by Chloe Neill
The House swam with magic, the nervous energy of vampires and the other sups at the party. And it grew stronger as I passed the silent vampires who milled in the foyer, watching me as I walked to my father’s office.
My parents were already there, along with Dearborn, Theo, Gabriel, and Connor, everyone in small species-specific clusters. The room was quiet, and my mother’s sword lay on the conference table, unsheathed and gleaming.
I wasn’t sure if the monster was tired from the outburst or unwilling to challenge me now, but it barely surfaced. I pushed it down until the magic was a pulsing ache in the back of my head. At least that only hurt me.
I walked to Connor, held out his jacket. “Thank you,” I said softly, and still the words echoed through the room like a gunshot.
He took it but didn’t put it on.
I put the tote with my katana, then walked back to my parents, who both reached out to touch me, as if to reassure me and themselves that I was safe.
“Dearborn wants to speak to you,” my father said quietly.
“I figured.”
“He’ll have an agenda. And I suspect that agenda will be cleaning up this matter as quickly and quietly as possible, so he can report to the mayor that it was an aberration, it was handled, and it doesn’t involve the city’s Houses or the talks. The evidence, at present, only points to Riley. Based on what I know about Dearborn, I suspect he’d be more than happy to rely on that evidence and let the blame fall on the Pack.”
“Even if it’s a setup?” I asked. Because I still couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility Riley had done this. And yet . . .
“Even if,” my father said. “Because resolution is faster than investigation. So be careful of his questions. He’ll be looking for particular answers.”
“I’ll be wary,” I promised.
“Are you ready?” Dearborn asked, the words echoing across the room. He wore a slim tuxedo, his silver hair gleaming, sterling cuff links gleaming. Even the shine on his shoes was perfect. Once again, the perfection bothered me. Maybe because his were the only immaculate clothes in the room. Everyone else’s were bloody, muddy, mussed, or torn, because they’d been part of the fray or cleaning it up. He apparently hadn’t lowered himself to get involved.
“Sure,” I said.
“Why don’t we sit?” my father suggested, gesturing to the sitting area on the left-hand side of the room. I took the end of a leather sofa, and my mother sat beside me. My father stood behind us, a unified front. Although I wasn’t the one who needed protecting.
Gabriel took a seat across from me. Connor didn’t sit. He stood behind his father, arms crossed and a grim expression on his face.
Dearborn, unsurprisingly, took the club chair at the end—the “head” position. Theo stayed on his feet and looked nearly as uncomfortable as Connor did. Except one of his own hadn’t been accused of murder.
Dearborn pulled a screen from his pocket, made some adjustment, then set it on the table. A small green light pulsed hypnotically in the middle, signaling it was recording. Dearborn sat back, crossed his legs, and looked at me. “Your version of events, please.”
A steadying breath, and then I told my story. “I was going to check on Seri and Marion. Before I reached them, I could smell blood, so I went to check it out. I saw Tomas, lying on the ground. His head . . . was a few feet away.” I glanced at Connor, apology in my eyes. “Riley stood nearby, and the knife was in his hand. There was blood on his shirt.”
There was perverse satisfaction in Dearborn’s eyes. “You saw him holding the murder weapon, covered in blood, and standing over Tomas’s dead body?”
I saw the shifters flinch, but I focused on Dearborn—and the facts.
“I saw Tomas on the ground,” I said matter-of-factly. “I saw Riley standing nearby, and Riley was holding a knife. I don’t know if it was the murder weapon, and I don’t know what happened before I got there.”
Dearborn’s gaze went hard. “Did you see anyone else?”
“No. One of the German delegates found us, screamed when she saw Tomas. And then chaos broke out, and everyone began fighting. My father arrived and broke it up.”
“The German delegate was Gerda Kreitzer,” my father said. “She’s waiting in Luc’s office.”
Dearborn nodded.
“Riley didn’t do this,” Connor said, and his gaze on Dearborn was hot. “He wouldn’t kill a vampire he didn’t even know.”
“Connor,” Gabriel said quietly, a warning to his son to tread carefully.
“All evidence to the contrary,” Dearborn said. “While I appreciate that some of you, at least, are loathe to jump to conclusions, it seems obvious to me what happened.”
“And what’s that?” my father asked.
Dearborn gave my father a weary look, as if bored by his refusal to accept the obvious. “I’m told the victim expressed concern about shifters, including Sixkiller, during tonight’s session. They had a public altercation at the party in which blows were exchanged approximately an hour before Tomas was killed. Sixkiller stewed over it, and his anger got the best of him. That, you all have to admit, is the simplest explanation for Tomas’s murder. ‘Killer’ is in the shifter’s name, for god’s sake.”
I glanced at Connor. His eyes were on Dearborn, and the fury on his face wasn’t any better masked than that on his father’s.
“It’s a family name,” Gabriel said shortly, magic drifting in the room as he spoke. “There’s history behind it that has nothing to do with this.”
“Noted,” Dearborn said coolly.
“You believe this was an attack on Tomas,” my father said, “and not on the talks generally.”
“Tomas is the only one dead,” Dearborn said. “And despite the fairies’ intervention at the peace talks, which was handled and concluded, the talks continued unimpeded. What purpose would be gained from killing one delegate here?”
“Shifting our focus?” my father suggested. “Creating animosity between the delegates to preclude the possibility of peace? Many prefer war.”
“Occam’s razor,” Dearborn countered. “The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.”
“Usually,” my father qualified. “Perpetrators are aware of that concept, too, and can alter their behavior to fit it.”
“If Riley did it,” my mother said, and slid an apologetic gaze to Gabriel, “and I’m not saying he did, maybe he didn’t have a choice. Maybe someone made him do it. Someone drugged him. Or magicked him.”
“He’ll be tested for drugs,” Dearborn said. “But a positive drug test would hardly excuse homicide.”
“Magic might be more likely,” I said, and thought of the vampires’ reaction to finding Tomas. “Riley looked really dazed when I found him. He seemed confused, kind of out of it. And the crowd’s reaction was also weird. It makes sense that they’d be shocked, that they’d be angry. But they started fighting, and not just Riley. They fought me.”
Maybe that’s also why I hadn’t been able to hold back the monster.
“He wouldn’t kill anyone,” Connor insisted.
“And your friend is entirely innocent? He has no violence in him?” Dearborn’s gaze was cutting.
“If you have questions about the background of a Pack member,” Gabriel said, “direct them to me. I assume you’re aware of Riley’s history given the question, and the fact that he overcame substantial odds to become the man he is today.”
“Or he didn’t overcome them,” Dearborn said, turning off the recorder and slipping the screen back in his pocket. “But that’s the purpose of the investigation. To find the truth.”
“What happens now?” Connor asked.
Dearborn rose. “He’ll be taken in and questioned by the CPD and our office, per the standard protocols. We’ll keep him at the supernatural facility until his preliminary hearing, after w
hich he’ll be remanded back into our custody. Bail is unlikely given the nature of the crime and his”—he looked at Gabriel—“background.”
There was scuffling in the hallway as five CPD officers moved Riley through the hall, hands tied awkwardly at his back. Riley’s expression was absolutely deadly.
“Theo, accompany them back to the office.”
Theo glanced at me, then headed for the door, his expression as grim as Gabriel’s had been.
“You should postpone tomorrow’s session,” Dearborn said to my father. “Presuming anyone wants to continue the talks, given the breach of the peace.”
“Perhaps, instead of focusing on Riley,” my father said, “we should consider who would have wanted that breach?”
“It hardly matters, given the deed was done,” Dearborn said. “As to the delay, announce it’s not because we’re afraid of further attack, but because we wanted to honor the delegate who was killed. It is . . . an opportunity for reflection and consideration of the reason for the talks.”
“Good spin,” my father said dryly.
Dearborn seemed to miss the sarcasm and walked to the door. “We’ll be in touch.” He stopped and turned back, adjusting his cufflinks before looking up. “I expect none of you will attempt to interfere with our investigation. That would be viewed by myself and the mayor as a violation of the spirit of cooperation my office has come to embody”—he lifted his gaze to my father— “and the specific deal previously negotiated with Cadogan House. This is our matter to handle, and handle it we will. Without interference.”
With that, he disappeared.
“That man is no Chuck Merit,” Gabriel said, derision obvious in the tone.
“No, he is not,” my father said, taking my mother’s hand. “He’s a political operative with more interest in staying in the mayor’s good graces than in finding the truth. He’s had a very easy tenure up to now, and he took a great deal of pride in the talks, in the shine they brought to the city. He won’t like his blemish on his record, and he’ll want to close this quickly.”
“And damn the consequences?” Gabriel asked.
My father inclined his head. “But he’s the Ombudsman, so he’s the one we have to deal with. Do you have an attorney you trust? If not, I can make a recommendation.”
“Emma Garza,” Gabriel said. “Tanya’s sister. She’s an attorney, and she can handle this.”
“Good.” My father frowned. “You know we have to stay out of the investigation, let the Ombudsman handle it. That was the deal we struck.”
“I’m aware,” Gabriel said dryly.
“The Ombudsman will likely keep us updated, given the crime occurred here,” my father said. “And whatever we learn, we’ll tell you. In the meantime, be careful.” His eyes were cold and hard. “Because peace has apparently become too much of a burden for some of us.”
“Let’s go,” Gabriel said, and headed for the door. Connor followed him out, and didn’t so much as look at me on the way.
So much for friendship.
* * *
• • •
“Riley wouldn’t have done this,” I said, looking back at my father when the shifters were gone, their magic receding behind them.
“It certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d do,” my father said, but his tone was soft. “But our feelings about him didn’t sway Dearborn, and they probably wouldn’t sway a jury.”
Kelley stepped into the doorway, screen in hand. She was tall and slender, with pale skin, dark eyes, and gleaming ebony hair that fell just past her shoulders.
“But perhaps this may,” my father said, gesturing her into the room.
Kelley walked to the television, pointed her screen at it. The monitor filled with a color shot of the brick patio.
“Surveillance video,” my father said, and we all walked closer to get a better look.
I glanced at him. “You waited until Dearborn was gone to watch this.”
“I wanted to see what happened at my House first,” he said. “Then we’ll report.”
Being the kid of Ethan Sullivan was a masterclass in political strategy.
Kelley advanced the video, and we watched as sups silently milled around the patio, chatting, checking out the barbecue grill and burners, and nibbling hors d’oeuvres. Tomas walked into the frame—and the video shuddered, shook. When it cleared again, Tomas was on the ground, dead. Riley stood over him, bafflement in his expression.
“There’s no video of the incident,” my father said, and looked at Kelley.
“There is not,” she said. “And no other camera caught this particular spot.”
“That’s . . . interesting,” my father said.
“Isn’t it, though?”
I looked between them, then back at the screen. “You think someone altered the video.”
“The camera was fine until it wasn’t,” Kelley said with a nod. “And Tomas was alive until he wasn’t.”
“What about the other parts of the yard?” I asked. “Whoever killed Tomas would have been covered in blood, and he or she would have to make an entrance and an exit. Surely some other camera captured it.”
“They did not,” Kelley said. “Conveniently enough, there appears to have been a cascading failure among certain of the House’s cameras.” She futzed with her screen, and the video footage was replaced with an overhead view of the House and lawn. A series of red dots made a path from between the patio and the fence on the west side of the House.
“They came in over the fence?” my mother asked.
“And left again that way,” Kelley said with a nod. “We checked the area—carefully so as not to disturb any evidence—and found no implements, no blood trail, no discarded clothes.”
“The perpetrator left,” my father said. “And was very careful.”
Kelley inclined her head. “Now we have to determine why the cameras failed in the particular way that they did.”
“What are the options?” my mother asked. “Someone hacked into the system?”
“Or temporarily blocked the camera,” my father said, “although this doesn’t look like a visual break.”
“No, it does not,” Kelley said. “I have an idea, but I’d like to flesh it out a bit more before I advise you.”
“You’re the expert,” he said. “Let us know what you can, as soon as you can.”
“Of course, Liege. What about Dearborn?”
My father considered. “It might be most helpful to the Ombudsman if we were to provide the video along with our conclusions regarding . . . we’ll call it the ‘blip.’”
“That’s a very good idea.” Kelley’s smile was sly. “If we have our answer first, we can tell them we’ve eliminated the possibility of a mechanical failure. And you just never know about technology. I’ll be in the Ops Room,” she said, then pocketed her screen and disappeared into the hallway again.
“Give me something to do to help,” I said when she was gone. “Riley’s my friend.”
“You can’t get involved,” my mother said. “That’s the deal.”
“I can’t just sit around while people blame him for murder. He didn’t do it.”
“There’s an agreement,” my father said. “I understand you made a promise to Maison Dumas, but we made a bigger one to the city of Chicago, to the people who live here. This time, that agreement has to win. It’s for the best, and not just because the Ombudsman’s office is trained to investigate.”
“I can handle myself.”
“We know, Elisa. But we’ve worked hard to keep Cadogan House safe, to keep the vampires protected. If we breach the deal, we lose our charter.”
That was the other penalty of the deal made with the mayor, the other promise exacted from Cadogan House. Cadogan, Grey, Navarre, and now Washington had been recognized by the city of Chicago. They
were official. They were licensed. They were, basically, allowed to exist. Ironic, considering the House had been in the city longer than any of its humans had been alive.
His voice softened. “If I said I was sorry that you’re being excluded from the investigation, it would be a lie. You’re my daughter, and I want you safe and sound.”
I made a sound of frustration.
“I also wish we could do more,” my father said. “But that is the agreement we made. We will not break it. Not even for the Pack. And not even when it happened at my House.”
His tone had sharpened, and I guessed he was facing his own struggle.
“We’re doing what we can,” my mother said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “The rest is outside our control.”
“I don’t find that acceptable,” he said.
“I know.” She smiled, just a little. “Because you prefer to lead, not follow, and because you’d never take a life to prove a point, whatever point this might have been. But this battle isn’t yours. You were just unlucky enough to own the battleground.”
“I really wish you’d stop being so reasonable,” my father said after a moment.
“I’m angry, too. But anger won’t help us, and it won’t help Riley.”
My father looked at me. “You should warn the delegation to be careful until we know what’s happening here. It seems unlikely they’d be targeted, but until we know precisely why Tomas was targeted, we can’t be sure.”
“I will,” I promised. “I’m sorry this happened here. I’m sorry the House was violated, that this was brought to your door.”
He nodded, put an arm around me. “It has turned out to be a horrible evening all around. I’m sorry this is what you found when you returned home. It’s not what I wanted for you. Maybe when dusk falls again, we’ll find it a little better.”
* * *
• • •
The guests had left, and the cleanup had begun. But the lawn was still dotted with overturned furniture, empty champagne glasses, and abandoned linen napkins. The excited magic that had sparked in the air had been replaced with sadness, grief, and confusion.
