by Jenna Black
“What happened?” he asked, directing the question to Eli, for Fletcher looked too miserable to answer him.
Eli’s face was impassive, his voice calm, as though he hoped to soothe the situation. “Fletcher’s brother was found murdered in his home this morning.”
Jules groaned, rubbing his face. “Another Banger victim?”
“So it would appear,” Eli confirmed, and the Guardians began to murmur amongst themselves.
“Like hell!” Fletcher cried, his face turning its usual telltale red. He turned to glare at Drake. “Tell me it’s a coincidence he convinced everyone he needed to be alone last night and that last night my brother was murdered!”
Drake folded his arms over his chest, propping one foot against the wall in a pose that was supposed to look casual but didn’t. “Fletcher, dear boy, if I wanted to hurt you, I’d come after you, not your brother.”
Fletcher looked like he wanted to leap out of his chair, but he didn’t. Self-restraint? Or Eli’s glamour?
“Look at his coloring!” Fletcher said, sweeping his gaze over all the watching Guardians. “You can see that he fed last night! And who do you think he fed on?”
More murmurs in the crowd.
“Yes, I fed,” Drake admitted, “but I didn’t hurt Fletcher’s brother.” He turned to stare at Fletcher. “Unless your brother is a knife-wielding, teenaged black man with a drug problem, who, by the way, was dying of a nasty stab wound when I took him.”
“Then why did you insist on being alone last night?” a voice called out from the crowd. Frank LaBelle, a relatively new addition to the ranks of the Guardians. His character had been questionable even before he’d been turned, and now his face bore the signs of a troublemaker. A couple of other voices murmured agreement with the question.
“Everyone stay calm,” Eli said, his voice still that soothing croon, but though Jules felt the touch of glamour Eli exerted, the tension in the room remained high.
“It wasn’t Drake,” Jules said, glancing over at Thomas Freeman. “Have you told them yet?” When Thomas shook his head, Jules continued. “Gray James eluded us last night. For at least five hours, we have no idea where he was.”
Eli shot him a reproachful look but refrained from castigating him in public. A temporary reprieve, surely.
“I don’t even know Gray James,” Fletcher protested. “He’d have no reason to strike out at me. But Drake—”
“Enough!” Eli said, more forcefully. “We don’t have enough evidence to convict anyone, so let’s stop throwing accusations about like rice at a wedding.”
“I think it’s about time both of our prime suspects sit down and answer a few questions,” Michael Freeman chimed in, his twin nodding eagerly.
“Eli’s right,” Deirdre said. She practically had to shout to be heard over the muttering and grumbling. “I know both Gray and Drake, and while I won’t say I vouch for their characters, I can say that neither one of them is stupid. And that’s what you’d have to be to do these killings without leaving yourself an alibi.”
“Or maybe they’re just arrogant!” Frank said, once again spawning an approving murmur.
“Gentlemen!” Eli said, and Jules thought he heard a hint of worry in that usually calm voice. “And ladies. Please. Don’t let emotions get in the way. It’s obvious the killer has shifted his focus from anonymous victims to those who are closely affiliated with Guardians. Instead of forming a lynch mob, we need to work together to ensure that no one else dear to us becomes the next victim.”
“If we lock Gray and Drake up for a while and another murder occurs, then we’ll be sure it’s not one of them,” someone suggested. Jules didn’t see who.
“Yes,” Deirdre retorted, “and then another mortal would be dead! Eli’s right: our first responsibility is to guard those mortals who are close to us. They’re all in danger. And keep this in mind, too: whoever’s striking out at us obviously knows who we are.”
“You mean, like Drake,” Fletcher said with a curl of his lip. “Since Eli includes him in all our meetings.”
“Is that a criticism I hear?” Eli asked, and there was something deadly in his voice that hushed all the bickering voices.
Fletcher’s face lost its color. Jules felt as if the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. Eli finally had everyone’s full attention. He stood, and though he was not in reality a very large man, his presence was so commanding he seemed huge. “In times of crisis, it’s easy to give in to one’s emotions and act irrationally. But there is no one here who isn’t old enough and experienced enough to know better. If you expend your energy on pointless suspicions, then you will be nothing more than a rabble of witch-hunters who destroy the innocent while the guilty laugh.” No one spoke, and more than one head bowed in shame. “Now take tonight to do what you can to secure your loved ones. We’ll reassemble here tomorrow night at seven, and we will calmly, rationally discuss our options.” He scanned the room, his eyes bright with anger. “Any objections?”
Not surprisingly, there were none. Eli dismissed the gathering, but commanded Jules and Drake to remain behind.
12
DRAKE LEFT HIS POSITION against the wall and seated himself comfortably in one of the couches before Eli’s chair. Jules cast him a wary glance, then sat on the other side of the couch. There was a noticeable flush to Drake’s cheeks, as Fletcher had said. Jules almost shuddered, though he managed to control the impulse. Guardians didn’t get that telltale flush when they drank their meals of milk and blood.
“So, Eli,” Drake said, leaning back into the cushions and crossing one leg over the other, “why did you ask us to stay after class?”
Eli looked back and forth between the two of them, his face inscrutable. “I am … concerned … about what I saw here tonight.”
“Believe me, Eli, not as concerned as I am,” Drake said with an ironic smile on his lips. “I make an easy scapegoat, and if your people decide to band together against me …”
Jules half-expected Eli to offer some kind of assurance that it wouldn’t happen. Then he remembered the Founder’s words to him when he himself had teetered on the brink of mindless vengeance: That I’ve been able to create the Guardians, convince them to work together, and prevent them from killing each other is a minor miracle. A miracle Jules and everyone else was taking for granted, perhaps?
“Maybe it would be best if you remained as my guest for a while,” Eli said, but Drake just laughed.
“House arrest, Eli? No, thank you. I’ll take my chances. Besides, it has occurred to me that the killer may be hoping to remove the two oldest vampires in Philadelphia—save yourself—from the battlefield.”
For a moment, Jules didn’t follow the argument, for Gray was one of the youngest vampires in the city. Then, he understood. “You think the killer is trying to distract me with thoughts of vengeance.”
“Possible, don’t you think?”
Jules looked at Eli and realized this was what the Founder suspected as well. He also realized something far more troubling: Eli was worried.
“So, you don’t believe either Drake or Gray is the killer,” Jules said.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Eli answered. “But then it has been a long time since I’ve been hampered by my emotions. I can understand why others would believe it.”
“But Eli, really! The coincidences here—”
“May not be coincidence. You remember what Deirdre said, in the midst of the arguing?”
Jules paused, recalling the discussion, but Drake answered for him.
“She said that whoever’s doing this knows who the Guardians are. She thinks the killer has inside help.”
“Exactly,” Eli said.
“But that can’t be,” Jules protested, leaping to his feet. “Eli, you can’t seriously believe that one of us is a killer!”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Guardians are as susceptible to temptation as anyone else. And they have loved ones, just like anyone else.
What would you do, Jules, if you discovered your son were a Killer?”
Jules’s mouth dropped open in shock and pain, and he felt like Eli had punched him in the gut. “You think my son is involved? He’s—”
But Eli was shaking his head and making placating gestures with his hands. “No, no. Don’t take it literally. I’m posing a hypothetical question and suggesting a motive that might put even the most dedicated Guardian in a quandary.”
Jules must have looked as unconvinced as he felt, for Eli shook his head sadly. “It’s happened before, you know.”
“What?” Jules had been a Guardian for what felt like an eternity, but he certainly didn’t know of any other instances of Guardians turning Killer. Drake looked similarly stunned, though he said nothing.
“Before your time, obviously,” Eli continued. “His name was Archer Montgomery. One of my earlier recruits. A talented hunter.” He fell silent, lost in thought.
“Well, what happened?” Jules prompted.
Another of Eli’s sad smiles. “A woman, of course.” He sighed. “Archer had never married, but he’d had a mistress of whom he was very fond. When he’d been with the Guardians for five years, he found her once again. Unfortunately, she’d been bitten, and we didn’t rescue her in time.
“She was a ruthless Killer. Archer begged for her life, claiming that we could retrain her somehow, maybe teach her to kill only evil people.” He glanced over at Drake. “This was before you came to Philadelphia, and I didn’t believe it was possible for a Killer to retain that kind of moral code. So I refused. Archer tried to hustle her to safety, but my Guardians caught up with them before they got away. They killed the woman but they spared Archer. It wasn’t his fault he was in love with her, and it was hard to blame him for what he’d done in the name of love. Still, I couldn’t take him back after such an open rebellion.”
He looked down at his folded hands. “My greatest failure,” he said softly.
It was hard for Jules to imagine Eli failing at anything. The Founder seemed damned near invincible at times. But it seemed even the oldest and wisest of them had his moments of weakness. Uncomfortable with this revelation, Jules cleared his throat.
Drake regarded the Founder with a sudden intensity. “Do you think he’s still alive?”
Eli smiled sadly. “You mean, do I think he’s come back to Philadelphia to get his revenge?”
Drake shrugged.
“No, Drake. I won’t say there were no hard feelings, but Archer was a Guardian, and he understood my decision as well as I understood his. We kept in touch for a few years afterward, but eventually he drifted away.”
“Okay,” Jules said, “I’ll admit it’s not impossible that a Guardian is involved. But what about Gray? Where does he fit in? Is it just coincidence that he slipped away again last night?”
Eli shrugged off his melancholy and looked more like himself once more. “Maybe. Or maybe the Banger lured him away somehow, setting him up for suspicion. The more suspects he creates, the safer he is.”
“All right, you’ve made your point,” Drake said. “Now, what do you want us to do about it?”
“First, I want you to see to your own safety. It seems clear the killer has moved beyond Broad Street, so your surveillance there is no longer necessary. And I highly recommend you change residences as quickly as possible.”
Drake dropped all pretense of unconcerned aloofness. “Keep your Guardians away from me, Eli,” he said in a deadly voice. “I’ve proven time and time again that I’m willing to kill to save my own life. If they attack me—”
“If they attack you, it will be in force and there will be nothing you or I can do to stop them. Unless you’re willing to stay here, under ‘house arrest’ as you put it. I lead only as long as the other Guardians let me lead. If the killer has his way, I fear chaos may ensue. So take steps to protect yourself, or the killer really will have eliminated one of his most dangerous hunters.”
Drake’s eyes still gleamed with anger, but he made no reply save a curt nod. Jules cleared his throat. “And what about me? Why did you want me here for this little discussion?”
“Because I want you to stop playing Lone Ranger. If we’re to stop the killing, I need your full cooperation.”
“You have it!”
“T’es plein de marde!” Eli retorted with a hint of a grin.
Jules felt an embarrassing warmth in his cheeks, wishing he’d never discovered Eli understood his Québécois. And hoping Drake didn’t know Eli had just said he was full of shit.
Drake laughed. “A taste of your own medicine, eh Jules?”
“Trou d’cul,” Jules growled. “Not you, Eli!” he hastened to amend.
“You want to call me whatever you just called me in English?” Drake challenged, leaning forward with a glare.
“He called you an asshole,” Eli snapped. “Now don’t prove him right.” Drake made a gesture of surrender and leaned back into the couch, and Eli turned his attention to Jules once more. “You’re far more focused on proving Gray’s the killer than on finding out who the killer is. That has to change.”
Jules bowed his head, knowing that Eli was right. “I’ll do my best, Eli, but I’m only human. So to speak.”
The Founder chuckled, and Jules took that for a hopeful sign. “My plan should make it easier for you. I want you and Drake to go interview Gray, try to find out where he went last night. And then I want you to put him under a real house arrest.”
Drake and Jules shared a look, but didn’t comment.
“You told me Kate Henshaw kept Gray locked in the basement when she first took him,” Eli continued. “I want him locked in again. That way we don’t have to waste any manpower watching him.”
“The entrance to his bolt hole is in the basement,” Jules said.
“I’m sure you can block it somehow, between you and Drake.”
Jules nodded gravely, but his insides practically danced for joy. Oh, this was going to be fun! And, best of all, it was for a good cause.
CAROLYN AND HANNAH HEADED to Gray’s house shortly after the sun set. Hannah had disappeared for most of the day—trying to close out some of the cases they were actually being paid for, Carolyn assumed. Carolyn probably should have gone along, just to have something to do. Until the results of the fingerprint search came back, and until night fell, she was at a dead standstill on the Banger case. The day seemed to creep by with glacial slowness.
Finally, sunset arrived, and Carolyn and Hannah took a cab to Gray’s place. Carolyn wondered what Hannah was thinking, whether she believed Gray was a vampire. Chances were, the answer was no, and this might be an awkward interview indeed.
As they mounted the short flight of steps to Gray’s front door, Carolyn turned to her best friend and shook her finger at her.
“Behave!” she warned.
Hannah blinked as though she had no idea what Carolyn could possibly mean. “Who, me?”
Carolyn opened her mouth to retort, then thought better of it. What was the point? Hannah wasn’t about to change her stripes now. Hoping Gray would forgive her, Carolyn rang the doorbell.
The door swung open moments later, and both Carolyn and Hannah jumped—there’d been no sound of footsteps. Gray leaned against the doorframe, looking back and forth between the two women, his lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance.
“Yeah, pleased to see you too,” Hannah said before anyone else could speak. She shouldered Gray aside so she could enter the house.
Gray’s frown turned into a scowl, and he looked daggers at Carolyn.
“Hey, don’t blame me for her manners,” Carolyn said. “I’m not her mom.”
Gray grunted but didn’t speak, moving aside to let Carolyn in. Together, they walked into the living room, where Hannah had already made herself at home, picking up some of the antique knick-knacks and examining them.
“Nice place you got here, Gray,” she said, peering closely at a porcelain figurine of a ballet dancer. “Very you.�
� She put the figurine down and reached into her suitcase-sized purse. When she turned around again, she clutched a large, gaudy crucifix, holding it before her as she approached. “Back, spawn of Satan!” she cried, and Carolyn wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
“Hannah, please!”
Gray was even less amused, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at Carolyn. The cross didn’t seem to be worrying him.
“One down,” Hannah said, cheerfully oblivious as she stuck the cross back into her purse. Next, she pulled out a bulb of garlic. “Catch!” she said, tossing it at Gray.
His hand moved lightning quick, snatching the garlic from the air. He held it up for inspection. His face now looked for the most part impassive. Except for his eyes. They smoldered with anger.
“All right, cross garlic off the list,” Hannah said. She looked like she was having a grand old time. Next she tried a heavy silver chain. Once again, Gray caught it when she threw it at him, the look in his eyes ever more deadly.
“I don’t know,” Hannah said, “this whole vampire thing is looking a little shaky. He’s not bothered by the cross, or garlic, or silver …”
Gray dropped the garlic and the silver chain on a side table. “Actually, it’s iron we can’t tolerate,” he said. How he managed to sound so casual and yet so angry, Carolyn didn’t know.
“Iron?” Hannah said. “But there’s iron in blood! Besides, I thought that was only good against werewolves and fairies. Of course—”
“Don’t say it,” Carolyn warned between gritted teeth, knowing Hannah was about to make some kind of crack about “fairies.” Hannah smiled innocently.
Thankfully, Gray either hadn’t read Hannah’s mind as well, or chose to ignore what she hadn’t said.
“The iron in blood isn’t anywhere near concentrated enough to hurt us.” He turned to Carolyn. “It would serve you right if I denied all knowledge of this and let Hannah go on thinking this is all some kind of a game.”
“I had to tell her, Gray. Thanks to that note, I’ve been sucked into this, and thanks to me, Hannah has too. She needed to know what we were up against.”
