by Chloe Neill
My heart pounded with concern for him, for the risk he was taking, even though I knew he and my mother could handle themselves. I’d never seen them face down an army before—those days had been gone before I was born—and I didn’t enjoy it now.
But there was something more dangerous yet. With each drip of adrenaline into my bloodstream, magic began to drum again, eager to join in the fight.
“Bloodletter.” Her voice was hard, the word and tone an insult. “We are here to demand an end to this disrespect.”
My father’s expression showed no fear. He would show no deference to her. “What disrespect have you been shown?” He glanced around at the delegates, some of whom were showing their fangs, their eyes silvered with emotion. “How is a discussion about peace among vampires a threat to you?”
Lip curled, she looked around the room. “You gather your allies here to discuss revolution, to discuss that which bloodletters seek as much as they seek blood. Power over others.”
She offered Ruadan a knowing smile, and he nodded back, eyes narrowed with satisfaction.
My father lifted an eyebrow. “That is incorrect. We are here to lay the foundation to end violence among the Houses of Europe. To discuss the peace we’ve found—or had found—in Chicago. Peace that you appear to be breaching, Claudia.”
Claudia was either too egotistical to care that she’d angered him or oblivious to it.
“Then why were we invited to your party, but not to these serious discussions? It is insulting. And does it not prove you seek to hide your purpose from those who would bring it into light?”
“As the invitation explained,” my father said, voice flat, “the reception was to celebrate our peace. The discussions pertain to European Houses, and, as far as I’m aware, fairies have no quarrel with the Houses in Europe. Do I misunderstand? Do you have grievances to air against Dumas? Against Solignac?”
For a moment, Claudia looked unsettled—and maybe a little confused—by the question.
“You are planning revolution,” she said, her words as uncertain as her expression.
“We are not. If you have been informed otherwise, you have been misled.”
“Wait.” A vampire from Catalonia stood, a man with short, dark hair, tan skin, and suspicious eyes. “There is something suspicious here—shapeshifters in a room of vampires. If these discussions do not pertain to other species, why are they here?”
“Because they volunteered to provide security for this endeavor,” my father said. “And I’d note they are showing substantially more grace than you about that fact.”
This must have been Tomas Cordona, the Master of Casa Cordona. His House was one of the most conservative on the political spectrum, and generally believed sups shouldn’t mix. The reception and shifters’ presence was probably a challenge to that nonsense, which was likely one of the reasons the Chicago Houses had arranged it that way.
Tomas shook his head, pointed at my father. “Deny that you’ve sought to strengthen your position, to consolidate the power of the vampires in this city, or that you’re content to share power with shapeshifters.” He leveled a menacing gaze at Gabriel. “We do not believe in such things.”
Gabriel’s expression was cool and unruffled. There was no insult there, at least not that I could see, but a mild disdain that he’d probably showed to vampires before.
“Tomas, you are insulting your hosts,” Marion said, disapproval clear in her eyes. “That is not befitting a vampire.”
Tomas snorted. “You are plainly on the side of Cadogan, because you shelter its Master’s child.” He fixed his gaze on me, which lit a fire in my father’s eyes.
“I would warn you, Tomas, to leave my family out of your raging. You were invited here today to seek peace. If you will act like a child, we would be happy to treat you like one.” He looked around the room, magic lifting in the air. “There is no conspiracy. There is no revolution. There is no attempt to consolidate power. There is only an effort to help our brothers and sisters in Europe find a way to peace.”
Silence fell and magic kindled, breaths bated for his next move.
My father looked at Claudia. “These talks do not pertain to the activities of fairies in Europe, nor to any supernaturals in Chicago. But if you wish to observe, to offer your expertise, it would be rude and injudicious of us to decline it. You may, if you wish, join us tonight as our guests.”
I bit back a smile. My father was very good. Make the fairies an offer they couldn’t decline without losing face—and one the vampires in the room couldn’t complain about without looking foolish and ungracious.
“We will join you,” Claudia said, chin lifted. “And we will see what trouble you seek.”
* * *
• • •
Two chairs were located and placed in the empty gap in the outer ring of chairs, while my father sent vampires to check on the guards the fairies had managed to get past.
The chairs weren’t fancy—armchairs probably borrowed from one of the hotel rooms. But Claudia and Ruadan seated themselves like royalty, her hand over his atop the rolled arm of her seat.
Unfortunately, the fairies’ seating was the only problem solved during the first abbreviated night of talks. While most of the vampires agreed some kind of governing body was necessary, they couldn’t agree on how that body would be formed, or how voting rights would be allocated. The oldest Houses argued they were the wisest, the most experienced, so their votes should carry more weight. Newer Houses with more money argued they had more value to society, so their votes should carry more weight. And everyone in between feared being swallowed by the larger fish.
Blood and food were offered an hour into the meeting. The fairies remained in their chairs—and well guarded—while the vampires partook. But the refreshment didn’t make the second half of the session any more productive.
They’d barely gotten discussions started again when the Houses derailed them by arguing about how they’d contribute to paying the council’s expenses when they were in session, and where they’d meet.
The European vampires faced some of the same questions America’s founders had faced more than two hundred years ago, except that the vampires had centuries more ego and arrogance behind them.
We adjourned with little accomplished beyond identifying the real problem: how to get dozens of vampire Houses to sacrifice in order to come up with a plan that benefitted them all.
The fairies were escorted out first, and the room itself seemed to exhale with relief when they were gone. The shifters also disappeared quickly, and I couldn’t blame them. They hadn’t exactly gotten a warm welcome from the European Houses.
I spoke with Marion, agreed to talk to my parents about the path forward while she returned to the hotel, where the odds of a fairy attack seemed lower. And then I walked into the plush antechamber beside the ballroom to wait for their arrival.
I was checking the news on my screen when the door opened and my parents came in, followed by Theo and a tall, lean man with medium-brown skin, dark hair, and dark, somber eyes.
“Elisa,” my father said, “this is Roger Yuen, the Associate Ombudsman.”
We shook hands. “It is good to meet you, Elisa. Your great-grandfather is a good man.”
“We think so,” I agreed, then looked at my parents. “How are the guards?”
“Magicked,” he said, and ran a hand through his hair. “We hadn’t even considered the possibility magic—other than glamour—would be used as a weapon.”
Glamour was the vampires’ innate magic, the ability to lure humans and lower their inhibitions when it suited our purposes.
“So many hours of work,” my father said, sounding uncharacteristically dejected, “with very little to show for it.”
“It was unlikely the first round would result in a treaty,” Yuen said kindly. “Perhaps now that the bad blo
od has been aired, so to speak, the real negotiations can begin.”
“And we did avoid an apparent fairy revolution,” my mother said, perching on the arm of my father’s chair. “That’s twice in two days we’ve seen Claudia in her finery.”
“I could have done without the second,” my father said, and looked at Yuen. “Thoughts?”
“She wants to be seen as powerful,” Yuen said. “In control, and an important part of the city’s leadership.”
“Quite a change from their previous attitude,” my father said dryly.
“Why would the fairies believe the talks were some kind of conspiracy?” I wondered.
“Claudia is unstable,” my mother said. “She has been for a very long time.”
“But why the sudden interruption?” Yuen asked.
“There hasn’t been a gathering of vampires this large in many, many years,” my father said. “Perhaps the fairies saw it as a threat.”
My mother frowned. “But why not say something during the planning phase, or attack during the reception, or attempt to prevent the meeting in the first place?”
My father nodded. “The fairies have always been self-centered, but this was unusually specific. Like they’d only figured out our villainous plan tonight.”
“Perhaps the scale of the issue is larger,” Yuen said. “Their magic is fading again.” He glanced at me. “You know about Sorcha? The Egregore?”
The word thrummed through me like a plucked string on a cello.
“I know,” I managed, squeezing the words through tight lungs.
“Two decades have passed since magic was spilled over the city,” Yuen said, “and it has largely dispersed. Chicago is nearly at level again, from a magical standpoint. Concern that they’ll fade away again may have triggered their sudden interest—and the fear they’ll be pushed aside by vampires.”
“What about Ruadan?” I asked.
“We don’t know much about him,” Yuen said. “From what we understand, he’s twenty-two or twenty-three, born after Sorcha’s attack. There were several dozen fairies born in that timeframe, and we believe this was the first time fairies conceived children in the United States.”
“How old is Claudia?” I asked, thinking of Ruadan’s interest in her, romantic or otherwise.
“Older than me,” my father said with a glint in his eye, reminding me that he had been nearly four hundred and my mother twenty-eight when they’d gotten together. I didn’t want to think too closely about that.
“She looked older tonight than I’d seen her before,” I said. “Worn around the edges.”
“I thought so, too,” my mother agreed. “Not by a lot, but noticeably.”
Yuen looked at my father. “What is next, do you think?”
My father rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. They seemed satisfied by what we offered today, and that was little enough. If they believe we’re engaged in some sort of fanged conspiracy, I don’t know what we could really do to appease them.”
“They’ll want seats again tomorrow,” Yuen said, and my father rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure you’re right. I’m inclined to let them in again to maintain the peace, but that’s not helping the negotiations.”
“And tonight?” Yuen asked.
I’d nearly forgotten: Cadogan House was hosting a party for the delegates. It would be fancy, since that was my father’s style. And there would be food and music, since that was my mother’s. Question was, Would there also be violence?
“We could cancel,” my mother said, glancing at my father, but he shook his head.
“We won’t be cowed by violence, threatened or perceived. That wouldn’t serve Chicago or the purpose of these talks. We’ll increase security. And make everyone aware that the fairies aren’t above using magic to get their way.” He looked at Yuen. “I’ll be communicating with Kelley and the rest of my team as soon as we leave here.”
Kelley was the head of Cadogan’s guards.
Yuen nodded. “Very well. Then I’ll leave you to your preparations, and get a report to Dearborn.”
“He’s going to be angry,” my father said, but looked more amused by the possibility than disturbed. “He won’t care that his promotional opportunity has gone south.”
Yuen smiled. “We know who did the actual work in arranging this particular opportunity. But if the result is good, he won’t care much about the details of how that came to be.”
My father smiled, appreciating his dry tone. “You have a solid sense of him.”
“I am well aware that part of my job is managing Dearborn’s expectations,” Yuen said. “And for all our sakes, I hope the result is good.”
SIX
We had three hours until the Cadogan party, and I wasn’t needed until it was time to escort the French delegation to my parents’ House in Hyde Park.
I was trying not to think of the magic that awaited me, so I confirmed Lulu was still where she said she’d be, and took an Auto to Ukrainian Village.
The neighborhood on the west side where Slavs, Poles, and then Ukrainians had settled had a lot of town houses, plenty of dives, and several gorgeous churches. It was also home to Little Red, the Pack’s Chicago headquarters.
When the Auto stopped, I found nothing left of the bar I’d seen four years ago: the scrubby little brick building that had squatted on the corner, a plate glass window in front so the Pack could keep an eye on the street. It had been replaced by a three-story building marked by horizontal stripes of steel and tinted glass. It hadn’t occurred to me to ask Lulu if the Pack had moved, relocated to some other part of the city. The change was disorienting, and I turned a circle on the sidewalk to get my bearings . . . and caught the scent of roasting meat in the air.
Curious, I looked back at the new building, caught the tidy red inscription in the front door, also metal. “NAC Industries.”
“I guess they upgraded,” I said, and walked to the door and pulled it open.
The smell was even stronger here. Sweet and sharp and smoky, with a spicy kick. And behind it, the faint smell of fur and animal, and the vibration of powerful magic.
“Close door! You are letting out air.”
The voice was rough, but one hundred percent recognizable. She rolled up to me in a red motorized scooter. Her hair was still dyed blond, her body a sturdy box on stick legs, her face lined with a few more wrinkles. But her eyes were still clear and suspicious, and her magic put a spice in the air that nearly overpowered the scent of food.
Her gaze narrowed. “You look familiar. I remember a little girl who came in here with her parents. Brat,” she added with a sly smile. “And then a young woman. And then, poof, gone.”
“Hello, Berna. It’s been a long time.”
Berna was one of the matriarchs of the NAC Pack, and Connor’s great-aunt. Her particular corner of the Pack was from the Ukraine.
She clucked her tongue. “For years, you have not come by.”
“I was out of the country.”
“You have not seen our new building.”
“I didn’t even recognize it. It’s so”—I looked up at the glass and steel atrium, and the mobile of metal parts that swung above our heads—“different.”
“Modern,” she said, lip curled like the word itself tasted sour. “Is not my style. But humans, they like.” Her eyes narrowed, and her smile went sly as a fox’s. “And they spend money.”
“So I see. Smells like the barbecue business is doing well.”
“Not just barbecue!” Before I could ask what she meant, she zipped her scooter around and headed down a hallway.
Deciding I’d better follow or be left behind, I hurried to catch up.
The floor here was shiny concrete, and the smell of fresh paint still tinted the air. But it wasn’t strong enough to beat back the scent of food. And I hoped some
of it was destined for the Cadogan House party.
“The kitchen,” she said, pointing to a door. “Restaurant over there, bar over there.”
“Over there” was behind what I thought was the same tufted red leather door that had hung at the old bar.
“Is still the Pack’s place. For now,” she added, her tone and narrowed eyes adding an ominous edge.
“For now?”
“Pack has been in Chicago for a long time. We are not as strong when we do not recharge. Some of us will return, be part of the woods and the air and the water. Join with the earth. And we will be stronger again.”
“Only some of you?”
“We have business here,” she said. “Industry. Many have started families, live as humans. But the Pack must be strong. So there must be a reconnection. A rekindling. That magic will be shared among us, and we will be whole again.”
“Then I hope the Pack finds what it needs,” I said with a smile. “I’m here to see Lulu,” I added, before I ended up on another leg of the tour.
“She’s in back, working.” Her gaze narrowed again. “You will interrupt her?”
“No. I will just say hello.”
There was an aching silence while Berna probably evaluated whether I was going to cost the Pack time or money. Then she nodded toward the far door. “Through there. She is working on the wall.”
I left before she could change her mind.
* * *
• • •
I always forgot how small she was.
Lulu Bell was just over five feet tall, with a slender build and a thick bob of dark hair that scooped at an angle around her face, and that she was forever flipping out of the way.
She wore a sleeveless top in dark gray over calf-length leggings, and flats with toes so pointy they could probably be used as weapons.
She stood in front of an enormous wall—twenty feet long and at least fifteen feet high. Half the wall was filled in—streaks of wild color dancing around curvy female shapes. The other half was still what I thought was the base coat of paint, where light pencil marks created shapes that hadn’t yet been filled in with color.
