Dark Debt

by Chloe Neill

  I handed Ethan the phone again, my buoyant mood suddenly deflated. “He’s showing us that he can get to us. That he’s here and he isn’t leaving.”

  “And, as you mentioned, that he’s waiting for my response.” Ethan looked at the phone, which beeped as more messages arrived. “He left an obvious trail, and Kelley and Tara are on him again.”

  “He wants to be found. Wants you to know where he is. Wants you to be able to find him.” Dread settled low in my belly. “He’ll try to find me again, Ethan. Try to get to me again while I sleep.”

  “Mallory and Catcher will figure something out. They won’t let him get to you. I won’t let him get to you.”

  I looked up at him, let him see the fear in my eyes. There wasn’t much these nights that scared me, other than losing him or Grandpa or Mallory, or someone else I loved, but Balthasar had scared me, and badly.

  There was nothing equivocal in his gaze, in the steadiness of his green eyes. “He was my nightmare, Merit. You are my miracle. He will not touch you again. Yes?”

  When I nodded, he smiled.

  “We have pizza, each other, and a very good accountant. Let’s go back to Navarre House and get this job done.”

  Just another fun evening for the vampires of Cadogan House.

  * * *

  We turned the corner on Navarre’s street, the hulking white building glowing beneath streetlights and spotlights in the careful landscape.

  Nadia stood on the lawn talking to a tall and well-built man with ruddy skin and reddish hair that fell in tousled curls around his square face. He wore jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt beneath a bulky leather jacket.

  I thought, at first, they were embracing. That Nadia had a new lover, and they were sharing a quiet moment on a spring night in Chicago outside the confines of her House. And when they hit the ground, I first thought they’d fallen into a sordid coupling there on the narrow strip of grass, and nearly at the feet of her former lover.

  It took me precious seconds to realize they were fighting—grappling like MMA fighters in the final round of battle. Her legs were twined around his waist, and he’d pulled her arm at an awkward angle as she spat out phrases in quick, staccato Russian. I didn’t recognize the words, but it didn’t take a genius to figure them out—or that she needed help.

  “Get away from her!” I yelled, and took off toward them. At the sound of my voice, the man looked up, spotted us, and stood. Then he pulled something from his jacket, which he pointed at Nadia.

  “Stop!” Ethan called out, at the same time the man hit the trigger. And then the Taser’s darts were in the air and Nadia’s body was convulsing, jerking stiffly on the ground as she screamed in pain.

  He’d Tased her, shot her with bolts of electric current and smiled like a psychopath as she writhed on the ground. His quarry addressed, he looked up at us, dropped the weapon, and bolted.

  Take care of Nadia, I told Ethan silently, and hauled ass after her attacker.

  I was fast, but shorter; his strides were longer, and he seemed to gain ground with each step.

  He ran toward the lake, took a sharp right toward downtown when he reached inner Lake Shore Drive. For a moment, he disappeared from view, and my heart stuttered with fear that I’d lost him. I pushed for more speed, forcing my feet to move faster, lengthening my stride, trying to make up the distance between us.

  I took the turn sharply, nearly barreled into a group of teenagers on skateboards, ignored their complaints as I scanned the street ahead of me for a sign of him, finally glimpsed his yellow T-shirt and red hair ahead of me.

  Faster, I demanded. Just a little faster. I reached down deep for any bit of energy I could find, promised myself Mallocakes and deep dish for the effort. Exhaustion was irrelevant. The pounding of my feet in high-heeled boots—and that had been a mistake—was irrelevant. The only relevant thing was the man in front of me, the human who’d Tased a vampire in front of her House.

  I didn’t generally wish harm to humans. But if there was ever a time I could use the opportunity to beat someone senseless, this was it. After the beating, sure, I’d probably spend some time considering the ethics of my choices. But for now, there was only the anticipation of battle.

  And the anticipation grew sharper, because he was human, and he was getting tired.

  As North Lake Shore turned into Michigan, and condos became retail space, as shaded residential windows became plate glass designed to show off luxury handbags and watches, I gained ground. He glanced back once to check the distance between us, and I let my eyes silver and fangs descend.

  The little bastard had the nerve to smile at me.

  That was the first time I thought to really wonder who he was—and why he’d assaulted Navarre’s former Second on Morgan’s front porch.

  Because he’d been sent by the Circle, I realized belatedly, ignoring the blare of a taxi as he dashed across Michigan and I followed. He was muscle, come to enforce the Circle’s will, come to punish Navarre House for failing to take out King when they’d had the chance. Morgan said they’d threatened to take the House’s assets; they’d clearly meant it, and intended to enforce that threat one vampire at a time. On the other hand, his timing had been appalling. He’d made the strike in front of two vampires, both of whom were trained fighters.

  Regardless, if I could catch him, we’d have an actual, human link to the Circle.

  Push, I demanded, and pumped my arms harder.

  He reached the Hancock Building, its sharp gray glass ribboned in black, and turned toward the river again. I guessed his strategy—if he couldn’t beat me in a straight-line race, he’d head into the buildings and alleys of Streeterville, try to lose me there.

  He was twenty yards ahead of me. He passed a trash can, paused just long enough to push it over into my path. I vaulted it, landed smoothly again, and kept running.

  “Try that again, asshole!” I yelled, ignoring the shouts of humans who jumped out of the way of our chase. Someone would inevitably call nine-one-one, probably while filming the damn thing. That was fine by me, as long as I got to him first.

  Unfortunately, he turned and pulled a handgun. He’d been smart enough not to waste bullets on Nadia, probably thinking the Taser would be more effective. A single shot was highly unlikely to kill a vampire, but it sure wouldn’t feel good.

  He kept moving, slinging his arm behind him to get off shots. He fired twice, the bullets flying to my right and above my head. His aim wasn’t great, but it was good enough to send me to the ground for cover while he dodged into an alley.

  “Shit,” I muttered, and climbed to my feet again, pulling the dagger from my boot and running toward the gap between buildings.

  I crouched at the edge, trying to remember Luc’s handgun training, which had been a pretty slim lesson compared to the blade work, and how many shots would have been in the magazine. Maybe seven, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, depending on the gun and whether he had extras.

  Long story short, I’d be dodging bullets for a while.

  I peeked around the corner, just long enough to see Ginger heading through the brick-lined alley toward the next street, and ducked back again as two bullets whizzed past me.

  That was four, I thought. Not that counting them would give me any real indication of how much firepower he had left, but the act helped settle my nerves, at least enough to get me moving again.

  I dove into the alley, let the first Dumpster take the brunt of three more bullets.

  “You keep shooting at me,” I yelled out, “and we won’t be able to have a nice conversation about why you attacked that vampire.”

  “Why don’t you bite me, bitch?”

  “Sticks and stones!” I yelled back, and waited for sound. There were footsteps this time, but no bullets, so I glanced around, saw the coast was clear, and hauled ass to the end of the alley so I didn’t lose him on the n
ext street.

  Squinting, I darted into sudden lights and people, as a stream of humans dumped out of the open doors of a ten-screen movie theater. I pushed between them, spied the red-haired perp dodging cars to cross the street, and took off after him.

  A taxi honked as I dashed across in front of it, the driver swearing at me with a fist out the window.

  “I’m chasing a murderer!” I yelled back, exaggerating a little, but hitting the truth close enough.

  I made it across the street in one miraculous piece, raced across a concrete courtyard in front of a skyscraper that gleamed with blue and red lights. They cast a colorful glow across the ground, highlighted the runner as he dodged tourists and late-night workers, shoving them into one another to create obstacles for me.

  He darted into a long, narrow park bound on both ends by circle drives. The southern circle dropped down to the river; the northern one dropped to lower Illinois Street.

  He ran to the southern end of the park, turned back to me, grabbed his crotch. “Why don’t you come and get this?”

  What a class act.

  “Because I’ve seen bigger,” I said dryly, stepping onto grass still soft from the winter snowmelt and walking toward him. I spun the dagger in my hand, watched his eyes widen as it caught the light. “But I know how to get dirty if that’s what you want.”

  “Oh, I bet you do.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Fuck you.” His tone was as mean as his gaze. He didn’t know me or anything about me, but I was his enemy, and he didn’t care if I lived or died.

  “Not in a million years. Do you work for the Circle?”

  “You think it’ll be that easy?”

  I shrugged casually. “I’m pretty sure I just chased you across Streeterville and managed to keep up.”

  I flipped the dagger rhythmically through my fingers as casually as I might have scratched an itch, watching him, waiting for a lean or movement that would signal his next move.

  “Not bad for a girl.”

  “That’s what the last guy said—right before I kicked his ass.” I beckoned him forward, dipped my chin, smiled thinly. “If you’re so manly, come and get me.”

  Sirens began to wail nearby. Someone had called the cops; I could only hope Ethan had managed to contact my grandfather, ask him to intercept. It wouldn’t do to have vampires arrested tonight, too.

  Ginger didn’t want any part of cops. He feinted left, then barreled forward. But I’d been distracted by the sirens, caught the fake too late, shifted my weight too slowly. I jumped for him, extending my body, managed to grab his legs and bring him down. He kicked out, boot connecting with my cheekbone and sending a bolt of bright pain across my face. He jumped up and took off again.

  I blinked back tears, but without pausing to think, relied on muscle memory and flipped my dagger toward him.

  It connected, lodging in the back of his thigh. He cursed feverishly and hit the concrete on his knees, then yanked the blade out and tossed it away. Gaze narrowed, spittle at the corners of his mouth, he rose again, limping as he vaulted down the stairs to the road below.

  “Damn it,” I muttered. A jackhammer pounding in my skull, I jumped to my feet and started for him, pain jolting through my head each time I made contact with the ground, and ran toward the small wall that overlooked the street below.

  He was taking the stairs at a gallop, nearly to the ground.

  There was no time to hesitate. I put a hand on the rail and vaulted over it.

  The ground disappeared beneath me; for a moment, I was airborne. For whatever chemical or physical reason, gravity was more forgiving for vampires, so the jump from the upper street to the lower felt more like one big step than a twenty-foot leap.

  I hit the middle of the street in a crouch, horns blaring deafeningly as an eastbound CTA bus roared toward me. I rolled out of the way, hair whipping around as the bus barreled past, four inches from my face, forcing the breath right out of me.

  “Crap on toast,” I said, sucking in air before kicking up my legs and vaulting to my feet again.

  I dodged the next car for the sidewalk, scanned the street both directions.

  He was gone.

  I cursed but set off at a jog, peering into the windows of a bodega, a fast food restaurant, and the fancy lobby of a fancier skyscraper, hoping he’d ducked inside to wait for me to give up, and I’d catch a glimpse of red hair in a corner behind a pop machine or a potted plant. But there was nothing.

  This apparently being the CTA hub of Streeterville, a second bus sped past me, this one heading north. I glanced up. There, in the back left window, was Ginger, middle finger raised.

  The bus turned and disappeared, taking him with it.

  * * *

  I stared, openmouthed, at the empty street for a full minute before pulling out my phone, sending Ethan and Catcher the information, hoping they’d be able to intercept the vehicle and give us back our lead. Because I was going to feel pretty crappy if I’d managed to let him, our only connection to the Circle, get away from me.

  I cursed again, circled back to grab my dagger off the ground. I opted not to wipe off the blood, thinking the CPD might be able to process it for DNA, and tried to carefully conceal it inside my jacket. Uniforms would be circling soon, if they weren’t already, to track down the source of the gunfire—uniforms who probably didn’t know me or my grandfather. No point in exacerbating the situation with a visible and bloody blade.

  There were still cabs to be had, but I decided to walk back to Navarre and steam off some of my irritation.

  “Halfway across downtown Chicago and he hops a motherloving bus,” I muttered to the horror of a human couple who walked past as I turned back onto Michigan. At least they’d head back to Eau Claire with a good story.

  Foot and car traffic lightened as I moved north, the streets quieting as I hit the Gold Coast again. Humans done with the day’s work enjoyed walks in the warm spring night, heading to a late dinner, to the river for a boat ride, or to the lake for a boat tour of the skyline.

  What if I had that kind of life now? What if life became peaceful for Cadogan, and Ethan and I could settle down and become domesticated vampires, with a library full of books, a House of Novitiates, and possibly a child? After all the battles, the terror, the injuries, the grief, would we enjoy that life without drama? Hell, Balthasar was even older than Ethan, and he still wasn’t ready to settle down.

  Since there was no end in sight to the current drama, the questions were purely rhetorical. But someday they might be. Could I go back to that quiet life—what Ethan had once called my small life—and be happy again?

  As I turned toward Navarre House, I saw the city’s three Masters—Ethan, Morgan, and Scott—in front of Navarre House with Jonah, and my grandfather the Ombudsman’s van parked in front.

  Yeah, I thought, and walked back into angst, political and otherwise. I could probably deal with a quieter life. As long as I got to keep my katana.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER

  Grey House had an amenity for sports of all kinds and varieties, and its heavily male population, including Scott Grey, looked the part. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a matching soul patch beneath his bottom lip. Jonah, tall and auburn-haired, with generous lips and knife-edge cheekbones, stood beside him. They both wore jeans and Cubs T-shirts in lieu of the Grey House jerseys Scott had favored over medals.

  Jonah glanced at me, nodded a silent greeting. There was a hint of sadness in his blue eyes, disappointment, probably, that we were still on the outs. Or maybe that I hadn’t yet given in to the RG’s demands.

  I was sad, too. He was my partner, and he’d become an important part of my life—and dealing with the drama vampires in Chicago seemed to frequently face. But what could I do? I was certain I could help the R
G without sacrificing my relationship with Ethan. Love hadn’t taken my honor. But since I wouldn’t concede that love could make me blind or stupid, I supposed we were at a standstill.

  “You appear to have injured yourself, Sentinel,” Ethan said, his gaze on the tender spot beneath my eye.

  “He kicked me in the face, so I stabbed him. Is it bruised?”

  He angled me for better lighting, frowned at my face. “It’s swollen and purpling but doesn’t look broken. You should heal. You’re all right otherwise?”

  “I’m fine. How’s Nadia? And Malik and Juliet?”

  “Nadia’s resting,” Morgan said.

  “And Malik and Juliet are in the House with Irina,” Ethan said. “We thought it best for them to keep untangling the knot, such as it is.”

  I nodded.

  “The perp ran?” Scott prompted.

  I nodded. “Down Michigan, into Streeterville. He pulled a gun and used it,” I said, glancing at my grandfather. “I can give you the details of the route if you want the bullets for forensics. And there’s this,” I added, sliding the dagger from my sleeve, and extended it with two fingers to my grandfather.

  “Blood?” he asked, scanning me for injuries.

  “His, if you’ve got an evidence bag.”

  He nodded, pulled a plastic baggie from the pocket of his jacket. “Just in case,” he said with a light smile, and opened it so I could slip the knife inside. Then he closed it, sealed it, wrote the information on the outside with a felt-tip pen he’d pulled from the other pocket.

  “Any word on the bus?” I asked.

  “Uniforms stopped it,” my grandfather said. “He wasn’t on it.”

  I dropped my head back, squeezed my eyes shut. He’d been my responsibility—a responsibility I’d taken on—and I’d blown it.

  Sentinel, Ethan said silently, in a tone meant to comfort. But it didn’t help. Not this time, when I’d been so close to such a good lead. No one is questioning your efforts.