Authors: Chloe Neill
Drink Deep (11 page)
“Miserable, isn’t it?”
I glanced behind me. Margot, the House’s head chef, stood in the doorway with a dour expression. She wore her chef’s whites and rubber clogs, her sleek bob of dark hair gleaming, the pointed bangs resting just between her catlike amber eyes. Her eyes, though, looked a little watery, and they were marked beneath by dark circles.
Was that an effect of blood rationing?
“It is miserable,” I agreed.
Margot pulled a small cart into the kitchen, its top and bottom shelves laden with healthy snacks and the crunchy sorts of vegetables that only tasted good when drowned in creamy dill dressing.
I know I wasn’t a model for healthy eating. But I’d been careful about my weight my entire life. Now, because of my vampire metabolism, I couldn’t gain a pound. I considered that a challenge.
“I like to bake,” she said, opening a cabinet and stocking the shelves, “and I enjoy my fruits and veggies, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy plastic-wrapped carbs now and again.”
“I’m sure he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
Margot paused, hand on a bag of all-natural dried fruit snacks that probably tasted like Styrofoam, and looked over at me. “Do you really believe that?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I think he truly believes he’s doing the right thing for the GP.”
She lowered her voice. “Then maybe it’s the GP we should be arguing with.”
I made a sound of agreement.
Margot stocked the cabinet, then opened the refrigerator door. “Not much blood,” she said, frowning as she looked over the bags that were left.
“Rationing, I assume.”
“You’d be right. He’s reduced our Blood4You delivery by forty percent.”
“I think he’s hoping someone loses it,” I quietly predicted. “That someone goes after a human, or goes crazy from hunger in front of a camera.”
“So he can prove to the GP how flawed the House is. Convince them to turn it over to him for good.”
I nodded. Margot and I shared a worried look, before she suddenly brightened.
“I might have a little something that will cheer you up, actually,” she said, kneeling down to dig around the bottom shelf of the cart. When she stood up again, she had a gleaming box in her hands.
“Mallocakes!” I whispered, my eyes probably lighting up like roman candles. It wouldn’t have surprised me if my fangs had descended out of sheer excitement. Mallocakes were my favorite snack-cake delight, chocolate bars of spongey goodness stuffed with marshmallow crème.
“Contraband,” she corrected, then pulled the paper strip off the box and pulled out a Mallocake. With much reverence, she handed it to me. “I’m only brave enough to sneak these in one box at a time,” she quietly said, hiding the box again in the jumble on the bottom shelf. “But we all need a little something to get through the day. And if Se de,” she this is what it takes, so be it. You find me when you need a fix.”
And so it began
, I thought,
the first wave of a revolution against oppression, fought with corn syrup and chocolate.
, I thought,
the first wave of a revolution against oppression, fought with corn syrup and chocolate.
“I appreciate it,” I said. “And your secret is safe with me.”
Margot rolled her cart back down the hallway. I headed back to my room and downed the blood immediately. I stared at the Mallocake in my hand for a moment, but ultimately stuffed it into a drawer. There would undoubtedly be a moment when I needed it even more than now.
Chicago—especially with vampires—just seemed to work that way.
CHAPTER SIX
NO MAN (OR WOMAN) IS AN ISLAND
T
he message from my grandfather came sometime during the day when I was fast asleep and, thankfully, nightmare free. I snapped up the phone as soon as the sun fell again and read the message: STREETERVILLE HELIPORT. 21:00 CST.
he message from my grandfather came sometime during the day when I was fast asleep and, thankfully, nightmare free. I snapped up the phone as soon as the sun fell again and read the message: STREETERVILLE HELIPORT. 21:00 CST.
As expected, my grandfather had managed to find a helicopter, and also had developed a taste for using military time.
Being late fall, the sun set earlier and stayed down longer. That gave us a little more time to be awake and about, and it meant I had time to get dressed and take care of secondary business in the few hours before my trip to the island. First item on the list—talking to the people who could make it happen.
I dialed the Ombud’s office. Jeff answered the phone on the first ring.
“Merit!”
“Hey, Jeff. I don’t suppose the lake magically fixed itself?”
“Not so much, as it looks exactly the same and is still pulling in magic like a Hoover.”
“Awesome.” If we weren’t careful, and fast, there wouldn’t be any magic left in Chicago.
“How are the nymphs doing?”
“Not great, but could be worse. We moved them around until we found a place with a relative equilibrium—couldn’t move them too far from the lake, or they got weaker because of the distance. Move them too close to the lake, and they get weaker from the vacuum. We eventually hooked them into a couple of condos your father is managing; your grandfather made the arrangements.”
That was awfully nice of my father, but undoubtedly a ploy of some kind—either to gain the favor of a supernatural group that was new to him . . . or to gain favor with me. I still hadn’t forgiven him for bribing Ethan to make me a vampire; Ethan hadn’t taken the bribe, but that didn’t lessen the sting of the betrayal.
“Did you find anything in your research?”
Jeff yawned. “We did not. Stayed up most of the day looking, too. Our best theory is this is some new kind of spell.”
“We know Catcher’s not involved, and Mallory’s freaked out about her exams. Simon’s the only other sorcerer in town. You think he could have something to do with it?”
“Simon? I don’t know. He doesn’t seem the type. Catcher looked into his background when he started tutoring Mal. From what I’ve heard, he had a rough start as a kid, cleaned up when he apprenticed with the Order. I don’t think he found anything suspicious, but tha Vity a to dt didn’t really help. Catcher does not like Simon.”
“I noticed,” I said.
“So, anyway, long story short, we’re at a dead end. Maybe your talk with Lorelei will clear things up. You psyched for the trip?”
“I’d be more psyched if this was a casual visit, and not a trip to an isolated island to solve a magical problem she might have caused.”
“Eh, piece of cake,” Jeff said.
“We’ll see about that. But that’s not actually why I’m calling. I need a favor.”
“In addition to the helicopter ride?”
“In addition to that. I need to talk to Tate.”
Silence.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I could hear the question he wasn’t asking—are you sure it’s a good idea to visit the man responsible for the death of your lover? But I’d already thought that one through.
“Of course it’s not a good idea,” I said. “But he’s talked to the GP, and he’s spreading rumors about what went down that night. He’s not the type to waste energy unless there’s something in it for him, and I want to know what that is.”
“He could just be baiting you into visiting him.”
“He probably is. But that doesn’t make the trip any less necessary.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Catcher and Chuck. There are protocols, I imagine.”
“Understood. But he’s making trouble for the House, so I can’t just let this go. Do the best you can.”
We said our good-byes, and I hung up with Jeff, but the call left me with a lingering worry. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of visiting Tate. I was pretty sure he wasn’t human, and I was already facing down one unknown magical creature tonight. Two was really pushing it.
“Big girl panties,” I quietly reminded myself. “Big girl panties.”
And since I was playing grown-up, I dialed Mallory’s number.
She’d been a little growly when we’d talked before, but as BFF it was my job to check in. Since I didn’t claim my own money-grubbing family (aside from borrowing the family name, which I actually liked), Mallory has been my primary family. Hell, we’d been
each other’s
family. And losing Ethan had reminded me how much I needed her.
each other’s
family. And losing Ethan had reminded me how much I needed her.
Of course, I wasn’t exactly surprised when the phone flipped to voice mail almost immediately.
“Hey, it’s me,” I told her. “I just wanted to give you a call and wish you luck on your exams. Kick ass, and impress Simon, and become a real, live sorceress, and all that other inspirational crap. Go, Mallory! And now that I sound like a perky teenager, which I am most definitely not, I’m going to hang up now. Call me when you can.”
I flipped the phone closed and silently wished her luck. I’d seen Mallory stressed to the gills a few weeks ago, crying from the stress of the work she was doing—and the physical pain. Apparently, funneling the power of the universe through your body was a tough job. It certainly wasn’t anything I wanted a part of. Dealing with vampires was more than enough work for me.
My chores done, I showered and dressed. I wasn’t exactly sure what to wear to accuse a s [to k for meiren of ruining Chicago’s water, but I decided the full leather ensemble was a little aggressive. I stuck with the leather jacket, but paired it with jeans and a thin, long-sleeved T-shirt. My Cadogan medal and boots were my accessories, as was my dagger. I figured dropping out of a helicopter with a thirty-two-inch sword probably wasn’t the most diplomatic of entrances.
When I was dressed, I headed to the Ops Room to update Kelley. She sat at the conference table, reviewing information on a tablet computer. Lindsey sat at one of the computer stations on the wall; Juliet was nowhere in sight.
“What’s up, ladies?”
Kelley glanced up from her toy. “Good evening, Merit. Did Frank find you?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I said, checking my wall file for information. We usually received “Dailies,” updates about House visitors, news and happenings. Since we were short-staffed, they were closer to “Weeklies,” and Kelley paged us if anything needed to be relayed immediately.
“He questioned my ability to serve, Ethan’s decision to appoint me, and every other decision he made while in charge of the House.”
“Oh,” she said with a fake smile. “So the usual stuff.”
“Pretty much.” I took a seat at the table. “He also asked me about the night Ethan was killed.”
I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Lindsey’s shoulders stiffen. She glanced back at me, concern in her expression, and I nodded in thanks.
“As it turns out,” I said, “Tate gave the GP a different version of events.”
“Why, in God’s name, would the GP talk to Tate about that night? I mean, there were tapes of Tate’s involvement in the drugs. Why would they take his word over yours?”
“Because he’s not me. And for whatever reason, they don’t trust me.”
“Jerks,” Lindsey muttered.
“Agreed. But we’ve heard from Darius, Charlie, and now Frank that the GP really does think we’re creating problems for ourselves. They have this idea we’re cowboys in the American wilderness, randomly stirring up trouble with humans.”
“Instead of laying the blame for that at Celina’s door?” Kelley wondered.
“My thoughts exactly. Silent assimilation is only a viable strategy when you haven’t been dragged kicking and screaming out of the closet.”
Kelley sighed and tapped her crimson nails on the tabletop. “And yet, what can we do about it? Whenever the GP gets information in front of them, they ignore it.”
“We defect,” Lindsey said.
Kelley’s gaze snapped to Lindsey. “Don’t say that out loud,” she warned. “God only knows how secure the House is with him here.”
“Is that even an option?” I quietly wondered. I had a short version of the
Canon
—the laws that bound North American vampires—but I didn’t recall having seen anything about defection. Not that the GP would advertise that kind of thing.
Canon
—the laws that bound North American vampires—but I didn’t recall having seen anything about defection. Not that the GP would advertise that kind of thing.
“Only twice in the GP’s history,” Kelley said, “and never by an American House.”
“Never say never,” Lindsey muttered.
“Lindsey,” Kelley warned again, this time with a tone of authority in her voice.
Lindsey glanced back from her computer, brows lifted. “What? I’m not afraid to say it aloud. This House is governed by the GP. The GP is supposed to keep things stable and protect the House. Is that happening now? Hells to the no. Instead, they’re criticizing and investigating
our
vampires when they should be working to keep these crazy-ass humans away from us.”
our
vampires when they should be working to keep these crazy-ass humans away from us.”
She pointed to one of the monitors in front of her, and both Kelley and I moved closer for a better look. The screen showed the sidewalk outside the House, where the number of protestors seemed to have tripled since dawn. They were marching up and down with signs that blamed the still-dark waters of the lake on Cadogan House. As if we’d created the problem, instead of trying to stop it.
“They blame us,” I concluded. “They have no evidence we have anything to do with the lake; they just don’t know anyone else to blame. That’s the only reason they’re here.”
“Oh, no,” Kelley said. “That’s not the only reason.” She walked back to the table, tapped a bit on the tablet, and handed it over to me.
The screen displayed a video of Mayor Kowalczyk, wearing a sensible red power suit and a bouffant of brown hair, and standing in front of a podium.
“Press conference?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Kelley said, then swiped the screen to start the video.
“You know what?” the mayor asked, leaning over the podium. “I don’t care. You did not elect me to this office so I could spend my time in office kowtowing to special interest groups. And rest assured, my fellow Chicagoans, that these vampires are a special interest group. They want to be treated differently. They want the rules that apply to us to not apply to them.”
“Was that even English?” I quietly wondered. Her linguistic skills notwithstanding, she kept going.
“There’s more to this city than a handful of fanged rabble-rousers—good, old-fashioned, hardworking folks who know that everything isn’t about vampires.
This
is one of those things. The lake is ours. The river is ours. They are about tourism, about fishing. I won’t allow this city to be co-opted. And I will tell you one thing—the registration law is the best thing that will ever happen to this city.”
This
is one of those things. The lake is ours. The river is ours. They are about tourism, about fishing. I won’t allow this city to be co-opted. And I will tell you one thing—the registration law is the best thing that will ever happen to this city.”
“Blah blah blah,” Lindsey muttered. “Blame the vampires instead of actually working to fix the problem.”
Kelley paused the video. “Mayor Kowalczyk has a different constituency,” she said. “And a very different outlook on things.”
Lindsey humphed. “A naïve outlook.”
“Be that as it may,” I said, “it’s the outlook she’s providing the city. And they’ll believe her, which is why we need to get in front of this.” But as I stared daggers at the image of our new political foe, I saw something even more disturbing. “Kelley, increase the image.”
There was confusion in her expression, but she did it. And there behind Diane Kowalczyk, in all his black-fatigued glory, stood McKetrick.
“That’s McKetrick,” I said, pointing him out.
“Are you sure?” Kelley asked, tilting her head at the picture.
“Positive. It’s hard to forget a man who’s stuffed a gun in your face. Well, who’s ordered his goon to stuff a gun in your face, anyway.”
“Shit,” Kelley uncharacteristically said. “So our paramilitary foe has made friends with a politician.”
“That might explain where some of her worst ideas come from,” I suggested, my stomach curdling at the thought, McKetrick and his hatred would have political legitimacy in Chicago.
“Add that to his info sheet,” Kelley told Lindsey. “Kowalczyk’s a political ally, and he’s got enough sway to stand on a podium beside her.”
“This night keeps getting better,” I said, then glanced at Kelley. “And speaking of horrible ideas, I’m going to see Tate, and we’re going to have a little chat about the GP and what went down in Creeley Creek.”
“There’s a possibility that’s part of his plan—that he’s lying to the GP to get you out there.”
That echoed Jeff’s concern, and I’d decided they were both right. “I’m counting on it,” I said. “But I figure the faster I make an appearance, the faster we figure out what he’s up to.”
“Not that he’d give up his plan willingly,” Lindsey said.
“There is that,” I allowed. “After that, and assuming he doesn’t use his power to turn me into a mindless zombie, I’m going to see the siren.”
Kelley nodded. “Godspeed, Sentinel.”
I wasn’t sure if God, however he or she might exist, had any eyes on the drama in Chicago. But just in case, I said a little prayer. Couldn’t hurt.
I found a voice mail awaiting me when I headed up the stairs and to my car.
It was Jeff, with instructions. I’d been directed to meet Catcher and my grandfather at a CPD facility near the lake, in an industrial part of town full of rusty towers and crumbling brick factories. It wasn’t exactly a cozy setting for a chat with Tate, but it undoubtedly posed less of a public threat than if he’d been incarcerated downtown. I’d warned the CPD officers who’d picked him up to be careful as they’d taken him in for questioning. I hadn’t heard any stories about cops or guards being tricked into doing his bidding; maybe that was why.
Tate was definitely not human; he’d all but confessed as much. Although he’d partially drugged Celina Desaulniers into submission, he’d also used some power of his own to accomplish that task. But what powers? And how much of it did he wield?
Frankly, we had no idea. That wasn’t exactly comforting, but what could we do?
As I stepped into the cool fall night, I was assaulted by the sounds of protestors. There were tons of them outside, shouldering signs promising my eternal damnation and shouting out epithets. What was it about humans that made such behaviors acceptable?
But I wasn’t human anymore, so vampire etiquette won out. Even as they screamed at me, I managed not to offer them an obscene gesture on the way to the car. The self-satisfaction didn’t quite lessen the sting.
I drove southeast, the address Jeff had given me leading me to a gravel road that dead-ended in a ten-foot-high chain-link fence.
Warily, I got out of the car and walked toward the fence.
A warning blast suddenly filled the air, and a portion of the fence began to slide open.
Pushing down fear, and wishing Ethan had been at my side, I walked inside.
The fence surrounded a series of brick buildings—six in varying sizes laid out in no apparent pattern. I guessed they comprised an old manufacturing plant. Whatever their purpose, they’d clearly stood empty for some time.
I’d previously visited the Loop office of the Chicago Police Department. The perps who were booked there might have been down on their luck, but the facility was pretty nice. It was new, clean, and efficient in the way a police department had to be.
This place, on the other hand, had an air of hopelessness about it. It reminded me of a photo I’d seen of an abandoned building in Russia, a structure designed and built for a different kind of regime, left to rot alone when the philosophy was abandoned.
I couldn’t imagine Tate—used to all things luxurious and gourmet—was thrilled about being here.
I turned at the
scritch
of rocks on my left. Catcher and my grandfather rolled up in a golf cart. Catcher, as fit his aggressive personality, was driving, although he looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep since last night. My grandfather was holding on, white-knuckled, to the bar above his head. I guess he wasn’t impressed by Catcher’s driving.
scritch
of rocks on my left. Catcher and my grandfather rolled up in a golf cart. Catcher, as fit his aggressive personality, was driving, although he looked like he hadn’t gotten any sleep since last night. My grandfather was holding on, white-knuckled, to the bar above his head. I guess he wasn’t impressed by Catcher’s driving.
“This is where you’re holding Tate?” I asked, climbing on to the backward-facing backseat. Catcher pulled away almost immediately, turning in a circle tight enough that I nearly fell off. Lesson learned, I grabbed the bar, as well.
“Until we know more about what or who he is,” my grandfather said above the sound of whirring toy-car motor and gravel, “we take all precautions.”
I surveyed the landscape as we passed, from bits of trash and debris to piles of fallen bricks and rusting carcasses of metal that might once have been factory equipment. “You couldn’t find a place more out of the way than this?”
“Third-biggest city in the country,” Catcher said. “We took what we could get.”
“Which is?”
“A bit of land the city took over when the former tenants vacated. It’s a former ceramics factory,” my grandfather said. “They used to form and fire bricks and tile out here.”
“Which means lots of thick, fireproof, and insulated buildings,” I guessed.
“Precisely,” my grandfather said.
We drove (twice as fast as probably recommended) around the compound, circling around until we came to a very bumpy, quick stop at a building with a long bank of yellow doors bearing sizable black numbers.
“These were the wood-fired kilns,” my grandfather explained as we climbed from the cart.
“Interesting,” I said. “Creepy” was what I thought.
Silently, I followed them down a narrow path beside the kiln building, stopping in front of a small but pretty brick building that stood alone in the center of the circle made by the rest of the buildings.
The small one couldn’t have been more than forty feet square. Fairy guards stood at the door and each corner, leaving little doubt about its purpose.
My stomach began to churn as the anticipation built. I looked at my grandfather. “He’s in there?”
“He is. This used to be the factory’s main office. It’s divided into two rooms. He’s in a room by himself.”
Catchert siۀ">Catchs phone beeped, and he pulled it out, glanced at it, and smiled.
“Kind of bad timing for sexy messages, isn’t it?”
He rolled his eyes and showed me the screen of his phone. It bore a picture of a brick room, empty but for a cot on the floor and small sink on one side.
“Tate’s cell,” he explained. “Since he’s out of the room, I had it searched.”
“Clever,” my grandfather said.
“It might have been if there was anything in it,” Catcher said, tucking the phone away again. “Room’s empty. He may not have a shiv, but that’s not to say he doesn’t have power. You’ll want to hand over any weapons. We don’t want them to fall into the wrong hands,” he explained. “And if you need help, we’ll be right outside.”
I hesitated, but lifted my pant leg and pulled the dagger from my boot. The thought of playing supernatural cat-and-mouse with Tate without weapons didn’t thrill me, but I took Catcher’s point. If Tate managed to best me and take a dagger, he’d be a much bigger threat against me, the fairies, or anyone else he managed to pass.
Catcher took the dagger with a nod, his gaze skating across the engraving on the end.
“Are you going to be okay in there, babygirl? You sure you need to do this?” my grandfather asked. There was concern in his voice, but I didn’t think he was worried about me. I think he was worried about Tate. After all, if it hadn’t been for Tate’s machinations, Ethan would still be alive.
I took a moment to actually consider his question. Honestly, I didn’t know if I was going to be okay. I knew I needed to talk to him. I also knew he was dangerous. While he’d been masquerading as a politician with Chicago’s best interests in mind, he’d been a drug kingpin and a manipulator. And he’d practically scripted the drama that had taken place in his office two months ago.
Fear and anger battled. I was smart enough to be afraid of who Tate was and what he might do. His motivations were opaque but surely self-interested, and I had no doubt he’d take me out for fun if the mood struck him. That thought put a knot of tension in my gut.
But beneath the fear was a core of molten fury.
Fury that Ethan had been taken from me because of Tate’s need to play out some childish game. Fury that Ethan was gone and Tate was still alive, if stuck in his anachronistic prison. Fury that I hadn’t been able to stop Tate’s game before he’d played the final piece, and that even now he was trying to undermine my position in the House.
But I wasn’t a child, and I wasn’t Celina. I wasn’t going to kill him for revenge, or to avenge Ethan’s death, or because I was pissed that he’d taken something from me. What good would violence do other than putting me and mine in hot water?
No. Tate had caused enough drama, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of baiting me to violence. Tonight, we were talking about the GP, and the grift he was currently running. God willing, when I walked through the door and looked into his eyes again—the first time I’d seen him since the night of Ethan’s death—I’d keep that nice, tidy, logical conclusion in mind.
“Yes, I need to do this,” I told my grandfather. “Tate wouldn’t lie to the GP without a plan, and I want to know what it is. The last time we were too late. I won’t be fooled by him again. I’ll be fine,” I added, crossing my fingers [g mal concluthat I wasn’t lying to him—or myself.
With an apologetic smile, he pulled a packet of indigo-blue silk from his vest pocket. “This might help a bit,” he said, holding it in the palm of one hand and unwrapping the silk with the other.
With that much buildup—careful disrobing, silk lining—I’d imagined a much fancier trinket than the one he showed me. Upon the cushion of silk sat a three-inch-long rectangle of heavily grained wood, the finish so smooth it gleamed. Half the wood was a darker shade than the other, as if two pieces had been fused together and the edges carefully rounded into a fluid, organic form.
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