Twice Bitten (24 page)

“Nick? It’s Merit.”

“That was fast.”

“Seemed important, what with the death threat and all. What did you hear?”

“Someone called the paper’s tip line and asked for me specifically.”

I frowned. “So they knew enough not to spill the details about shifters to the switchboard guy?”

“That was my first thought, too. He must have been a shifter, but I couldn’t tell who. You know those voice manipulators that kidnappers use in the movies to change the pitch of their voices? This guy had one.”

“What did he say?”

“The message was short and simple.” I heard the shuffling of paper, as if Nick were flipping through a notebook. “He said the shots at the bar weren’t an accident. He said someone issued a contract on Gabriel, and the second attempt is supposed to take place tonight.”

“In a church full of shifters? Not exactly a quiet way to take someone out.”

“Yeah, a tip for the uninitiated—at some point, it’ll be chaos in there. I don’t think a gunshot, even a hit at close range, would be that hard to accomplish.”

Well, that information would have been useful before today. “Anything else?”

“That was it, except for one more thing,” he said, then paused. Building drama, I thought, like any good writer.

“He said to find the culprit, we had to check the top of the Packs.”

“You heard they found Tony?”

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. He had the opportunity—it was his bike they found. And he may have had motive, too.”

“Such as?”

“Installing someone else in Gabriel’s seat. Maybe attempting a consolidation of the Packs. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or maybe the simplest possibility—scaring everybody back to Aurora.”

“Something else is weird, you know.”

“What?”

“The tip,” I said. “Think about it—someone learned Gabriel was in trouble, and they have the forethought to call you, but they use a device to disguise their voice?”

“Maybe they were afraid of being caught.”

“By calling an anonymous tip line?”

“If you have the information, you’re probably close enough to the crime to be part of it.”

“Or maybe they knew you’d recognize their voice.”

We both considered that quietly for a moment. “I think it would be better if you didn’t tell them the tip came from me,” he finally said.

I knew why he wanted to remain anonymous—the Brecks were still on the outs with the Pack. They were trying to get back in, certainly, but learning that Nick was the information source about a hit was only going to make Gabe more suspicious. On the other hand, “I’m a vampire, Nick. If someone has information like that, why are they going to tell me?”

“Because you’re the Ponytailed Avenger.”

“I’m hardly capable of avenging anyone. And as you pointed out, I’m a
vampire
. It’s not like my helping Berna brought everyone into the vampire camp.” I blew out a breath. “I’ll tell Gabe it was anonymous. But if Ethan asks, I’m not going to lie to him.”

Nick was quiet for a moment. “Deal,” he finally said.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“We aren’t. We’ve given proxies to other members of the Pack—it’s a symbolic thing, another way to make reparations.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll see you later. Or I won’t,” I allowed, in case the vote necessitated a shifter retreat.

“Good luck,” he said solemnly, and the line went dead.

Information in hand, I trotted back to the chapel to find Ethan. There were more shifters in the pews now, and a few milling about with sound equipment and clipboards. Like the American Pack leaders, they were all men, except for Fallon Keene, who stood at the front of the chapel in a snug, long-sleeved black shirt, a short, pleated black skirt, and knee-high military-style boots, her suspicious gaze on the congregation.

I found Ethan in the back of the room with Gabriel, the two of them alone in a corner, standing side by side, their gazes on the crowd. They both looked up as my boot heels clacked against the stone floors.

Sentinel?
Ethan silently asked.

I didn’t answer; this one needed to be spilled to both of them.

I decided it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “I got a call,” I said when I reached them. “There was no caller ID, and the caller used one of those voice-disguising deals.” I looked at Gabriel. “He said there was a contract hit on you, and it was supposed to go down tonight.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s not that I’m surprised, but that’s damned inconvenient timing. Violence begets violence, and I don’t want more trouble because someone thinks they can best the Apex. I don’t want that spilling out and affecting the vote. The Pack needs to be here. The decision needs to be made—and made by them.”

Ethan frowned, that familiar line of worry between his eyes. “What, precisely, did the caller say?”

“Just what I said—that there’s a hit on Gabriel, and that the hit’s going down tonight. Imminent,” I added. “I think he said ‘imminent.’ ”

“I can’t—
won’t
cancel ConPack. The Packs are coming here tonight with shit on their minds. We can’t just dismiss that—just send all that pent-up energy back into the universe with no outlet. That would be a very bad idea for the Packs and the city.”

Given the earnestness of his voice, and the electric buzz that was beginning to stir in the chapel as the audience began to grow, I took him at his word. We didn’t need a few hundred frustrated shifters running around Chicago.

“We understand your position,” Ethan said, “and we commend your devotion to your people. But the continuity of the convention isn’t the only issue. They take you out, and they disrupt the balance of power. No—completely alter the balance of power. Those implications are equally bad.” If Ethan was being that frank, I guessed he and Gabriel had worked through any lingering tension.

“What do you propose?” Gabriel said.

“Given our limited amount of time, as many precautions as we can take,” Ethan said. “Not to be morbid, but if they try a hit, any thoughts on likely scenarios?”

“The debate can get rowdy. It’s not impossible they’d try to take advantage of that chaos, make a move in the middle of it.”

“Then we’ll stick by you when the convocation begins. We know you’re strong, but you aren’t immortal. As Merit has demonstrated, we can take hits you can’t.”

“I’m not sure insulting me is the way to go here,” Gabriel muttered.

“You know what I meant,” Ethan said. “Who in the sanctuary do you trust?”

Gabriel scanned the crowd for a moment. “Fallon. I trust Fallon.”

“Even though she’s next in line for the Pack behind you?”

Ever so slowly, Gabriel turned his head toward me, his gaze suddenly menacing. “Are you accusing Fallon of something, Sentinel?” Magic—astringent and sharp—electrified the air.

I kept my eyes on Gabriel, my expression neutral, as if I were staring down an attacking dog. “I’m accusing no one. I am, however, playing devil’s advocate for the purpose of ensuring your safety. Tonight that’s my job.”

It took a few seconds for the magic to dissipate, but he finally nodded.

Ethan put a hand at my back. “We’re going to take a walk around the church, get a sense for whether anything is out of the ordinary. We’ll talk to Fallon on the way out. Stay within her line of sight while we’re gone.”

“Is he always this bossy, Sentinel?”

“You have no idea.”

“Be that as it may,” Ethan said, “do us a solid and keep yourself alive for the time being.” At Gabriel’s nod, we walked toward Fallon’s corner.

“Sometimes,” Ethan whispered as we moved, “the work of protecting others is in convincing them they need protection in the first place.”

“We’re going to take a walk around,” Ethan told her. “Gabriel suggested he trusted you to keep an eye on him in the meantime.”

Fallon slid him a glance. “My brother said that?”

“He did.”

“Huh,” she said, her face suddenly brightening with pleasure. “That makes for a nice change. Feel free to take a walk around. I have things in hand here.”

From the altered currents of magic around her body—a signal she wore weapons (plural) of honed steel—I bet she did.

Ethan nodded at her, then moved toward the sanctuary door. But Fallon wasn’t done with us.

“You’re friends with Jeff, right?”

I stopped and glanced back at her. “He’s a good friend, yeah.”

She nibbled the edge of her lip. “Is he—does he—what’s his status? You know, girlfriendwise.”

I had to work to bite back a smile. “Single. You should take a stab at him.”

She lifted her nose and looked back at the crowd. “Lots going on tonight.”

“That is true,” I said, then looked over at the doorway to the side wing of the church where Ethan stood, waiting for me. “But having a partner in a crisis can be a big help. Anyway, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Noted.”

We exchanged a nod, and I joined my own partner again.

As we moved into the side wing, the air pressure changed. I belatedly realized magic was fully buzzing in the chapel. Much like the frog in the soup pot, I hadn’t even noticed until we’d stepped away. I told Ethan about the buildup as we moved down the hallway.

“Is it just magic,” he asked, “or is it steel, as well?”

I frowned. “I’m not sure I could separate it out. Probably both?”

“Probably,” he agreed, then pointed toward the doors that led off from the main hallway. “What are these?”

“Classrooms. Nurseries.”

“Unlikely spots for the making of assassination plans.”

“You’d think. If someone’s going to make an attempt against Gabe, they’ve probably done the planning somewhere else.” I pointed toward the last door. “The one on the end is the kitchen.”

He stopped, turned in a half circle, and perused the hallway, his gaze tripping over the handouts, children’s art, and religious posters. “Anything of interest there?”

“Does my pan of cabbage rolls count?”

He made a sarcastic sound. “Only for you, Sentinel. And now that we’re out of Gabriel’s hearing, is there anything you’d like to tell me about your anonymous phone call?”

“Are you suggesting I didn’t tell you the whole truth?”

He gave me a flat look.

“It wouldn’t be incorrect to assume the caller has a journalistic bent.” Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could form words, the exit door at the end of the hallway crashed open. Ethan and I both whipped around, hands on our swords. Two tall men in black suits, shades over their eyes, walked inside.

One of the men carried a package wrapped in brown paper, the sides wrapped in black electrical tape.

My heart thudded. I’d only seen packages like that on television cop shows—right before they exploded into shrapnel. Vampires didn’t care for shrapnel, especially not the wooden variety.

Steady now, Sentinel
, Ethan silently said to me, as if sensing my sudden fear. And since I was undoubtedly throwing magic into the air, he probably could.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” Ethan asked.

Both men arched eyebrows over their glasses, but kept moving forward. Despite the thudding of my heart, I moved to stand beside Ethan, a barricade of vampires. A song from
Les Misérables
began, however inappropriately, to echo through my head.

“We have a delivery,” said the man who wasn’t holding the package. He reached into his suit pocket, but Ethan had his sword up and out before the man could pull out whatever he was reaching for.

I unsnapped the thumb guard on my handle.

“Whoa,” said the man with the package, his Chicagoland accent heavy enough that it bled through the single word. “We’re only here to make a drop-off, right?” He extended the package in his hands.

“You hold that,” Ethan told him, then looked back at the man whose jugular was currently inches from the tip of his sword. “And you,” he said to the other one, “pull that hand back very, very slowly.”

The man swallowed, but did as he was told. And when his hand was clear of his jacket, he offered up a black leather wallet. “Just getting the ID, pal.”

“Open it,” Ethan said.

He flipped it open, then held it out for Ethan to see, then me.

“I got an import/export business,” he said. “I’m just a businessman.”

“And what’s in the package?”

The two men exchanged a glance. “It’s a gift for, uh, the head honcho, if you get my meanin’.” He winged up his eyebrows, as if willing Ethan to understand.

“For
your
head honcho?” Ethan asked.

The men nodded with relief. Apparently, they were members of the North American Central (and good at hiding that fact), and they were relieved not to have to admit it aloud. Maybe living in hiding wasn’t as easy as Tony had made it out to be....

“And what’s in the box?” Ethan asked.

The man with the package leaned forward, moistening his lips nervously. “It’s a rather fine vintage, if you get me? A vintage of the red variety? It’s a gift from a family that’s prominent here in Chicago, to the family of Mr. Keene.”

“Ahhh,” said Ethan aloud, then switched to silent mode.
What’s in the box?

I leaned down a little and frowned at it, clearing my mind to block out the extraneous noise and magic. But the box was a blank slate—no metal, no magic—so I switched to a simpler sense and took a sniff. There it was.

“It’s booze,” I said, standing straight again. “Good stuff, too, as far as I can tell.”

The man without the package rolled his shoulders and adjusted his tie. “Of course it’s good. Who do you think we are? Bit players?”

Ethan smiled politely, put his left hand at his scabbard, and carefully resheathed his sword. Then he stepped aside. “Enjoy the convocation, gentlemen.”

We turned to watch them proceed down the hallway.

“I believe those gentlemen are connected, Sentinel.”

“They’re related?”

“Connected to something a little more, shall we say,
organized
?”

It took a moment for the implication to sink in—Ethan thought they were mobsters. “And you let them walk into the chapel?”

“And with alcohol to boot. They’re Pack members with bounty in hand. We can’t stop every Pack member who tries to walk into the church with booze.” He snickered. “The chapel would be empty.”

I chuckled in spite of myself.

He bobbed his head toward the kitchen door again. “That was the kitchen?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to get something to drink.”

I followed him inside and waited by the door while he inspected the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of water, unscrewed the top, and took a long drink. When he was done, he tossed the empty bottle and cap in a recycling bin, then nodded toward the door again.

I was about to push it open when I froze. The exterior door at the end of the hall had been opened again, and I could hear voices moving toward us down the hallway.

And this time, a metallic buzz accompanied them.

It could have been something simple—shifters who carried weapons as part of their normal course of business. But this just felt . . . wrong.

Silently, I held up a hand to stop Ethan, then pointed at the door, then my ear, then held up two fingers. He nodded, moved forward, and put his ear to the door.

“You think you can take him out?” asked one of them.

“Damned right. The faster we get it done, the faster the money’s in hand, so I’m definitely gonna take a goddamned chance at it,” whispered another. There was venomous anger in his voice.

“Huh. I just don’t know if we can make this work tonight. Not like he wants us to. There’s a lot of goddamned bodies gonna be in that room in a few minutes.”

Ethan arched his brows at me. I nodded.

The footsteps moved closer.

Weapons
, I silently told him.
Guns or knives, I don’t know. But they’re heavily armed.

Then let’s move
, he replied.

Ignoring the nervous flutter in my chest, I went first, pushing through the kitchen door. The two men—both in jeans, boots, and leather jackets—jumped as we appeared, hands moving toward their waists. I assumed they were reaching for guns.

“Gentlemen,” I said, flipping the thumb guard on my katana and lifting it from its scabbard just enough to reveal the gleam of steel. “What’s happening?”

They looked at each other, then at me. “We have business here, vampire.”

“Yeah, I get that. The problem is, I’m getting the sense your kind of business won’t be good for the rest of us.”

The one on the left—shorter, balding at the edges—took a half step forward. He flipped back the side of his leather jacket, revealing a handgun stuck into the waistband of his 1980s-style jeans.

At the sight of the gun, I dug my fingers into the handle of my katana to keep my hand from shaking. I’d already been shot twice this week; I wasn’t eager for more.

“Honey, why don’t you and your boyfriend here take your little knives and go for a nice long walk, all right? This ain’t your concern.”

“Problem is, hoss,” I said, unsheathing my sword and enjoying the widening of their eyes, “it
is
our concern. It sounds like you have some kind of issue with the leader of the Pack, so to speak, and he’s a friend of mine.”

The taller one—younger, cuter, but just as egotistical—elbowed his friend. “I’ll take this one.”

Get behind me
, I told Ethan, as the younger guy took a step forward. He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled a matte black handgun from an interior pocket.

“You’re cute,” he said, “so I’m gonna give you one more chance.” He waggled the gun in our direction. “Take a goddamned hike, and we’ll go about our business and everyone’s happy. Right?”

I had no doubt he’d pull the trigger. He was the type—brave to the point of stupid; narcissistic in a completely self-defeating way. And although he knew we were vampires, he clearly had no understanding of what that really meant—that a bullet, though it might hurt like a son of a bitch, would be pretty ineffective in taking me down.

I rolled my eyes and rotated my wrist to turn the sword, then pulled out a threat that Celina had once used against me. “I’ll have you down before you can snap off a shot.”

“
Bitch
,” he said.

It was the last thing he said.

He lifted the gun, then raised his other hand to support it. But I was already moving. I rotated my body, bringing my leg around in a sweeping high kick that knocked the gun from his hands. It hit the floor and slid behind me, and I felt the air shift as Ethan reached for it. I completed the rotation, then shifted the weight of my sword and thrust the handle into his chest as hard as I could. In what seemed like slow motion, he
umph
ed and fell backward, hands clawing at his breastbone.

By the time he hit the ground, I’d righted my katana and held it before me, then glanced over at his shorter friend. “What about you, bud? You wanna try me, too?”

Eyes wide and panicked—the air thick with fearful magic—he took a few shaky steps before turning for the exit. But help had arrived—two blondish Keene brothers stood before the door, arms crossed and knowing gazes on the traitors in their midst. They must have sensed the trouble—or Fallon had sent them out here to keep an eye on me and Ethan. Bright girl.

“Excellent timing,” I said, keeping an eye on the man on the floor until they could reach him. Both taller and brawnier than the interlopers, they had them in hand in a matter of seconds.

“We do what we can,” said the Keene brother on the left, a grip on the collar of the man I’d knocked down. “It occurs to me we haven’t met. I’m Christopher.”

“Ben,” said the other one, who had the neck of the older man beneath his arm. The man struggled in the awkward position, but Ben didn’t bat an eyelash.

I grinned back. “Lovely to meet you both,” I said, then glanced back at Ethan. He stared at me, his eyes pools of quicksilver.

I guessed I’d managed to impress him.

“Not bad for a ‘common soldier,’ hmm?” I quietly asked, then resheathed my katana and headed back toward the chapel. I could feel his gaze on my back as I walked away, so I decided to play it up. I paused at the sanctuary door, then looked back over my shoulder and smiled vampishly through hooded eyes. “Coming?”

Without waiting, I walked inside.

Now that, my friends, is what we vampires call a good exit.