Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)

Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9) Page 19

Handy, I thought, that she was a member of the GP. Bringing honor to the organization would help her—raise esteem for her and the rest of them. Bring her power that she’d lost in the recent drama.

But there was power, and then there was power . . .

“Why not run yourself?”

She slipped her hands into the trim pockets of her coat. “Because I’m too young. Because Ethan has more allies—even those who don’t have insignia above his door. They know him. They don’t know me. And there are . . . skeletons in my closet.”

“Skeletons?” I asked without moving, like she was an animal I might frighten away.

But she was wise enough to avoid the trap. “My life is no concern of yours, Novitiate. We all have our secrets to bear.” She looked at me for a moment. “You’re in love with him. I can hear it in your words, see it in your eyes. The fear of loss.”

I waited a beat, unsure of her motives, and nodded. “I am.”

Her eyes flattened. There was a different kind of predator in her eyes now. “You aren’t the only vampire that needs him. We are endangered, and you must consider whether your needs as an individual are more important than the needs of your House, the Chicago Houses, the American Houses, all the Houses in the GP. Ethan Sullivan, I believe, has the opportunity to become a Master of Masters. And consider this: If Ethan doesn’t become the new head of the GP, who will?”

We looked at each other for a moment. “You’re in Chicago because the GP wants to extract some price of the House. What is that price?”

She looked at me for a moment, taking my measure. And, I belatedly realized, sending her soft and delicate tendrils of glamour, sweeping curls of it, to test me and my defenses. My endurance. My stubbornness. Fortunately, I had some immunity to that kind of magic.

“That,” she concluded, “is also not for your ears.” She put a hand on mine. “This will not be an easy road to travel. I understand that. But it is the right road. I know you understand that and will make the right decision.”

With that, she tucked her hands back into her pockets and turned toward the exit, her heels clacking on the asphalt with every step. After a moment, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me in a sea of humans with worry in my heart.

I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed my phone and dialed up my partner.

“Hello?” Jonah said. “Merit?”

“Lakshmi’s here. In Loring Park. She came to talk to me.” The words flooded out.

“Wait,” he said, “hold on a minute.” I heard him speak, murmuring to others around him, and then a door opened and closed.

“Sorry, I was in our ops room,” he said after a moment. “What’s this about Lakshmi?”

“She came here to talk to me. I owe her a favor because she gave us information about the location of the dragon’s egg.” The Faberge-style egg had been a gift from fairies to Peter Cadogan, the House’s founder. On the GP’s orders, Monmonth had stolen it in order to bribe the fairies to war with Cadogan. He’d been successful, which was another mark against him.

“I remember,” he said. “And much like the Grim Reaper, she’s come to collect. What did she ask for?”

It took me a moment to put the words together, because once I said them aloud, they’d be true. “She wants Ethan to challenge Darius for his spot on the GP. And she wants me to convince him to do it.”

There was silence.

“I don’t know what I think about that.”

I knew what I thought. Both sides of it. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t tell her no—I can’t piss off our best ally on the GP. But I can’t help her.” And, most important, I couldn’t send Ethan to London.

I sat down on a bench bookended by a dead shrub and a pile of dirty snow, which seemed about right. “He may very well want to do it. But I can’t just demand he undertake that kind of risk. And he can’t do it right now, anyway. We’re stuck here until Chicago comes to its senses.”

I sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to go out with her? Sweeten her into giving up that favor?”

“You want me to pimp myself to make your life easier?”

“Now that you mention it, yes. Could you?” I asked, feigning hopefulness.

His voice was flat. “No. And I hate to say it, Mer, but her idea’s not bad. Ethan’s old, he’s powerful, and he’s got friends. He’s one of the few vampires out there who’d actually use all that power and political capital for good.”

I didn’t disagree that he’d be good at it, that he’d be good for vampires. But I’d be suborning the overthrow of the GP, a ground-up revolution, with Ethan as Paul Revere and George Washington rolled into one. The last American Revolution had been successful in stripping away England’s rule. But I wasn’t sure we’d get lucky a second time around. And my job was to keep him safe.

I’d also have to give him up. For the greater good, perhaps, but he’d be gone nonetheless.

“What are you going to do?” Jonah asked after a moment.

“I don’t know. How does a person decide something like that?”

“With your very good brain and your very good heart,” he said. “Keep me posted.”

I promised I would, and hoped I’d have good news to share.

• • •

I pulled the prop grocery bag from my pocket and walked back to the restaurant, using the strip mall as a windbreak. Fears flitted through my mind like dancers.

London. Treason. Rebellion.

I remembered the first time I’d been near Ethan, when he knelt behind me, bit my neck, and changed me into a vampire. I remembered the first time I’d really seen him, when Mallory and I had barged into Cadogan House. I remembered the night Celina had thrown an aspen stake at me and he’d stepped forward to intercept it, turning to ash before my eyes. I remembered the night I’d seen him emerge from the smoke and destruction that Mallory had wrought, alive once again.

We’d overcome vampires, monsters, death, and each other. And now I was honor bound to send him to war . . . and to London. Thousands of miles away from Cadogan House.

Thousands of miles away from us. I couldn’t do that.

On the other hand, how could I not? The GP was tyrannous. Dictatorial and cruel. They’d ignored Celina’s antics, blamed the House for everything that went wrong in Chicago. They’d sent a sadist to live in the House and demanded we prove our obedience with blood and fire. They’d extorted money, killed humans, and tried to kill us when we hadn’t followed the party line.

Wasn’t I obliged not just to encourage him, but to do everything I could to help him actually win? Ethan was honorable, fair, dedicated. He believed humans were more than cattle and that all supernaturals should get a fair shake. He knew how to make alliances, avoided making enemies whenever possible. He was willing to take a stand, but also to compromise. He knew the value of both.

He’d make an inarguably good addition to the GP. And while there was little doubt Malik would make a fantastic Master in Ethan’s absence—he was doing it now—I didn’t want Ethan to be absent. I wanted him here, with me, being cheeky and jealous and fighting at my side. I wanted his intelligence and snark and sarcasm. I wanted him.

I paused and wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to snap my fingers and become someone else. Bizarro Merit, the evil or twisted version of myself. Bizarro Merit would have her own agenda. Bizarro Merit wouldn’t encourage Ethan to run for the GP, or tell him that Lakshmi had suggested the idea. She’d snap her fingers, send the GP into a parallel universe, and warp space-time so she could spend immortality with Ethan and a book on the deck of a boat on Lake Michigan.

While I stood there, engaged in my fantasy, the hairs on the back of my neck lifted, piqued by something . . . magical?

I ignored the quick punch of fear. Without moving my head, I scanned the area around me. I was facing down the length of the shopping center, but other than the usual traffic in and out of the parking lot, nothing looked unusual.

Looks, I knew, could be deceiving, so I closed my eyes, let the breath flow out of me, and allowed the sensations of the world to drip back into my consciousness.

Sound became a roar—moving cars, the squeak of carnival rides, the slide of the automatic door at the grocery store, the faraway whispers of humans . . . and the nearby shush of fabric. And now that I was paying attention, I sensed the faint, tart smell of magic. Fresh, green, vegetal.

Someone was here. And I needed a look.

I closed the barriers again and pulled out my phone, feigning sudden interest in it, but sliding my gaze to the store window beside me.

She was behind me, probably fifteen feet, mostly hidden behind a concrete pillar.

I didn’t recognize her, or even what she was. She looked physically similar to the mercenary fairies who’d once guarded the gate at Cadogan House. Tall and slender, with a lean face and hollows beneath her sharp cheekbones. But her chin was more sharply pointed, her eyes larger and rounder, dominated by huge, dark irises. Her hair was dark, closely cropped, forming curled wisps around her face.

She wore a simple dark tunic with a keyhole collar and match- ing pants, the fabric nubby and homespun. She didn’t look like a threat . . . until I turned to face her.

Wheeee.

Whistling like a bottle rocket, a three-foot-long arrow flew into the empty planter on the ledge beside me.

My mouth went as dry as dirt.

The shaft of the arrow, pale and slender, with stripes of gold and teal, ivory feathers slitted into the end, vibrated from the movement.

Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder.

Now a man stood behind me, also in a dark tunic and with short hair, a four-foot-long recursive bow in hand, an arrow tipped with a shiny silver point already strung and taut. The fingers that held the bow were long and thin, ending in long and equally sharp nails.

Had the circumstances been different, I might have admired the weapon. It was carved of pale wood and beautifully curvy. Unless the shafts were made of aspen, being shot by an arrow wouldn’t kill me. But that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.