Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) (16 page)

“You find anything in your magic box?” Mallory asked.

“Receipts and ephemera. In other words, a big, fat nothing. You get anything else about Baumgartner or Simon?”

Catcher chewed, shook his head. “Simon is in South America. Decided a change of scenery was a good idea. I’m not crying that he’s on a different continent. I told Baumgartner what we saw. He denied they were really elves—probably fairies or humans dressing up like elves—and said the magic sounded like vampires.”

“Baumgartner is a royal sack of crap,” Mallory said.

“And still prefers to keep his head in the sand,” I suggested, then glanced at Ethan.

He’d opted for the forkless slice and was now swabbing his hands with napkins. I predicted fork in his future.

“The pizza’s good,” Mallory said. “It’s not Saul’s, of course, but it’s not bad.”

“You’re a pizza snob,” Catcher said.

She elbowed him. “No, I was raised right. Don’t deny a Chicagoan the right to pick her favorite slice. It’s un-American.”

I was inching into my second when my phone beeped. The slice went back to the plate, and I scrubbed grease from my hands before pulling it out of my pocket. I checked the screen . . . and my stomach curled with icy-cold nerves.

It was Lakshmi.

She was reminding me—as if I’d somehow forgotten—of the favor I owed and the message she wanted me to pass along. And she’d carefully drafted her message to ensure I recalled her larger point.

THE HOUSES DESERVE A MASTER WHO CAN TRULY LEAD THEM
, she texted.
DO NOT LET SELFISHNESS DEPRIVE THEM OF THAT
.

Was it so selfish to want him close? To keep on the same continent the man I’d come to love, to need, to depend on? Or was it selfish of her to ask, to demand sacrifice of others instead of putting herself forward as a candidate, taking her own stand against tyranny?

“Sentinel?”

At the sound of his voice, I remembered I was sitting in mixed company—and with him. I plastered on a smile I didn’t feel and tucked the phone away again.

“It’s nothing,” I said, and grabbed a piece of pizza as if hunger was my only concern.

But of course it wasn’t nothing, and the curiosity didn’t disappear from Ethan’s gaze.

•   •   •

Sunrise found us tucked into the bedroom. The house was locked, the guards outside, Mallory and Catcher curled up in the living room. While Ethan showered, I plumped pillows and folded back the covers, climbed into cool sheets.

And then I obsessed about the GP.

My phone was in hand, Ethan on my mind, Lakshmi’s text under my squinty gaze. Jonah had tattoos on each arm—a devil on one side, an angel on the other. I thought of both, miniature devils and angels sitting on my shoulders, offering contradictory advice. But in my case, the angel looked like Seth Tate, Chicago’s former mayor, a former angel of peace who’d become magically linked to his identical twin, Dominic. Dominic had been an angel of judgment, a devil, and was as fallen as they came.

The devil derided me for even considering giving in to Lakshmi, a member of the GP, which had caused so much trouble for Cadogan House we’d been forced to quit it.

The angel shared Lakshmi’s fire, promising that I would be doing the right thing.

And all the while, as they debated, I still had to keep Ethan out of prison.

The bathroom door opened. Ethan, wearing only a towel, looked out. He’d brushed his hair, which was water-slicked back from his face.

Guilty and torn, I stuffed the phone hastily under the covers. But not so quickly he didn’t see me do it.

I’d never been a good liar, and this wasn’t an exception. “Arranging a secret rendezvous, are you, Sentinel?”

“No. Just checking in.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You’re a miserable liar.”

“Actually, I can usually bluff pretty well. But apparently not to you.”

“Is this about the message you got during dinner?”

“It is.”

“And would you like to tell me about it?”

There were things I could have said.
You’d be the best GP leader. You should run. Take your position as the sire of vampires.
Challenge Darius.
But seconds passed and the sun inched higher toward the horizon, robbing me of the ability to debate. And I wasn’t going to take on something this serious when I wasn’t at full capacity.

“Nothing big,” I drowsily said. “Just a personal concern.”

“A personal concern?” he asked, a spark of green fire in his eyes that I recognized as jealousy. He probably imagined the personal concern involved Jonah and the RG, as that was the only thing I normally wouldn’t discuss with him in detail. But Ethan was the only man on my mind.

Apparently intent on guaranteeing that fact, he flicked a finger, and the towel fell to the ground, heaping at his feet. Ethan stood there, still damp, golden hair around his shoulders, hands on his hips and a less-than-modest expression on his face. Considering his impressive erection, modesty would have been wasted on me anyway.

I ignored my body’s undeniable twinge of interest and dragged my gaze to his face. “Not that kind of personal concern.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re certain?”

“That you’ll be the only man on my mind?” Especially with the image of him standing there seared into my retinas and memory. “Yes. I’m quite certain. Positive, you could say.”

He smiled a little. “Sentinel, you’re mumbling.”

“I’m tired. And your nakedness is distracting.”

But I moved to him anyway. Because sometimes distraction was just the thing you needed.

Some hours later, darkness fell without a knock at our bedroom door or any other. But alarms weren’t always raised with fists.

LOOK AT LITTLE SISTER

W
e were dressed the next evening and preparing to emerge from the bedroom when our phones rang simultaneously. I reached for mine, but Ethan found his first.

“Sullivan,” he said, answering it through the speakerphone.

“It’s Luc. Turn on the television. NBC affiliate.
Now.
”

Dread ran cold along my spine like a spill of ice water.

We ran for the door, pulled it open, found Mallory on the couch, yawning as she flipped through a magazine. Catcher was gone, but there was shuffling in the kitchen.

Ethan reached the television first, switched it on, and found the channel.

“What’s the emergency?” Mallory asked.

A newscaster’s solemn voice began to ring through the air, drawing my attention back to the television. And there on the screen was Scott Grey, his lip bruised and bleeding, one eye swollen, his arm in a make-do sling. He limped as he walked, two men in black suits escorting him from the police station. The man on his left whispered to him, close and confidential.

“Catcher,” Mallory said, the same look of mortification in her eyes, “you need to see this.”

Catcher emerged from the kitchen, a mug in hand and wearing only boxers. He nodded at me and Ethan, then fixed his eyes on the screen.

“Scott Grey, the quote-unquote Master of Chicago’s Grey House of vampires, was led away from the precinct tonight by his lawyers after a day of intense questioning. Police spokesmen say they spoke with Grey about the recent murders and riots that have racked the city.”

“Bastards,” Ethan gritted out with obvious temper, needles of magic spilling into the air. “They’ve beaten him like he’s a goddamned animal.”

“Police say Grey is not a suspect in those events, but he may have information which could lead to the arrest of those suspected. John Haymer has more live from the precinct steps.”

The shot switched to a young man with dark skin, sharp gray eyes, and a very serious expression. “Thank you, Linda. I’m here with Terry Fowler, a resident of Hyde Park, with commentary.”

Haymer tipped a black microphone toward Fowler, a man with bony shoulders and a gleaming pate.

“It’s about time,” Fowler said, with a thick Chicago accent and a waggling finger, “that the mayor took some action on the hooligans that are running loose in our streets.”

“Those
hooligans
,” Ethan bit out, “are not vampires.”

“And what do you think about the charges the city used inappropriate force against Mr. Grey?”

“Inappropriate force? He’s a predator. They all are. Rioting, plucking victims here and there, probably grab you right off the street if they had a mind to. ’Bout damn time, if you ask me.” He smiled with gusto at the camera, clearly happy about his forty seconds of fame.

There would never be a moment’s peace, I realized. Not as long as human civilization had its own problems, not when vampires made such an easy target. Not when blaming us was easier than addressing deeply rooted social ills.

This was Celina’s doing, the result of her outing vampires, the mess she’d made by announcing their existence to the public. It had been more than a year since she’d made the decision, held a press conference, brought vampires into a light they hadn’t asked for. And now we were paying the price. This wasn’t the age of the Inquisition or the Salem witch trials, but it was proving to be different only by mechanism and degree. Technology didn’t make humans less blind; it only made it easier for hate and ignorance to spread.

“The mayor maintains the city’s supernaturals are little better than domestic terrorists. What are your thoughts?”

“They’re violent,” Fowler said. “Creating chaos. Making good people afraid to go out at night. Isn’t that terrorism? She should put ’em away or take ’em out.”

“You mean the death penalty?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah. If it’s good enough for humans, ain’t it good enough for vampires?”

My blood chilled. His voice stayed casual, like it was nothing at all to suggest our deaths.

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler,” said the reporter, looking straight into the camera again. “I’ve spoken with a number of individuals here outside the precinct. Although not all of them support the mayor’s actions, it’s clear they are concerned about the presence of vampires in their community.”

The shot switched back to the studio, where the anchor, every strand of platinum blond hair in place, nodded. “Thank you, John, for that report. The mayor has not issued a statement respecting Mr. Grey’s release. The mayor also has not yet identified a replacement for the head of the Office of Human Liaisons, who was arrested a few days ago for his role in the riots that have racked the city this week.”

The camera shifted to the man who sat beside her, a brunette with thick eyebrows and a long, straight nose. “Thank you, Patrice. And now to sports.”

Ethan flicked off the television.

“They actually think we’re threats to the public welfare?” I asked.

“The mayor thinks
I’m
a threat to the public welfare,” Ethan said. “And Scott is the bait they’re using. And they’re using him, well and thoroughly, after all we’ve done for the city. The times we’ve pulled it back from the brink. Assimilation didn’t work. Living in public doesn’t work. I’m not sure what our remaining options might be.”

“Disappearing,” Catcher said. “Just like the elves.” He glanced at me. “Have you heard from Jonah?”

“I haven’t even had time to look.” I went back to the bedroom and grabbed my phone, found three missed calls from Jonah, and sent a message.

WE’RE WATCHING THE REPORTS
, I sent.
I’M SORRY GREY HAS GOTTEN DRAGGED INTO THIS
.

He didn’t immediately respond, so I kept the phone in my hand, went back to the living room, and wished him strength.

Ethan glanced back at me, the line of worry between his eyes. “I can’t let them be punished on my behalf. Seeking shelter here to avoid a fight with the CPD was one thing. But others being targeted in my stead is something completely different. This isn’t Scott’s fault.”

“It’s not his fault,” I agreed. “But he was at the House when Monmonth was killed. They’d have seen that on video.” When rioters firebombed Grey House, we sheltered the Grey House vampires, a direct violation of the GP’s blacklist. Monmonth had come to Cadogan House to enforce it, to force Scott and the rest out of their sanctuary, when he attacked.

“He’s a witness,” Catcher said, “because you did him a favor and let him into your House. But it hardly matters. Whether or not you’re there wouldn’t matter. If she thinks she can beat a witness with impunity, there’s no act on your part that would stop her.”

“And it would be dangerous,” Mallory said, fear in her eyes. “She’s willing to do all this when you clearly acted in self-defense. She’s not operating within the bounds of the law.”

“I’m not sure that matters to her,” Ethan said, putting his hands on his hips. “The law applies to humans, which we are not. I’m sure she has advisers, lawyers on staff who are promising her that she’s doing nothing illegal, nothing that’s not sanctioned by vague and antiquated laws. Add in her argument that we’re domestic terrorists, and she has a license to abuse her powers. Goddamn her.” Furious magic buzzed around Ethan, filled the room. “Goddamn her and her narcissism.”

My phone buzzed; it was Jonah again.

WE’RE MANAGING
, he said.
RG HELPING. LAWYERS TALKING TO SCOTT. ALL GUARD CAPTAINS COMMO’ING
.

That was something, at least. The Houses would never be as strong apart as they would be together.

But Jonah had one more message to share:
BEWARE—KOWALCYZK MEANS TO MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF ETHAN.

I could face down a harpy or an elf. But the thought of Ethan in trouble curled my stomach with fear.

“Ethan,” I said, passing the phone to him when he glanced back at me.

“What am I supposed to do?” he slowly asked, handing it back. “Sit here twiddling my goddamn thumbs while they take the punishment she means to give me?”

“You’ll stay here,” Catcher said, “and keep the situation from getting worse. Scott has lawyers, and he’s immortal just like you. And frankly, it’s time the other Houses get beat up instead of Cadogan.”

When Ethan opened his mouth to argue—probably with cursing—Catcher lifted his hands. “Stop. Just wait a minute. Let me play the asshole, and you can be pissed at me if you want. We go back a long way, Ethan. You know I don’t bullshit you. Not on purpose anyway,” he said, slanting a glance at Mallory. “For once, take my advice—let the others do the heavy lifting. If you go back, she’ll crucify you. That won’t do you, Merit, Malik, or anyone else any good. So Scott got a little bruised; he’ll heal. This is not the first time or the last time authorities in Chicago have roughed up a witness or a suspect. Christ, how many times have you both been injured?”

He sucked in air, let it out again, looked between us. “What’s happening in Chicago isn’t great. But you knew when you came here that ‘not great’ was a pretty strong possibility. And in the meantime, an entirely new crisis has dropped into your life. Let’s deal with that crisis first, before we run back to the arms of the other one.”

The room went silent for a moment with the weight of Catcher’s words.

“Been saving up that monologue for a while, have you?” Ethan asked, a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth.

Catcher humphed. “Longer than I should have. We all have improvements to make.” He looked at Mallory. “I’m trying to make mine.”

I caught Mallory swiping tears from under her eyes, love flooding between them. I looked back at Ethan, and the look he gave me was similarly deep. And surprising, as it often was. The fact that this four-hundred-year-old immortal, this Master of vampires and men, needed me was still occasionally bewildering. And awesome.

“Sentinel?” Ethan asked.

“You stay,” I agreed. “Let our people do their thing in Chicago. And in the meantime, we try to fix what’s broken here.” I stepped forward and took his hands, knowing now the time was right. “We have to find the person who’s attacking supernaturals. Because if we don’t finish this now, there’s a pretty good chance the Houses will be on their radar.”

He pressed a kiss to my brow. “You’re wise beyond your years.” He glanced at Catcher and Mallory. “I wasn’t certain I would ever have an opportunity to say this—but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re part of the team again.”

Mallory grinned, a smile breaking like sunrise across her classically pretty face, now framed by blue waves.

“I’m glad you stopped being a pain in my ass,” Catcher said.

“Well,” Mallory said, pulling back her hair. “Now that we’re temporarily hunky-dory, maybe we should get some work done.”

“And coffee,” Catcher said, walking back to the kitchen.

“You might also want to find some pants,” I helpfully added.

Considering the one-finger gesture he offered, he didn’t much appreciate the suggestion.

•   •   •

Luc agreed with our plan, as did Ethan’s lawyers, who assured him Scott was fine and would have a glorious civil suit against Mayor Kowalcyzk when the time came. The lawyers had very particular concerns about Ethan’s welfare should he fall into Kowalcyzk’s hands, and weren’t willing to turn him over. In the meantime, they promised to check with their contacts in Washington, alert the Justice Department to the mayor’s acts, and, in the interest of clearing the air, invite the Homeland Security folks to come to Chicago and interview Ethan themselves.

I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that course of action—it seemed to me like inviting the wolves into the henhouse—but we didn’t have to worry about it now. We had larger concerns.

Ethan directed Luc to give Grey House anything they needed and asked Malik to make his own diplomatic phone call. We waited while he made the communication and reported back that Scott, too, agreed that Ethan should stay away.

“According to Scott,” Malik said, calling back from the Ops Room, “Kowalcyzk is on the hunt.”

“Does she know where I am?” Ethan asked as we sat together on the couch, mugs of coffee Catcher had distributed in hand.

“She does. Her goon squad told Scott she received an anonymous tip.”

Ethan glanced at me, eyebrow arched. “Any bets on Michael Breckenridge?”

“He’s the most likely candidate,” I agreed. “But every shifter out there knows we’re here.”

“She hasn’t moved on the information,” Ethan said. “At least not directly. Pulling in Scott reads to me like a ploy. As we predicted, she doesn’t want to move on the Brecks, so she’s trying to lure me back to Chicago.”

“If she had any cause at all, she wouldn’t need the lure,” Malik said. “She’d head down there and arrest you. But she doesn’t have evidence of anything but self-defense, which isn’t enough to arrest you in Chicago, much less cross jurisdictional bounds and convince the officers of Loring Park to go up against the city’s biggest taxpayer.”

“Still,” Ethan said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the game playing, and I certainly don’t like her using others to get to me. She knows she has no case. Why not drop it?”