Grady chuckled and accelerated the automobile. “I didn’t figure you’d be wanting to stand and discuss all this while your hatchet-eyed landlady observed from her window.”
“Hatchet-eyed?”
He shrugged. “I’m a writer. Hazard of the trade.” The remnants of his smile faded, and he took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her. “I was wanting to make certain you’d gotten home all right last night. That was an awful…thing that happened, and I lost track of you in the melee.”
“But you didn’t know my name,” she said, mollified by his confession. Although he’d figured out where she lived and that she didn’t have a boyfriend…
“What do you think took me so long? I would have been here sooner if I had. It helps I have a cop for an uncle, and I have access to all sorts of information. And there aren’t very many young women named Macey in Chicago.”
Which was probably why someone had apparently mistaken her for a different Macey. Macey Gardella.
“How did you know I lived near Hyde Park? And that math isn’t my thing? And what makes you think I don’t have a boyfriend?”
He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that charming way. “I saw you get on the trolley toward Hyde Park that day we met on the street. Figured you had to be going home at that time of day. And when you went to pay for your drink at The Gyro, you had to calculate the change. Twice. As for the boyfriend…well,” he said, glancing toward her, “I was just hoping it was true.”
Macey’s cheeks were pleasantly warm. “I see.”
Still smiling, he turned down a side street and began to maneuver into a parking place.
“This isn’t the library.” She frowned at him.
“I thought since I was so-called ‘late’ coming to pick you up I owed you at least a cup of coffee,” he said. “Maybe even a sandwich?”
“I’ll bite. We can do the interview over coffee and a sandwich. Yes, it’s the least you can do—write a story about the library for the Tribune. We’re trying to renovate the book processing rooms and could use some publicity for our charity dinner next week.”
Part of the reason she accepted his invitation—if it could even be considered an invitation—was because she was putting off deciding whether she should try to find The Silver Chalice again. But the memory of those glowing red eyes and long, lethal fangs left her no choice. The thought reminded her to adjust the scarf as she waited for Grady to open the car door.
Once again, he gave her legs a long look as she climbed out. “Maybe you’d like to get a photographer here to take a shot,” she said as he closed the door.
“For the interview?” He looked at her quizzically.
“No,” she said. “Of my legs. You seem fascinated by them. A photo would last longer, you know.”
His confusion disappeared into a smirk. “And then I could hang it in my office. An excellent suggestion.” When she huffed, he added, “You should be flattered, lass. You’ve got gams worth taking a second look. Not to mention other assets.” His voice dropped a little at the last bit, and his smile turned warmer.
More flustered than she cared to admit, Macey declined to respond as they walked into the small diner. Earlier, she hadn’t been certain she’d be interested in food any time soon, but now she smelled something good to eat and realized how empty her stomach was. Adjusting her scarf, she nodded when Grady suggested a table in the corner by a window.
Their attention was taken up by perusing the handwritten menu on a chalkboard and ordering from the waitress. But once that was accomplished, Macey settled in her seat, looked at Grady, who was flipping through his notebook, and contemplated her situation. Strange and unsettling—for here she was, sitting in a cafe with a mysterious man who’d tracked down her identity and home, and with whom she’d had an absurd conversation about vampires…the morning after she’d been attacked by one.
Could it be coincidence?
Grady removed his hat, and she couldn’t help but notice how thick and rich his hair looked—like swirls of chocolate-colored velvet. He had brilliant blue eyes that, in the short time she’d known him, had ranged from light and twinkling with humor to sharp and serious, as dark blue as Lake Michigan on a wintry day.
He looked up at that moment, and his eyes were currently colored in the serious, midnight blue tones. “Miss Denton—”
“What happened to ‘Macey?’” she asked, trying to diffuse the sudden tension that had settled over her shoulders. “Why so formal?” She hoped her grin came across as breezy as she intended. She wasn’t particularly adept at flirting.
“Macey, then.” The seriousness didn’t ease from his gaze. “Do you know what happened last night?”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, then stopped. She didn’t want him to think of her as fairy-headed, because she knew damn well what he meant. Her palms had suddenly become damp. She wanted to talk to someone about what happened in her flat—she needed to tell someone. Someone who’d believe her.
But…he’d probably think she was loony.
“At The Gyro? There was a raid.” She chose her words carefully.
He started to respond, but the waitress approached and set two cups of coffee in front of them and so he waited. When she walked away, he spooned a single scoop of sugar into his cup and stirred slowly, looking down as if fascinated by the vortex the swirling coffee made. “A raid? Is that all you think it was?”
Macey poured a large dollop of cream into her drink and used three spoonfuls of sugar. She didn’t seem to be able to form the words that needed to be said. What if he thought she was loco?
He dropped his spoon onto the saucer with an impatient clatter. He leaned across the table, his face intense as he said in a low voice, “Macey, there were vampires there.” He speared her with his eyes. Her heart thumped.
“I…know.” The words came out in a whisper as she looked straight at him.
Grady settled back in his seat, relief evident in the way his shoulders sagged. He looked at her, that deathly serious expression still there…but now it was tinged with satisfaction. “Thank you.”
She accepted and understood his gratitude for her acknowledgment. But she was still so confused and overwhelmed by everything that had happened, she wasn’t certain what to say, or even where to begin. As she contemplated how to respond, she noticed a man being seated nearby.
His smooth, spare movements as he made his way between tables in the wake of the waitress caught Macey’s attention. Something about him seemed familiar. She caught just a glimpse of his face, but it was obscured by a low-riding fedora, and he was angled away from her.
“About last night…how did you know? Did you see a…vampire?” Her voice dropped low.
“I wasn’t certain until I saw the—one of the victims.”
Macey stilled. Her body went numb. Oh, God, yes, there had been victims. An ugly chill crawled up her spine and clamped around her insides. “Oh God,” she whispered as her eyes grew wide. “Victims? How many? Do you know their names? Flora! I’ve got to get to the—to the—morgue or wherever—”
She bolted from her chair, drawing the attention of everyone in the diner…except, noticeably, the man who’d caught her attention earlier. His back to them, he continued to peruse his newspaper as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Macey.” Grady grabbed her arm as she spun blindly toward the door.
She paused, her blind fear and capriciousness ebbing into practicality. Dashing out of the diner in an area of the city she didn’t know wasn’t going to help answer her question. She’d get Grady to take her to Flora’s, or to the morgue, or wherever. She drew in a deep breath and returned to the table.
“My best friend.” She sank into her seat, holding Grady’s gaze desperately, as if he’d have the answer. “Flora.”
The other diners were still watching openly, as if ready to spring to her assistance if it was her companion who’d caused her to bolt…or, perhaps more likely, they wer
e merely interested in the entertainment of a potential lovers’ quarrel.
“There were three female victims. ” His expression was serious and compassionate.
Her heart in her throat, Macey tried to keep her thoughts calm. “Did you see any of them? Were any of them identified? Flora McGillicut has bright red hair. We called her Carrot Head when we were younger.”
His concern eased. “I don’t know their names, but none of the three were redheads,” he told her, just as the waitress appeared with two bowls of soup and a basket of crusty bread.
Macey exhaled, weak with relief. Yet, as she looked down at the potato chowder, her appetite faded. Three victims from the vampire raid last night. Plus the attack on her. She could have been a fourth casualty. There could be even more. A chill snaked up her spine, and she looked at Grady with sudden realization. “Jennie Fallon.”
He was already three bites into his soup—which, judging by the amount of steam curling from the bowl, had to be scalding—but he glanced up. His sharp nod was all the affirmation she needed.
Jennie Fallon. Three from last night. How many more victims? And what could be done to stop there from being more? If there really were vampires…and she had no choice but to accept there were…they couldn’t be killed with Tommy guns or stopped by being put in jail. She suspected the likes of the undead didn’t give two shingles about the laws of mortals. And would a jail cell even hold them? From what she’d read and experienced first-hand, the creatures were unnaturally fast and strong.
For the first time, Macey felt truly afraid. Gangsters were one thing—for unless you accidentally happened to be caught in a crossfire or tried to encroach on their territory by selling booze or setting up a gambling house, they tended to keep their violent tendencies among themselves and rival gangs.
But vampires…they were a different story. They fed on mortals. According to The Venators, they lived only to kill.
Macey glanced down and realized her soup was still sitting untouched in front of her. She might as well eat. It smelled good, and she was hungry—and besides, there wasn’t anything she could do about the situation.
Or was there? A shiver zipped up her spine.
“What is it?” Grady asked, pausing with a crust of bread half-lowered into his chowder. “Are you cold?”
Macey hesitated only a minute before asking, “Have you heard of The Silver Chalice?”
His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “What is it? Some sort of vampire artifact?”
“Shhh.” Macey glanced around the room. “It’s a…a bar or a dance hall. I think,” she added quickly. “I’ve never been there.” Literally, that was true: she’d been outside the establishment, but hadn’t set foot in it.
“I’ve never heard of any place called The Silver Chalice. But it would be easy to find out. Why?” His eyes narrowed, focusing on her.
“I thought…I thought I heard someone say something about The Silver Chalice last night. During the raid.”
“You are a terrible liar, Macey Denton,” Grady said flatly. “But regardless, I can find out if there’s such a place in the city.”
She looked at him primly. “Thank you.”
“And if you’re not going to eat that, I will.” Grady had already finished his own soup and clearly had designs on hers.
“I’ll eat it.”
He looked disappointed, but placated himself with another piece of crusty bread and his cup of coffee. When Macey finished her soup, her companion rose to pay the bill.
“I’m going to wash my hands,” she told him, thinking it would be a good opportunity to adjust her scarf and make sure no blood stains were showing. The last she checked, the wounds were still oozing.
Grady went up to the counter, and she went in the opposite direction to the washroom in the back of the restaurant. Inside the handkerchief-sized room, Macey checked out her reflection in the small mirror. Her white crochet hat looked smart and jaunty, and her inky curls peeked out just below. The scarf had some streaks of blood from her injury, and she vigorously pumped the foot-lever below the sink. The pipes squealed and groaned loudly, and water splashed into the basin.
She was dabbing at the two punctures when the door behind her flew open. Macey stifled a shriek and spun around. It was the familiar-looking man from the restaurant.
“All right. You’re done here,” he said. “Time to come with me.”
FIVE
~ Of Venators and Vis Bullae ~
Macey thought her knees were going to give way, but she had the presence of mind to swing her handbag at him. “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”
He held up a hand and caught her bag in mid-wallop. “Scream? A Venator doesn’t scream.” His laugh was short. “Let’s go. I don’t have as much patience as Temple does.”
“Venator? Temple? Who are you?” Macey was still jittery, but her panic had begun to subside; he sounded familiar. She suspected he was the stake-wielding Chas from the alley last night, but she hadn’t had a good look at him. Even now, he seemed particularly adept at keeping his face in shadow, with his fedora riding unfashionably low over his forehead.
“Let’s go. We’re going to give your friend the slip. He’s not invited.” He flashed a humorless grin and, taking her arm, directed her firmly out into the cafe’s back hallway.
By now she was certain her assailant was indeed the trenchcoated man from the alley behind The Gyro—that was why he’d seemed familiar when he walked into the diner. Temple knew him, and he was obviously another person who thought she was the mysterious Macey Gardella.
“I can’t just leave him—”
“You’re going to have to.”
“No.” She yanked at his grip, and to her surprise, she easily pulled free. “I’ll…get rid of him.”
Leaning against the wall, he sneered, looking at her from beneath his hat. “A Venator with a conscience. That won’t last long.”
Venator again. “Who are you?”
“Hurry, or I’ll make a scene.”
She believed him. But even as she walked out on trembling legs to ditch Grady, Macey wondered whether she should go with Chas or not. Maybe she should ditch both of them.
No. I’d better go with Chas and clear this up.
“What took you so long?” Grady asked as she met him near the front door of the cafe. “You didn’t have to primp for me, I already think—hey. What’s that on your neck?”
Damn. She’d forgotten her scarf. Her hand whipped up to cover the wound. “Nothing. I have to go. I forgot I’m supposed to be somewhere. Thanks for lunch.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Grady moved in, grabbing her elbow with his hand and, pulling her close to his side, maneuvered her toward the door. He was still staring at her neck, and his eyes had gone dark. “If that’s what I think it is—”
“Problem here, miss?”
Suddenly Chas was there, blocking the way. Macey’s heart lodged in her throat. He looked like a mobster: sharp and dangerous—and not in good humor.
A glance behind told her the attention of the cafe’s occupants was riveted on the scene in the entrance. Two male customers stood and, grim-faced, began to make their way through the labyrinth of tables toward them.
“Grady. I need to go,” she said in a low voice. She’d already attracted attention once before. What if someone pulled out a gun and started shooting?
“Go? With this goon?” Grady looked from her to Chas and back again. “Are you all right? You don’t have to go anywhere w—”
“It’s okay. He’s a friend.” She hoped he was, anyway. “Don’t make a scene. I really do appreciate lunch, Grady. Thanks so much, but I have to go.”
She thought he wasn’t going to move, even then. Macey could feel the tension zinging in the small foyer as the two men took measure of each other. They appeared well-matched in size and strength, crowding her into the small space, and neither seemed ready to back down. She could feel the battle of wills vibrating between them.
“Need some help here, miss?” One of the men who’d risen from his meal interrupted.
“No, thanks,” Macey told him. “It’s fine.” She looked up at Grady, whose blue eyes were cold and flat. “It’s okay. Really. He’s a friend.”
He muttered something under his breath. After one last measured look at Chas, he released her arm, stepping away just enough for her to slip by.
“Good Christ,” muttered Chas as he ushered her away from the diner. “Next time can we forget the niceties and chit-chat? And you need something for that.” He gestured abruptly in the general direction of her neck.
“What I need is to get everyone off my case. There’s a misunderstanding, and I want to clear it up. I’m not this Macey Gardella you and your cohorts keep talking about.”
Chas’s only response was a short laugh.
Instead of leading her to an automobile or cab, he directed her briskly down the street and around the block, then into an alley. She hesitated, pulling away when they came upon the black, imposing entrance to a tunnel.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Freight tunnels are the fastest way to get where we need to go—without being seen. You said you wanted to get this problem cleared up.” Chas stood there, hands in his pockets, his fedora still shading his brows.
“Why should I trust you?” Macey backed away. What sort of fool would go down into a dark tunnel alone with a strange man? Her heart pounded and she looked around to see if anyone was nearby.
“Have it your way. But if we’re followed, you can explain to Vioget.” Chas whirled on his heels and stalked off, apparently expecting her to follow.
And darn if she didn’t. At least they were still on the street, in the daylight. And his acquiescence went a long way in making her more comfortable going with him. Besides, she wanted to see where they were going—whether to The Silver Chalice or someplace else.
Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1) Page 6
