Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (13 page)

Luc’s anger fired. “Gabriel Keene’s half goddamn brother worked for Adrien Reed? And he knew Reed’s connected to the Circle?”

“And has done not one thing about it.”

“No wonder Sullivan’s pissed,” Juliet said, and Luc nodded.

“Do you know what we could have done with that information?”

“I do,” I said. “And for his side, there’s loyalty and guilt in there. Gabriel would say he made the best decision for the Pack by kicking Franklin out, staying out of Circle business. Said it was a strategic decision just like the kind Ethan often makes.”

Lindsey winced. “Unfortunately, I can sympathize with that argument.”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “That’s what I thought, too. Ethan’s as strategic as they come, and he’d be perfectly fine keeping information from the Pack if it suited his interests.” Hell, he’d kept information from me because he thought he’d been protecting me.

“Damn,” Luc said, looking at the ceiling as he thought it through. “Where did they leave it?”

“I don’t know. Ethan threw a chair, shifter threw open the door, Berna pretty much threw us out.”

Luc’s gaze dropped to me again. “No shit?”

“No shit. They left on bad terms, but nothing specific was said about the alliance or whatever. I don’t know if this is a lovers’ spat or a total fork in the road.”

Lindsey smiled sympathetically, rubbed my back. “You’re mixing metaphors, English major.”

“The night has fried my brain,” I said, crossing my arms. “Quite a damn situation.”

“Yeah,” Luc agreed. “And as much as it sucks, we’re going to have to wait to see how it resolves. Puts Jeff in a helluva spot.”

“It does,” I agreed. “Right between the Pack and the Ombuddies. He won’t want to disappoint Gabe or my grandfather.”

Luc scratched his cheek absently. “I wish there was a flowers-and-candy equivalent of fixing supernatural disputes.”

“Ethan took Gabe a bottle of Scotch. But that was before his confession.”

Luc nodded. “We’ll have to let that be for the time being. Let’s get back to Franklin, Reed, the Circle, the alchemy.” He gestured toward the conference table, and we took seats.

“We don’t know who killed Caleb Franklin,” I said. “We know it was one of Reed’s vampires.” I slid the key from the envelope, placed it on the table. “We need to figure out, if we can, which bank this came from.”

“And that would normally be a job for Jeff,” Luc said, tracing a finger around the key’s square teeth. “Checking bank records for deposit box rentals in Caleb’s name.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Bad enough that it’s hacking, much less that our bosses are on the outs. But that can’t be helped. He’s the best guy for the job. Maybe go through Catcher?”

Luc nodded. “I can try that. You give him the details about what went on tonight?”

“Not all of them,” I said. “Just what went on in Hellriver. Ethan sent my grandfather a message. You want to fill him in?”

“I can do that.”

“What about Reed?” Juliet asked. “Any sense of what his plan might be?”

“None.” I crossed my arms. “Cyrius Lore said something about Reed bringing order to Chicago. ‘Fixing’ things. He’s been living two lives for a long time—the businessman and the criminal. Maybe he wants to consolidate his kingdoms.”

“How?” Luc asked. “He can’t just declare himself king. People would think he’s a lunatic. And running for office wouldn’t work, either. People may not connect him to the criminal when he’s running his business, but if he puts himself up for election, it’s gonna come out. His opponents will look for it, and they’ll capitalize on it.”

“Maybe that’s our best-case scenario,” Juliet said. “They can do the work for us.”

Luc snorted. “No kidding. The public won’t believe vampires, because, what, we’re biased? But they’ll believe politicians and negative ads.
Humans
,” he spat, not a compliment, even though we’d all been humans once upon a time.

“If Cyrius was telling the truth, and Reed really does have a big plan, I can’t imagine bigger than trying to get Chicago. I just don’t know how he thinks he could do it.”

“Alchemically,” Lindsey said, and we all looked at her, the room silent but for the humming of equipment. “I mean, it’s out there for a reason, right? And Reed’s connected to it.”

Luc frowned, leaned back in this chair, and crossed his hands behind his head. “How could a few square feet of symbols help him win Chicago?”

When none of us had an answer, Luc looked at us. “Seriously? Nothing?”

“Not until we know more about the equation,” I said. “And I don’t suppose Paige has had a brainstorm in the last few hours?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” He glanced at his watch. “I know it’s getting late, but can you go up and give her a hand? I think Lindsey’s right. That’s where we have to focus.”

“Sure,” I said, rising.

The Ops Room door opened, and we all looked back. I’d half expected Ethan to walk in. But instead it was Kelley, with an armful of paper bags from SuperDawg.

“Hey, Mer.” She looked at me cautiously, turning slightly so her body was an obstacle between me and the bags. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“I’m not going to grab those right out of your hands,” I promised, although she looked dubious about the promise.

“I’m not sure I believe you.” And to prove it, she walked around the table, put the bags down on the other side. The other guards hopped up, began distributing the grub until the only thing left was a single, floppy fry abandoned in the bottom of a greasy bag.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

I popped the fry and enjoyed the hell out of it.

•   •   •

I didn’t need dogs or fries. Not really. I was a vampire. And after a night of fighting Leona, Warrior Princess, and Ethan, Master of Vampires, I needed blood.

I went to the cafeteria at the back of the House, passing Ethan’s closed office door along the way.

Dawn wasn’t far off, and the cafeteria was dark but for the glow of a glass-doored refrigerator that held Blood4You products. The enterprising company had been expanding its menu lately, offering more types of flavored and carbonated blood. From the variety in the case, it looked like I’d missed a few recent announcements. “Taco Fiesta,” “Cajun Heat,” and “Farmer’s Market” were now on the shelves.

“Oh, hey, Mer.”

I glanced back, found Margot in the doorway. She was beautiful and curvy, with a gleaming bowl of dark hair and bangs that fell to a perfect point in the middle of her forehead. She wore a black dress over black leggings and sandals, a white Cadogan House apron over the dress. She cradled half a dozen bottles of blood against her chest.

“You look like you’re in deep thought,” she said, walking toward me. “Keep that door open, will you?”

“Sure.” I held the door, took an armful of the bottles so she’d have a free hand to load Cajun Heat and Beach Bum.

“These flavors are crazy,” she said, “but the House seems to be enjoying them.” When that was done, she wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at me. “You all right? You look a little peaked.”

“Long night,” I said, and took a bottle of Classic from the fridge.

“Anything I want to know about? Or more drama that would give me the heebie-jeebies?”

“Heebie-jeebies,” I said. Margot reached in, grabbed a bottle of Beach Bum for herself.

“Mind if I join you? I taught a merengue class tonight, and I am beat.”

“Please do. Although I may not be very good company.”

She grinned. “As long as you aren’t going to spatter me with steaming egg whites, you’re good. I could use some peace and quiet.”

We took a seat at the nearest table, drank our blood contemplatively. The effect was nearly instantaneous, as if I’d been drinking pure energy.

“The House seems nervous,” she said after a few minutes, picking at the label on her bottle.

I nodded. “Reed puts everyone on edge.”

“Asshole,” she said, and took another drink. “There’s always one, ruining it for everyone. Ego validation, projection, whatever. I was a therapist in a past life,” she explained with a downcast smile. “Realized offering therapy just made me need more of it, and needed my own outlet.”

“Cooking?”

Margot smiled. “And baking, especially. Instincts are helpful, but it’s really all about chemistry. Precision. It’s hard to half-ass. You have to pay attention. Concentrate. It tends to”—she paused, seeming to grasp for the right words—“blank out the rest of the mind. The worries. The anxiety. Those thoughts that roll around, over and over.” She glanced at me. “Probably not unlike fighting and training.”

“They can definitely have a focusing quality,” I agreed. “You have to watch your opponent, dodge the move he’s making, try to figure out what he’ll do next. It’s very engaging that way. And the consequences for not focusing, for not paying attention, are pretty severe.”

I’d learned that lesson early on. Catcher had been the first person to train me, and he’d used flaming fireballs to keep me on my toes. I’d managed to avoid getting hit straight-on, but I’d been nicked by plenty of errant sparks. Lesson learned.

She smiled. “I don’t know how you do it. Just”—she waved a hand—“get out there and fight.” She leaned forward over the hands she’d linked on the table. “Don’t you get scared? I just can’t imagine the stuff you and Ethan and the rest of the guards have to face all the time.”

“We’re trained not to run,” I said. “So when you feel that flight-or-fight instinct kicking in, you stay and you fight. And it’s definitely easier now than it was in the beginning. More confidence, I guess. The more battles you fight, the easier it is to fight the next one. Like baking, you can develop the instincts for it.”

“And I guess the perks are pretty good. Our Master is no slouch.”

“No, he definitely is not. A pain in the ass sometimes, but definitely no slouch.” I glanced at her. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Not at the moment.” She tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I think I’m nearly over my ‘I want to be alone’ phase. It’s been great, but times like this, I really wish I had the comfort.”

I nodded. “I totally get that.” My phone rang, and I checked the screen. It was a message from Luc, telling me Paige was waiting.

I rose, pushed in my chair. “I have to get back to work. I don’t suppose you’ve got any fresh coffee in the kitchen?”

She cocked her head at me. “Got some studying to do?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I actually do.” And I smiled, because research was something I could very definitely do.

•   •   •

Or not.

I had a master’s degree and nearly a Ph.D., since my study had been interrupted by my transition to vampire. I’d done my time in libraries and coffeehouses, with notebooks, pens, sticky notes, cups of coffee, and bottles of water.

And I felt completely stymied by alchemy.

Ethan found me in the library as sunrise neared. I sat at a table across from Paige in jeans and a long-sleeved Bears T-shirt (“Monsters of the Midway,” one of my personal favorites). There was a spread of alchemy books on the tabletop and a notebook to my right, along with a fountain pen and the travel mug I’d borrowed from Margot and had to bribe the Librarian to let me bring in.

“You’ll spill it,” he’d said, barring the door.

“I won’t spill it.”

“They always say that. And then they spill it.”

“It’s got a lid,” I insisted, holding it out to show him.

“And they spill it anyway,” he said testily. Information, the Librarian was good with. Customer relations, not so much.

That had gone on for nearly ten minutes, and didn’t stop until I’d promised to lend him a book on medieval lyric poetry still in my collection. The book was out of print, and he’d been searching for a copy, hoped I might have one. I hadn’t opened it in a year, so it was an easy trade, although I did make him promise to put a “Donated by Merit” sticker in the front.

Paige and I both pulled off earphones when Ethan walked in.

He grinned. “Is this what grad school was like?”

I capped my fountain pen. “Only if you’re going to ask me to grab something to eat, get a drink, and go hear this band, but then ditch me and enjoy a pretty good time with a blonde in the corner.”

Paige snorted. She’d been energized by the work, but she’d been doing it for hours. There were blue shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked beyond vampirically pale. Not good for a sorcerer.

“That is very specific,” Ethan said, “and doesn’t really match my plan.”

“Then it’s not an exact comparison,” I said.

“How’s the work going?” Ethan asked.

We both looked at Paige.

“It’s going,” she said, gesturing to the poster and easel. “Would you like me to play Vanna White?”

“Please,” Ethan said with a smile. He perched on the corner of the desk, hands clasped in his lap, as she rose.

“Just like words, alchemical symbols can be grouped into sentences.” She pointed to the subsets of symbols, which she’d bracketed together. “I’m calling them phrases. Each phrase has between three and ten symbols, and each phrase makes up a part of the entire equation.”

“For the purpose of?”

“One, telling the user exactly what to do—like a recipe. And two, actually igniting the magic. We think that’s why it’s written in a particular place instead of a spell book.”

She pointed to three symbols. “The phrases contain the elemental building blocks of alchemy, like mercury, sulfur, and salt.” She pointed to symbols of Jupiter and Saturn. “There are symbols for the time of year, the position of earth in the cosmos. And that’s where the magic gets customized with the hieroglyphs—the sorcerer’s tiny drawings. Some, we think, are supposed to be objects. References to the things actually used to make this magic work. But most are the actions—distillation, burning, and like that.”

Ethan frowned, crossed his arms as he studied the board. “So magic will have to be made?”

“Correct,” Paige said, gaze scanning the lines of symbols. “The magic isn’t self-effectuating. The symbols are magical enough that erasing won’t stop the magic, but not magical enough to kindle on their own. Don’t think of them as paint on a canvas.” She looked back at Ethan. “Think of them more like”—she paused, considering—“carvings in the fabric of the universe. You can wipe away the ink, the color, but that doesn’t change the underlying magic that’s already been wrought just by writing them.”