Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (6 page)

TO THE VICTOR GO THE SPOILS

W
e’d developed a dusk routine. Ethan would wake first and get ready for his day; I’d wake groggily to find him in an immaculate suit, already groomed and golden and ready to take on the night. We were both vampires and should have had the same reaction to the sun’s setting, but he always managed to wake before I did.

Tonight, the bathroom door was closed, the shower running. Maybe he hadn’t completely beaten me this evening.

I stretched and sat up, reached out to check my phone, and found a waiting message from my grandfather:
DNA CHECK OF FRANKLIN WOUNDS—NO
MATCH
IN
SYSTEM
.

So our bearded vampire wasn’t a known criminal, or at least not one who’d ended up with his biological bar code in the CPD’s databases.

There was also a message from Luc confirming that Jeff had sent the photographs of the alchemical symbols, and one from Mallory confirming that she and Catcher had enjoyed a night of raucous monkey sex. So no backsliding there, however unlikely that might have been. Good for them.

The final message was directly from Jeff—a grainy image of the vampire who’d killed Caleb Franklin. You couldn’t see his face, but his approximate height, weight, color, and build were clear enough, as was the beard that covered the lower half of his face. Again, I had the sense of vague familiarity but still couldn’t place him. I’d run into hundreds of vampires in the year I’d been one; it could have been anyone.

As much as I wanted to avoid it, because I had responsibilities, I sent the photograph to Jonah. It was the first communication I’d had with him in a couple of weeks, since the party at Cadogan House we’d used to trap the vampire pretending to be Balthasar, the monster who’d made Ethan. He’d been edgy then, so I hadn’t followed up. As far as I was concerned, he and the RG were the ones with the issues. If they wanted to talk to me, they knew where to find me.

But in the meantime, a mystery was a mystery.
PHOT
O
OF
VAMPIRE
THAT
KI
LLED
CALEB
FRANKLIN
, I explained.
KNOW
HIM
?
OR
DOES
NOAH
?

He’d respond even if he was pissed at me, because that was the kind of guy he was. Or the kind of guy I thought he was. We’d see either way.

With that done, I stretched, climbed out of bed, and shuffled to the apartment door, where Margot left our dusk tray.

Ethan wasn’t the only perk to life in the Master’s suite. On a tray lined with linen, the smell of coffee wafted from a silver carafe. There were croissants in a basket, cubes of fruit in a bowl, and a folded copy of the day’s
Tribune
.

I brought the tray and unfolded the paper, even as dread settled in my belly. The headline above the fold read, in enormous black letters:
SUPERNA
TURAL
CHAOS
AT
WRIGL
EY
. There were color photographs of cops, of shifters on their bikes, and of the line of cops and supernaturals who’d protected them while they sang for Caleb. I was in the center of that photograph, my eyes closed and my skin paler than usual. I’d bet money they’d Photoshopped the picture to make me look more supernatural. Tricksy of them, but a good bet financially. Vampires had been a hot commodity since Celina dragged us out of the dark.

I sighed and folded the paper again, realizing we weren’t the only ones to have made it onto the front page in color. Beneath the fold was a photograph of Adrien Reed and his wife, Sorcha, standing in the large, granite plaza in front of the Towerline construction site. A white banner behind them bore the Reed Industries logo in dark green, the dark, pointed spire of a building spearing up between the words. They’d stripped an existing skyscraper nearly down to its steel frame, and had begun to rebuild the new facade around it, layering new steel and glass in alternating stripes up its sides.

Towerline had been spearheaded by my father, Joshua Merit, one of the most powerful real estate developers in Chicago. He’d given Towerline to Reed to cancel a debt owed by Navarre House; Reed apparently planned to take full advantage of the windfall.

Reed cut a fine form—if you ignored the ego, manipulation, and misanthropy. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark, waving hair perfectly cut. His tailored suit was deep gray, his tie bottle green. His features were strong—square jaw, straight mouth, gray eyes. He was in his forties, and wore his age and experience well, his salt-and-pepper goatee giving an edge of danger.

His wife, Sorcha, was equally arresting. Tall, thick blond hair, green eyes. She was perfectly slender—and I meant that literally. I wasn’t sure if her body had been created by good genes, hard work, excellent surgery, or some combination of the three. Either way, it was remarkable. Each muscle was defined just enough, her skin smoothly golden. Her fitted green dress, which fell to just below the knee, had an asymmetrical neckline that dipped sideways toward her left arm before rising again to form a cap sleeve. The fit was immaculate. Nary a wrinkle. If I hadn’t seen her in the flesh, I might have guessed her a cyborg with perfectly plasticized skin.

She smiled at the camera, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She had the same slightly vacant expression she’d worn the night I met her. I still wasn’t sure if she wasn’t interested in what was going on around her, or just didn’t understand it.

MOGUL
BREAKS
CERE
MONIAL
GROUND
ON
MON
UMENTAL DEVELOPMENT
, read this headline.

My father and I weren’t close, but I still felt a stab of anger at Reed’s self-righteous smile. He hadn’t worked for Towerline; he’d stolen it with violence and manipulation, just like the gangster he was.

I looked at Sorcha again and wondered what she and her gangster talked about at the end of the day. Did she meet him at the door of their mansion with a Manhattan in hand and ask about work? And was she oblivious of the crime that had paid for the luxury in which she lived, or did she just not care?

Frustration giving me a headache, I put the paper back on the tray. A small white card fluttered to the floor.

For a moment, I thought Margot had left a note with the tray to say good evening or make a snarky comment about the headline. I should have known better.

I crouched, picked it up, and went deathly still, the thick cardstock in my hand.

The note wasn’t from Margot or anyone else in the House. There was no name on the paper, but we’d seen the thick cardstock before, the familiar handwriting. It was from Adrien Reed.

I return to Chicago to find you in the news again, Caroline. An interesting tactic in our continuing game, but rest assured—I will have the victory.

I am curious—will he weep when he loses everything?

Will he weep when he loses you? I look forward to finding out.

Frustration boiled into anger, so fierce that my hand shook with it. That would have been Reed’s plan. He loved these notes, these intrusions, these reminders that he could get to us anywhere.

How had he gotten the card into the House?

I glanced at the tray. The paper. It was the only thing that wouldn’t have come directly from the House’s kitchen, and it probably would have been easy to convince the delivery person to slip the note inside. He couldn’t have been sure I’d see it before Ethan, but that hardly mattered. Directing the card to me, implicitly threatening me, was exactly the kind of thing that would get Ethan’s goat.

The shower shut off.

It was easy to see exactly what Adrien Reed had wanted to do—manipulate, irritate, inflame.

“Sentinel?”

Instinct had me crumpling the card into the palm of my hand.

Ethan stood in the doorway, one towel wrapped low around his lean hips, his muscles gleaming with water. “Are you all right? I felt”—he looked around the room, searching for a threat—“magic.”

Thinking fast, I picked up the rest of the paper while tossing the note into the trash can beneath the desk, slick as a Vegas illusionist.

My heart pounding at the deception, I showed him the headline and photographs. Ethan walked forward, took the paper from me, flipped it open. His eyes tracked our story, then the one on the Reeds.

“Reed’s put in a ‘community safety center’ in a building across the street from Towerline.”

“What?”

Ethan glanced at me. “Too irate to read the article?”

“Towerline belongs to my father.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, Sentinel.” His eyes scanned the story. “Reed has also rehabbed a building across the street from Towerline that will serve as the headquarters for the renovation activities. He’s also announced it’s home to an enterprise dedicated to bringing law enforcement and business interests together to reduce crime in Chicago.”

“Reduce crime, my ass,” I muttered. “That will give Reed access to every law enforcement plan in the city. It won’t help reduce crime; he’ll just be able to plan around it.”

“Perhaps,” Ethan said, refolding the paper. “But then again, he is meticulous in keeping those aspects of his life separate.”

Instead of putting the paper back on the tray, Ethan tossed it into the trash beside the note that had accompanied it. Which was fine by me.

“As to the article about Wrigley, supernaturals are fodder for the press. There’s little reporters love more than seeding dissent:
Are supernaturals really your friends? Are you sure? Did you see what they did this time?
They love to paint us with the same broad strokes.”

“We are nothing like the vampire who murdered Caleb Franklin,” I said with a huff. “He had no honor.”

“No, he didn’t,” Ethan said. “Because if he’d had an excuse for the murder, some reason for it beyond self-interest or greed, he needn’t have run from us.”

“Yeah. Although that doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“I know something that would make you feel much better,” he said, his tone all wickedness.

I poked him on the arm, which did make me feel a little better.

He grabbed his arm, doubled over in mock pain. “It seems your arm is in working order.”

“Good enough to punch a vampire with a bad attitude.”

He slapped my butt. “Get dressed, Sentinel. Let us show the
Tribune
, and our doubters, what vampires have to offer the world.”

•   •   •

Thinking the night might call for action, I skipped the Cadogan uniform and pulled on my leathers. The black motorcycle-style jacket and pants were segmented just enough that I could fight if necessary. I wore a pale blue tank beneath the jacket, and black high-heeled boots beneath the pants. I added my Cadogan necklace, an inscribed silver teardrop, then pulled my long, dark hair into a high pony, straightening the bangs that fell across my forehead.

“Exactly what I had in mind, Sentinel.”

I met Ethan’s gaze in the mirror as I straightened out the ponytail. “I suspect there will be tension tonight. Seemed best to be prepared.”

“I don’t disagree,” he said. And he certainly looked his best. He wore the Cadogan uniform: a fitted black suit jacket over an immaculate white button-down, the top button open to reveal his own Cadogan medal. Fitted black suit pants, and he’d left his hair down, and it shone around his beautiful face like a gilded frame.

I sighed. “You are just too handsome.”

He arched a single eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

I turned around to face him, leaned back against the bathroom’s marble counter. “It’s part compliment, and part jealousy,” I said with a smile. “Were your sisters as beautiful as you?”

Ethan had had three sisters, Elisa, Annika, and Berit, in Sweden before he nearly died in battle and was made a vampire. His expression softened as he remembered. “They were lovely. Elisa and Annika were twins. Both blond, with blue eyes and pale skin. Rosy cheeks. Berit was shorter and more playful. They’d all been of an age to discuss weddings when I was killed. But, of course, I didn’t go back.”

Because he’d imagined himself a monster. “You miss them.”

He glanced at me. “It is a curse and blessing of immortality that you remember those who are gone even long after they are gone.”

I took his hand, squeezed it. “They would have been so happy, Ethan, to know that you’re alive. That you weren’t killed in battle and are thriving centuries later and keeping their memories alive. Leading your vampires with honor, working for peace.”

He tugged my ponytail, pulling me toward him, then pressed his lips to mine. “Thank you for that, Merit.”

“It’s the truth. They’d probably also be pleased that you’re famous and rich and have a smokin’ girlfriend.”

He snorted. “And there, you’ve taken it just one step too far. I’m hardly rich,” he added with a wink. “I’ve got some business to address tonight, supplicants who’ve been waiting, and I’d like to get you to help Paige with the translation.”