Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (18 page)

“Yeah, he texted me. We’ll be here.” She pushed to her feet, offered me a hand. And when she’d helped me lever myself up, she surrounded me with a hug.

“I love you, Merit. Just—maybe give me a call the next time an Apex shifter predicts you’ll have a bouncing magic vampire baby?”

I could practically see her gears working. “Don’t say vambaby. And you’ll be the first Bell I call.”

“Damn right I will.”

We walked back to the House over soft, cool grass, fell into a companionable silence.

“It’s Tex-Mex night in there, right?” she asked when we reached the patio.

“It is.”

“You think there’s any enchiladas? Maybe I could grab one to eat on the trip back? Catcher’s on a kale and quinoa kick. It’s horrible.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, and I’m not sure. But we can ask.”

Arm in arm, we walked into the sensual embrace of Tex-Mex night.

•   •   •

This time, Lindsey let me into the Ops Room. The fact that I’d brought guacamole probably hadn’t hurt, since the guards fell on it like wolves.

Double-dipping wolves, as it turned out.

“About damn time you made it down here,” Luc said.

“Sorry,” I said, and tried to remembered what I’d been planning to report before I was interrupted by a sorcerer and banned by a fellow guard. “Mallory had a personal crisis. Needed to get it resolved so we could all get back to work.”

I offered my phone, showed him the pictures we’d taken at Mount Rider. “Catcher took pictures, too. He’s going to ask Jeff to work them into that algorithm. And Ethan wants to meet at dusk.”

“I don’t think Ethan’s in a position to make any demands right now,” Luc grouched, spearing a chip into the bowl.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to be the one to tell him that. But you go right ahead.”

Luc made a dubious grunt. “You told Catcher about the dusk meeting?”

“And Mallory.”

Luc nodded. “I’ll tell Paige and the Librarian.”

“I was going to go to the library,” I said, but when I checked the clock, I realized dawn was approaching. “But the night has wasted away again.”

“I talked to Paige while you were gone, made your apologies.” He ran a hand through his tousled curls. “Frankly, Sentinel, I don’t think your being there would have made much of a difference. She’s stuck, too. Said the equations still aren’t making sense. At least you got a new location tonight. Not that that helps with the scope of our problem. Just increases it.”

“I’ve asked Catcher to spread the word among the sups, have them alert us if someone finds more alchemy.”

Luc nodded. “That’s something, but Chicago’s an enormous city.”

“We need to tell the Houses.”

“They’ve got the basics,” he said. “Wouldn’t have been fair to keep the information about the alchemy from them. But requesting they jump in? Yeah. I mean, they aren’t Cadogan House—more Hufflepuff to our Gryffindor—but we could use the extra bodies.”

I just stared at him. “Harry Potter? Really?”

“Those books are quality, Sentinel. You should read them.”

He said it like he was the first person to discover the books, to realize they were good. I decided not to mention my first editions.

“I’ll make a note of it,” I said. “Oh, and Annabelle saw the sorcerer.” I passed along the minimal details she’d been able to see, my curiosity about the man at La Douleur.

“Lots of vampires wear suits.”

“I know. Ethan said the same thing.” Suddenly exhausted, I rose. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Get Ethan on the right track,” Luc said. “You’ll both feel a lot better.”

“Bang his brains out,” Lindsey offered helpfully from the other side of the room.

Luc shook his head. “Apologies, Sentinel. My girlfriend is crude.”

“And you love it,” she said.

From his wide smile, I guessed she was right.

“Good luck, Sentinel,” Luc said. “Our wands are up for you.”

I didn’t think that quite sounded the way he’d meant it to.

•   •   •

When I walked into our apartments, Ethan stood at his bureau. If circumstances had been different, I’d have teased him about Mallory, the fact that she now knew about the maybe-baby. That would raise the specter of baby showers, cribs, and godparents, which would have flustered him to my amusement.

But that’s not where we were. Not right then.

I took off my clothes, washed my face, and slid into pajamas. He did the same, sat down on his side of the bed just as I’d sat down on mine. The wall was invisible, but it was there. “They know of the meeting at dusk?”

“They do,” I said, turning off the bedside light and slipping my feet under cool sheets.

“Good. Perhaps we can make progress. Perhaps we’ll all feel better if we make progress.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant himself or me or both of us. Either way, the sun rose before I could ask the question.

DRY ERASE MAGIC

O
ur dusk meeting would actually begin an hour after dusk to give everyone time to get to Cadogan House. Preparations were well under way when I headed downstairs. Luc was updating the whiteboard while Margot set out bottles of water and a tray of snacks. Ethan talked with Malik near the bookshelves on the left-hand side of the room, away from the flurry of activity.

I joined them, dressed in leathers and black boots.

“Sentinel,” Ethan said, a question in his eyes—
Are we still fighting?
Since we hadn’t reached an accord, and he hadn’t even lingered in the apartments long enough to say good evening, I couldn’t see how the answer was anything but yes. But I wasn’t going to drag everyone into it.

“Did Luc talk to you about inviting Morgan and Scott?” I asked Ethan.

“He did, and they’ll be here. He also suggested we invite Gabriel.”

Talk about fighting fire with fire. “And did you?”

“I put in a call,” Malik said. “It hasn’t yet been returned.”

So Gabriel was angry, too. Reed was turning the city’s supernaturals into a seething cauldron of frustration, Cadogan House included.

Malik’s phone beeped, and he checked the screen, smiled. “Excuse me. I need to grab this. It’s Aaliyah.”

That was Malik’s wife.

“Of course,” Ethan said.

As Malik walked away, lifting the phone to his ear, Ethan settled his gaze on me. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

We managed that much, then just looked at each other.

“Your father called,” Ethan said carefully. “He wanted to be sure you’d gotten home all right after the incident at the Garden. He also wanted to let us know that Reed asked Robert to submit a proposal to manage the Towerline building.”

So Reed would own the building, and Merit Properties would manage it. That could be a very lucrative contract, if it was really about the money. But it undoubtedly wasn’t. “He’s trying to suck them in again. Reed and my family.”

“To get to them, to you, and to me. Yes.” Ethan studied me. “Your father wants a chance at him, Merit. He knows he’s being used as a pawn, and he wants to help take Reed down.”

I stiffened. “He’s not equipped to go up against Reed. His best bet would be to tell Robert the truth.”

“Which, as you know, would only tip off Reed and possibly incite him further.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. What did you tell him?”

Ethan paused, looked at me. “Nothing. Yet.”

The most frustrating answer. It neither told me what he’d do nor agreed to keep my father out of it.

“You aren’t making this easy,” I said.

“War is never easy. A soldier knows that better than most.”

I looked up at him, surprised by the grimness in his voice. “Is that what this is? War?” I was asking about both of us—about us and Reed, me and Ethan.

“Reed believes it is, so we will treat it as such.”

And use the weapons at our disposal, I thought, whatever the consequences.

Luc walked toward us, and Ethan’s gaze went cool again. “I think we’re ready, or will be as soon as everyone arrives.” He looked at me, took in the leathers I’d paired with dark mascara and cherry red lipstick. “Sentinel, I like that color on you.” He winked. “Looking fierce.”

“She looks fierce,” Ethan said, “because she is.”

Luc looked back and forth between us. “I feel like I don’t want to know what’s happening right now, so I’m going to just walk away and let you handle it.” Luc did, backing up until he’d put enough distance between us.

“All right, Sentinel,” Ethan said, “let’s get to it.”

Until we were ready to talk, there was nothing more to do.

•   •   •

Chicago’s Supernatural Problem Solving Team was an assortment of humans, vampires, and shifters.

Malik and Paige had already taken seats at the conference table. My grandfather came in with Jeff, and Mallory and Catcher arrived behind them. My grandfather patted me on the back as he moved past, then stopped to help Jeff with another board of symbols.

Morgan Greer—broodingly handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and soulful dark blue eyes—came in, followed by Scott Grey. Scott was dark-haired and tall, with the build of an athlete and a soul patch beneath generous lips. Grey House had an athletic bent, signaled by his jeans and Grey House hockey-style jersey.

Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t alone.

He’d brought Jonah, whose auburn hair was swept back from his face, framing sharp cheekbones and canny blue eyes. He wore a gray V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and boots.

Jonah scanned the room, found me still standing beside Ethan, let his gaze linger there for a moment. And then the moment passed, and he was moving to the table to sit beside his Master.

Was I on good terms with
any
of my partners right now?

Ethan gestured toward the table, and I walked to it and joined Lindsey to stand at the end of the table.

“Thank you all for coming,” Ethan said. “The city has been presented with a magical threat that’s uncertain but potentially large, so we thought it best to have everyone in a room together. Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”

“One bit of news,” Jeff said, raising his hand, and all eyes turned to him. “Cyrius Lore is dead.”

Ethan’s eyes flashed to me, bright with anger, heavy with guilt. Cyrius had been an enemy only briefly, and by making the connection between him and Reed, we’d sent him to his death.

“His body was dragged from the river this morning,” my grandfather said. “He’d been killed by a vampire.”

“The same one that killed Caleb Franklin,” Catcher said, “based on the distance between the fangs.”

“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I said. “Measuring the distance between the fangs to identify a culprit.”

“Supernatural criminal forensics,” Jeff said with a mirthless smile. “A growing field.”

“I guess so.”

“Sorry,” Scott said, holding up a hand. “Who’s Cyrius Lore?”

“He was the manager of La Douleur,” Ethan said. “He’s one of Reed’s people, and La Douleur was one of Reed’s places. He confessed to Merit and me that Reed was responsible for Caleb Franklin’s death, and that Reed has something big planned that will ‘bring order to the city’ by taking control of it.” Ethan mimicked justifiable air quotes.

There was lots of grumbling around the table.

“Reed must have decided Cyrius was a loose end,” Catcher said, and my grandfather nodded.

“That would not be out of character for the Circle,” he said.

“And what’s his long game here?” Morgan asked. “Even if he gets control, what’s the point of it?”

“Among other things,” Ethan said, “financial opportunity. Controlling the city’s coffers, awarding himself lucrative contracts, directing the allocation of resources. From what little he’s said, he’s somewhere near insane fascist on the political spectrum. Doesn’t like supernaturals, doesn’t like the poor. We suck away city resources.”

Scott snorted. “He’s clearly not looked at our property tax bills over the last few years.”

“Or any of the other ways we contribute,” Ethan agreed. “Maybe he’s using Celina’s neediness as his gauge. The point is, his motivations are personal, financial, political.”

“How does the magic tie in?” Scott asked, his gaze on the boards.

“That’s what we have to figure out,” Ethan said, and nodded at Luc.

Luc stepped forward, used a laser pointer—and whoever had given him that toy deserved an ear boxing—to gesture at the Wrigleyville symbols on the board from the library.

“These were found on an El track pedestal near the body of Caleb Franklin. The symbols are alchemical in nature. They constitute phrases that, taken together, appear to make up one part of a larger equation.”

“One part?” Scott asked.

“A local necromancer found another site yesterday.” Luc gestured to one of the new boards Jeff had brought in, which showed a map of the city, stars where the symbols had been found.

“There are similar symbols on both, including some hand-drawn images that look like hieroglyphics, so odds are they were created by the same hand.”

“Sorcerer?” Jonah asked, glancing at Catcher.

“Sorcerer,” Catcher said with a nod. “The symbols have magic to them, but the artist’s identity and origin are unknown. We’ve checked with the Order, and they don’t have any known alchemical specialists in Chicago. For what that’s worth,” he added grumpily.

“We have a very general description and a penchant for alchemy,” Ethan said. “We don’t have a name.”

“But we think the sorcerer belongs to Reed?” Scott asked.

Ethan nodded. “Based on what we know so far, including Cyrius’s statements, yes.”

“And the symbols themselves,” Jonah said. “What do they mean? What’s the purpose of all this magic?”

“Unfortunately, we have more questions than answers at the moment,” Luc said. “Mallory and Paige have been working on translating, with Merit’s able assistance. Paige, would you like to take over?”

“Sure,” Paige said, rising from her chair and walking to the boards. She wore a green T-shirt and jeans, a simple outfit that made her eyes seem to glow against her pale skin and red hair. For all that, she looked nervous. She’d been an archivist locked away in Nebraska. Probably hadn’t done many presentations.

She cleared her throat, took the laser pointer Luc handed her, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“So,” she said, gesturing to the boards. “What we have here is a complicated alchemical equation. Classic alchemical symbols mixed together with small hieroglyphs. We know what the alchemical symbols mean. We have best guesses about most of the hieroglyphs, but they’re still guesses, and there are gaps in our knowledge.

“Theoretically, when you read all the symbols together, it should produce something that’s both an instruction manual—do this thing at this time in this way—and a written spell.” She linked her hands together. “Both the writing of it and the doing of it trigger the magic that’s intended by the entire equation.”

Morgan leaned forward, smiled. “Sorry, but for those of us who are completely green where magic is concerned, can you give us some context? I mean, you say ‘alchemy,’ and I assume you want to make gold out of lead.”

There were general murmurs of agreement.

“Think of alchemy like chemistry or biology,” Paige said. “A set of methods and principles used to organize our understanding of the world. At its heart is the belief you can manipulate matter to get closer to its true essence. And when you reach that true essence, the matter becomes a powerful, magical, and spiritual tool. It might make you healthier; it might make you stronger; it might make you immortal.”

“Those all sound like things Reed would like,” Morgan said.

“Agreed,” she said. “But I don’t think this sorcerer is working on what I’d call the ‘traditional’ alchemy problems. The philosopher’s stone, turning lead into gold, whatever. The phrases—the smaller chunks within each equation—don’t match those traditional equations. They’re very contradictory.” She pointed the laser at one of the lines. “For example, this phrase tells you to do something.” Then she dropped it to the line below. “And this phrase tells you to do the opposite.”

“What’s your best guess about the purpose?” Ethan asked.

Paige looked back at the boards, considered. “Something big. Even the equations that have tried to produce a philosopher’s stone aren’t this complex, or this contradictory.” She frowned. “Because of that, I don’t see this being intended for one person. I mean, you want to make yourself blond, rich, immortal, whatever, you don’t need this many lines of code, so to speak. I think it’s intended for other people.”

“What other people?” Ethan asked.

She looked back at us. “I don’t know yet. But as large as the equation is, I’d say a number of them. Many, many people.”

“I’m working on an algorithm,” Jeff said. “A program that will automatically translate the symbols, make predictive guesses about the hieroglyphs, and give us best translation results.”

“How far along are you?” my grandfather asked.

Jeff frowned. “About two-thirds? Need a few more hours to get the cipher right, and then I can compile the code, and we’ll be ready to roll. Might need to do some contextual tweaking—like Mercury next to the sun instead of the moon means you need to hop on one foot or whatever—but we’ll be close.”

“Good,” Ethan said. “We appreciate the work.”

Jeff nodded.

“So Reed’s got a sorcerer working some kind of big magic,” Scott said, his gaze on the board. “Big magic that could affect a lot of people. But we don’t know what the magic is yet, and we don’t know how many people. And most of Chicago still thinks he hung the moon.”

“And made it shine,” Ethan said. “That’s a fair summary.”

“Then what can we do?” Scott asked.

“Be vigilant,” Ethan said. “I can’t stress that enough. He’s looking for opportunities.” He met my gaze. “He likes to use what he perceives as personal weaknesses against people. He’s very intelligent, and he likes to manipulate.”

“He’s very egotistical,” my grandfather said. “Likes to create a dramatic scene, but doesn’t always think through the implications.” He looked at Ethan, then me. “It turns out, the cops who arrested you at the Garden thought they were doing a favor for someone very powerful—putting away supernaturals who’d been stalking his family. They were, let’s say, set on a better path.”