Drink Deep (Chicagoland Vampires #5)

Drink Deep (Chicagoland Vampires #5) Page 6

NO MAN (OR WOMAN) IS AN ISLAND

The message from my grandfather came sometime during the day when I was fast asleep and, thankful y, nightmare free. I snapped up the phone as soon as the sun fel 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 fal , 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 magical y fixed itself?"

"Not so much, as it looks exactly the same and is stil pul ing 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 eventual y hooked them into a couple of condos your father is managing; your grandfather made the arrangements."

That was awful y 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 stil 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 spel ."

"We know Catcher's not involved, and Mal ory'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 Ve de,Simon?t didn't real y help. Catcher does not like Simon."

"I noticed," I said.

"I noticed," I said.

"So, anyway, long story short, we're at a dead end.

Maybe your talk with Lorelei wil 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'l see about that. But that's not actual y why I'm cal ing. 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'l 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 cal 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 real y pushing it.

"Big girl panties," I quietly reminded myself. "Big girl panties."

And since I was playing grown-up, I dialed Mal ory'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 actual y liked), Mal ory has been my primary family. Hel , we'd been 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 cal and wish you luck on your exams. Kick ass, and impress Simon, and become a real, live sorceress, and al that other inspirational crap. Go, Mal ory! And now that I sound like a perky teenager, which I am most definitely not, I'm going to hang up now. Cal me when you can."

I flipped the phone closed and silently wished her luck. I'd seen Mal ory stressed to the gil s 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 nt> iren of ruining Chicago's water, but I decided the ful 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 Keley. She sat at the conference table, reviewing information on a tablet computer. Lindsey sat at one of the computer stations on the wal ; Juliet was nowhere in sight.

"What's up, ladies?"

Keley glanced up from her toy. "Good evening, Merit.

Did Frank find you?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I said, checking my wal file for information. We usual y received "Dailies," updates about House visitors, news and happenings. Since we were short-staffed, they were closer to "Weeklies," and Keley 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 kil ed."

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 real y 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?"

Keley wondered.

"My thoughts exactly. Silent assimilation is only a viable strategy when you haven't been dragged kicking and screaming out of the closet."

Keley 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.

Keley'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 recal having seen anything about defection. Not that the GP would advertise that kind of thing.

"Only twice in the GP's history," Keley said, "and never by an American House."

"Never say never," Lindsey muttered.

"Lindsey," Keley 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? Hel s 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."

She pointed to one of the monitors in front of her, and both Keley 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 stil - 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," Keley 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," Keley 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 fel ow 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 skil s 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 al ow this city to be co-opted.

And I wil tel you one thing - the registration law is the best thing that wil ever happen to this city."

"Blah blah blah," Lindsey muttered. "Blame the vampires instead of actual y working to fix the problem."

Keley paused the video. "Mayor Kowalczyk has a different constituency," she said. "And a very different outlook on things."

Lindsey humphed. "A na?ve outlook."

"Be that as it may," I said, "it's the outlook she's providing the city. And they'l 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.

"Keley, increase the image."

There was confusion in her expression, but she did it.

And there behind Diane Kowalczyk, in al his black-fatigued glory, stood McKetrick.

"That's McKetrick," I said, pointing him out.

"Are you sure?" Keley asked, tilting her head at the picture.

"Positive. It's hard to forget a man who's stuffed a gun in your face. Wel , who's ordered his goon to stuff a gun in your face, anyway."

"Shit," Keley uncharacteristical y 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," Keley told Lindsey.

"Kowalczyk's a political al y, and he's got enough sway to stand on a podium beside her."

"This night keeps getting better," I said, then glanced at Keley. "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 wil ingly," Lindsey said.

"There is that," I al owed. "After that, and assuming he doesn't use his power to turn me into a mindless zombie, I'm going to see the siren."

Keley 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 ful 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 al but confessed as much. Although he'd partial y 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 fal 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 fil ed 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 al things luxurious and gourmet - was thril ed about being here.

I turned at the scritch of rocks on my left. Catcher and my grandfather rol ed 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 pul ed away almost immediately, turning in a circle tight enough that I nearly fel off. Lesson learned, I grabbed the bar, as wel .

"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 al precautions."

I surveyed the landscape as we passed, from bits of trash and debris to piles of fal en 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 yel ow 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 fol owed them down a narrow path beside the kiln building, stopping in front of a smal but pretty brick building that stood alone in the center of the circle made by the rest of the buildings.

The smal 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 sir? Catchs phone beeped, and he pul ed it out, glanced at it, and smiled.

"Kind of bad timing for sexy messages, isn't it?"

He rol ed 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 smal sink on one side.

"Tate's cel ," 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'l want to hand over any weapons. We don't want them to fal into the wrong hands," he explained. "And if you need help, we'l be right outside."

I hesitated, but lifted my pant leg and pul ed the dagger from my boot. The thought of playing supernatural cat-and-mouse with Tate without weapons didn't thril 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 al , if it hadn't been for Tate's machinations, Ethan would stil be alive.

I took a moment to actual y 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 practical y 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 stil 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 kil 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 wil ing, 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'l be fine," I added, crossing my fingers [g mth=that I wasn't lying to him - or myself.

With an apologetic smile, he pul ed 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 careful y rounded into a fluid, organic form.

"What is it?" I asked.

"We cal it 'worry wood,' " my grandfather said. "It's a kind of magic blocker. We aren't entirely sure what magic Tate might be working. But added to your immunity to glamour, this should keep you safe from whatever tricks he might try to pul ."

"The fairies carry them, as wel ," Catcher said.

My grandfather extended his hand, and I plucked the worry wood from the silk. It was warmer than I expected it to be, and softer to the touch. The wood had been careful y sanded, leaving the grain only just rough enough that it stil felt like wood - not plastic. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand, the curves situated so they left a soothing depression for my thumb.

In a strange way, it was reassuring, tangibly comforting in the same way prayer beads might be. I slid the wood into my pocket, thinking it might behoove me to keep Tate unaware of it for as long as possible.

My grandfather nodded at the gesture, then refolded and rep-ocketed the square of silk. With a hand at my back, he escorted me to the door, where the fairy looked me over.

"We'l be right outside if you need us," my grandfather reminded me.

"Okay," I said, blowing out a breath. "I'm ready."

Only the first step will suck, I reminded myself, and headed inside.

There were plenty of beautiful people who'd been successful - actors, rock stars, models. But there were probably just as many who'd squandered their genetic gifts on drugs, crime, lust, greed, and various other deadly sins.

Tate, unfortunately, fel into the latter category.

He'd been swiftly climbing the political ladder, his brooding good looks helping him woo Chicago voters. But he hadn't been satisfied with a meteoric political career.

He'd traded it al in for the chance to control the city's vampires, and he'd wound up in an orange jumpsuit that wasn't nearly as flattering as his Armani had been.

But for al that, Seth Tate stil looked good.

He sat at an aluminum table, one leg crossed over the other, one elbow back on the chair, his eyes alert and scanning the room . . . and me when I walked in.

He looked a bit leaner than he had when I'd last seen him, his cheekbones a bit more hewn. But his hair was stil dark and perfectly arranged, his eyes stil piercingly blue, his body stil lean and mean. Seth Tate was the kind of handsome that packed a punch, and it was a shame al that pretty was going to waste in a lonely part of town.

Except for the part about him being a murderous bastard.

There was also a faint scent of lemon and sugar in [andt was the air, which always seemed to be the case around Tate. It wasn't unpleasant - quite the contrary. It just wasn't the kind of scent you expected from a man as cold-blooded as Tate.

The prickle of magic in the air, however, seemed very appropriate. This was only the second time I'd been able to detect Tate's magic; he'd done a bang-up job of hiding it before. I hated the feel of it: oily, heavy, and old, like the incense you'd find in the sanctuary of a Gothic church.

"Bal erina," Tate said.

I'd danced when I was younger, and Tate had seen me in toe shoes and tutus. He'd decided on "Bal erina" as a nickname. Of course, since he was the man responsible for the death of my lover and Master, I wasn't keen on his use of the familiar.

"I prefer Merit," I said, taking the seat across from him.

The aluminum chair was cold, and I crossed my arms over my chest, as much from the chil as protection against the magic in the air.

As I took a seat, the room's steel door closed with a resounding thunk that shook the room a bit. My stomach jumped with nerves.

We sat quietly for a moment, Tate gazing at me with concentration.

The pressure in the room suddenly thickened, and the smel became stronger, both cloyingly sweet and sour enough to make my mouth water. The room seemed to sway back and forth. It wasn't like any other magic I'd felt.

This was magic of a different caliber. Of a different age, maybe. Like magic that had been born in a different time. In an ancient era.

I put one hand on the chair beneath me to keep from fal ing over and another on the bit of worry wood in my pocket. I kept my gaze trained on Tate, like a bal erina spotting during a pirouette to keep from getting dizzy, and squeezed the wood so hard I feared it would splinter beneath my fingers.

After a few seconds, the swaying stopped and the room stil ed again.

Tate sat heavily back in his chair again and frowned at me. That's when I realized what he'd been trying to do. "Did you just try to glamour me?"

"Ineffectively, it seems. Worry wood?"

I smiled demurely and focused on keeping my cool. I wasn't sure if it was the wood or my natural resistance to glamour, but I wasn't about to give that away to him. I slid my hand from my pocket again. "A lady never reveals her secrets."

"Hmph," he said, shuffling in his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at me, head tilted, studying me. Each time he moved, a bit of magic sifted through the air. However he'd hidden it before, he didn't seem to be bothering now. I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse.

"I wondered when you'd pay me a visit."

"I'm sure you did. But to be honest, I've had a difficult time deciding what to do with you." I leaned forward and crossed my hands on the table. "Should I start by blaming you for Ethan's death? Or for your blaming Ethan's death on me and tel ing the GP I was aiming to become head of Cadogan House? Or maybe for lying to me about my father? You told me he paid Ethan to make me a vampire."

"I had that on very good authority."

I lifted my brows in question.

"Granted," he al owed, "she was under the influence at the time . . ."

"Celina was hardly a source of reliable information.

Especial y when you were manipulating her with magic."

Tate rol ed his eyes. "Did we have to jump into this? How about asking how I've been? Or what life is like on the inside? Are we so common we don't bother with the polite formalities?"

"You manufactured drugs, hooked vamps on them, and facilitated the deaths of two vampires. Not to mention blaming me for al the above. Why should I be polite to you?"

"That was a very bad week," was al he said.

The remark was cal ous, but the tone was sincere. I had a sense he wasn't kidding. Maybe he had magical drama of his own.

"You told the GP I orchestrated Celina's and Ethan's deaths so I could take over the House," I said. "They're looking for an excuse to kick me out, and you're giving them the ammunition."

"Haven't you ever wondered what Cadogan House might be like if you were in charge? And I didn't say you orchestrated their deaths," Tate matter-of-factly said. "I said you were responsible for them. And you were. If Celina hadn't hated you, she wouldn't have thrown the stake. If Ethan hadn't tried to save you, he'd stil be alive. And if you hadn't thrown the stake, Celina would stil be alive. Ergo, you are responsible for their deaths."

His voice was so matter-of-fact, it was difficult to tel if he believed what he was saying or was trying to bait me to anger. But I forced myself to stay calm.

"That analysis ignores your role, of course. If it hadn't been for your machinations, none of it would have happened."

He lifted a shoulder. "You have your truth; I have mine."

"There's only one truth."

"That's na?ve, isn't it? Merit, there's no harm to me in insinuating you were involved in their deaths. And if it creates reasonable doubt supporting my release, so be it."

Tate leaned forward. "The real question, of course, is why you're here. Because I can't imagine you traveled to this part of town in the middle of the night just to vent in my general direction or complain that I'd tattletaled."

He had a point. It wasn't as if I could convince him to cal the GP and recant his story; he wouldn't do it, and they wouldn't believe him anyway. So why was I here? What had I hoped to accomplish? Did I want to confront him about that night?

Maybe this had nothing to do with the GP. Maybe this was about me. Maybe I feared Tate was right, that the blame for their deaths hadn't al been attributable to him.

"I can hear you thinking from across the table," Tate said.

"If silent mea culpas are the best you can do, then you aren't nearly as interesting as I'd imagined."

"Two vampires are dead."

"Do you know how many beings have lived and died since the origins of this world, Merit? Bil ions. Many bil ions.

And yet, you give little regard to the preciousness of their lives, only because you happened not to know them. But two vampires who've lived more than their share of years die, and you mourn them into the ground, so to speak?" He clucked his tongue. "Who's being il ogical now?"

I stood up and pushed back my chair. "You're right," I said. "Maybe it's selfish to grieve. But I'm not going to apologize for it."

"Big words," he said.

I walked to the door, then turned back and looked at him, the playboy in convict orange. "Maybe, deep down, I wanted you to admit to me what you'd done and that you'd lied to the GP. Maybe I wanted you to take responsibility for their deaths."

"You cannot obtain absolution from me."

"I know." And I did. I knew that railing at Tate wasn't going to change anything, and it wasn't going to assuage my secret fear that I'd been the cause of Ethan's death. After al , if it hadn't been for me . . .

There were many truths about the events of that night, and Tate couldn't relieve me of the burden of my own guilt.

But I knew - as sure as I knew anything else - that I'd gone into his office to stop the spread of drugs, to help the Houses, and to help the city's vampires. Whatever the GP

may ultimately decide, I knew what had gone down in that room, and I wasn't going to stand trial for a crime I hadn't committed.

I looked back at Tate, and felt a little of the weight in my chest ease.

He beamed. "There we are," he said, his voice a bit deeper, his cold blue eyes gleaming with pleasure. "Now we're back to interesting again. You came because you aren't afraid to. Because as much as you believe you relied on Sul ivan, you are your own person. I've always known that about you. For better or worse, your father made you the woman you are today. Maybe he was cold. But you are self-reliant because of it."

A wave of magic thickened the air again as he spoke the words, sounding a lot like a mentor imparting wisdom to a student. That only confused me more.

"What do you want from me?"

His eyes gleamed. "Nothing at al , Merit, except for you to be who you are."

"Which is?"

"A fitting adversary." Perhaps at the chil ed expression on my face, he sat back in his chair, a smug expression on his.

"And I do think I'l enjoy this particular round."

I had the distinct impression I wouldn't.

"I'm not engaging in games with you, Tate."

He clucked his tongue. "Don't you see, Merit? The games have already begun. And I believe it's my move."

There was something comforting about the scratchy gravel beneath my feet and the cool fal air. The air in the room had been heavy, Tate's magic unnerving. I sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to slow my racing heart again.

Catcher and my grandfather stood a few feet away from the building and walked toward me as I exited.

"You're al right?" my grandfather asked.

We stopped together thirty or so feet from the building. I glanced back at it. From the distance, it looked so completely innocuous - just a smal brick building that had once upon a time housed time cards and invoices. And now - it held a supernatural being of unknown origin.

"I'm fine," I told him. "Glad to be outside again. There was a lot of magic in there."

"Insidious magic," Catcher explained. "You rarely feel it until it's too late. Did you learn anything helpful?"

"No. He played coy, although he seems to truly believe I was responsible for wha [sibhing het happened that night."

That seemed to be enough to satisfy the both of them.

Silently, we climbed back into the golf cart and made our way back to the gate. A breeze was picking up. I huddled into my jacket, not sure if it was the looming winter, or the experience, that had chil ed me to the bone.

As it happened, I'd previously been to the heliport where my grandfather directed me to meet the helicopter for the flight to Lorelei's island.

My father, a member of the Chicago Growth Council, had fought for two years to get a heliport instal ed in Streetervil e, an area north of downtown Chicago along the lakefront, despite concerns that that part of the city was too thick with skyscrapers to safely provide helicopter service.

That heliport was breaking news for the four months it took politicians to decide whether it was electoral y riskier to veto the heliport or al ow it. As was often the case when money was involved, the CGC won out, and the heliport was instal ed.

I parked on the street in front of the sleek, silver building that housed the landing pad and walked inside. A security guard took my name and then sent me to the elevator.

The doors opened at the building's top floor, a giant asphalt circle with an "H" marking the center. The pilot met me with a wave - the only way she could communicate given the vicious wind and noise from the smal ish helicopter, whose rotors were already spinning.

She motioned me toward the door, indicating I'd get headphones when I got inside. I nodded and made a run for it, ducking farther than I probably needed to avoid the rotors, but why take a chance? When I was buckled in, headphones instal ed, we lifted off, and the city disappeared beneath us.

Forty-two roaring minutes later, we approached the island. I hadn't expected it to be visible until we touched down, but the helicopter's lights bounced off a breaker of white - the bony hul s of ships that had been dashed upon the edges of the siren's island.

Thank God we hadn't come in a boat.

The island was covered in trees but for two smal clearings - one that held a structure, probably Lorelei's home, and a smal er area closer to shore. We touched down there. The pilot switched off the rotors, and pul ed off her headphones.

"This is spooky," she said, peering out into the darkness, then looked at me. "I've got to make another flight in a couple of hours. You think that's enough time for you to do whatever you need to do?"

"I certainly hope so," I said, then climbed out of the copter. I glanced back at her. "If I'm not back by the time you need to leave, cal my grandfather and bring out the troops."

She laughed like I was kidding.

Unfortunately, I wasn't.

A path led into the woods, and I couldn't help thinking about Dorothy and Little Red Riding Hood and al the others who had dreaded that walk. But the pilot had a schedule to keep, so I needed to get the show on the road.

I took one step, and then another, until the clearing disappeared behind me and I was ensconced in a forest alive with noise. Al manner of animals not yet bedded down for the coming winter shuffled through the underbrush, and the canopy of trees above the path created a fretwork of moonlight on the ground.

Recal ing I was a vampire - and a sharp-sensed predator myself - I let my senses off th [sendiv>e leash. My night vision sharpened. I could smel damp soil and the faint musk of animals in the trees. Acrid smoke and the greenish smel of fresh resin drifted down the path from what I assumed was Lorelei's house. Someone had been chopping wood, maybe.

The night was alive with things most humans would rarely see or consider, an entire world that turned while they were unconscious. Would it frighten them, I wondered, to imagine how much went on while they were oblivious?

I walked for a little less than ten minutes. The path moved gently uphil , and I emerged onto a plateau that, during the day, probably would have afforded a beautiful view of the lake. I considered it a good thing my father didn't know the property existed; he'd have razed Lorelei's house to make way for a luxury lodge.

The house glowed in the middle of the clearing. It was low, with wal s that alternated between curvy glass and long swaths of wood. The house spread low across the earth like it might simply have grown there, like it might melt back into the ground if you turned your back long enough. A tamped dirt path led across the grass to a giant wooden door I assumed was the main entrance.

I stood at the edge of the woods for a moment and savored the irony. A few minutes ago, I'd been afraid to enter them. Now, I was dreading the exit. Sure, I was supposedly immune to Lorelei's siren cal , but that didn't exactly calm my nerves. I'd seen the boats at the shoreline.

What had happened to their captains?

In the silence while I waited, I heard the singing for the first time. It sounded like a low dirge of mourning, sung by a woman with perfect pitch and a sensual tone.

The siren.

I closed my eyes and waited for a moment . . . but nothing happened. I didn't feel compel ed to stalk her, or live out the rest of my immortal nights on her island. Other than feeling a little lightheaded from relative lack of blood - horrible timing on Frank's part - al was wel .

I blew out a breath, walked toward the door, and knocked on it.

No more than a second later, a heavyset woman in her fifties or sixties opened the door, her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

Surely this woman, who wore a T-shirt and cut-off stretch pants and held a feather duster in one hand, wasn't the siren of the lake. But the singing continued from somewhere in the house, so this couldn't have been her.

"I'm Merit. I'm here to see Lorelei."

She seemed unmoved by my interest and stared blankly back at me.

"I'm a vampire from Chicago," I told her. "I need to talk to Lorelei about the lake."

Without a word, she shut the door in my face. I blinked back shock, then gnawed my lip for a second, considering my choices.

I could barge into the house, but it was a rule of etiquette that vamps had to wait for an invitation before entering someone's home. It wasn't going to do much good if I pissed off the lake spirit by breaching protocol.

Alternatively, I could pout my way back to the helicopter and advise the pilot she'd have plenty of time to get to her next appointment.

Since neither of those options would solve my current problem, I decided to go for option three - stal ing while gathering a little intel. Quietly, I tiptoed across the smal portico and peeked into a window.

I got only a smal peek at wood and stone before I heard a voice behind me.

"Ahem."

I jumped and turned to find the woman who'd opened the door standing behind me with a suspicious expression and a menacingly wielded feather duster.

"Lovely home," I told her, standing up straight again. "I was just curious about the interior design. With the wood.

And furnishings." I cleared my throat guiltily. "And such."

The woman rol ed her eyes, then flipped her feather duster out like a composer directing an orchestra. "I have been authorized to invite you into the abode of Lorelei, the lake siren. Welcome to her home."

Her delivery was desert dry, but it got the point across. I fol owed her inside.

The interior of the house was as organical y designed as the outside. The window looked onto a two-story living room. One wal was made of rounded river stone, and a trickle of water spil ed down the rocks and into a narrow channel that ran through the middle of the room, where it disappeared into an infinity-edged trough on the other side.

A curvy woman sat on the floor beside the channel of water, trickling her fingers into it. Her hair was dark and pul ed into a topknot, and she was dressed simply in a shimmery gray T-shirt and jeans, her toes bare. Her eyes were closed, and she sang out low and clear.

I looked back toward the woman with the feather duster, but having done her duty, she was gone.

"Are you Lorelei?" I quietly asked.

She stopped singing, opened her eyes, and looked up at me with eyes the color of chocolate. "Honey, if you're on my island, you know there's only one person I could be. Of course I'm Lorelei." Her voice carried a hint of a Spanish accent, and a lot of sarcasm.

I bit back a smile. "Hi, Lorelei. I'm Merit."

"Hi, yourself. What brings you here?"

"I need to ask you some questions."

"About?"

"The lake."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I had something to do with the water?"

"I don't know whether you did or not," I admitted, kneeling beside the channel so we could speak at eye level. "I'm trying to figure out what happened, and you seemed like a good place to start. It's not just the lake, you know. It's the river, as wel ."

Her head shot up. "The river? It's dead, too?"

Neither the question nor the look of defeat in her eyes comforted me.

"It is," I said. "And the river and the lake are bleeding al the power out of Chicago. The nymphs are growing weaker."

Wincing as if in pain, Lorelei pressed her fingers to her temples. "They aren't the only ones. I feel like I finished up a four-day shift and a two-day bender. Weak. Exhausted.

Dizzy." She looked up at me. "I didn't cause this. I'd hoped the nymphs might have the answer, that they'd become too involved in some kind of unfamiliar magic, but that the magic could be reversed."

"They thought the same thing about you."

"That's no surprise," she dryly said.

"You don't get along?"

She barked out a laugh. "I grew up near Paseo Boricua.

Born and raised in Chicago by parents from Puerto Rico.

The nymphs aren't exactly a diverse crew. They see me as the odd one out. An interloper in their pretty little world of magic."

"How so?"

She looked up at me curiously. "You real y don't know, do you?"

I shook my head, and she muttered something in Spanish. "The lake turns black and I get the vampire right off the assembly line," she said, then cast her own apologetic glance. "No offense."

"None taken."

Lorelei sighed and dipped a hand back into the water.

Her features relaxed a bit, as if touching the water soothed her.

"Being a siren isn't like being a nymph," she said. "They are born into their roles; their mothers are nymphs, as wel .

A siren's power doesn't work that way."

She pointed to a table across the room. Propped upon it was a dark, iron disk about six inches across. There was writing on it, but it was too far away to read.

"Piedra de Agua," she said. "The water stone. The siren's magic is carried within it."

I frowned back at her. "I don't understand."

"To own the stone is to become the lake siren," she said.

"To trigger its magic, you must request the stone, but it only accepts certain owners. Once it's yours, it's yours until the next owner comes around."

"So you chose to be a siren?"

Lorelei looked away, staring down at the water.

"Technical y, I had a choice to accept the stone and its burdens, although my options were limited."

"And the boats at the shoreline?"

She looked back with pride in her eyes. "I chose to accept the stone, but I work things a little differently. I'm the siren of the lake, and I have to sing, but I picked the most isolated spot I could find. Rosa and Ian, my husband - they help steer the sailors back to the mainland. The damage to the boats I can't do much about." She smiled a little. "But everybody's got insurance."

I couldn't fault that logic. "How long do you have to serve as siren?"

"The Lorelei before me - we al take the name to keep the myth alive - lived here for ninety-six years. Of course,"

she said with a burgeoning smile, "she was forty-two when she became siren, so that's not a bad perk."

Because I had a sense it might help, I offered up my own story. "I was made a vampire without my consent. To save my life, but it wasn't something I'd planned. That came as a surprise."

She regarded me with interest. "So you know what it's like to rewrite your life. To weigh who you were against who you must become."

I thought of al the things I'd done and seen over the last year - the death, the pain, the joy. The beginnings . . . and the endings.

"Yes," I quietly agreed. "I know what that's like." That thought reminded me of my purpose. "Lorelei, if you didn't cause this, do you know who might have?"

"If the nymphs aren't involved - if this wasn't caused by a water spirit - then I think you need to look more broadly."

"Such as?"

She looked away, guilt in her expression.

"Lorelei, I need to know. This isn't just about the nymphs.

Our Houses are at stake. Humans are already blaming vampires, and if it goes any further, I can guarantee the registration law wil pass."

"There's only one group as tied to the natural world as we are," she final y said. "We find our solace and our awe in the water. In the flow of it, the power of it, its ability to cleanse and destroy." She closed her eyes. "They find their power in the earth. They treasure it - the woods, the wilds."

My stomach sank. "You're talking about shifters?"

"The Pack is in Chicago, isn't it?"

"Because we asked them to stay. They wouldn't do this."

"Did you think they'd attack your House?"

Technical y, only a handful of vengeful shifters had attacked the House, but I took her point. "Of course not."

"You can't turn a blind eye to who they are or what they're capable of. You are aware of the chemistry between nymphs and shifters?"

"It's hard to miss."

"It's because of the chemistry between earth and water,"

she said. "A kind of elemental union. Maybe the water's sickness is because there are too many shifters and nymphs in one city."

Not that I had any better theory, but it seemed too convenient to blame shifters, a group with whom nymphs and sirens clearly had a tempestuous relationship.

A man suddenly walked through the front door, a handful of cut logs in his hands.

Despite the chil in the air, he wore grubby jeans but was naked from the waist up, his torso soaked with sweat. He smiled and kept walking through the living room to the other side of the house.

Grubby clothes or not, he was undeniably gorgeous. He was tal and wel -built, with short wavy hair and a day's worth of stubble along his square jaw. He had long, dark brows and deep-set eyes, and curvy lips above a dimpled chin.

When he disappeared through a door on the opposite side of the room, I looked back at Lorelei. She smiled knowingly.

"That, of course, is Ian. We've been married for four years. He knew me before I became siren, so he's immune to the songs. He was thoughtful enough to fol ow me out here to the middle of godforsaken nowhere. I try to accept my lot graceful y."

As soon as she'd gotten the words out, she put her hands on her forehead and bent over, clearly in pain. The woman who'd answered the door hustled into the room, muttering words in Spanish. She leaned beside Lorelei and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Be wel , ni?a," she said, and then whispered more words I couldn't understand.

I stood up, taking the hint. "Thank you for your time. I don't want to bother you anymore."

"Merit." I glanced back. Lorelei had lifted her head again, tear tracks visible on her cheeks. "If this doesn't get fixed soon, it wil be too late."

I promised her I'd do my best . . . and then I hoped I'd made a promise I could keep.

I let my [="3do mself out and walked back around the house to the path. Ian was outside again as wel , and the air was thick with the scent of fresh resin.

Axe in hand, he stood in front of an upturned log. A second log stood vertical y atop it. He pul ed the axe over his head, muscles rippling, then heaved the axe down. The log split cleanly, its twin halves fal ing to the ground. Ian put another log onto the stump, then glanced up. His breath was foggy in the chil .

"You're here about the lake?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

"I am."

"This isn't her fault, you know. None of it. She carries the burden for someone else, and now she's sick - or worse -

because of that burden."

He swung his axe up again, then cleaved the second log in two.

"I didn't accuse her of anything," I said. "I'm just trying to figure out what happened."

He stood up another log. "Then figure it out. And if you don't, we'l be here when the world ends."

With no good response to that, I made my way back to the helicopter.