Dark Debt

by Chloe Neill

  I am. I’m questioning the hell out of them.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Morgan, lifting my head again. “I was so close, and then he moved onto one of the lower streets. I followed him down, but I didn’t realize he’d hopped the bus until it was moving.”

  Morgan just nodded.

  “He wouldn’t have gotten far,” my grandfather said. “The uniforms are canvassing in case there’s any sight of him.”

  “There won’t be,” I said. “He didn’t want anything to do with the sirens. And he wouldn’t confirm he was with the Circle, but I presume that’s what we’re thinking?”

  “That’s the logical conclusion,” my grandfather said.

  “Why would they hurt Nadia?” Morgan said. “She had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all. They should have come after me.”

  “Because it isn’t money they’re after,” my grandfather said.

  Which meant Morgan was going to have to figure out a way to satisfy them, or hope the CPD could bring down an enormous criminal enterprise before they got to anyone else. Neither of those options sounded especially easy.

  “When we have all the information,” Ethan said, “we’ll chart a course.”

  Morgan nodded but didn’t look at all convinced.

  “I’m going to get this to Jeff,” my grandfather said into the intervening silence, lifting the evidence bag, then glancing at me. “Walk with me?”

  I nodded, fell into step beside him as we walked slowly across the grass, at his pace, toward the van.

  “Did I ever tell you about the Moody case?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Darryl Lee Moody had a very bad habit of stealing cars. Twenty-three before anyone identified him. Twenty-seven before anyone found him. I was twenty-eight years old, had just gotten my detective’s shield. I wanted to prove myself, did some investigating, found a man who knew a man, and was able to locate his shop. I scoped it out, realized he was the only one in there—and with two cars. If I waited for backup, he’d have disappeared. I knew that in my gut. So I went in, gun blazing, all by my lonesome. It did not, let’s say, go well.”

  “What happened?”

  “General Tso’s chicken,” he said, each word heavy as it dropped from his lips. “Moody had just ordered dinner, and the delivery arrived five seconds after I’d walked in. Kid was nineteen years old, walked in to find his customer being held at gunpoint by a cop.”

  “Yikes.”

  My grandfather nodded. “Moody grabbed the kid, used him as a shield to get out of the room. He didn’t hurt him, thankfully, but Moody was gone by the time I made it outside, made sure the kid was safe.”

  “Did you find him again?”

  “I didn’t—not in so many words, anyway. Four months went by without a single sign of him. And then, one night, I pulled over a car for running a red light. Darryl was behind the wheel.”

  “I doubt I’ll get that lucky.”

  My grandfather chuckled, turned to me, and smiled. “Maybe, maybe not. The point of the story, Merit, is that not every op is successful, even if you tried your best. Sometimes there’s General Tso’s chicken.”

  “And it is infuriating. Delicious, but infuriating.”

  “So it is. You’re a perfectionist, just like your father.”

  I humphed.

  “I know you don’t care for the comparison, but it’s the truth, baby girl. You’ve both worked very hard to craft your particular worlds. You, with school, ballet, now Cadogan House. Your father with, well, every other house. You won’t succeed every time. But if you’re lucky, and you work hard enough, you’ll come out on top more often than not.”

  We reached the van, and he stepped carefully down from the curb to the road, knocked on the back door twice. After a moment it swung open, revealing Jeff and Catcher in matching red Ombudsman T-shirts and khaki shorts. Jeff had opened the door with a grin; Catcher sat at one of the very swank van’s computer stations, eyes tracking across the black-and-white image currently on the monitor.

  “You ran a good race,” Catcher said, without looking at me.

  “Did I?”

  He clicked something, typed, clicked again. “Security cams say you did. You kept up with him, handled some shots and obstacles.”

  That actually brightened my evening quite a bit. Compliments from Catcher were few and far between, because he was at least as much a perfectionist as my father and I. Their rarity made them more meaningful.

  “The jump was a nice touch, too,” Jeff said, sitting down on his swiveling stool again. “But you might want to put a little more space between you and the bus next time.”

  “The bus?” Ethan asked, stepping behind me.

  “I had plenty of room,” I promised him, which was entirely true, if four inches counted as “plenty.”

  “I’m mapping the route,” Catcher said to my grandfather, “so we can backtrack, pull any casings.”

  “Excellent,” he said, then handed over the plastic bag to Jeff, who looked it over.

  “You’ve also got some pretty good throwing skills,” he said. “We caught that shot at the perp on camera.”

  Ethan’s eyebrows lifted again. “Throwing skills.”

  “The dagger,” I explained. “It was a lucky shot, and that’s not false modesty. But it was kind of fun.” I really was going to have to talk to Malik about knife throwing.

  Jeff nodded, unlocked a small metal cabinet, and placed the knife inside. “Were you able to get a shot of his face from the cameras?”

  “Eh,” Catcher said. “I get motion, but not a lot of detail. You want to give me a summary, I’ll add it to the APB.”

  “Six foot two or three, medium build. Muscular but lean. Red hair with some curl to it. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Human, and in good shape. Possibly not very experienced with supernaturals.”

  “Why do you say that?” my grandfather asked.

  “He had a gun and a Taser, used the latter on Nadia, the gun on me. He was smart enough not to use the gun first—knew it wouldn’t be entirely effective—but not experienced enough to use a blade or stake, which would have taken me out altogether.”

  My grandfather nodded. “Good observation. There’s a task force on the Circle—they come together when new information arises—and we’ll get the description to them, see if it rings any bells in the organization.”

  “Malik also has a list of organizations he’s gleaned from his financial review,” Ethan said. “He’ll get them to you. He’s confirmed the Circle’s close financial ties to Navarre, but I think we can agree this has moved well beyond finances.”

  “He’s already sent them,” Catcher said, tapping another screen.

  Curious, I hopped into the van and leaned behind Catcher to check the list. As Malik had said, the companies were strings of three seemingly random letters. None consisted of names or words, at least not in English.

  “Yeah, those aren’t exactly helpful,” I said. “‘The Circle, LLC’ would have been better.”

  Catcher glanced at my grandfather. “What’s the end game here?”

  “King being a Circle rival is the most likely motivation for the Circle’s hit on him. I suspect they wouldn’t get a financial return on taking out Nadia, which makes this punishment, pure and simple. A direct hit on Navarre House, showing what they’re able to do if Navarre doesn’t pay up, or successfully carry out their next assignment.”

  “So they’ve got another project lined up,” Catcher said.

  “That would be my take. It might be another hit on King, might be something else entirely.”

  Ethan nodded. “They have to suspect Navarre can’t simply write a check.”

  “Suggesting we’ll have to wrap up the Circle first,” Catcher said, “or someone’s going to lose people.”

  “This is going to get worse befo
re it gets better,” I said.

  My grandfather nodded. “That’s quite possible.” Concern tightened his expression when he looked at me. “Catcher filled me in on Balthasar. You’re all right?”

  The thought of it—the reminder of Balthasar—made my stomach twist. I didn’t want any more reminders. And I didn’t want him in my head.

  “I’m fine. Frankly, it felt good to get out there just now, mix it up a little.”

  My grandfather nodded, looked back at Ethan. “You’ve had no sign of him tonight?”

  Ethan pulled out his phone, checked it. “Not as of yet, although he made an appearance outside the House, apparently to remind us he could.”

  Everyone leaned forward as Ethan handed his phone around, showed them the grainy black-and-white of Balthasar.

  “Tenacious, or crazy?” my grandfather asked, his tone somber.

  “I’d suspect both,” Ethan said, tucking the phone away again after it made the round. “He essentially admitted to Merit that he wants the House, believes it’s his due.”

  “Because he made you?” my grandfather asked.

  “And I left him.”

  My grandfather nodded, considered. “There any room there to draw him out? To force his hand?”

  Ethan gave a smile, but there was nothing happy about it. It was pure predator, pure warrior, and very much vampire. “Your granddaughter has suggested there is. We’ll speak with you—with all of you,” he added, glancing at Catcher and Jeff, “when we’re ready to move.”

  They all nodded, knights prepared to come to their lady’s honor, and I felt my cheeks pinken with pride and a little bit of exhilaration. I was a capable warrior but didn’t mind having a Master, a cop, a shifter, and a sorcerer in my corner.

  Ethan looked at Catcher. “How’s the ward coming along?”

  “She’s working on it,” Catcher said flatly. “I obviously was called away.”

  “We’re juggling resources,” my grandfather said calmly, as if to avoid any argument between them. “And all doing the best we can under very unusual circumstances.”

  “I understand,” Ethan said, his gaze on Catcher. “And your time is appreciated.” It was as close to an apology between them as I expected they’d get. “For now, we’ll get the Navarre vampires out of harm’s way.”

  “You’ve got ideas?” my grandfather asked.

  “I do. But I’ll need to talk to Scott, Morgan.”

  My grandfather nodded. “Do that. We’ll deal with the evidence, touch base with the CPD about the forensics.” He smiled. “Nice that we can blame random violence and gunshots on someone other than a vampire for a change.”

  “Sad, but true,” Ethan said. “Let’s follow up with the Masters, Sentinel.”

  I nodded, and we said our good-byes and turned to walk back to the House.

  “And how are you?” he asked. He moved to lift his hand to my back, but dropped it again, as if remembering my flinch. That sent a new wave of guilt through me, but I pushed it down. This wasn’t the time for Balthasar.

  “At the moment, frustrated. My grandfather gave me a pep talk, but I don’t know that it helped. The perp could have given us a good lead about the Circle.”

  “He might have,” Ethan agreed. “But more likely, he’d simply have refused to talk. The Circle does not continue to exist because its members snitch, and I’d surmise there are serious punishments for those who break the rules. Likely rewards for those who stay quiet. The CPD will have blood from the dagger, fingerprints from the Taser. That will likely give them as much as they might have gotten out of the man.”

  I nodded. “That helps. Thanks.”

  “Anytime, Sentinel.”

  I caught a glint of something in the grass, stopped, and glanced across the grass until I saw it again.

  “What is it?” Ethan asked.

  “Give me a second.” I nudged it with the toe of my boot, then bent down. There in the grass, near the spot where Nadia and the man had fought, was a gold coin about the size of a nickel. Inscribed in the top was a circular symbol, a kind of ouroboros—a snake coiled in a circle, the tail in its mouth. In this case, there were three snakes composing the circle.

  “It’s a coin,” I said, and handed it to Ethan.

  “Chuck,” he called out, after he’d looked it over, and my grandfather walked toward us.

  “What’ve you got?”

  Ethan handed him the coin, and my grandfather nodded. “The Circle’s calling card,” he said. “Your perp must have dropped it. And I believe that confirms the reason for this particular visit.”

  He pulled another evidence bag from his jacket pocket, dropped the coin inside. “Navarre’s debt has come due, and it appears the Circle intends to collect.”

  * * *

  We joined the vampires again, headed inside Navarre House to discuss the specifics of the response. This time, the House’s lobby was stuffed with vampires in trendy clothing and obvious nerves, their magic peppering the air. Morgan waved us past the guards, who still watched us grimly as we passed, as if certain we were the cause of the trouble outside, instead of the ones who’d handled it.

  Morgan passed them in silence as we followed him to the staircase, his Novitiates’ gazes on the group of us as we moved, the city’s Masters together. It was odd, I thought, that he didn’t address his vampires. But if he wasn’t going to talk to them, it certainly wasn’t our job. I wasn’t even sure how much they knew about the Circle, although Will’s and Zane’s absences and Nadia’s attack should have at least tipped them off that something big was happening.

  “What’s going on out there?” a vampire called out. “We need some answers, Sire.”

  Morgan stopped on the staircase, hand on the banister, and turned back to look at them. We moved out of the way to give his vampires a look at him.

  “Something happened here today,” he said, his eyes dark and somber. “Something that was set in motion years ago. It is the result of many years of selfishness and superficiality and, yes, malfeasance. Of greed and short-term thinking. We are investigating the problem, and looking for a solution. That solution may not come today, but when it comes, it will undoubtedly require a change to the way in which we do things here.” He looked around at the marble floors, careful lighting, expensive furnishings. “We may have to examine who we are and what we wish to be.” His voice was soft, wistful, with a heady dose of regret in it.

  After a moment, Morgan looked down at them again. “Stay in the House tonight. Don’t leave, even with an escort.”

  There was an outpouring of argument, a volley of questions, a few arrows of accusation. Morgan stood there, took the brunt of it, and I caught Ethan’s mild but curious glance.

  What are you thinking? I asked him.

  I’m wondering if he intends to sacrifice himself for her, and despite all that she’s done to him, and to them.

  I hoped it wouldn’t come to that, that he wouldn’t fall on his sword for a person so unworthy. But Celina’s cult of personality was powerful, and if he thought Navarre needed to believe in her, I wouldn’t put it past him to sacrifice the king in order to save the queen. Vampire politics: chess with more fangs.

  Morgan lifted his hands to get their attention, and even then it took several seconds for the noise to quiet. “I’ve issued my order, and I’ll update you when I can. Until then, I expect you to behave like Navarre vampires.”

  With that, he turned and walked up the stairs.

  Yet again, I didn’t envy Morgan Greer.

  * * *

  Irina and Malik were still in the conference room when we arrived, laptops still open, although the pile of papers around them had grown since my last visit. Juliet still stood at parade rest in the corner, her gaze on the Seconds at their work.

  As the Masters arranged themselves around the table, I glanced around the room, scop
ing out a drink cart or refrigerator. I was parched, and hadn’t had a thing to drink since my running tour of Streeterville. I walked toward Irina, who looked as perfect as she had two hours ago, from her golden hair to her ruby lipstick. I could easily imagine her and Celina as friends or, since it was difficult to imagine Celina having true friends, as confidantes. She was light to Celina’s dark, both of them fashion-forward and gorgeous.

  Irina slid her gaze toward me as I approached, clearly unhappy about the interruption.

  “Sorry to bother you, but could I get something to drink?” I asked her.

  Irina gave me a full up-and-down appraisal before gesturing to the door. “The kitchen’s down the hall.”

  I was apparently neither highly ranking enough nor Navarre enough to merit her going to any trouble.

  “I’ll take you,” Juliet said quietly, moving near me and gesturing toward the door.

  I didn’t want to leave the room without Ethan’s okay, so I waited until he made eye contact, nodded, then followed Juliet out the door again.

  “She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?” I whispered as we walked down the hallway. It was empty, but magic and sound from the drama below still filled the air. Navarre’s vampires were very, very unhappy.

  “She’s a hateful shrew.” She gestured me to a room on the left with a swinging door. We walked inside, found a crew of white-clad chefs in an immaculate kitchen, every one of them wearing toques, preparing delicate dishes of food over long white counters. They stopped as we entered, watched us carefully as Juliet walked to a large, glass-doored refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of water.

  “One for Ethan,” she said, wholly ignoring the stares around her. She handed me one of the bottles and walked back through the gauntlet as if the room were empty, then out the swinging door again.

  When it closed again behind us, she shook out her entire body. “Seriously, this place gives me the willies. They’re just so pretentious.”

  “Yeah,” I said, uncapping the water. “I get that.” I stopped, took a hearty drink. “Can you imagine living here? Learning to be a vampire in this place?”

  “It was her House,” Juliet said, not saying Celina’s name, just as we’d done with Balthasar. “Everything here, every one of them, has been touched by her. And not in a good way.”