Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) (14 page)

Gabriel’s jaw twitched, his eyes swirling like a warming brandy. “Now is not the time or place to discuss these matters,” he said, which made me wonder how much he’d kept from the rest of the Pack.

I took the opportunity to glance around, check the faces of the shifters, who still looked shell-shocked that an army of elves shared their territory. Whatever Gabe had known, he hadn’t shared it with the rest of the Pack. And I guessed that omission was going to require some reckoning.

Ethan swallowed down irritation and released Gabriel’s arm. The tension eased, just a bit.

“When,” Ethan bit out, “would be an opportune time to discuss what just happened, and the fact that my Sentinel was kidnapped by elves?”

Gabriel watched him for a moment, his face offering nothing. “I need to speak to my people. Wait for me at the house.”

He didn’t wait for Ethan to respond.

•   •   •

Gabriel arranged for Damien and Jeff to get the car—and Boo—which still waited at the restaurant. The rest of us drove back to the estate in the variety of vehicles the Pack had used to get to the wood.

This time, neither the Brecks nor anyone else stopped us when we walked into the kitchen. The house was silent, the staff hiding or otherwise occupied.

Without waiting for permission, Ethan sat me bodily on a stool at the island while he searched the enormous, glass-doored refrigerator for sustenance. He pulled out two bottles of Blood4You, popped the tops on the edge of the counter like a frat boy at a mixer, and handed one to me.

“Drink,” he said, putting the other bottle down.

“I don’t need blood,” I protested, but only weakly, as my stomach began to rumble from need. I wasn’t exactly hungry—my nerves were still too shot for that—but my body was attempting to heal from the elves’ abuse, and it wanted sustenance.

“Drink it,” Ethan said again, staring down at me until I lifted the bottle to my lips.

It was gone in seconds, and I replaced it with the second before he could argue.

Mallory and Catcher walked into the kitchen, and Mallory rushed over. “You’re all right?” she asked, scanning me for injuries.

“A little bumped and bruised, but I’ll heal.”

“Where were you taken?” Catcher asked.

“Shopping center in Loring Park. Four of them jumped me, bows and arrows right there in public view. They knocked me out—a choke hold,” I explained, touching my neck. The skin was no longer tender, but the muscle beneath still ached.

A wash of shifter magic flushed through the room like a moody tsunami, angry and tense. It left an uncomfortable prickle on my skin and made my clothes feel uncomfortably tight.

I rubbed my goosefleshed arms. “What do you think’s going on out there?”

Ethan made a sympathetic sound. “I imagine Gabriel is explaining to his Pack why he didn’t mention the elves before tonight. Why he didn’t mention the wolves at their door, no pun intended.”

I finished the second bottle of blood, placed it on the counter beside the first. “How did they not notice it? The humans? The Brecks? A hunter, a farmer, a utility crew? Someone had to have seen them.”

“Magic,” Catcher said with a shrug. “A mechanism that allowed them to blend into the trees, or which obscured them completely.”

“A village of hundreds in Illinois,” Ethan said. “And that’s one clan. If they came west from Ireland and Scotland, how many more clans might be sprinkled between here and the Atlantic?”

“Very many,” Catcher guessed. “But perhaps the better question—how many of them have arrangements with the rest of the American Packs?”

“Probably too goddamned many,” Ethan said grimly.

“Fuck you, too, Sullivan.” Gabriel walked in alone, moved to a cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey with a plaid ribbon around its neck. He loosened the lid and took a slug directly from the bottle, throat moving as he swallowed. Maybe shifters had a different metabolism, as the quarter bottle he ingested would have put me on the floor. And maybe he was stressed enough to need it.

He put the bottle back in the cabinet, then braced his hands on the countertop and dropped his head. It was the second time in as many days he’d let his guard down in front of us. I both appreciated the trust—and regretted the need. Even with his back turned, it was obvious he was exhausted. His Pack had come to the Brecks’ estate for camaraderie and fun. And they’d met only threats, violence, and death.

We waited until Gabe stood straight again, running his hands through his hair and turning back to us.

“The contract was negotiated by my father. He told Papa Breck when the Brecks bought the property, thought it was only fair Papa Breck know who was living nearby. When my father passed, Papa Breck told me. I’ve never even seen the elves until tonight.”

“I’m not certain that’s an excuse,” Ethan said. “Not for what my people and yours have been through.”

“The elves’ interest is in keeping quiet, in staying underground. They were nearly eradicated. They wanted to live peacefully, and they have done so.”

“Until tonight,” Ethan emphasized, voice firm. “They are barbarians. They protect their lands without regret, kill without remorse. They do not believe in weakness, and they don’t overlook it. They don’t believe in pity. They kill children they don’t believe will flourish, men and women past their prime. They do not live peacefully. They
wait
.”

The reference to children and the elderly made me think—I hadn’t seen either at the village. Everyone appeared to be in the prime of middle age. Maybe twenty-five to forty-five in human years. Anyone outside that group could have been indoors or hidden. Or perhaps they’d been culled.

“We have no fight with them,” Gabriel said.

“Because you have not seen them fight,” Ethan insisted. There was hard experience in his eyes. He’d been born in Sweden, had served his time as a soldier, and had nearly been killed because of it. He’d also apparently been in Europe long enough to have seen elves there on the ground and know their practices.

“I have seen battlefields littered with women and children. Ground they stained with blood. They attack without mercy, and they allow no survivors. That Merit, Jeff, and Damien were allowed to live today was a miracle.”

“Or it is proof that this clan is different from those which lived in Europe,” Gabriel said. “Humans are different now, too. Humans fight differently, battle differently.”

“Humans battle with and through machines,” Ethan said. “But that does not absolve them of their atrocities.”

Mallory moved closer, catching both of their gazes. “Let’s pause,” she said, and I felt a gentle nudge of calming magic. It was a nice thought, but considering the story the elves had told about nonconsensual magic, it just left me feeling uncomfortable.

“The elves are clearly here,” she said. “If, for some reason, we can’t figure out what’s going on here in the larger sense, how bad could this get?”

“They could seek revenge for the wrongs they think have been done to them throughout history,” Ethan said. “The elves release their magic, show their societies to the world, and there’s human panic and genocide. What we saw tonight was only posturing,” he softly added. “Do not mistake their bows and arrows for a lack of savvy.”

I rubbed my face, trying to soothe the headache that was beginning to build there, then glanced at Gabriel. I didn’t think he was the type to feel guilty, but there was obvious regret in his eyes. It was time for a little optimism—or at least a little strategy.

“Then we need to ensure it doesn’t get that bad,” I said, meeting Gabriel’s gaze. “If we do as they’ve agreed—find Niera and bring her back—will they go back into the woods again?”

He shared my gaze for a moment, then glanced at Ethan. “Sullivan?”

The question was an obvious concession—he was recognizing Ethan’s expertise, looking to him for information.

“I don’t know how honorable they are,” Ethan said. “Fear tends to make new enemies. But we’ll assume they’ll hold to his deal.”

“Go team!” I said with false cheer. As no one seemed moved by the faux enthusiasm, I waved it away. “So that’s our solution. We find Niera. We have two attacks here—one on shifters, one on elves. The first attack by harpies, which weren’t supposed to exist in the first place. The second against elves, which weren’t supposed to exist.”

“Is that a coincidence?” Mallory asked, face scrunched with the question.

“I don’t know. But it seems significant. Harpies aren’t an obvious weapon, and elves aren’t an obvious target. So the person—or people—behind this have good information about supernaturals.”

“So probably not a human,” Ethan said.

“Not unless they have better knowledge than even you,” I said. “And you believe yourself to be quite knowledgeable.”

Ethan arched an eyebrow. “I resemble that remark.”

“She has a point,” Catcher said, crossing his arms and leaning back into his stance, preparing for some serious consideration and analysis. “Knowledge of supernaturals, and very serious intent. This isn’t just a nymph pissed off because they ran a rubber-duck parade through the Chicago River without her approval.”

“That didn’t really happen,” I said. But Catcher’s flat look said different.

“Could and did. And cost me a week’s worth of time.”

“And a slew of gift cards for the stores on State Street,” Mallory said with a smile.
“I know what nymphs like,”
she added, in a singsong voice.

“The point is,” Catcher said, sliding her a glance, “this isn’t a run-of-the-mill issue, a minor grudge between sups.”

“It’s a full-out attack in the first instance,” Ethan said. “And something else in the second. The glamour the elves mentioned—does it ring any bells?” He glanced at Mallory, Catcher, Gabriel.

Gabe leaned against the island. “Not for me. All due respect, it sounded like typical vampire mojo. Elves acting like zombies? Doing what someone telepathically directed them to do? Fighting? Fucking? Passing out?”

“Glamour doesn’t work that way,” Ethan flatly said. “It doesn’t work over distance.”

“And you’re sure no vampire was nearby the elves when the attack occurred?”

At Gabe’s question, Ethan opened his mouth, closed it again. “I am not,” he finally admitted. “But glamour doesn’t make zombies of anyone. It is suggestive, not unlike what Mallory tried a moment ago to calm us down.”

Mal blushed prettily. “Just trying to help.”

Catcher put an arm around her shoulder, squeezed.

But they’d given me an idea. “Maybe that’s part of it—both times, the attacker mimicked some other kind of magic. In the first attack, the magic mimicked harpies. In the second, the magic mimicked vampire glamour. The attacker wasn’t actually a harpy or a vampire—he was someone with magic enough to pretend to be
both
.”

“That’s powerful magic,” Catcher said. “And magic with range.”

“Range,” Gabriel said, standing straight again. “How close would someone have to be to work magic that powerful?”

Catcher’s brows lifted. “I’d actually meant the other kind of range—the ability to imitate different kinds of sups—but that’s a good point.”

I drummed my fingers on the countertop. “So someone is using a lot of magic—variable magic—relatively nearby to attack two groups of sups.”

“Groups,” Ethan said, tapping a finger against my hand. “Both were in groups—the shifters were gathered together for Lupercalia. The elves were together in their village.”

Mallory reached out to a crock on the island that held spoons and spatulas and plucked out a rubberized whisk. “So they attacked when they could do the most damage?” she asked, as she toyed absently with the bent wires of the utensil.

“Maybe,” I said. “But why? If this was a political thing, a grudge thing, wouldn’t we know it? Wouldn’t there have been a statement? Overt blame? They aren’t even really framing someone, because they’ve used different magic both times. There’s no obvious motive.”

“Perhaps it comes back to the victims,” Ethan said. “To the shifters who passed.”

I glanced at Gabe. “The shifters you lost. Is there anything controversial in their histories? Anything that suggests they were targeted?”

Gabe leaned over the counter again, propping his elbows on it and linking his hands together again. “Not that I’m aware of. They weren’t related, weren’t friends. One was from Memphis—young guy who I think had some leadership ambitions. Messy childhood. Woman from New Orleans. Lawyer who went to Tulane. Excellent cook, and a very spicy woman.”

Ethan and Catcher grunted in some kind of vague male agreement. Mallory and I shared a dubious look.

“Third was a man from Chicago. Assimilated. Lived with a human family, although the wife knew what he was.” Gabe shook his head ruefully. “That phone call
sucked
. And you know about Rowan.”

I reached out, touched his arm. “I’m sorry,” I said, using the two words that were always woefully inadequate to ease anyone’s grief, but still seemed the only appropriate thing to say.

Gabe nodded, patted my hand. “Appreciate it, Kitten.”

“Then perhaps the key isn’t the deceased,” Ethan said, “but the missing.”

We’d seen vampire disappearances before, and they hadn’t been coincidental. They’d been the work of an assassin hungry for revenge, and he’d be difficult to catch and stop. But in that case, the key was the killings—the vampires were killed as warnings to the rest of us to leave Chicago. The bodies had been left for us to find.

“So we’re back to Aline and the elf,” Mallory said. “What was her name again?”

“Niera,” Catcher said.

“Aline is definitely gone,” I said, realizing I hadn’t had a chance to report what we’d found at her house. The kidnapping and threats had interrupted our investigation.

“She’s a hoarder—there was stuff everywhere in her house, but nothing really helpful until we found her computer. Jeff found a receipt for a plane ticket to Anchorage. She also has a storage locker, but the only thing in there was a box of ephemera. We haven’t had a chance to look through it yet.”

“Did the flight to Alaska look legit?” Catcher wondered. “Or planted?”

“It looked legit to me, but if you’ve got the ability to create winged monsters from thin air and turn elves into zombies, who knows?”