by Neill, Chloe
“Regan’s mom?” Jonah asked, stepping behind me.
“I don’t know. But it’s something.”
I pulled out my phone, took a picture of the photo, sent it to Jeff with a request: PHOTO MAY BE REGAN’S MOM. SCAN AND MATCH?
ON IT, he immediately messaged back.
I figured I might as well take the opportunity to check on her whereabouts. We were already out and about, after all. ANY REGAN UPDATE?
CHICAGO IS BIG.
I took that as a mild rebuke and put my phone away again, then propped the picture on the trunk again. “What about the papers? Anything there?”
“Nothing. It’s just maintenance logs for the rides. She might have another agenda, but it looks like she takes care of the day-to-day stuff.”
“That’s something. I just hope she takes care of her sups.”
• • •
Neither the wagon nor the carnival offered us anything more. While Jeff continued his search for Regan, her collection, and the woman in the photograph, we drove back to Cadogan House. Jonah, thankfully, made good on his promise of food, driving through a local burger joint and springing for a cheese-and-bacon-laden burger greasy enough to require a handful of napkins, and utterly delicious.
We returned to Cadogan to find Harley gone, Luc, Lindsey, and the temps in the Ops Room.
“Anything?” Luc asked, looking up.
“Just the photograph,” I said, skipping the explanation since Jeff sat at the table beside him. I sat down, too, and Jonah took the seat beside me.
“She has a wagon,” he said, “a vardo, but she wasn’t there.”
“No other sign of magic or Regan. That’s a dead end for now.” I glanced at Jeff, who was busily scanning images on his tablet. “Anything new on your end?”
“Nothing in the city, or with the picture,” he said. “I’ve found an image-comparison algorithm, and I’ve applied it to satellite images of Chicago, but every reflective set of windows on a skyscraper looks like the top of a silver truck trailer. Ditto the photograph. But I’m pushing it along. Moving as quickly as possible.”
He sounded as tired as Luc looked. It had been a long week, with political and supernatural drama, and it looked like we were all beginning to feel the fatigue.
My phone rang, and I pulled it out. The number was unfamiliar, although the caller had a Chicago area code.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hello, Ballerina.”
I sat up so quickly the chair knocked the edge of the table. “Seth. It’s good to hear from you.”
All eyes in the room turned to me. Luc gestured toward the speakerphone, but I shook my head. I wasn’t entirely sure what this would involve, and it seemed better to handle it quietly.
“I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”
I was immortal, and a predator, and Sentinel of my House. And I still crossed my fingers under the table.
“I want to talk to you about Diane Kowalcyzk.”
My heart began to thud against my chest. “I’m listening.”
“I recruited her, Merit. She was a young alderman, fit right into my team. She worked hard, put in a lot of long hours. I’m not saying she’s taken the right path since then, but she was loyal.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you defending her?”
“Because I feel guilty for not coming clean earlier. It’s occurring to me, a little late, that doing good deeds isn’t going to be enough for me to wipe the slate clean. I still have a lot of baggage to unload.”
I understood his need to confess, but I’d latched on to the first thing he’d said. I leaned forward, gestured for pen and paper. “Come clean about what?”
He was silent for a moment. “Diane Kowalcyzk’s real name is Tammy Morelli.”
I blinked. “The mayor of Chicago has an alias?”
“She does. And if you employ your tech-savvy friend, I believe you’ll find plenty of information to provide leverage for you and the other sups to use.”
I wrote down the name, slid it to Luc, who immediately handed it off to Jeff. But that didn’t ease the greasy feeling in my stomach.
“Blackmail’s a little off-color for an angel, isn’t it?”
He didn’t bother with denial. “It is. And it’s easy for me to stand on a pedestal and talk about doing the right thing. But sometimes doing the right thing means getting your hands dirty.”
“Truer words,” I muttered, thinking of all the times I’d fudged the truth to keep my people safe and happy, including recently. “Thank you, Seth.”
“You’re welcome, Ballerina. Oh, and about the girl—I’ve racked my brain, but I can’t think of anything helpful. I’m sorry.”
It took me a moment to switch mental gears. “Actually, I have something specific for you there. Hold on—I’m going to send you a photograph.” I forwarded the picture we’d found in the vardo. “Do you recognize the woman?”
There was a long silence, long enough that my blood began to hum in anticipation.
“Jesus,” he finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
That hum turned to a full-on roar.
“Her name was Annalissa Purdey. He met her years ago.”
I scribbled that name, too, and passed it to Jeff. “He?” I asked Seth.
“Dominic.”
I blinked, confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean he met her?”
“We shared a body,” he said. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. But looking back now, I realize there were times when he . . . when he was in control, with all his ego and self-righteousness. He was stronger at some moments than others.”
“And he was stronger with Annalissa Purdey?”
“They had a romance. It must have lasted five months, or perhaps six? I only vaguely remember. She was a young lawyer. A litigator. Smart. Bright. Very driven, and her ethics were, let’s say, flexible.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “She was right up his alley.
“He was driven by the attraction—strengthened by it—and he used that to push past me. It’s been—what—nearly two decades?”
“I’d put Regan at twenty-three or twenty-four, so, yeah, about two decades. You’d have been so young.”
Seth chuckled. “When one is immortal, age is negotiable. But what does Annalissa Purdey have to do with the girl you’re seeking?”
I thought of the inscription on the photograph. “We think Annalissa Purdey is her mother.”
He went stone silent, as did everyone else in the room. I could feel the weight of their stares, the tension as they waited for someone to voice the obvious implication.
“Regan is . . . Annalissa’s daughter?” Seth asked. “But that means she’s . . . Jesus,” he said again, and I heard the shuffling of fabric. He was sitting down, I imagined, and deservedly so. I probably should have advised him to do that in the first place.
“Your daughter?” I asked. “Or Dominic’s?”
“I don’t—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Yes? I mean, we shared the body, but he was the one who had the affair. Is she his daughter? Is she my niece? I don’t know. Does it even matter?”
“It matters if it helps us find her. And we need to find her, Seth.”
“I’m sorry—I don’t know how to help you do that.” Frustration was clear in his voice. “Can you find her mother? Trace her that way?”
“We’re looking,” I said. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“I have—he had—a daughter.” This time, he sounded awed. “If you find her . . . ,” he said.
“We’ll let you know,” I promised him. “Thank you for calling, Seth. It means a lot to us. To me.”
“You may have given me a family,” he said. “That means a lot, too.”
We ended the call, and I rubbed my hands over my face.
“I swear to God, the sups in this city could have their own reality show.”
“Sex happens,” Luc said. “With demons, too.”
“I guess.” I glanced at Jeff, who was squinting at his tablet, tongue peeking from the right side of his mouth.
“Annalissa Purdey is deceased,” he said, sending a photograph of an obituary to the screen. The story used the photograph, MOTHER still engraved at the bottom. They must have borrowed Regan’s picture.
Luc grabbed his phone. “I’ll ask the librarian to look into her background. Maybe something will help us locate Regan.”
I nodded, glanced at Jeff. “Tammy Morelli?”
“Tammy Morelli,” he said, swiping the screen, “is a con artist.” Another photograph replaced Annalissa’s, and the woman could hardly have been more different.
Tammy Morelli had a hard-bitten look. Her hair was permed, a curly halo around a face I didn’t immediately recognize. Her nose was a little bit thicker, her chin a little bit smaller. But her eyes were the same.
“That’s Diane Kowalcyzk,” I said. “Who was she?”
“A grifter,” Jeff said, tapping the tablet again and pulling up a series of newspaper articles. “Scam” figured prominently in most of the titles.
“It appears she had a fondness for art and insurance fraud,” Jeff said.
Luc whistled, stretched back in his chair, and kicked his feet on the table. “Now, that, my friends, is something I can work with.”
• • •
We had a wish list, and now we had information to bargain with. It was time to use it.
With Ethan out of pocket and Malik in charge of the House, Luc was designated as the official House negotiator. He coordinated with Andrew and left for the Daley Center with the hope of reaching a deal with the mayor.
However unethical that deal would be.
We didn’t bother going back to the Ops Room. Jeff brought his screen upstairs, and vampires filled the rest of the parlors on the first floor to wait for news. Malik sat beside me on a couch, reading through a contract, one leg crossed over the other.
Lindsey paced the hallway, afraid Luc would get wrapped up in the city’s political nonsense and he’d suffer Ethan’s fate.
One hour and thirteen minutes later, I received a message from Luc.
WE’RE ON OUR WAY HOME.
I closed my eyes and breathed.
• • •
Everyone was excited. But most were smart enough to stay indoors and out of the cold, which sat heavy across the city.
I sat on the front stoop, my hands tucked between my knees to keep them a hairsbreadth from frostbite.
A car door slammed, and my head popped up like an animal sensing her mate. Slowly, I rose from the step.
He strode through the gate as if in slow motion, golden hair streaked with blood, a fading purple bruise across his cheekbone. His jacket was off and fisted in his hand, and his eyes burned like fiery emeralds.
Sentinel, he silently said. You are a sight for sore eyes.
I ran like the hounds of hell were behind me, jumping into his arms and wrapping my arms and legs around him. Thank God, I said. Thank God. I said it to the universe, to him, for him.
He embraced me with bone-crushing strength, buried his head in my neck.
I fisted my hands in his hair, tears flowing over. Tears of relief, of love, of grief. Tears of gratitude that I’d been granted yet another chance with him.
He’d told me once he wasn’t certain how many of his lives he’d already given up, or how many he had yet to give. I didn’t know, either, and didn’t much care, as long as he still had one for me.
When clapping emerged from the front door, I dropped my legs and slid down his body, averting my eyes with embarrassment.
Ethan smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I believe they were applauding you, Sentinel.”
“You’re a liar,” I said, dropping my hot cheek to his shirt. “But I’m okay with that.”
Vampires came forward, embracing him, shaking his hand, and grinning with delight.
“It’s good to be home,” he told them. “And I don’t believe I’ll request those particular accommodations again.”
There were good-natured chuckles from the vampires.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to sit. It’s been a long night.”
While Malik and Luc helped him inside, and the rest of the vampires followed, I pulled out my phone.
Ethan was home and safe, even though he’d stepped into danger to protect others from violence he believed was his responsibility to bear. He’d trusted his instincts and the skill of the people he’d gathered around him. It was time to set him free, to let him fly and hope that he returned again.
I texted Lakshmi. HE’S FREE AND HOME. HE SHOULD CONTROL OUR DESTINIES.
To the casual observer, the message would have read like I was asking her to do me a favor. But really, it was a receipt. An acknowledgment that Lakshmi had been correct, that Ethan was the right man for the job.
The rest of it was up to fate.
• • •
He made his rounds through the House, greeting his vampires, checking with Malik. By the time he found his way upstairs, I was in pajamas, in front of the fire, and his bruises were nearly healed. He closed the apartment door, placed his suit jacket across the back of a desk chair.
“And here we are again, Sentinel.” He walked forward, nearly stumbling with exhaustion, and grabbed the chair to steady himself.
I jumped to my feet. “Let me help.”
“I don’t need help,” he quietly said, but he accepted the arm I put around his waist and let me guide him to the bed. He winced as he sat down, as if every part of his body was beaten and sore.
And from the look of it as I unfastened buttons and pulled the shirt from his shoulders, it was.
“They did a number on you,” I quietly said, unsure whether I should be screaming or crying at the outrage.
“I’ll heal,” Ethan said, gaze on me as I dropped his shirt to the floor, flipped off his shoes, and helped him unbuckle his pants. Under any other circumstances, his gaze would have been demure and seductive. But tonight, he looked exhausted.
I turned off the fire, flipped off the lights, and climbed into the cool sheets beside him. The pain be damned, he pulled me against his body.
“Thank you for rescuing me, Ballerina,” Ethan drowsily said. “And if he ever so much as lays a hand on you, I will break it.”
I smiled against his chest, fell asleep to the sound of the slow and steady beating of his heart.
Chapter Twenty
THREE-RING CIRCUS
The sun fell, and my eyes snapped open. Ethan, golden and beautiful, stood beside his bureau, already dressed and pressing cuff links into place. He’d showered and cleaned up and looked perfectly healthy.
“Good morning, Sentinel.”
“Good morning, Sullivan. Sleep well?”
“I slept,” he said with a smile. “After the last twenty-four hours, that was glorious enough.”
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, hoping for a message or update from Jeff about Regan’s position or the collection. But I found nothing.
“The kidnappings?” Ethan asked, and I nodded.
“Luc filled me in on the details last night. It was a good idea, calling Tate.”
I felt a tingle of relief. “We weren’t sure you’d see it that way.”
“If he’d hurt you, I’d have killed him myself. Fortunately, all is well. And he has a family.”
“That’s what it seems.”
“Chicago has become a very unusual world now that you’re in it, Merit.”
“I’d like it to become a smaller world. We still don’t know where Regan is.”
Ethan nodded. “Keep at it. You’ll find
her eventually, and when you do, I want to know about it. I’d also like to address the House before everyone begins their days.”
A bolt of nerves shot through me. Discussions in the ballroom meant serious matters. “About?”
“The future of the House,” he cryptically said. “Get dressed.”
I gave him a salute and toddled to the shower.
• • •
I dressed in leathers and wore my katana, which made me the odd vampire out in Cadogan’s lovely second-floor ballroom. Most everyone else wore their black standard-issue Cadogan suits, their new teardrop medals winking atop pale skin. Luc, who wore jeans, and Helen, who wore a pink tweed suit, were exceptions to the general rule. I moved to Luc, stood beside him and the rest of the guards.
The mood of the vampires who filled the room was nervous but excited. Those who’d missed Ethan’s arrival were obviously glad to see him back, and I could hear the whispers about how their Liege had fared in custody, and if he was as healthy now as he’d been when he left.
Ethan stepped to the dais in the front of the room, Malik beside him. Thunderous applause filled the air. Ethan smiled, letting his gaze scan and catch the eyes of the Novitiates who stood before him.
Ethan allowed the applause to go on for a moment—he still had his ego—before lifting his hands. The room quieted instantly.
“It’s nice to be home again,” he said, which set off another round of hoots and applause.
“The city acted unfairly toward us, toward Grey House, toward Navarre. We have helped this city over the last few months with issues they were unable or unwilling to address, and they have done us no service by accusing us of wrongdoing.”
His gaze narrowed. “I can affirm, for better or worse, that they believe they are doing the right thing for Chicago. This is no political ploy or attempt to win votes. They, the mayor included, have been advised by many—and wrongly—that supernatural creatures are the enemy. Frankly, much of the trouble we’ve seen in the last few months can be laid at the feet of supernaturals. That fact is undeniable. But we also are the solution. And the vast majority of us are trying to do right by the city that we love.
