Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (11 page)

But Cyrius just shook his head. Whatever nonsense Reed had been spouting about his new world order, Lore seemed to earnestly believe it.

I stepped forward again and lifted the point of Leona’s katana to his neck.

“Who killed Caleb Franklin?” I asked him.

“I don’t know!” Spit accompanied the frantic words. “I don’t know.”

I pressed incrementally forward, until a droplet of crimson rolled down the blade.

“I don’t know!” Cyrius yelled. “I don’t know who he is. I’ve never met him or Franklin. I just know the vamp belongs to Reed.”

“And the sorcerer?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know!”

“I’m tired of hearing that answer,” I said, adding a little crazy to my voice for impact and digging the point a millimeter deeper.

Cyrius lifted his eyes to Ethan. “Stop her. For Christ’s sake, stop her.”

Ethan looked unmoved by the pleading. “Why should I? You said we’d leave here in body bags.”

Cyrius didn’t have a good answer to that. “I swear to God I don’t know who the sorcerer is. Just that Reed’s got one. We aren’t allowed to know. We aren’t allowed to get close.”

Now, that was interesting. “Why?” I asked, pulling back on the blade, just a little. Cyrius’s gaze flicked to me again.

“He’s off-limits.” He swallowed, now all cooperation. “The sorcerer’s got something big planned with Reed. Something really big.”

Reed, the alchemy, the sorcerer. All of them part of something bigger. And confirmation, again, of something I didn’t really want to discover.

“Is the plan to do with the alchemy?” Ethan asked.

Cyrius’s expression seemed genuinely blank. “The fuck is alchemy?”

Ethan shook off the question. “What big thing does he have planned?”

“I don’t know. I just know we aren’t supposed to bother him with mundane shit. Not right now. Not while he’s focused.”

Ethan considered the answer for a moment, then crouched down in front of Cyrius. “I’m going to do you a favor, Cyrius Lore. Before I call the CPD, I’m going to give you time to get out of here.” He took Cyrius’s chin in his hand. “Tell him what happened here tonight. And tell him we’re coming for him.”

“He’ll kill me.”

“You lie down with dogs,” Ethan said, rising again, “you risk a bite.” He looked back at me. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Sentinel.”

When we stepped into the hallway again, La Douleur was in chaos. They’d either heard the fight or word had traveled. Doors were open, sups in costume—black latex, sexy nurse, eighteenth-century French aristocracy (which was so very vampire)—hustling toward the front door and the cover of darkness. I felt momentarily bad about interrupting consensual activities, but that guilt was erased when a woman with bruised eyes, tears streaming down her face, pushed through the crowd to the door.

We stepped into darkness with the rest of them, threw into the stream the weapons we’d confiscated. And, like the rest of the supernaturals hurrying out of the club, we disappeared into the night.

SHAKE IT OFF

G
abriel had left us a message advising that most of the shifters had dispersed, and inviting us to stop by Little Red.

We’d get there, but first we had more immediate concerns—namely, my ravenous hunger. It felt like there were gears in my abdomen grinding angrily against one another. I was dizzy, light-headed, and aching with need.

That I ached with other needs, too, would have to wait for a more opportune moment.

Super Thai was a hole in the wall in West Town, not far from Little Red. A tiny woman escorted us to a plastic-lined booth, where I ordered pad Thai. Whatever the fight had done to me, I needed peanuts and noodles, and I needed them now.

I only barely managed to wait until the waitress put the plate in front of me. I mixed peanuts and cilantro into noodles, doused my food with chili sauce, and dug in.

“I’m sorry,” I said when I’d inhaled two enormous forkfuls. “I can’t stop myself. I feel like I haven’t eaten in a month.”

“It might have been my glamour,” Ethan said. He’d declined food, and now watched me like a scientist. “Perhaps because your susceptibility came online late, and you’re still adjusting to it.”

“That and the fact that I just battled a two-hundred-pound warrior queen with a personal vendetta. But as for the glamour, yeah, that seems to be the way of things.”

It was another reason a vampire in the making shouldn’t get drugs to ease the process. Ethan had administered them out of guilt that I hadn’t been able to consent to my transition because I was bloodied and unconscious at the time.

“Again,” Ethan said, and I saw the quick flash of regret in his eyes. Pointless, since he’d saved my life.

“You did what you thought best to save me pain,” I said, and saw his expression soften. I paused long enough to drink from the small glass of ice water that had accompanied my food. The hotter the food, the smaller the glass. Why was that?

“How do you want to deal with La Douleur?”

“We’ll talk to Luc, add the club to the information we’re compiling about the Circle, about Reed.”

“We need to tell my grandfather. Make an anonymous report tomorrow, if you want. Give Cyrius time to report back to Reed first. But he’s still part of the Circle, and the CPD should know it.”

Ethan smiled, lifted his phone. “I submitted an anonymous tip to the CPD via the Web site while you were inspecting the menu. I also sent your grandfather a message, said we wanted to get clear before the CPD came rolling along, just in case.”

Relief flowed through me. I didn’t want my grandfather walking into a doubly hazardous neighborhood, but neither did I want to hold back information. “Good.”

“I mean, I had plenty of time,” Ethan snarked. “Between the spring rolls, the curry, and the pad Thai, you gave that menu a thorough inspection.”

I made a juvenile face. Ethan’s expression sobered. “You saw the woman leaving?”

“The one with the black eyes?”

He nodded. “I wanted to give her a chance to get away. She can report to the CPD if she chooses to, tell them what’s happened to her. But that should be her choice, not a decision forced on her by a police raid.”

“That was a good call.” I plucked a peanut from my plate, crunched it. “Speaking of the CPD, I think they’ll find more than they bargain for.”

Ethan frowned. “Oh?”

“Let’s say, hypothetically, that you previously visited La Douleur. In said hypothetical visits, did you ever see paper exchange hands?”

He smiled slyly. “Of course not. No one who visits that particular establishment wants a paper trail.”

“Precisely. So why were there so many file boxes in the back room?”

Ethan opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Exactly,” I said. “I’d also bet running a criminal empire requires plenty of paper. Even if Reed’s gone digital now, he’d still have decades of paper. Hell, the tax evasion alone would require boxes of it. And where better to stash it than a neighborhood too polluted to visit?”

Ethan smiled warmly. “My, my, Sentinel. We might have to increase your stipend.”

Every Cadogan Novitiate received a stipend for their contributions to the House. I didn’t really need the money—not with the Master’s apartments and a Margot to boot. But I appreciated the approbation.

“I’m sure you can think of a more interesting reward for a job well done. Or a clue well located.” I speared a chunk of fried egg. “We put the CPD onto Cyrius Lore and La Douleur, and we’re one step closer to bringing down Adrien Reed.” I looked up at Ethan. “He’s going to be pissed about that. He’s also going to know that we know about Hellriver and La Douleur, that the alchemy and sorcerer are his, that he’s responsible for Caleb Franklin’s death, and that he has something big planned.”

“Perhaps,” Ethan said. “Although I wouldn’t put it past Cyrius to avoid telling him, take whatever emergency cache he’s squirreled away and leave town. He doesn’t seem like the brave type. Either way, Reed will know we are on his path, and not afraid to get our hands dirty. I think that’s a fairly good play.”

“It’s a good start,” I agreed. Bringing down an enormous criminal organization was going to take a lot more than that.

“It’s been a good night for you,” Ethan said warmly. “You found a necromancer, kicked some fairly significant ass, and discovered some very good information.”

I mimicked a microphone drop.

Surprising no one, Ethan didn’t get it.

“If you keep me in Thai food, I’ll try to come up with more good information.”

“Let’s start with the one plate, Nancy Drew, and see where it goes from there.”

•   •   •

Little Red took up a corner in Ukrainian Village and was bounded by an alley on the other side. The walls were brick, and the front featured an enormous plate-glass window beneath a glowing sign.

When Ethan opened the door, the scents of meat, cigar smoke, and beer wafted out. The linoleum was dark, warped, and worn, the walls were dingy, and the tables were uneven, with wads of napkin stuck beneath too-short legs. It looked the same as it had the last time I’d been there; it was good to know some things didn’t change.

Shifters sat at the tables, talking quietly, drinking beer, playing cards, and sending us distrustful looks as we walked across the room. We’d worked hard to make allies of the North American Central Pack. Yes, the shifters were in mourning and entitled to their feelings. I just wished they hadn’t been so negatively directed at us.

Chin up,
Ethan soothed as we made our way to the bar, where a short woman with bottle-bleached hair flipped through a magazine.

She looked up, gave us a once-over, and slapped the cover of the magazine closed with a powerful
thwack
that made some of the shifters sit up and take notice.

Steady, Sentinel,
Ethan said.

I could be steady; I was trained for it. I just didn’t want to be on the outs with Berna. She was pushy, abrasive, nosy, and had a wonderful hand at grilled meats. I liked her a lot.

“What is this?” she asked, in a voice heavily accented with Eastern Europe. Her eyebrows, slender drawn-on arches, were furrowed with irritation.

“Gabriel asked us to come by,” Ethan said.

But Berna dismissed the sentiment with a swat of her hand. “No. This.” She pointed an arthritic finger back and forth at us. “You must be marry.”

“We must be merry?” Ethan asked, obviously confused.

But I understood exactly what she meant.

“We aren’t
Twilight
, Berna.” She had a thing for the books, and seemed to think—or maybe hope—that Chicago’s vampires had something in common with the fictional ones.

She made a
pfff
ing sound. “Vampires. Sparkle. If you are in love, you marry. This is life. This is way.”

“Ah,” Ethan said, his lips spreading with amusement. “I do intend to make an honest woman of her.”

Berna snorted, held out a hand, waggled her fingers. I put my hand in hers, thinking she meant to check me for a ring, proof of Ethan’s promise. Instead she flipped my hand over, traced a cracked and calloused thumb over my palm as she inspected it like a jeweler checking for flaws.

“Good line of life. Good line of love. There is no problem here.” She turned my hand over again, patted it with affection. “You are good girl. Skinny, but good girl.”

“She was a dancer, you know.”

Berna looked over at Ethan, her eyebrows arching so high they nearly disappeared into her hair. “Oh?”

“She danced ballet for many years.”

Berna looked me up and down, seemed to reach a new kind of acceptance of my frame. Not that I needed Berna’s approval—my body was my body—but at least I wouldn’t have to hear about it anymore.

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “You know Bronislava Nijinska?”

I smiled. “I do. I’ve seen video of her dancing. She was very beautiful.”

“She is epitome of beauty. That is the word? Epitome?”

“That’s the word,” I agreed with a smile.

“Good. She is this.” Her measuring stick reconfigured, she looked me up and down. “You still dance.”

“Informally,” I said. “I train, and sometimes that means dancing.”

“Mmm-hmm. I know teacher.”

“I don’t need a teacher.”

She just lifted her sketched-on eyebrows. Berna wasn’t a woman who took no for an answer.

“Vampires don’t have time for ballet,” I insisted.

“Vampires immortal. Vampires have time for all things, including dance.”

She’s got you there,
Ethan said.
I’d love to watch you dance again.

There is not enough money in the world to get me into toe shoes,
I decided. I’d tortured my feet enough. Not that taking bullets was much of an improvement.

Clearly disappointed, Berna pointed to the padded leather door that led to the bar’s back room. “Gabriel in back. You can go,” she said, without so much as an offer of cabbage rolls or stewed meats.

I didn’t want Berna angry at me. “I could probably practice more,” I said, a peace offering.

She nodded. “Good. You practice, and we will talk.”

That would have to do for now.

•   •   •

Little Red’s back room was small but surprisingly cheery. There was a retro table that seated four, mismatched chairs on top of more warped linoleum, and old movie posters on the walls. Gabriel sat at the table with Fallon and a couple of male shifters I hadn’t seen before. One had sunburned skin, bleached hair. The other had dark skin and straight, dark hair that was slicked back on top, shaved on the sides.

Gabriel looked at us, nodded. The other shifters must have taken that as their cue to exit, as they rose and disappeared into the bar.

“What’s in the bag?” Gabriel asked.

Ethan slipped out the bottle, passed it over.

“GlenDronach,” Gabe said, in what sounded to my ear like a pretty good Gaelic accent.

Ethan nodded. “A token in sympathy of Caleb Franklin’s death.”

“Thank you. We’ll toast him with this.”

Ethan inclined his head.

“You two hungry?”

Ethan glanced at me.

“Oh, that’s a joke that never gets old,” I said. In fact, my metabolism was a diesel engine; it rarely stopped running. But even I didn’t think it was wise to pile rich Eastern European fare atop spicy Thai.

“No, thank you.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well. Not an answer I’d have ever expected from you.” He wiggled the bottle. “In that unusual case, how about a drink?”

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Ethan said.

“Me, neither,” I said.

Gabriel nodded, rose. There was a small refrigerator in a corner of the room beside a skinny rattan cabinet. Gabriel pulled out three glasses and brought them back, then poured a finger of GlenDronach for each of us.

“You find Franklin’s house?” Gabe asked.

“We did,” Ethan said, accepting the glass with a nod. “No one was there, and there weren’t many personal effects as far as we could tell. A few pieces of furniture, probably came with the house, a few articles of clothing. No vehicle, no paper. Plenty of food in the fridge and freezer, so he was definitely staying there. We didn’t find anything that indicated why he’d ended up dead.”

All that was entirely correct, if not the entire truth. Ethan didn’t mention the cashbox we’d found or the key. He must have had a reason for the omission, even if he hadn’t shared it with me.

I took a sip, let whiskey burn down my throat. It was strong, but smoky and smooth.

Gabriel nodded his head back and forth, back and forth, as if considering the information, debating whether we told the entire truth. Or maybe that was just my conscience talking.

“Have you learned anything?” Ethan asked.

“Not really. There are a couple of shifters he’s stayed in contact with, but they haven’t seen him in several weeks.”

Because he was involved in something big, I suspected.

“I managed to get the address, and that’s it. They knew it by sight, but neither had been in. Caleb kept to himself.”

Ethan nodded. “You mentioned Franklin’s neighborhood was at the edge of Hellriver. La Douleur has relocated there. We paid it a visit.”

Gabriel’s eyes lifted to Ethan, then me. “Now, that’s a side of you I didn’t expect to see, Kitten.”