Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) (12 page)

“She could have been set up,” Jeff said.

“Do we know of any specific enemies?” I asked. “Other than the Keene family, I mean.”

“I do not,” Damien said.

The waitress came back bearing drinks, which she passed out with smiles.

“Does she have any friends in the Pack?” I asked, when the waitress disappeared again. “She seemed to know Berna. They talked last night, anyway.”

“Good thought,” Damien said. “I’ll ask her. Other than that, I believe she kept to herself?” He glanced at Jeff for confirmation.

“Far as I know,” Jeff said.

“What about people in Aurora?” I asked. “Would she have told anyone she was coming? Made arrangements to stay with a friend? I mean, I don’t imagine there are lots of hotels up there.” I leaned forward, curious. “Actually, how do you accommodate everyone if the Packs get together up there?”

“Giant puppy piles,” Damien dryly said. “Curled up on an old plaid blanket by the fire.”

I knew he was joking, but it did make for an interesting mental image.

“There’s a resort,” Jeff said. “A former resort, anyway. The Meadows. Had its heyday in the fifties and sixties.”

I imagined well-heeled men and women playing badminton in long white skirts and pants, staff members carrying watermelons to their bunkhouses,
Dirty Dancing
–style.

“It fell into disrepair,” Jeff said. “The Packs got together, bought it, rehabbed it. Now it’s private, and it holds a hell of a lot of shifters. Nothing fancy, but it does the job. Plenty of space to act human, plenty of space to roam.”

Visiting the Meadows popped up to the top of my bucket list. “How does a vampire get an invitation to such a place?” I wondered.

“They don’t,” Damien said. “Unless you’re volunteering to be kibble.”

“I am not,” I crisply said, sitting back again. He was joking, but considering the mood at the house, I decided there was still a kernel of truth in it.

“We wouldn’t make kibble of you,” Jeff said. “We’d serve you up with fava beans and a nice Chianti.”

I pointed at him. “You’ve been hanging out with Luc too much, and you’ve reached your quota for movie references today.”

Jeff grinned. Damien rolled his eyes.

“Even if she skipped town because she’s the cause of this, she couldn’t have done it herself.” Damien looked at me and Jeff, eyebrows knitted over those dark eyes. “Tell me about the sorcerers.”

His implication was clear, and it had Jeff shifting in his seat. “They’re solid, both of them.”

“The girl—Mallory—caused a lot of trouble. Has a lot of power.”

“She did and does,” I agreed. “And she’s making amends, as I’m sure you know.” My tone was icy. But if it bothered him, it didn’t register in his face.

“They aren’t the only ones who can make magic,” Damien said.

“They aren’t. There are three others in the Chicago metro area.” I gave him the details about Simon, Paige, and Baumgartner—and what we’d learned so far.

He looked surprised. I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t figure we’d bother to ask, or because the sorcerers were potentially alibied.

“So who did this? Aline couldn’t do it alone.”

“No,” I agreed. “She couldn’t. But we don’t have anything that suggests who else was involved.”

Damien lifted hopeful eyes to me, and I felt him shift the weight of that hope to my shoulders. “Gabriel thinks that’s what you’re good at. Finding out who was involved.”

“I’m not sure about ‘good,’” I said honestly. “But we do tend to get wrapped into things.”

“Well, you’re wrapped up good and tight in this one,” Damien said. “And good luck to you.”

•   •   •

The waitress brought our food, offered ketchup and hot sauce, which the guys declined. As they ate and I sipped my orange juice—and ate a piece of bacon Jeff had thoughtfully offered—we came up with a to-do list.

Damien would check with the resort to see if Aline had made arrangements to stay there, and find out if other Pack members had information about her travel plans.

Jeff would continue to check her computer for anything that suggested she was involved in the attack—or offered any clue about her whereabouts; I’d look through the box we’d found in the storage unit.

When the waitress topped off coffee and brought the check, I put a couple of dollars on the table for my orange juice. Damien looked up at me with irritation.

“What?”

“You think I can’t cover your orange juice?”

“I have no idea whether you can cover my orange juice,” I said. “But I don’t expect anyone else to pay my way.”

He looked at me for a moment, considering. “I wondered if you’d expect it.”

Jeff whistled low in warning, aware of the sensitive spot Damien had poked. My father may have been wealthy, but I’d worked my way through college and grad school, and I’d bled, quite literally, for the pay I’d earned as Sentinel. I had the scars and aching cheekbone to show for it. I wasn’t thrilled I had to defend myself against others’ assumptions, but such was life as the daughter of a real estate mogul. I’d grown up with enough of an advantage that I could suck it up.

“I make my own way,” I quietly said, not taking my eyes from his. If he wanted to confirm the truth, he could read it in my eyes.

“My bad,” Damien said, and I nodded back, the momentary build of tension dissipating again.

I cleared my throat, thinking my moment had come while the guys sipped their coffee. “I need a few minutes to take care of something.”

They both looked at me curiously, so I broke out the ultimate weapon, the errand it seemed nearly guaranteed they’d want to avoid.

“I need to run down to the grocery store at the other end of the shopping center. We left Chicago in a hurry, and I need to grab a few things.” I cleared my throat. “A few personal items.”

Vampire or not, the mention of unspecified “personal items” was uncomfortable enough to send both of them—the tech genius and the rugged shifter—into awkward foot shuffling and throat clearing.

“Maybe we’ll drink our coffee and wait for you here,” Damien said, raising his mug to his lips.

“Coffee,” Jeff agreed, and I left them in the booth, doctoring their drinks with extra attentiveness and trying not to consider what personal items, precisely, I needed.

None, of course. What I needed was at the carnival.

•   •   •

I grabbed my katana from the car, thankfully unlocked, and glanced at my phone. I had ten minutes until the meet. Figuring I’d need evidence when I joined the guys later, I followed the sidewalk across the shopping center to the grocery store, where I bought gum and an energy bar, then wrapped up the bag and stuffed it into my jacket.

Humans in coats still milled around the carnival, holding cheap stuffed animals and knickknacks they’d won on the midway. Some enjoyed cotton candy; others tore pieces of steaming funnel cake from paper plates, their shirts and fingers dotted with a spray of powdered sugar.

I walked down the small midway, barkers begging me to throw a hoop or a baseball or use a water gun to take down a target, probably weighted, that wouldn’t move unless the barker wanted it to.

“You look like you’re looking for excitement. I think you’ve come to the right place.”

I glanced over at the woman who’d called out, not to me but to a middle-aged man whose wife looked doubtfully over the entire event.

She was petite, with gray eyes, dimples at both cheeks, and long, wavy, brown hair tucked into a braid that fell over her shoulder. Her bangs fell in a neat trim just above her eyebrows, and a tiny hat was perched coquettishly to one side. She wore a button-up shirt with old-fashioned trousers and suspenders, the pants rolled up to reveal tidy boots with lots of buttons and argyle socks.

She stood in front of the Tunnel of Horrors, where a small car on rails disappeared behind a giant mural depicting a classic Count Dracula character, a mummy, and Frankenstein’s monster.

The man, blushing as the barker tucked her arm into his, looked back at his wife. “What do you think, hon? Should we do it?”

“It’s only five bucks,” said the barker, winking knowingly at the man’s wife. “That’s cheaper than a cup of coffee these days.”

“Honey?”

The wife sighed, then pulled a bill from her jeans pocket and handed it over. The attendant grinned, dimples alight, and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek.

Blushing furiously, he climbed with his wife into the tiny car, which lurched forward, sending them into darkness.

I kept moving before the woman decided I was her next victim, wandering to a quiet spot where I watched a blade-shaped ride flip passengers into the air.

“Merit.”

I glanced beside me, found Lakshmi at my side. She was absolutely gorgeous, tall and slender, with dark skin and long, dark hair that waved at the bottom. She wore trousers and heels beneath a slim, taxi-yellow trench coat buttoned and tied at the waist.

“Hello,” I said.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

I nodded. “I don’t know how much time I’ll have.”

“I understand, and I’ll get right to it. We have reached an unusual time, Merit. A precarious time. Two members of the GP are dead.” She paused. “And the present leadership is weak.” She meant Darius, the current head of the GP.

“So we’ve heard.”

She linked her hands together and rested her forearms on the gate, her gaze on the ride as it rotated. “Leading the GP requires a certain cachet, a certain attitude. Due to recent events, Darius has lost both. It’s time for him to step down. And that brings us to the favor.”

She looked at me, paused for a moment, and then let loose the request she’d flown nearly four thousand miles to make.

“I want Ethan to challenge Darius for the head of the GP. And I want you to convince him to do it.”

DEEP-FRIED TRUTH

M
y heart and head went numb, shocked by the request.

She wanted Ethan to challenge, outright, the head of the GP? I couldn’t imagine anybody, much less Darius, would take kindly to the idea. Just by trying to
leave
the GP we’d ended up with murder at our doorstep. We were still dealing with the fallout from that decision, which was why I was at a carnival in Loring Park, Illinois, in the freezing air of February.

And then there was the other issue: The GP was in London. Ethan would have to go there, live there, and work there while I stayed in Chicago, honor bound to serve Cadogan House.

My heart jumped in my throat. “We aren’t even part of the GP anymore,” I said. That was the only defense I could think of, the only words I could put together.

“Not the GP as it was before,” she said, turning to lean back against the railing. There was a glimmer of strategic excitement in her eyes. She and Ethan had that in common.

“The GP as it
could
be. A different kind of organization. A federation of Houses, not a dictatorship. And not led by a vampire who lords himself over the rest of us.”

I almost snorted. If she didn’t think Ethan would lord himself over the rest of us as head of the GP, perhaps she didn’t know Ethan as well as she thought.

“You don’t think he’d try to take control?” I asked. “You don’t think he’d impose his will on the Houses?”

She tilted her head at me, an expression that reminded me she was a vampire—a predator—of repute. “You would convince me he’s ill suited for the job.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“Not so stubborn that you aren’t in a relationship with him.”

She had a point, so I tried a different tack. “He has enemies, and challenging Darius would only make more.”

Lakshmi nodded gravely. “The road would not be easy. Ethan has enemies, certainly. His campaign would be difficult. There would be many to convince, to bring to his side. Travails to overcome.”

“What travails, exactly?” The
Canon
had been shady about the process of getting a new king.

“He’d have to demonstrate his worth and fitness for the position. Convince the Prelect’s council he is worthy of the task, that he is powerful and strong.”

I grimaced. Harold Monmonth had been the Prelect. And we all knew how that had ended up.

“And then the Houses vote,” she said.

“That all assumes Darius steps down peacefully.”

She nodded, acknowledging that. “There is no point in being coy. Ethan would have opponents from the beginning to the end. But he is worth the battle. He’d bring peace and honor to the GP, which have been lacking of late.”

Handy, I thought, that she was a member of the GP. Bringing honor to the organization would help her—raise esteem for her and the rest of them. Bring her power that she’d lost in the recent drama.

But there was power, and then there was power . . .

“Why not run yourself?”

She slipped her hands into the trim pockets of her coat. “Because I’m too young. Because Ethan has more allies—even those who don’t have insignia above his door. They know him. They don’t know me. And there are . . . skeletons in my closet.”

“Skeletons?” I asked without moving, like she was an animal I might frighten away.

But she was wise enough to avoid the trap. “My life is no concern of yours, Novitiate. We all have our secrets to bear.” She looked at me for a moment. “You’re in love with him. I can hear it in your words, see it in your eyes. The fear of loss.”

I waited a beat, unsure of her motives, and nodded. “I am.”

Her eyes flattened. There was a different kind of predator in her eyes now. “You aren’t the only vampire that needs him. We are endangered, and you must consider whether your needs as an individual are more important than the needs of your House, the Chicago Houses, the American Houses, all the Houses in the GP. Ethan Sullivan, I believe, has the opportunity to become a Master of Masters. And consider this: If Ethan doesn’t become the new head of the GP, who will?”

We looked at each other for a moment. “You’re in Chicago because the GP wants to extract some price of the House. What is that price?”

She looked at me for a moment, taking my measure. And, I belatedly realized, sending her soft and delicate tendrils of glamour, sweeping curls of it, to test me and my defenses. My endurance. My stubbornness. Fortunately, I had some immunity to that kind of magic.

“That,” she concluded, “is also not for your ears.” She put a hand on mine. “This will not be an easy road to travel. I understand that. But it is the right road. I know
you
understand that and will make the right decision.”

With that, she tucked her hands back into her pockets and turned toward the exit, her heels clacking on the asphalt with every step. After a moment, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me in a sea of humans with worry in my heart.

I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my phone and dialed up my partner.

“Hello?” Jonah said. “Merit?”

“Lakshmi’s here. In Loring Park. She came to talk to me.” The words flooded out.

“Wait,” he said, “hold on a minute.” I heard him speak, murmuring to others around him, and then a door opened and closed.

“Sorry, I was in our ops room,” he said after a moment. “What’s this about Lakshmi?”

“She came here to talk to me. I owe her a favor because she gave us information about the location of the dragon’s egg.” The Faberge-style egg had been a gift from fairies to Peter Cadogan, the House’s founder. On the GP’s orders, Monmonth had stolen it in order to bribe the fairies to war with Cadogan. He’d been successful, which was another mark against him.

“I remember,” he said. “And much like the Grim Reaper, she’s come to collect. What did she ask for?”

It took me a moment to put the words together, because once I said them aloud, they’d be true. “She wants Ethan to challenge Darius for his spot on the GP. And she wants me to convince him to do it.”

There was silence.

“I don’t know what I think about that.”

I knew what I thought. Both sides of it. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t tell her no—I can’t piss off our best ally on the GP. But I can’t help her.” And, most important, I couldn’t send Ethan to London.

I sat down on a bench bookended by a dead shrub and a pile of dirty snow, which seemed about right. “He may very well want to do it. But I can’t just demand he undertake that kind of risk. And he can’t do it right now, anyway. We’re stuck here until Chicago comes to its senses.”

I sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go out with her? Sweeten her into giving up that favor?”

“You want me to pimp myself to make your life easier?”

“Now that you mention it, yes. Could you?” I asked, feigning hopefulness.

His voice was flat. “No. And I hate to say it, Mer, but her idea’s not bad. Ethan’s old, he’s powerful, and he’s got friends. He’s one of the few vampires out there who’d actually use all that power and political capital for good.”

I didn’t disagree that he’d be good at it, that he’d be good for vampires. But I’d be suborning the overthrow of the GP, a ground-up revolution, with Ethan as Paul Revere and George Washington rolled into one. The last American Revolution had been successful in stripping away England’s rule. But I wasn’t sure we’d get lucky a second time around. And my job was to keep him safe.

I’d also have to give him up. For the greater good, perhaps, but he’d be gone nonetheless.

“What are you going to do?” Jonah asked after a moment.

“I don’t know. How does a person decide something like that?”

“With your very good brain and your very good heart,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

I promised I would, and hoped I’d have good news to share.

•   •   •

I pulled the prop grocery bag from my pocket and walked back to the restaurant, using the strip mall as a windbreak. Fears flitted through my mind like dancers.

London. Treason. Rebellion.

I remembered the first time I’d been near Ethan, when he knelt behind me, bit my neck, and changed me into a vampire. I remembered the first time I’d really seen him, when Mallory and I had barged into Cadogan House. I remembered the night Celina had thrown an aspen stake at me and he’d stepped forward to intercept it, turning to ash before my eyes. I remembered the night I’d seen him emerge from the smoke and destruction that Mallory had wrought, alive once again.

We’d overcome vampires, monsters, death, and each other. And now I was honor bound to send him to war . . . and to London. Thousands of miles away from Cadogan House.

Thousands of miles away from
us
. I couldn’t do that.

On the other hand, how could I not? The GP was tyrannous. Dictatorial and cruel. They’d ignored Celina’s antics, blamed the House for everything that went wrong in Chicago. They’d sent a sadist to live in the House and demanded we prove our obedience with blood and fire. They’d extorted money, killed humans, and tried to kill us when we hadn’t followed the party line.

Wasn’t I obliged not just to encourage him, but to do everything I could to help him actually win? Ethan was honorable, fair, dedicated. He believed humans were more than cattle and that all supernaturals should get a fair shake. He knew how to make alliances, avoided making enemies whenever possible. He was willing to take a stand, but also to compromise. He knew the value of both.

He’d make an inarguably good addition to the GP. And while there was little doubt Malik would make a fantastic Master in Ethan’s absence—he was doing it now—I didn’t want Ethan to be absent. I wanted him here, with me, being cheeky and jealous and fighting at my side. I wanted his intelligence and snark and sarcasm. I wanted him.

I paused and wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to snap my fingers and become someone else. Bizarro Merit, the evil or twisted version of myself. Bizarro Merit would have her own agenda. Bizarro Merit wouldn’t encourage Ethan to run for the GP, or tell him that Lakshmi had suggested the idea. She’d snap her fingers, send the GP into a parallel universe, and warp space-time so she could spend immortality with Ethan and a book on the deck of a boat on Lake Michigan.

While I stood there, engaged in my fantasy, the hairs on the back of my neck lifted, piqued by something . . . magical?

I ignored the quick punch of fear. Without moving my head, I scanned the area around me. I was facing down the length of the shopping center, but other than the usual traffic in and out of the parking lot, nothing looked unusual.

Looks, I knew, could be deceiving, so I closed my eyes, let the breath flow out of me, and allowed the sensations of the world to drip back into my consciousness.

Sound became a roar—moving cars, the squeak of carnival rides, the slide of the automatic door at the grocery store, the faraway whispers of humans . . . and the nearby
shush
of fabric. And now that I was paying attention, I sensed the faint, tart smell of magic. Fresh, green, vegetal.

Someone was here. And I needed a look.

I closed the barriers again and pulled out my phone, feigning sudden interest in it, but sliding my gaze to the store window beside me.

She was behind me, probably fifteen feet, mostly hidden behind a concrete pillar.

I didn’t recognize her, or even what she was. She looked physically similar to the mercenary fairies who’d once guarded the gate at Cadogan House. Tall and slender, with a lean face and hollows beneath her sharp cheekbones. But her chin was more sharply pointed, her eyes larger and rounder, dominated by huge, dark irises. Her hair was dark, closely cropped, forming curled wisps around her face.

She wore a simple dark tunic with a keyhole collar and match- ing pants, the fabric nubby and homespun. She didn’t look like a threat . . . until I turned to face her.

Wheeee.

Whistling like a bottle rocket, a three-foot-long arrow flew into the empty planter on the ledge beside me.

My mouth went as dry as dirt.

The shaft of the arrow, pale and slender, with stripes of gold and teal, ivory feathers slitted into the end, vibrated from the movement.

Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder.

Now a man stood behind me, also in a dark tunic and with short hair, a four-foot-long recursive bow in hand, an arrow tipped with a shiny silver point already strung and taut. The fingers that held the bow were long and thin, ending in long and equally sharp nails.

Had the circumstances been different, I might have admired the weapon. It was carved of pale wood and beautifully curvy. Unless the shafts were made of aspen, being shot by an arrow wouldn’t kill me. But that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

I glanced back, looking for egress, but they’d been joined by another woman and man. It was four to one, and my allies were still tucked in a restaurant down the road.

The odds were not in my favor, but I put on my fighting face—a haughty expression punctuated by a hell of a lot of feigned bravado.

“I think you’ll want to lower your weapon, friends. And explain why you’re following me.”