“You’re on board with all of this?” Eddy asked the city cop. He still looked incredulous.
Bassett finally looked up, her eyes narrowing a little. “On board? Hell, no. But I know Noelle. If she calls me and asks for a cook, that means she’s going to keep going until she finds one.” Bassett shrugged. “Ricky’s kind of a shit, but he’s harmless. I can’t say that for most of the cooks I bust.”
“Plus, I’m gonna make it up to you,” Noelle promised, winking at Bassett. The cop smiled back, and it was not a platonic smile. Ruiz and Eddy exchanged a look that pretty much just said, Oh.
Chase cleared his throat. “What’s happening with the guns?” he said instead.
“That’s under control. Come this way.” Noelle led them to a table full of . . . gun parts? Ruiz recognized a lot of the pieces, but everything was disassembled, and some of it just didn’t look right.
“These used to be pretty standard dart guns, the kind they use in zoos and nature preserves,” Noelle explained, seeing his confusion. “But I tested them—no, not on Palmer; I swear he fell asleep on his own—and the range is only about seventy yards, plus I think it’s too slow for shades.” She shrugged. “Basically, if you’re close enough to shoot, they’ll already be aware of you. So I’ve been souping it up.” She pointed to the next table, which held a single modified long gun. “That’s my prototype. Cartridge-fired, rather than CO2, takes a five-round clip. I think it’s enough of an improvement, but it’s hard to be sure without—” She turned to them, brightening. “Wait, can you get a shade to help me test this? Just the dart gun, not the actual meth. I mean, I know we all like Lindy . . .”
The two men looked at each other. Eddy gave him a tiny smile, and Ruiz knew they were on the same page. “But we don’t like Sloane,” he said under his breath.
“I think we can work that out,” Eddy told her. “What about sidearms?”
“For those I have to do CO2-fired,” she said. “I’ve got the original dart guns ready for modification, I just wanted to perfect the long gun first, since you guys will have a better shot—sorry, accidental pun—from a distance. It’s all under control,” she said again.
Ruiz glanced around again, taking in improvised meth lab, the gun parts, the hyper engineer, the sleeping federal agent. Sure. Under control.
Chapter 19
CNN’s Chicago Tower
Sunday morning
ANDY KETTMAN PACED AROUND the control room, fuming in his immaculate Tom Ford suit.
For the last twelve years, Kettman had been the anchor of the Chicago segment of CNN’s flagship Sunday-morning program. It didn’t sound like much, but his segments were shown live for nearly the full eight o’clock hour in the greater Chicagoland area, and his clips were often part of the ten o’clock national show, where they had a major impact—or at least, that was what he told himself.
But now, Kettman’s entire morning program had been usurped by some twentysomething skirt with bouncy red hair and even bouncier . . . well. Everything on her was bouncy, really.
Kettman spun around and did another pacing circuit of the room, glaring at Mary Lynn Toogan, his senior producer. She was chewing a cuticle and studiously ignoring his tantrum, which made Kettman even angrier. The whole control room was filled with hushed whispering, but not about him: about some mystery guest who was supposed to be so important. Whoever he was, he got to come in ten seconds before they started rolling, with no makeup or anything.
But, Kettman reasoned, how important could this guy be, if they’d given his desk to this Felicity Watson or Watzo or whatever it was? He cocked his head then, brightening a little. Maybe they were interviewing some notorious lech, and Felicity had been brought in to tempt him? That would be good TV . . . but if that was the case, why not just tell Kettman?
His thoughts went around and around like that for three more circuits of the back of the room, and then suddenly, the whole place went silent.
The mystery guest had finally walked onto the stage. One of the interns had pulled up a second rolling chair, and she was taking a seat behind the desk—his desk.
It was just some chick.
Kettman snorted loudly, some of his fury abating. That was why they’d brought in this girl from the New York desk? Because the ladies wanted to stick together?
Maybe, he realized, it was actually a good thing that he wasn’t behind the desk. This interview would probably be dull, and pulling a baby reporter from New York to take the fall could only help him.
Relaxing a little, Kettman studied the guest. She didn’t look like much, just another young woman with styled blond hair, black heels, and a nicely tailored dress. Okay, maybe she did look kind of fierce and centered, like she was on a battlefield about to deliver a rousing speech. But there was no reason for his whole station to get all worked up about it.
Felicity looked nervous, giving the guest a wide berth. Further proof that she didn’t deserve this job. Kettman rolled his eyes to himself. “I’m getting out of here,” he announced as Felicity did her “breaking news” intro. No one in the control room so much as looked up. He stormed toward the exit and was already twisting the door handle when the guest spoke.
“Thank you, Felicity,” she said. “My name is Rosalind Frederick, and I’m a shade.”
All around the room, cameramen and interns gasped. Kettman’s hand slid from the knob as though it were greased. He spun around to see that everyone was looking at Mary Lynn, who just spoke quietly into her mic. She wasn’t chewing the cuticle anymore.
The young woman at the desk continued, “I am not, however, your enemy.” She paused for a minute to let that sink in. “And I have not mesmerized anyone in order to be here. I simply felt it was necessary to address you, the American people, about yesterday’s attacks on the Bureau of Preternatural Investigations.”
“Thank you, Ms. Frederick,” Felicity said smoothly. “I can confirm that I was first contacted over the phone, where there was no possibility of being mesmerized. But with all respect, how can our viewers be certain you’re telling the truth about being a shade? After all, many people have come forward over the last year and claimed to be—”
“A bloodsucking vampire?” the chick answered. She smiled. “Yes, of course. You’ve seen the footage of Ambrose’s stimulation response in Camp Vamp, correct?”
“Yes, of course.” Felicity looked too sure of herself. This part had obviously been prearranged. On the screen behind her, the technicians would be bringing up a still image of Ambrose with his eyes all red.
“And I am told your station was able to secure some blood from a local butcher?”
“Yes.” Now a hint of uncertainty flickered across Felicity’s face. “Will that . . . will it work?”
“To feed me? No. I can’t get everything my body needs from cow or pig’s blood.” The woman made a face. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But it should still provoke the creepy red eye thing.”
Felicity couldn’t help but smile at the phrasing, and most of the control room smiled with her. She motioned off stage, and an intern dressed in black hurried forward with a clear glass beaker filled with red liquid. Kettman could just imagine the hurried conversation they must have had that morning over what kind of container to use. A glass would be too cavalier. Tupperware too informal. He had to admit, a beaker did seem appropriate. It was what he would have chosen.
Felicity accepted the beaker and set it warily on the table in between herself and the guest. The young woman snaked out a hand and slid the glass toward herself.
The red began bleeding into her eyes while it was still nearly an arm’s length away. There were gasps and muted cries in the control room as the girl took a sniff of the beaker and turned her face toward the camera. Her eyes were completely scarlet from one lid to another. Kettman felt his insides loosen with primal fear.
“I trust I’ve made the point?” the guest said, her voice a bit strangled.
“Yes, yes,” Felicity said hurriedly. “Can I . .
.”
The shade—holy shit, she really was a shade—slid the glass back toward the anchor, who passed it to the same intern, who took off at a trot, probably to dump it down the sink. Kettman had to admit—to himself; never out loud—that this Felicity chick had some balls on her, getting a shade worked up while she was sitting two feet away. As it was, half the newsroom might end up suing Mary Lynn for putting them at risk.
“I hope you understand why we needed to ask that of you,” Felicity was saying to the shade.
“I do. But I’d like to move on, if we could.” The chick blinked rapidly a few more times, and her eyes had returned to brown. “Most importantly, I want to speak to you about the shade who killed or ordered the killings of sixteen humans yesterday. His name is Hector.”
The control room was completely silent, save for the low hum of the equipment. This was Chicago; they’d reported on the BPI’s pursuit of Hector nearly two months earlier. The chick might as well have said “the boogeyman.”
“For quite some time now,” the woman continued, “shades have been without leadership. Yesterday, Hector exploited this scarcity and convinced a handful of shades to help him break into the detention facility commonly known as Camp Vamp. As a result, innocent people died.”
The young woman paused to take a breath. “And I bear some responsibility for this mess, because I created the vacuum that made it possible.”
Felicity saw her chance to insert herself. “What do you mean by that, Ms. Frederick?”
The girl flashed a smile at the news anchor. Kettman had to admit, it was a pretty good smile. “You can call me Rosalind. To answer your question, my original name was Sieglinde. I was born in Gaul—the area we now call western Germany—in the year of our Lord, seven hundred and two.”
This time even Felicity gasped, but the young woman wasn’t done. “I am, I believe, the oldest living shade on the planet. I am also a direct descendant of Rainer, the first king of vampires.”
She turned her head to look directly at the camera. “What I’m saying, Felicity, is that I am the queen of vampires, and today I take back my throne.”
It should have sounded ludicrous—the queen of vampires?—but Kettman felt his insides go cold. She absolutely radiated confidence and sincerity. Not just that—there was an edge of danger coming off her, too. Even if he’d been tempted to laugh, he would have been way too scared.
Felicity must have had a similar reaction, because she just sat there for a second. Kettman realized she hadn’t known about the royalty thing. She probably just thought she was getting an exclusive with the world’s first admitted free shade.
Damn, he wanted it to be him.
The woman calling herself Rosalind Frederick gave a tiny, rueful smile that took some of the starch out of her words. “Okay, that sounded really dramatic, didn’t it? Are you all right, Felicity? You still with me?”
The young news anchor gave a little start and said in a small voice, “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Do you . . . should I ask questions now?”
The shade gave a small laugh that cut some of the tension, but then her face grew serious. “I’m happy to answer some questions in a moment, Felicity, but first, let me add this.” She looked straight in the camera again. “After yesterday’s events, I want to make it clear that no shade shall kill a human being without repercussion, ever again. I will personally make sure of it.”
“What about the legal aspect?” Felicity said tentatively. “The federal government hasn’t decided whether or not you have the same rights as—um, human beings.”
The shade smiled in a way that was both sweet and menacing, and Kettman found himself taking an involuntary step away from her. Who was this chick? “I realize that the United States Congress has been stymied on this issue,” Rosalind said, “but if they’ll have me, I plan to travel to Washington and work to create legislature that protects both of our kinds.” She paused, looking away from Felicity and right into the camera. “Right after I devote my considerable resources to helping the BPI apprehend Hector.”
“Do you know him?” Felicity blurted, then immediately looked sort of chastised. “I mean, I’m not suggesting all shades know each other—”
“That’s all right,” the shade said gently. “Yes, I know Hector. We were transmuted at the same time. But although he and I have personal history, we do not share the same ideas about the future relationship between humans and shades.”
“Can you expand on that?”
The shade nodded. “The people who oppose shades, many of whom were protesting in the streets of Washington yesterday, say that we’re parasites. Hector would like you to think we are a superior specimen, an evolved form of humanity. But neither concept is actually correct. Shades and humans are a symbiotic species, which means you need us as much as we need you.”
“How?” Felicity asked, then tried to soften it. “I mean, pardon me, ma’am, but how do humans need shades?”
“Our saliva contains an immunity boost that prevents humanity from spreading pandemics and plagues, and slows or even stops many cancers and other illnesses,” the woman replied.
Felicity gave her a thoughtful nod, one of the essential tools in any news anchor’s toolbox. “As you know, ma’am, most states, including this one, have made the consumption of human blood illegal. What will you do if the government arrests you before you can stop Hector?”
“Oh, I have already been working with the government,” the shade said sweetly. “A few minutes before the broadcast, my attorney emailed your producer documents from the Department of Justice, securing my official employment as a consultant. They already know who I am, and what I can do.”
“Then why are we just hearing from you now?” Felicity pressed. Kettman had to kind of admire the kid for that one.
The shade looked regretful. “Until now, I felt I could be most useful behind the scenes, working under the public’s radar. Unfortunately, Hector has forced my hand.”
Felicity nodded. “All right. I understand that the BPI and the Department of Justice have acknowledged you, but what if the Illinois government tries to detain you?”
“If that does happen, I will submit to arrest. I have no intention of going to war against the government.” Kettman wasn’t sure how she did it, but the words even though I would win somehow hung in the air without being spoken.
The shade turned to face the camera again, as though to speak to the governor of Illinois himself. “But I would remind you that there is no evidence of my breaking any laws. More importantly, I may be the only one strong enough to stop the monster at your door.”
There was an uneasy pause, and Kettman could see everyone in the newsroom easing away, glancing at the door. She was that menacing.
Then the pretty shade turned and gave Felicity a sunny smile. “I would be happy to answer some of your questions now.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Kettman was still sitting on a stool in the control room, sipping from a bottle of water and marveling at the turn of events.
Part of him was still wounded and envious that he hadn’t been the one to break the story. At the same time, though, the newscaster in him, the one who used to spend his time obsessing over journalistic integrity rather than Armani suits, had stirred back to life. Kettman was proud—proud of Felicity, proud of the Chicago news station, proud of his network. They had blown the lid off the world. This day would be talked about for the rest of time, and by God, he’d been here.
Hey, maybe he could talk Mary Lynn into giving him an associate producer credit. Least she could do, really.
As the broadcast team wrapped up, Kettman found himself wanting to approach this Lindy, to shake her hand and thank her for coming forward. Okay, fine, maybe he just wanted to preen a little, to show that he could be the noble guy who’d stepped aside for the good of a story.
But the moment the cameras turned off, the young woman immediately began detaching the microphone cord from her shirt, already mo
ving toward the door. All around her, interns and production assistants were edging away, trying to keep themselves away from the scary vampire lady.
“Oh!” she said, turning back to Felicity. “Almost forgot.”
She pulled an earbud out of her air, the same kind the anchors used to communicate with the control room. Kettman paused. That was strange. They didn’t give guests earbuds.
Who had been on the other end?
The shade reached out and grabbed Felicity’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically. “Thanks a lot,” she said. “I need to run now, though. Daylight and all that.” She gave Felicity a wink, turned on one heel, and was gone.
* * *
Outside the building’s side entrance, Sloane was waiting under an umbrella, the door to the rental SUV open beside him. It wasn’t actually raining, but the sky was overcast again, so the people bustling past him to the building’s main entrance didn’t give the umbrella a second glance.
The door opened, and the shade from the interview burst through it, diving straight into the back seat. “Thank God that’s over,” she said sleepily, scratching at her newly blond hair. “Did you watch on your phone?”
Sloane nodded and tossed a thick canvas tarp over her. “You did great, Rags. Get some rest.”
He drove around the side of the building to the main entrance, where he put the SUV in park.
A moment later, a figure in dark glasses and a brunette wig slid through the glass doors and climbed into the passenger side. “Well done,” Sloane told Lindy. “You think we’ll get a reaction?”
She took off the glasses and grinned at him. “I think we can count on it.”
Chapter 20
Cozy Conifer Cabins
Sunday morning
AN HOUR LATER, LINDY was sitting at the kitchen table of the little rental cabin with Alex. Sloane and Reagan were resting in the only bedroom, which had been outfitted with blackout curtains and duct tape. Chase and Ruiz were napping too, on camp cots in the back of the large room. They had been at Noelle’s lab until late the night before. Aside from Alex and Lindy, only Hadley was still up, and she was clearly fading, her eyelids drifting down every few minutes before she shook herself awake. Lindy had tried several times to get her to go lie down by the others, but Hadley insisted on showing them her work first.
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