Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (4 page)

“We will,” I promised, and he made his way to the van.

“We should probably talk tomorrow,” Gabriel said. “We’ll host a wake at the bar, and you’ll want to wait until after. It wouldn’t be the best time for vampires to show up.”

Little Red was the Pack’s official bar in Ukrainian Village. It was a well-worn dive but served some of the best fare I’d ever tasted.

“I appreciate the warning,” Ethan said.

Gabriel pulled on his helmet, clipped it, then slung a leg over his bike. He started it with a rumble, then turned the bike back onto the street. Fallon followed him, then the rest of the shifters. And then silence fell again.

Ethan put a hand on the back of my neck, rubbed. “Not exactly the evening I had planned, Sentinel.”

“You hardly could have predicted this.”

“No, not the particulars. But that trouble would find us, even in Wrigleyville? That, I should have predicted.”

“You can owe me a Cubs game,” I said.

I was lucky to be alive. But I still hadn’t gotten my flashlight.

•   •   •

It was past midnight by the time we dropped off Mallory and Catcher in Wicker Park. She and Catcher stood on the sidewalk with their fingers linked. But for the evening of supernatural mayhem, they could have been just another couple heading home after a night on the town.

Mallory covered a yawn. “I’ll get started on the symbols tomorrow, although Catcher’s pretty swamped at work.” She looked at Ethan. “Maybe you could talk to Paige? See if she’s got time to help?”

Ethan nodded. “I’d had the same thought,” he said, which made three of us. “And we should have alchemical texts in the library to assist with the translation.”

“I’ll talk to Jeff,” Catcher said. “Maybe there’s something he can work up from a programming standpoint—something to speed the translation along.”

“Oh, good idea,” Mallory said. “There were a lot of symbols.”

Catcher glanced at me. “I’m sorry the night didn’t turn out like we’d planned. I know you were looking forward to an evening at the ballpark.”

I nodded. “There will be other nights. Bigger things to worry about right now anyway.”

“Yeah,” Catcher said ruefully. “That’s beginning to feel more and more common.”

He and Mallory walked inside, closed the door, turned off the light above their small porch, a signal that they were locked safely inside.

“Let’s go home, Sentinel.”

I’d been excited to leave the House earlier in the evening, eager to get to Wrigley, enjoy a beer, and watch some baseball. And now, with the evening having taken such an ugly turn, I couldn’t wait to get home again.

A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE

T
raffic on the Kennedy hadn’t been any better than Lake Shore Drive. We’d avoided the accident, but not the three-mile backup that kept traffic at a crawl, so it took an hour to get back to Hyde Park.

Cadogan House glowed in the darkness, a beacon of warm light and white stone. The House was three stories of imposing French architecture surrounded by rolling lawns and an enormous wrought-iron fence meant to keep out enemies, paparazzi, and curious passersby.

There was a gate in front, recently upgraded by Ethan and at present guarded by humans. Two at the door, and four more patrolling the House’s perimeter. Both were insurance against whatever mischief Adrien Reed might have planned.

We drove the SUV back into the House’s underground parking lot, entered the code on the door that led into the House’s basement floor.

“Ops Room to update Luc?” I asked. The House’s security operations room, along with the arsenal and training room, was located in the basement.

“You will. After you’ve been treated.”

“Treated?”

“Your arm,” he said.

Those two words were enough to remind me of the wound and send it throbbing again.

“Ah. Right.”

He crooked a finger at me, and I fell into step behind him as we took the stairs to the House’s first floor.

The first floor was as lush as the basement was utilitarian. The scent of peonies and roses filled the air from an arrangement on a gorgeous antique table, which complemented the gorgeous woodwork, expensive rugs, and priceless artwork.

There was a desk in the foyer now, where a Novitiate vampire dealt with the supplicants who now requested an audience with Ethan. As one of the twelve members of the Assembly of American Masters, they looked to him for help, advice, and arbitration of disputes.

Ethan acknowledged them before directing me to his office, which was as luxe as the rest of the House. There was thick carpet, an imposing desk, and a comfortable sitting area with leather club chairs. Bookshelves lined the left side of the room, and an enormous conference table spread across the back in front of a bank of windows. They were open now, and would be shuttered automatically when the sun began to rise.

At the moment, the room was full of vampires. Malik, Ethan’s second-in-command, leaned against Ethan’s desk. He was dressed in the Cadogan uniform—fitted black suit, white button-down shirt that contrasted against his dark skin and pale green eyes.

Luc, the House’s guard captain, had tousled blond hair and the face and body of a well-practiced cowboy. He’d been excused from the House’s black-suit dress code. He wore jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with
CADOGAN HOUSE GUARD CORPS
printed in a circle across the front, the image of a bacon rasher in the middle.
SAVIN
’ YOUR BACON SINCE 1883
was printed across it. He’d created the design because, to quote him, “nothing fuels a vampire like a good rasher.”

His girlfriend and fellow guard, Lindsey, stood beside him. She was pretty, blond, fashion-conscious, and a very good friend. Tonight, she’d paired neon yellow stilettos with her House uniform. Matched with the jaunty high ponytail and small neon earrings, she added a little flair to the otherwise unrelieved black.

Juliet, another House guard, stood nearby with a bottle of green juice in hand. She was petite and looked delicate, with cream and roses skin and red hair, but she was a ferocious and determined fighter.

She’d recently decided “juicing” would further enhance her butt-kicking abilities, and she’d tried to foist one of her liquid kale concoctions on me. I declined to drink anything that looked like lawn clippings. Besides, if I wasn’t pumping my body with trans fats, I wasn’t fully utilizing my immortality.

When we stepped into the doorway, the vampires took in my blood-spattered T-shirt and bandage and Ethan’s own ripped and bloodied T-shirt.

“You two can’t even go to a damn sporting event without trouble,” Luc said.

“I grabbed shirts for you,” Lindsey said, offering folded black cotton to me and Ethan. “Fresh from the swag room.”

“You aren’t technically a Guard,” Luc said to me, “but since you just took another shot on behalf of your House and Master, we figured you deserved one.”

“That, and the fact that I train and work with you guys?”

Luc winked at me. “That helps.”

“What’s the House record for gunshots?” I asked.

“Five,” Ethan said. He’d walked behind his desk, was scanning his computer screen. “Peter had that prize. Would that he’d been here for a sixth,” he muttered, undoubtedly angry that he couldn’t deliver that sixth shot.

Peter was a former Cadogan Guard who’d betrayed the House for Celina Desaulniers, the former Master of Navarre House.

Given the night we’d had, I was determined to keep the mood light. “And what’s the prize for beating the record?”

“House arrest,” Ethan said. He glanced up, smiled thinly. “And you wouldn’t enjoy that, Sentinel.”

No argument there.

“Am I late?” A woman with dark skin and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing pink scrubs stood in the doorway. Delia was the House’s doctor.

“You’re right on time,” Ethan said. “Your patient awaits.”

“Patient?” I asked.

“Treatment, Sentinel. Your wound should be addressed.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded, especially since my arm was already itchy with healing. “I’m fine.”

Delia walked toward me, a tray in her hands. “Hello, Merit. How are you?”

“Hello, Delia. I’m fine.”

“Got shot again, did you?”

“I did. Although I didn’t pass out this time.” The last time, I’d hit my head and been knocked unconscious.

“That’s something at least.” She put the tray on Ethan’s desk, then walked to the sink in the small bar in the bookshelves, washed her hands to the elbow. I appreciated the effort, even if it seemed unlikely a vampire would die of sepsis.

With cool and careful fingers, she lifted my arm, surveyed the bandage before glancing back at Ethan, taking in the ripped shirt. “Homemade bandage?”

“Make-do,” he agreed. “We were chasing a suspect.”

“Again,” Luc said, “only you, too.”

Delia looked at me. “Pulling away the bandage might hurt, so let’s get it over with.” Without waiting for me to object, she released my arm. “Would you mind stripping her?”

Lindsey winked at me. “Of course not.”

I pushed away her hands. “Hey, I don’t need stripping. It’s my arm that’s damaged.”

“The shirt is filthy,” Delia said. “It looks like you scraped off a few layers of a dirty street.”

That wasn’t far from the truth.

“Take it off, or I’ll cut it off.”

“Hard-ass.”

She snorted. “You deal with a few dozen humans in an emergency room in an evening and see how much of a hard-ass you become. Gentlemen, if you would, please turn away so that our impressively modest Sentinel can get momentarily naked.”

“Awwww,” Luc said pitifully, but he and Malik turned their backs. Ethan didn’t bother. He watched us, concern in his expression, as Lindsey helped me pull the shirt over my head, then over each arm in turn. She tossed it onto the floor.

“Bandage?” she asked, and at Delia’s nod, pulled away the fabric Ethan had used to keep the handkerchief in place, tossed it aside with the T-shirt.

“You can burn that when you’re ready,” Delia said with a smile, stepping forward to palpate my arm, inspect the remaining bandage from each angle. “Or keep it as a souvenir of your fourth bullet for the House.”

“Being shot four times isn’t such a big deal,” I muttered.

“Certainly not for people who’ve been shot five times,” she said with a grin. She picked up a pair of blunt-ended scissors from the tray she’d brought in. “You ready for this? I’ll be as careful as I can.”

I blew out a breath, nodded. And as I stood in Ethan’s office in jeans and a bra, I reached out for Lindsey’s hand. She took mine, squeezed it.

“On three,” Delia said. “One . . . two . . .”

As I tensed, waiting for three, she ripped the fabric away.

I nearly hit my knees from the rush of bright, naked pain. “Damn! I thought you were going on three!”

“Two gets you done faster,” she said, and began inspecting my arm. “Good. It’s a through-and-through, so we won’t have to drag fragments out of you.”

“There’s no way I’d let you come at me with a scalpel.”

“If I had a quarter,” she muttered, gaze narrowed as she poked and prodded. “The bullet damaged your muscle, tendon, but missed the bone. Might be sore for a couple of days, but you’re used to that.”

“You’re a cruel woman.”

She looked up at me and grinned. “I know. I’m a much better doctor.” She gently patted on a cooling gel, then turned me toward the light and inspected the arm she’d cleaned and medicated. “Much better. Let’s get the clean T-shirt on you, and you’ll want to keep that uncovered and clear for a little while. It’s nearly healed, and you don’t want to have to deal with this again.”

“No,” I said, wincing as Lindsey helped me pull the shirt over my head. “I do not. And thank you for the help. Even if I’d like to punch you a little bit right now.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

Delia’s phone rang, and she pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. “And duty calls again. I need to run.” She glanced at Ethan and got his nod of approval.

“Thank you for the help,” I called out as she hurried toward the door. I looked back at Ethan. “In case that didn’t register, will you please thank her for me?”

“I will,” he said. “And she’s happy to help.” He smiled slyly. “But you should probably work on not getting shot again.”

It was on my agenda.

•   •   •

“Now that we’ve addressed Merit’s injury,” Ethan said, when we’d reset from a medical discussion to a strategic one, “she also made a rather significant discovery.”

“That’s why I brought that up here,” Luc said, pointing behind me. I followed the direction of his gesture, saw the enormous, wheeled whiteboard near the wall behind us. We used it when we needed to do investigating, identify facts, formulate theories. And lately, we’d been doing a lot of it. My grandfather’s influence, maybe.

“Two new marker colors, too,” Luc said, eyes gleaming. “So we can color-code as necessary.”

Ethan gestured the group to the sitting area while Luc arranged the board in front of the bookshelves and uncapped a marker, the scent of solvent filling the room.

“Also strong colors,” Lindsey said, wrinkling her nose as she sat in one of the club chairs in the sitting area. Malik took the other chair after offering it to Juliet. She declined with a wave of her hand, sat down on the floor, crossing her slender legs in front of her.

Ethan walked to the small refrigerator tucked into the bookshelves, pulled out two bottles of blood. He handed me one, then took a seat on the leather couch beside me.

I opened the blood, took a satisfying drink. In the company of vampires, it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

“Seriously,” Juliet said, waving a hand in front of her face, “that marker could clear a room.”

“Good,” Luc said, positioning himself in front of the board, marker in his fist like an expensive, bladed weapon.

“What am I always telling you about weaponry?” Luc asked, scanning the faces of the guards.

“Anything is a weapon, and a weapon is anything,”
we parroted back like perfect pupils. But with more sarcasm.

“Good,” Luc said with an approving nod. “You need to clear a room, you now know how to do it.”

“Committed to memory,” Lindsey said, tapping a nail against her temple.

Luc grunted doubtfully but looked at us. “All right, Sentinel. You’ve got our attention. Give us the details of tonight’s trouble.”

“Dead shifter,” I said, “apparently killed by a vampire under the El tracks at the Addison Station. And nearby, alchemical symbols written on a concrete pedestal.”

Luc nodded, wrote the three headlines at the top of the board: vampire, shifter, sorcerer. Then he marked a line through “shifter,” killing him symbolically.

“That’s quite a variety of supernaturals in one place,” Malik said.

“No argument there,” Ethan said.

“Shifter had puncture marks on his left-hand side,” I said. “Blood near the body, blood near the pedestal.”

“The shifter’s name was Caleb Franklin,” Ethan put in. “An NAC member who defected.”

Malik’s eyebrows rose, and he looked up from the tablet on which he’d been writing notes. “Defected?”

“Defected,” Ethan confirmed. “Keene didn’t provide details, only said Franklin wanted more ‘freedom.’” Ethan used air quotes, which meant he’d found the excuse as questionable as I had.

“You buy that?” Luc asked, arms crossed.

“I do not,” Ethan said. “But one does not interrogate the Apex of the NAC Pack near the scene of his dead, if former, Pack mate and in front of several of his comrades.”

“A wise political course,” Malik said.

“What about the vampire?” Luc asked.

I gave them his description. “I didn’t see his full face, but what I did see didn’t look familiar.”