catch him, we’d
have an actual, human link to the Circle.

Push,
I demanded, and pumped my arms harder.

He reached the Hancock Building, its sharp gray glass ribboned in black, and turned toward the river again. I guessed his strategy—if he couldn’t beat me in a straight-line race, he’d head into the buildings and alleys of Streeterville, try to lose me there.

He was twenty yards ahead of me. He passed
a trash can, paused just long enough to push it over into my path. I vaulted it, landed smoothly again, and kept running.

“Try that again, asshole!” I yelled, ignoring the shouts of humans who jumped out of the way of our chase. Someone would inevitably call nine-one-one, probably while filming the damn thing. That was fine by me, as long as I got to him first.

Unfortunately, he turned
and pulled a handgun. He’d been smart enough not to waste bullets on Nadia, probably thinking the Taser would be more effective. A single shot was highly unlikely to kill a vampire, but it sure wouldn’t feel good.

He kept moving, slinging his arm behind him to get off shots. He fired twice, the bullets flying to my right and above my head. His aim wasn’t great, but it was good enough to send
me to the ground for cover while he dodged into an alley.

“Shit,” I muttered, and climbed to my feet again, pulling the dagger from my boot and running toward the gap between buildings.

I crouched at the edge, trying to remember Luc’s handgun training, which had been a pretty slim lesson compared to the blade work, and how many shots would have been in the magazine. Maybe seven, maybe
ten, maybe fifteen, depending on the gun and whether he had extras.

Long story short, I’d be dodging bullets for a while.

I peeked around the corner, just long enough to see Ginger heading through the brick-lined alley toward the next street, and ducked back again as two bullets whizzed past me.

That was four,
I thought. Not that counting them would give me any real indication of how
much firepower he had left, but the act helped settle my nerves, at least enough to get me moving again.

I dove into the alley, let the first Dumpster take the brunt of three more bullets.

“You keep shooting at me,” I yelled out, “and we won’t be able to have a nice conversation about why you attacked that vampire.”

“Why don’t you bite me, bitch?”

“Sticks and stones!” I yelled
back, and waited for sound. There were footsteps this time, but no bullets, so I glanced around, saw the coast was clear, and hauled ass to the end of the alley so I didn’t lose him on the next street.

Squinting, I darted into sudden lights and people, as a stream of humans dumped out of the open doors of a ten-screen movie theater. I pushed between them, spied the red-haired perp dodging
cars to cross the street, and took off after him.

A taxi honked as I dashed across in front of it, the driver swearing at me with a fist out the window.