Kicking It (19 page)

“Drink?” he asked over the music, without looking up.

“No, thanks. I’m looking for O’Hare.”

He stilled and looked up at me, one absent eye covered by a grisly patch of skin. “Who’s asking?”

“Rose. He’ll be expecting me.”

The bartender looked me up and down, sizing me up. His emotions were relatively flat. He probably figured me for a vampire, but not much of a threat. If Danny was looking to finish his project, this guy didn’t know much about it.

And that only made me more wary.

“Suit yourself,” he said. “He’s in his office.” He gestured toward a hallway that led away from the bar.

“Thanks,” I said, and wandered through tables and gazes.

The hallway was painted black, and it didn’t smell any better than the rest of the bar. Restrooms were located to one side and a fire exit at the end.

That left only a single open door to my left.

I felt for the dagger I’d tucked into my boot, blew out a breath, and stepped into the doorway.

Danny O’Hare was a handsome man. Broad-shouldered, with a cheeky grin and a ruddy complexion. His eyes were blue, and they twinkled at the sight of me.

He sat behind a desk in a tiny office that was crowded with papers and stacked with boxes of booze. Ironic, I thought, that all that booze was legal now, but it had probably been bought with Prohibition money.

“And who of all people should walk through my door,” he said, with Ireland in his voice, “but a wild Irish Rose.”

“I’m not Irish,” I reminded him. “And you knew I was coming.”

I dropped the coin onto his desk, where it spun for a moment before settling flat again. I set the bait, and waited for his emotions to bob to the surface. But all I could sense was vague interest and childish enthusiasm. That was very much like Danny, who’d seemed to approach life like an adolescent bully. The world was composed of what he owned and what he didn’t own yet. Anything in the second category was fair game.

“I heard through the grapevine you were alive,” he said. “And I’ve seen your face in the glossy. But wasn’t me that asked you here.”

His voice had, as before, a singsong quality that belied his enthusiasm for violence. But nothing seemed dishonest. How was that possible? If he hadn’t called me here to take me out, to finish destroying those close to Tommy DiLucca—or my family, if he couldn’t get to me fast enough—then who had?

“Who’s looking for me?” I heard the mild panic in my voice and pushed it down. I was in control of my own fate. But it was Rachel’s I was worried about.

“Darlin’, times have changed. I don’t control the world as I used to. I’m a simple businessman, working my trade in this public house.”

I didn’t believe that, not for one second. He might be a businessman, but I doubted there was anything simple about it.

“You must know something,” I insisted, peeling off a handful of twenties and dropping them onto the desk in front of him.

His eyes flicked to the cash, just for a moment. “I have heard tell of a woman interested in speaking with you about that night.” He sat back in his squeaky chair, linking his hands behind his head, just like Luc often did, but with considerably more malice.

Confusion engulfed me. “A woman? Who? I don’t know any women from back then. Not who are still alive.”

“Alive or dead is a fluid thing these days, my Rose. What grim’s hand would be strong enough to pluck a flower in its prime?”

I saw only the flick in his eyes to the spot behind me to warn me of danger I hadn’t even heard over the music oozing from the bar. I had but an instant to glance behind me, to catch sight of the bartender’s face, before I felt a needle-sharp pain in my back.

The world went black, and gravity called me home.

—

I
awoke to pain. A lot of it, and spread across my body. My vision was blurred, my head pounding, and I could taste blood.

Slowly, the world stopped spinning, and fabric came into focus.

The jeans I was wearing. I was sitting in a chair, looking down at my legs, my head hanging limp from my shoulders. My feet were below me, manacled by an impressive chain to a bare concrete floor that was dotted with blood, probably mine.

My shoulders ached, and my fingers were numb. My hands were behind me, my wrists tied together tightly behind the chair. Multiple zip ties if the biting pain was any indication.

I looked up and blinked back spots. A standing light was pointed at my face like an interrogation scene in a movie Luc would have enjoyed a little too much—and probably quoted from afterward.

Longing filled me, but I pushed it down.

First, stay alive,
I told myself.
Then you can think about feelings.

I heard shuffling ahead of me. “Hello? Who’s there?”

No one answered, but I heard what sounded like a children’s lullaby.

“Be still and sleep, my child,” she sang. “Be still and sleep, my child. For if you wake, the monsters will take you right to the Rookery.”

I squinted through the light at the darkness ahead, trying to gauge shapes and distances. “Who’s there? Show yourself. Danny? Is that you?”

But it wasn’t Danny. She stepped into the light, and the nightmare deepened. It was Iris, and too much the same as I’d last seen her.

Like a supernatural version of Miss Havisham, she appeared not to have changed clothes in decades. Her dress was torn, the fringe missing and bare in spots like an animal with mange. Her hair was flat and matted, and dotted with paste-jewel clips and brooches. Her skin was scarred and twisted, pocked in spots where bullets had undoubtedly penetrated.

Had she been here, in this place, for nearly a century? Hiding from the world, reliving what she’d seen? Had the violence, or her experience of it, sent her into madness? Not so mad, perhaps, that she couldn’t make a deal with the devil, pay Danny and his cronies to lure me here.

However she’d done it, how hadn’t I known? How hadn’t I saved her?

“Iris,” I said breathlessly, my mind suddenly whirling, a decade of history being rewritten, and guilt quickly piling up. “You’re alive.”

“And so are you, I see.” She reached out and slapped me, hard. My cheek sang with pain, and I tasted fresh blood again.

“I was in the priest hole,” I said. “I’d been looking for the brandy, remember?”

“You left me there. You left her here. And you walked out like you were something really special. Just the absolute bee’s knees.”

She threw a copy of the magazine at me. “All this time, you little bitch, I thought you were dead. Come to find out you were in Chicago. Hiding out and showing off. Showing your nice little tits for the camera. You left us there to die!”

“I thought everyone was dead, Iris. Everyone
was
dead.” Still, I searched my memory for any clue that I’d been wrong, that I’d left her there to be found by Danny O’Hare, or to crawl out alive. But I found nothing. There’d been only the smell of death, the absolute stillness of it, and the tinny sound of sirens in the distance.

I’d made a mistake. But Iris didn’t much care.

She slapped me again, this time from the other direction. My eyes watered from the sting.

“Tonight we’re going to replay that night.” She stepped out of the light, and I heard the glug of liquid flowing from a bottle. I sniffed and smelled alcohol.

The light dimmed as she stepped in front of it and tossed a glass of booze in my face. Gin, I thought, smelling it as it dripped into my eyes and cuts I hadn’t yet seen, sending a new surge of pain through already stressed nerves.

“Alcohol,” she said. “For remembering. The devil’s drink, which you enjoyed time and time again. And now you’ll be punished for it.”

She disappeared again, and my heart began to race. If she meant to replay that night, had she gotten a gun? Did she plan to shoot me here and now, like an animal?

Adrenaline swamping me, I shifted back and forth against the manacles at my feet and the ties that bound my hands. But neither budged.

I’m officially in a tight spot,
I thought, wishing I’d gotten more of Luc’s lecture on evasive maneuvers before this particular crisis had begun.

“You were oblivious,” she said, stepping in front of me again, this time holding a feathered hair clip in her hand. She moved forward and pushed it into my hair, scraping my scalp in the process.

“I bet you didn’t even know that I loved Violet.”

I worked to concentrate against the pain. “Violet? You two . . . ?

“Were in love,” she said. “Not that you’d notice, busy as you were flirting and whoring with every man you could find. Another reason why you have this coming.”

I guess Iris hadn’t thought much of my life choices.

“I’m sorry she died, Iris. But I didn’t know she was alive. I didn’t know anyone else was alive. I thought everyone was dead. We were best friends. Do you really think I wouldn’t have come back for you if I’d known? That I wouldn’t have helped you out of there?”

She looked momentarily confused, and I thought I was getting through to her. But the haze of trauma and madness settled upon her eyes again.

She leaned forward. “You. Are.
Lying
. Everything that happened to me is your fault. It has to be.”

And there it was. She wanted someone to blame, even if there wasn’t cause for it. Even if she could understand what had actually occurred.

She’d gotten me here, and there was no doubt she intended to end the story tonight. But I needed time. Time to come up with a plan, and time to get free.

“You paid Danny?” I asked, trying to keep her busy while I struggled against the binding on my wrists. I could feel the plastic slicing into my skin, but pain was irrelevant. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Danny O’Hare’s a right son of a bitch,” she said, spitting onto the floor beside me. “He doesn’t much care what happened in the bar that night—the past is past to him—but he’s always willing to take a coin. So he found me a man, and that man did a deed. It took every last penny I’d scrimped and saved to make him take on the task, powerful as you are now. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? Because here you are.”

She moved closer, and I saw the glint of steel in her hand. A handgun, 9mm. I had little doubt she would empty it into my body, and that would probably be only the beginning of her plans for me.

Unfortunately, vampire strength notwithstanding, my restraints weren’t budging.

I’d been a vampire a long time, and I’d faced death before. I hadn’t often regretted much. But now, this time, I regretted.
I’m sorry, Luc,
I silently thought, sending the words across miles, as if he could hear me.
I’m sorry I pushed you away. I love you. I love you more than anything.

The tears began to fall in earnest, but I wasn’t a coward. I looked up at Iris, met her gaze head-on.

Her hand shook, and she pointed the gun at me. “And now we’ll be even,” she said.

Shots rang out like explosions, and I instinctively braced for impact.

But I felt nothing.

Shocked to the core, I looked down. Spots of blood appeared on Iris’s dress, and she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

“Lindsey?”

That was Luc’s voice.

Dear God, it was Luc. He was here. He’d come for me.

He appeared behind her, in his uniform of jeans and boots, and when the gun clattered to the floor, he kicked it away and out of her reach.

“Jesus, Linds!” Luc raced to me, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at what I assumed was blood on my face. “You like to cut it close.”

At the same time, four men in black suits walked calmly inside. The one in front, who had a long, severe face and was reholstering the gun that had floored Iris, nodded at Luc. They picked her up, more gently than I might have, and began to escort her out of the room.

“Who was that?” I asked, perplexed, as Luc worked the manacles and zip ties.

“New York’s sup department. They have that business tied down.”

“Have them check the Green Clare, find Danny,” I said. “Ensure this is done. That Rachel’s safe.”

“Guys?” Luc said.

“On it,” said the long-faced man.

I looked down at Luc on his knees beside me, and could hardly fathom the fact that he was here, how lucky I was that he’d come, that I had a second chance, that I was alive.

But my brain did not pass those thoughts on to my mouth, which was still playing good ol’ commitment-phobic Lindsey. “I told you not to come!”

“Yes, you did,” Luc said. “I ignored you.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“In which case, you’d be full of bullet holes, which I do not find attractive in a woman.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “How did you find me?”

“Your phone. I added GPS, remember? Jeff helped me do the tracking. He is unusually good at tracking.”

Jeff Christopher was a friend of the House, and an employee of Merit’s grandfather, who’d previously been city’s supernatural ombudsman.

I heard a series of snaps, and my wrists were free, sending fierce pain through my shoulders. When my feet were unchained, I put a hand on Luc to stand up.

“Um, no,” he said, leaning down and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“You’re actually going to carry me?”

“Without a doubt, Lindsey Rose.” He looked at me, his face furrowed with concern. “You’re all right?”

“I’ll manage,” I said, but tears still spilled. “I thought she was dead, Luc. I thought they were all dead. I never would have left—”

“Hush,” he said. “Hush. Of course you wouldn’t have left them. You’d have done everything you could to help them, to get them out of there alive. Even as young as you were. And even before my skilled tutelage.”

“You’re ruining this lovely moment.”

He laughed, just a little. “Come on, Rose. Let’s get you a bath. You smell like a walking gin and tonic.”

“I could use a gin and tonic.”

“I can make that happen.”

—

T
his time the hotel was considerably nicer. We skipped the Rookery for the Plaza, a present from Ethan and Merit to speed my recovery. I recouped in the shower, washing away blood and grime and gin.