Dark Debt

by Chloe Neill

  “Sentinel?” Luc asked quietly.

  I held up a hand, let my breaths come and go quietly until the panic passed. And felt dread settle low in my abdomen again, that I’d be living with terrifying and humiliating bouts of panic for the rest of my immortal life.

  “Okay,” I said a moment later. “I’m okay.” I shook my head, accepted without argument the bottle of water Lindsey handed me, took a long drink.

  “He didn’t know her name,” I said when I was done.

  Luc looked confused. “Who?”

  “Persephone. When he attacked me, I mentioned her name. Balthasar looked completely blank, like he had no idea who she was.”

  Luc looked at the chart, contemplated. “He’d been tortured. Could have forgotten it.”

  “Yeah, but that seems to be the only thing he doesn’t remember. He was attacked by a band of ‘some girl’s’ relatives, held by them for magical purposes for years, can tell us every place he’s been since then, but he doesn’t mention the girl’s name?” I looked at Luc. “If they show up at his house to punish him, to kill him, damn straight they’re going to mention her name, tell him they’re avenging her death, or his attack on her, or whatever. I’d sure remember it.”

  “He didn’t say he didn’t know it,” Lindsey pointed out. “He just didn’t mention it. And we’re talking about Balthasar. He’s not gonna win Feminist of the Year.”

  “And even if you’re right,” Luc said, “and he didn’t remember her name, why does it matter?”

  Because her name mattered. To Balthasar, to Ethan, to the story. And maybe, I thought, dread beginning to rise thick in my chest, to all of us.

  “A vampire comes back into Ethan’s life,” I began, “centuries after his supposed death, and tells a story about where he’d been the entire time. But he doesn’t know one of the most important parts of that story. We also find out he’s being funded by an organization that’s out to control all the vampire Houses in Chicago.”

  My heart thudded, but I asked the question anyway. “What if the story he told wasn’t actually about him?” I looked at Luc, then Lindsey. “What if he isn’t the real Balthasar?”

  The Ops Room went deathly silent.

  I wasn’t sure which possibility was worse—that the vampire who made Ethan was psychopathic and misogynistic enough to forget the name of his most important victim, or that he was a magical imposter who’d gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to play that psychopath.

  “Even if you’re right,” Luc said quietly, as if speaking the words more softly would minimize their power, “even if there’s some way he could have gotten the information, made himself look like Balthasar, there would be easier ways to get to Ethan.”

  “Easier, but not with more legitimacy. Not with a tie to Ethan. Not like this. He’s got the Circle behind him, Luc. They are strong, and they are wily. They’ve already got Navarre under their thumb. What’s the best way to stake a claim on Cadogan?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Luc murmured, staring at the timeline.

  I nodded, walked toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Luc asked.

  “I want to talk to Ethan about Persephone, about that night.”

  And if this vampire, this man who’d thrown our lives into chaos was nothing more than a very powerful grifter running a long con, he was going to answer to me.

  * * *

  My palms began to sweat on the trip upstairs to Ethan’s office. I wasn’t looking forward to making him focus on Balthasar again, and certainly not to suggest that Ethan had been wrong from the beginning.

  His office door was open a few inches. I put a hand on the door, nearly pushed it open, until I recognized Jonah’s voice in the room.

  I froze, shifted so I could see them through the crack in the door. They stood in the middle of Ethan’s office. Ethan had a glass in hand. Jonah had his hands in his pockets, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable.

  “She is sad, Jonah,” Ethan was saying. “She feels you’re underestimating her. As you are.”

  My eyes widened in surprise, just as Jonah’s did.

  “She told you?”

  “Not the details. She didn’t have to.” Ethan turned back, looked at him. “Her relationship with me, my involvement in the AAM. Of course you’d see that as a potential asset.” He paused. “I know you have feelings for her.”

  “Had.”

  “That’s debatable. If your emotions weren’t coloring your analysis of this situation, you’d see it differently. That’s what makes it disappointing.”

  “And how, exactly, would I see it differently?”

  “If I were you, instead of seeing her relationship with us as a liability, I’d see it as a bonus.” He put a hand on his chest. “I’d consider the information she’ll be privy to, the access she’ll have. I’d wager her situation is unique in the United States, and I’d be grateful for that situation. I wouldn’t hold it against her. And I wouldn’t use it as an excuse to question her loyalty. And if you have any doubt that she would put power and gain above the welfare of her friends, her colleagues, her family, then she’s the one who needs a new partner.”

  “She made an oath.”

  “To the RG, and to me, and to her House. And she made an oath to you, of a kind, and you to her. She isn’t the one breaking that oath now.”

  “Balthasar could—”

  “Balthasar is irrelevant, as you well know. He is trouble, yes, and we are dealing with him. But he has no bearing on my rule of this House, or her.

  “Look,” Ethan continued. “Either you earnestly, and wrongly, believe that she’ll be suddenly blind to my incompetence, or my succumbing to Balthasar—or someone else in the RG believes it, and you won’t stand up for her. Neither option is particularly flattering for you.”

  He finished his drink, set it aside. “You should get back to your House, keep an eye on your Master, just as you suggest Merit keep an eye on hers. Although Balthasar has no bearing on my leadership, he’s still dangerous. Until we get him squared away, I recommend you stay close to Scott.”

  Jonah nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Jonah turned toward the door, and I nearly ran down the hallway to duck out of sight. But since I wasn’t a child, I cleared my throat and pushed open the door as if I’d only just come by.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, with what I hoped was admirable acting. “I didn’t see you had anyone in here.”

  Ethan looked amused. “No trouble, Sentinel. Jonah was here to discuss the Investiture and look over the grounds. He’s just heading back to Grey House.”

  Jonah nodded. “You were at Torrance Island?”

  “Yeah. It would have been a cool tour but for the murderous criminals.”

  “I bet. I should go,” he said, and slipped out without another word.

  “Did you enjoy our conversation?”

  I looked back at Ethan. “What conversation?”

  He smiled. “I saw you outside, Sentinel. Although I don’t think he did.”

  “Thanks for taking up for me.”

  “I’d say I was taking up for your partnership. Whether I like it or not, it’s a valuable asset to the House. You two work well together and could continue to do so if he wasn’t being so stubborn.”

  “Yeah.” I walked to him, slipped my arms around him, relieved that I hadn’t questioned the gesture before doing it. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know, Merit.” Ethan paused, clearly surprised by the embrace, before wrapping his arms around me, his relief nearly palpable. “I’m afraid he’s not giving you many choices. He certainly doesn’t believe he has many. You came up for something, and I presume it wasn’t Jonah.”

  My stomach twisted again, and I pulled back. “I have a question about Balthasar, actually.”

  “Ah.”

&n
bsp; “You said you believed it was Persephone’s family who assaulted Balthasar. Held him.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “How do you know?”

  His jaw worked for a moment, his expression still unusually cautious. “I told them.”

  I blinked. “You told them?”

  “What he’d done and where to find him.” One hand on his hips, he ran the other through his hair. “I couldn’t save her, couldn’t kill my maker to avenge her. But I could let them know the truth and give them an opportunity to avenge her death, and prevent any others.”

  Ethan walked a few steps away, giving himself space, looked back at me. “It is not something I’m proud of. It was cowardly to ask a human to do work I should have done. But there had been so much death . . .” He looked away.

  So Balthasar had killed Persephone, and Ethan had told her family about it. They’d hunted him down and planned to kill him, and one of them decided he’d be more useful scientifically. But still, through all that, Balthasar didn’t remember her name? Had he not thought about the timing? About the fact that he’d been attacked just after Ethan left? Surely he could have put that together. And if he had, why hadn’t he mentioned it?

  “What’s on your mind, Sentinel?”

  “Puzzle pieces that don’t fit well,” I said. “He didn’t know about Persephone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t mention her when he was here. And when he attacked me, he didn’t recognize her name.”

  “He could have forgotten, repressed it,” Ethan said, but he didn’t look convinced by that. “He called me. Knows all the history.”

  “True. But his appearance, right now, was oddly coincidental. And he’s here, at least in some part, because the Circle is paying for it. Just at the moment when the Circle is making a concerted bid for control of the city’s vamps.”

  “You’re suggesting he’s an imposter.” Ethan’s tone went hot. “I’d know if he wasn’t who he says he is. It wouldn’t be possible for someone to pretend that well.”

  But we lived in a world of fairies, gnomes, harpies, shifters; that’s what bothered me. Since when was anything impossible, magically or otherwise?

  Before he could say anything else, my phone rang. I pulled back, found Catcher’s number, answered it. “Merit.”

  “We’ve got something new on Jude Maguire, starting with the fact that Jude Maguire isn’t his real name. Jeff did an image-surf—”

  “Hey, Mer,” said Jeff’s voice in the background.

  “Hey, Jeff. Image-surf?” I prompted.

  “And we found a photograph, think we found Maguire’s previous identity. His name was Thomas O’Malley.”

  “Does that matter?”

  “Yeah,” Catcher said. “I think it does. Judge for yourself.”

  “Send it to Ethan’s mail,” I said, and walked to Ethan’s desk, sat down behind his computer.

  “Oh, do help yourself,” Ethan murmured, watching.

  I pulled up the program, waited for the photograph to come through, and when the alert rang, clicked it.

  I nearly dropped the phone. “Crap on toast,” I said, borrowing Mallory’s curse, and gestured Ethan to come look.

  It was a photograph from a college yearbook, two guys standing side by side, an arm over each other’s shoulder, bottles of beer in their free hands. Their hair was fashionably long, just brushing their popped shirt collars. They looked casually wealthy, confident, and very content with their lot.

  They, according to the caption below the photograph, were Thomas O’Malley and Adrien Reed.

  “I’m going to put you on speaker,” I said to Catcher, and put down the phone so Ethan could hear.

  “They went to college together,” Catcher said. “O’Malley got popped for larceny, changed his name, if not legally. Jeff says there’s no record of it.”

  “When you’re friends with Adrien Reed, who needs a judge?” Ethan muttered.

  “Yeah,” Catcher agreed. “There was barely a record of the photograph—Jeff found it buried in an online alumni forum. Wouldn’t surprise me if Reed tried to scrub the records. In order to hide the connection.”

  “Let’s not get carried away,” I said. “I’m sure Reed took a lot of pictures with a lot of people.”

  “This wasn’t just a throwaway,” Catcher said. “They were buddies, frat brothers. O’Malley was in Reed’s first wedding. Pre-Sorcha. First wife’s name was Frederica. No pictures that we could find—also likely scrubbed—but there’s a line item in the society pages. Reed and Maguire are friends,” Catcher concluded. “Which makes me wonder if Reed is also part of the Circle.”

  “Jesus,” Ethan said. “All the money. All the connections. Why would he risk that?”

  “Maybe that’s the wrong order of things,” I said. “Maybe he got the money, the connections, because of it. But if we’re right, why the attempt on King at Reed’s house?”

  “Maybe Reed wanted a bird’s-eye view of King’s downfall,” Catcher said. “Wanted to watch a competitor suffer.”

  “Or wanted to confirm the hit had gone down,” Ethan said. “There was, after all, some question whether that would take place. And to let it happen in his own home, he was incredibly confident King’s death wouldn’t be traced back to him.”

  “That could be,” Catcher said. “For now, this is just speculation. We don’t have any hard evidence linking Reed to Maguire, as he’s now known, the Circle, or anything else. But it’s a first step. I have to go. We’re going to look into the King-Reed angle more. I’ll keep you posted.”

  By the time I said thanks and hung up the phone, Ethan had grabbed his suit jacket and was headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to pay a little visit to Adrien Reed. And this time, I’m driving.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  FRANKLY, SENTINEL

  He didn’t give me time to argue, tattle, or grab Brody. In order to keep Ethan from going alone, I had to settle for sending Luc a message as I climbed into Ethan’s Ferrari and he squealed out of the basement parking garage and onto the street, just missing the gate by a hair.

  “What, exactly, is the plan here?” I asked as the engine hummed through Hyde Park.

  “I want to talk to him. I want to talk to him about Balthasar. I want to talk to him about Navarre. I want to talk to him about the hell he’s put us and our friends through for the last week. I want to talk to him about attacking my Sentinel and attempting to use her as a hostage.”

  “All good questions,” I said, nodding my agreement. “But keep in mind that we don’t actually have any evidence he’s done any of that.”

  “Frankly, Sentinel, I don’t give a damn about evidence right now. I care about this unmitigated asshole having the stones to admit what he’s done so I can begin planning how to destroy him.”

  “So this is just going to be a light social call to a millionaire in the middle of the night, then.”

  When Ethan growled, I decided this wasn’t the time to mitigate tension with sarcasm. Seeing as how I didn’t have much else to contribute, I settled back and began to answer Luc’s panicked messages.

  * * *

  The front door was locked, no welcome party tonight, no cadre of limousines in line to drop off visitors. Ethan pressed the security panel beside the door.

  “May I help you?”

  “Ethan Sullivan for Adrien Reed.”

  “One moment please.”

  There was a pause, then a beep, and a woman in a dour black dress opened the door, gestured for us to come inside. The moment we did, two guards stepped forward, scanned us with handheld wands.

  Metal detectors?

  Looking for weapons and, more likely, recording devices, Ethan said.

  When they decided we were clear, the
y gestured us forward. “Mr. Reed will see you in his study. I understand you know the way.”

  “We do,” Ethan said through clenched teeth. “Thank you.”

  The house had been stripped of its Venetian party decorations, but hadn’t diminished the excessiveness. Every nook and cranny was still stuffed with objects, art, furniture.

  “Is he a hoarder?” I asked quietly.

  “One wonders,” Ethan said. “That would certainly explain his criminal interest in accumulating more of it.” His voice was dry as toast.

  We traveled the ballroom, the stairs, the gallery, made our way to his office. A new guard stood by the door, hands clasped in front of him, gaze suspicious. After a look-over, he nodded us in.

  Despite the hour, Reed sat behind his desk, pen in one hand as he scanned a sheath of papers. “I’m a busy man, Mr. Sullivan,” he said, without looking up.

  Ethan walked into the office, his gaze on everything in the room except Reed, his stride dangerously blasé. He walked to the bar cart, poured a finger of liquid into a glass, finished it.

  So our Master vampire intended to toy with his prey a bit. If I wasn’t supposed to focus on his safety, I’d have pulled up a chair to enjoy the show.

  Reed’s eyes widened at the move, but the facade snapped quickly back into place. “Help yourself.”

  “Done,” Ethan said, putting the glass on the cart, bottom up, with a heavy thud.

  Reed put down his pen, the move slow and deliberate. “Your manners leave something to be desired.”

  “My manners?” Ethan said, turning back to him. “Do you know, Adrien—may I call you Adrien?—what isn’t mannerly? Being a loan shark. Facilitating a vampire’s addiction. Extorting murder. Assault. Oh, and leading a criminal enterprise.”

  Reed’s eyes widened, this time with amusement. “Have I done all that? That’s quite a list of accomplishments.”

  “Games are beneath you.”

  He clucked his tongue. “I’m sad to say that’s wrong. All the world’s not a stage, but a game. Most are pawns. Some are kingmakers. Only a chosen few are kings.”