by Chloe Neill
He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “I am sorry that you’re forced to ask questions like that about your father. About someone who should always protect you, and without condition. It may be that he’s remembering your sister, and wanted to make amends in the only way he knows how. That is, I think, why he tried to make you a vampire in the first place.”
I sat back, closed my eyes. “Families are complicated.”
“Living creatures are complicated,” Ethan amended. “And since Jude Maguire still numbers among them, let’s go hear what he has to say.”
* * *
Chicago Central was a hospital complex of disparate buildings and architecture, at least a third of the buildings under construction at any given time. But then again, most hospitals seemed constantly in the process of morphing from one style into another, wings sprouting here and there like mutant insects.
My grandfather, Catcher, and Jeff waited for us in the hospital’s bright and spacious lobby, which I guessed from the spotless floors and immaculate seating had been recently rehabbed.
“For you,” Catcher said, handing back my dagger.
My relief at having it in hand again was almost palpable. I tucked it into my boot as discreetly as possible, felt better for that simple act.
“What’s this I hear about Navarre?” my grandfather asked.
“We aren’t privy to the details,” Ethan said smoothly. “But a benefactor made an anonymous donation to address Navarre’s outstanding debt. We understand Reed considers the debt satisfied.”
My grandfather turned his cop’s eyes on me. “A benefactor?”
I kept my gaze straight, unwavering, and I bluffed like there was no tomorrow. “That’s what we hear.”
He stared at me, unblinking for another long moment before turning his gaze onto Ethan. “That’s all I’m going to get.”
“That’s it,” Ethan agreed.
“So Navarre’s debt is paid,” Catcher said. “But what about the vendetta against King?”
“Still not settled, any more than Reed’s interest in us, at any rate. But I suspect Reed is a patient man, and he’ll be willing to wait for King.”
“King will have to stay in witness protection until Reed’s under wraps,” my grandfather muttered almost to himself.
“Reed is rich, connected, and apparently has supernatural benefactors at his disposal,” Catcher pointed out. “He won’t be under wraps anytime soon. But for now, we’ve got Maguire. We bring down Reed one step at a time.”
“One minion at a time,” Jeff agreed.
“How is he?” Ethan asked.
“Conscious, under guard,” my grandfather said. “He’ll be arrested formally once he’s clear. Let’s go up and hear what he has to say.”
* * *
As a vampire, I didn’t have much use for hospitals, much need for them. But there was still something about the pale green walls, the antiseptic scent that made me nervous.
We followed a complicated trail from elevator to passageway to elevator, and finally through a gauntlet of nurses and cops before we reached Maguire’s room at the end of a hallway. Two uniforms stood by the door, and they nodded when my grandfather approached.
“Mr. Merit,” said the one on the left. “He’s awake. Watching COPS.”
“Ironic,” my grandfather said.
“I’d have to agree with that, sir. Three of you can go in at a time.”
“Me, Merit, Ethan,” my grandfather said, then gestured for Catcher and Jeff to wait.
“Let me talk to him first,” I said. “I think we have a rapport.” Mostly of the ass-kicking variety, but I think that still counted.
“Lead on,” my grandfather said, and we walked inside.
The room was small, as most hospital rooms were. A couple of counters, small bathroom, bed.
Maguire lay in the middle of it, looking weirdly small. Some of his hair had been shaved and his face was swollen, a thick pad of gauze around his head. He wore a blue hospital gown, his body covered by a thin white blanket with a waffle texture.
Maguire looked up when we entered, smiled at the sight of me, then winced at the pain the motion had apparently caused. “What do you want?”
“Answers, preferably,” I said. “And thanks for destroying the Ferrari. Are you going to write us a check for that, or . . . ?”
“Fuck you,” he said.
“Not interested. Tell us about Reed, Tommy.”
His eyes flashed. “My name’s Jude Maguire.” He lifted his wrist, the plastic bracelet snapped there. “Says so right here.”
“We’ve seen your picture with him, O’Malley. Reed didn’t destroy them all. He missed one.”
“Bullshit.”
I smiled. “Absolute truth. It was a college photo—both of you with popped collars and keg cups. Very charming. And since we’ve got that photo, this would be a perfect opportunity for you to cover your own ass by explaining Mr. Reed’s involvement in the Circle.”
“I don’t know anything about the Circle. Everything I know about Reed, I learned by watching television.”
“You’ll go to prison,” my grandfather said.
“It won’t be the first time, won’t be the last.” Maguire turned toward the window.
I thought of what Maguire had said about Balthasar on the island, his apparent distaste, decided to use it. “Balthasar attacked a woman last night.”
“What’s new?” he mumbled.
“She says he attacked her in her mind.”
Maguire’s eyes darkened. “You think I’m bad? I’m nothing compared to him. He’s the one you should be afraid of.”
“How so?” I asked.
“He hunts women. With no regret and no remorse. You ask me, he’s just an asshole.”
So there was dissention in Reed’s ranks. “I wouldn’t disagree with you.” I took a chance, offered my unsubstantiated theory. “We know he’s not the real Balthasar.” Behind me, my grandfather and Ethan stiffened. “Who is he? What’s his real name?”
Maguire smiled crookedly. “And spoil all the fun? No.”
Ethan’s magic flared behind me at the realization, the implicit confirmation, that the man who’d wreaked havoc in our House hadn’t just been a monster—he’d also been a fraud.
But we’d have to deal with that later. First, we had to find out who he was.
I walked closer to the bed. “Then tell me how he got the details right.”
Maguire coughed, winced again with pain. “Do your own work.”
“Why? I know you don’t respect him, Jude. And I’m guessing he’s not making things easy for you—doing magic tricks on Michigan Avenue, for God’s sake. That’s not exactly helping the Circle stay underground. We bring him in because he’s being an idiot, and I’d bet Reed reduces whatever percentage of the profits he’s getting.”
His jaw worked as he considered, but there was anger in his eyes, and I didn’t think it was directed as us. “He was there.”
Ethan pressed forward. “He was where?”
“With Balthasar. He was a prisoner of the Memento Mori.”
Chapter Twenty-three
WALK LIKE A (WO)MAN
Ethan needed time to breathe, to process, to cool off. Jeff, Catcher, my grandfather, and I gathered in the hospital lobby—Catcher standing, me on the floor in front of the bench Jeff and my grandfather shared—looking at the small tablet Jeff operated. Through the window, Ethan paced the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, probably talking to Luc or Malik.
Jeff continued to tweak his ledger-searching algorithms, still looking for mentions of Balthasar, but without success. “I got bubkes,” he said, obviously frustrated. “The algorithm isn’t working. It’s not even catching words I can verify are actually in there. I can go through the microfiche by hand, but I’ll want my own comp and scanner for
that.”
“We can provide staff to assist you with that. I’d bet the Librarian would be happy to help.”
I looked up to realize Ethan was behind us, arms crossed over his chest.
You’re all right? I asked.
No. But I will be as soon as I wrench his head from his body.
Jeff nodded. “That would be good. It’ll go faster the more eyes we have.”
“For the moment, let’s think more broadly,” my grandfather suggested. “Reed knew about this vampire. How?”
I looked at Jeff. “You said the ledgers were at a library in London?”
“Not the ledgers themselves,” Jeff said. “Just the microfiche. A private collector owned the ledgers.”
“A private collector?” Ethan asked.
“On that,” Jeff said, diving into his tablet again. His response was nearly immediate. “Well, Odin’s balls.”
We all blinked, not sure whether to respond to the very creative curse, or the fact that he’d been excited enough to issue it.
He looked up, obviously exhilarated. “The Memento Mori’s ledgers were purchased at auction by a private investor. The collector was represented at the auction by LMN, LLC.”
“Odin’s balls, indeed,” I said, and glanced at Ethan. “That’s one of the Circle’s companies that paid for Balthasar’s condo. When were they purchased?”
He scrolled. “Looks like four years ago. Oh, this is something. I’ve got the text from the auction catalogue. The ledgers were described as an ‘intriguing exploration of the inner workings of a London cult, including references to monsters and vampires.’”
I glanced at Ethan. “Celina’s relationship with the Circle started seven years ago, and we guessed the Circle learned she was a vampire at some point. Maybe that point was four years ago.”
Ethan nodded. “He learns what she is, develops an interest in vampires, begins researching, compiling information. He then discovers our faux Balthasar, and proposes an arrangement to him.”
“It’s been a long con,” I said. “And Reed is very, very patient.”
“All right,” my grandfather said. “Research, possibly the ledgers, would have given him Balthasar’s history and enough about Ethan’s to fill in the gaps. But how did he match the face? The voice? He’d have needed help.”
Ethan nodded. “You’re right. The ‘Balthasar’ we’ve been dealing with is a Very Strong Psych. The extent to which he can psychically manipulate—that’s a level of vampire strength I’ve never seen, but it’s not an impossible level. But that only explains part of it. It wouldn’t explain his voice . . .”
Ethan looked away, nodded, considered. His gaze went distant, picking apart some faded memory. “It is the same. Precisely the same. The intonation. The intermingling of French.” He looked up at me, at Catcher. “How could he have done that? How could he have matched it so precisely?”
“It’s possible to emulate a person with magic.” Catcher didn’t sound thrilled about the possibility that that was what had happened. “It’s in the same chapter as making a familiar, and equally as dark.”
Mallory had reincarnated Ethan in an attempt to make him a familiar for her magical use. She hadn’t entirely succeeded, but that magic, the darkness of it, had nearly sent her over the edge.
“So Reed’s got this faux Balthasar, and a sorcerer to remake him?” Ethan asked, anger only just banked. Sorcerers, to his mind, caused trouble in Chicago nearly as frequently as vampires, even though there were fewer of them.
“The sorcerer would need an actual piece of Balthasar. A lock of hair, a bit of skin—”
“A tissue sample from the Memento Mori?”
We all looked at Jeff.
“They may have been torturers,” Jeff said. “But remember they were also scientists, at least to their minds. They collected samples. They ran experiments. If the ledgers survived, why not the samples?”
“So it was magic,” I said, thinking not just of the tricks “Balthasar” had done on Michigan Avenue, but the entirety of his “visit” to Chicago. “I mean, there was preparation, sure. He’d have done his research, his homework, read the ledgers, learned about the man. But it was mostly magic, and he was the prestige.”
“It was a con,” Ethan countered, and looked at Catcher. “Can you talk to your Order contacts? Find out if there are any rumblings about a sorcerer in Reed’s employ?”
Catcher nodded. “We can do that. Mallory’s forensic skills could also help there.”
I wondered if they could help with something else. I looked at Catcher. “I used to be immune to glamour, or at least a lot less sensitive to it. But after Balthasar attacked me, something changed. Everything affects me now. We weren’t sure how it was possible—but maybe the magic had something to do with it. Maybe that’s why it affected me.”
Ethan and Catcher looked at each other, expressions considering.
“Magic and vampirism can do weird things to each other,” Catcher said. “As we’ve seen. It’s certainly possible.”
I nodded.
“So if we’ve got all this right,” my grandfather said, “and we’ve got a sorcerer helping another vampire play Balthasar, where’s the real Balthasar?”
“According to Maguire,” I said, “faux Balthasar knew real Balthasar from their Memento Mori incarceration. That means real Balthasar survived the attack by Persephone’s family. And since Luc and Jeff managed to confirm some of what faux Balthasar told us about the rest of the real Balthasar’s history, he survived the Memento Mori, too. But we’ll have to go back to the timeline, those sources, to narrow it down any further than that.”
Ethan nodded, then offered a hand, pulled me to my feet. “For now, we need to get back to the House, get ready for the Investiture.”
“What’s the dress code?” Jeff asked.
I hadn’t known the Ombuddies had been officially invited, but I was glad of it. It would be good to have friends nearby.
“Black tie,” Ethan said. “We’re putting on a show, after all.”
* * *
We returned to the House to find paparazzi outside, lining up for tomorrow’s Investiture.
“Nick moved quickly,” I said.
“As did Helen,” Ethan said as vendors moved supplies through a checkpoint set up at the gate, carrying boxes of flowers, wineglasses, champagne.
“She’s efficient,” I agreed.
We walked inside, found the foyer absent of supplicants, the check-in table temporarily gone. If Balthasar took the bait and decided to cause trouble, they’d be in the line of fire. It was best to keep the House closed to anyone who didn’t already need to be there.
We walked together to the Ops Room, found Luc reviewing a security plan with Keiji. Luc had been smiling, but his expression grew serious at the sight of Ethan.
“He’s not Balthasar.”
“He is not,” Ethan said. “Although he did substantial work in preparing for the role. The Ombuddies suspect Reed engaged a powerful sorcerer and used tissue samples from the Memento Mori to emulate Balthasar.”
“Oh, good,” Luc said blandly. “Jeff’s looking for the stand-in?”
Ethan nodded. “He wanted to use his own equipment. Would you please ask the Librarian to contact him about assisting?”
Luc nodded. “Roger that.”
Ethan gestured to the House plan on the screen. “How is Investiture planning proceeding?”
“Good,” Luc said. “Helps that we have the temps. We’ll have people stationed along the perimeter. They’ll watch and alert us if they see him, but they will not engage. We’ll leave that to the two of you.” He cleared his throat dramatically, looked at Ethan. “Unless of course you want to sit this one out for your own safety.”
“No,” was Ethan’s immediate response. “This is personal, and I will handle it personally.”
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Luc nodded. “You’re the boss. Mallory will have to drop the wards, of course, to let him into the House.”
“She’ll appreciate that,” I said. “They’re apparently exhausting to maintain.”
“And she’s invited,” Ethan said. “She and Catcher both, so they can provide magical backup in the event he decides to utilize his cache of magic. I’m going upstairs to check in with Morgan and Scott. Morgan wants to send the Navarre vampires back.”
Luc nodded. “We’ll tell Chuck, keep going on Investiture prep.”
Ethan nodded. “Join us upstairs when you’re ready. I’d like to go over the plan with the team.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I said when Ethan moved for the door.
We walked into the hallway, and I let the office door close behind us. “I think it’s my turn to ask if you’re all right,” I said quietly.
“I let him into my House. I believed him. After all the years we’d been together, all the things I’d seen, I believed he was who he said he was. How did I miss that? How could I have been so stupid?”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
“Don’t placate me, Merit.”
I smiled. “I’m not placating you. You know I love to call you on your bullshit, but that’s not what this is. Reed had the ledgers, and, apparently, a dark sorcerer willing to do black magic to make a vampire essentially become Balthasar. The entire exercise was designed to fool all of us, to use just enough illusion, and just enough fear, to make us believe.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Maguire will soon be behind bars, and Navarre is safe again—or as safe as it’s likely to be. Tomorrow night, we deal with Balthasar. And we end this.”
“I end this,” Ethan said, with conviction that chilled me to the bone.
* * *
I was mature enough to admit we weren’t on the best of terms, but this was a crucial time, and sometimes one had to face one’s fear.
So when I had a moment to get away, I walked upstairs to Helen’s office, passed the closed door of Ethan’s office, and rapped knuckles on the door. She looked up, face utterly blank.
