Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) (28 page)

“Sorry, no. We’re actually looking for Father Paul. The front desk said I could find him in here.”

“Oh, sure. He’s in diapers.” The man gestured toward the other end of the warehouse, and I stifled an immature laugh at his inadvertent joke.

The warehouse was chilly, cold air blowing in through the open bays. But the staff looked happy to be at work, buoyed, maybe, by the fact that they were helping others.

We did, indeed, find Seth Tate in diapers. But not literally.

He was tall and handsome, with blue eyes and wavy black hair. His hair was neatly trimmed, but a tidy black beard covered his face. If you hadn’t known Seth Tate, hadn’t been looking for him, you wouldn’t have seen the resemblance. It helped the disguise that he also wore a neck-to-ankle black cassock, the type of garment worn by priests. Seth Tate was hiding in plain sight, only thirty miles from Chicago.

He had a box of newborn diapers in hand but glanced up suddenly and met my gaze. His eyes widened with pleasant surprise, which calmed my nerves a bit. I’d been afraid he’d see our arrival as an unpleasant reminder of what he’d done in Chicago.

“Could I have a minute?” I whispered to Jeff.

“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll be here”—he scanned the shelves—“in toilet paper.”

Seth put the box on a nearby table, and we walked toward each other, meeting in the middle. I could see he wanted to reach out, to greet me with an embrace, a kiss on the cheek, and a whispered “Hello, Ballerina,” as he’d greeted me as a teenager. I’d been a dancer, and I’d been photographed meeting Tate, a friend of my father’s, in a tutu.

But he held himself back, stopping three feet away. He clasped his hands behind his back as if he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of human contact. Still, I caught the smells of lemon and sugar.

“Merit.”

“Father Paul,” I said, with a knowing glance. “You’re looking well.” I gestured toward the rest of the warehouse. “This is an impressive operation.”

He nodded, his gaze scanning the shelves and boxes. “It is a temple to generosity. All of this is donated to those in need.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Since I left Chicago. It’s my current mission, I think.” He tilted his head at me. “And I think I’m not the only one on a mission. What brings you here, Merit?”

“A mystery. And politics.”

“Always,” he said. He looked at me for a moment without even so much as a breath. “Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private?”

I nodded, and Jeff and I both followed as he walked toward the door, the cassock’s thick fabric
swish
ing as he moved.

People offered greetings and shook his hand as they passed, apparently unaware of his history or the fact that he was an angel and could sprout wings large enough to carry us both out of the building.

We headed out into the chilly night and toward a picnic table that had seen better days, its wood faded and cracked.

Tate sat down on the bench, back to the table, skirt swirling as he moved. Jeff and I stood by, watching as Tate stared silently at the men and women coming from and going to the warehouse’s busy shipping bays.

“What can I do for you, Merit?”

I gave him Regan’s history, detailed the kidnappings and attacks, explained that we’d yet to find her and were risking a truce with the elves. And then I got to the point.

“I chased her in Loring Park. She smelled like sulfur and smoke.”

His expression stayed the same, but I saw the tiny hitch in his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“She has power—a lot of it. She’s not a sorceress. And she smells like Dominic did. We thought no other twins had separated when the
Maleficium
was destroyed.”

“They didn’t. Or shouldn’t have. I was the only one touching it.”

“Is there a chance you have children?”

His eyes went wide. “Do I have children who are kidnapping supernaturals, you mean?”

Irritation was beginning to rise. “We’ve come to you because we need help. Because you’re the expert in this area. That’s not an insult—it’s a magical fact. You know more about Messengers—fallen or otherwise—than anyone else we know. We need you.”

He sighed, rubbed his temples. And then he looked at me, apology in his eyes, and I felt lost. “I’m sorry, Merit. But I truly don’t know anything that could help.”

I glanced at Jeff, who shrugged.

“All right,” I said. “In that case, maybe there’s something else you can help with. Long story short, Mayor Kowalcyzk’s off her rocker. She’s arrested Ethan for a death he committed in self-defense, beaten Scott, raided Navarre, and put together a goon squad because she thinks we’re domestic terrorists.”

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

I bit back cross words. “I don’t know. Can you talk to her? Explain to her that supernaturals aren’t her enemies?”

“She wouldn’t listen to me, Merit.”

I felt hope draining. “You know that for a fact?”

“Fact enough. She thinks I’m a felon. And even if she listened to me, she doesn’t appear that willing to use reason or logic.”

“I’m just asking you to try.”

He looked away, worrying the inside of his cheek. “I can’t return to that life, Merit. Not when there’s so much to do here. So much good I could do. So much good I am doing.”

“There’s good to be done everywhere,” I said. “But the good in Chicago is the kind only you can do. I don’t know where else to turn.”

“Chicago isn’t my home anymore. It is lovely to see you, though. Would you like to stay? Work for a while? I think you’ll find it feeds the soul.”

I looked at him, mystified by the naive cheer in his voice. He couldn’t have missed the panic and fear in mine.

“This isn’t my town,” I pointed out. “And it isn’t really yours.”

His gaze snapped back to mine, and I saw the spark in his cold blue eyes. He wasn’t unaware of my panic.

He was in denial.

“Chicago is troubled,” he said.

“It’s not perfect. But it moves forward, and it fights. Its people and its vampires fight.”

He made a sarcastic sound. “For what? There will always be another monster around the corner, Merit. And I know. I was one of them. People will always be afraid of the monster. And that fear will win every time.”

“Courage has nothing to do with winning,” I quietly said. “Courage is about fighting the good fight. Stepping forward, even when stepping forward is the crappiest of all possible options.”

I looked at Jeff, saw the appreciation in his eyes, and smiled. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that,” I said. “But I do now.”

I glanced at the people who moved behind us, hauling pallets, reviewing clipboards, and preparing shipments.

I looked back at Tate, the furrow of his brow as he looked at them, and the distance that I saw there. He wanted to be part of what they were—of lives that were simpler than his own. I understood that perspective; I’d shared it for some of my nights as a vampire. But like me, he knew it wasn’t to be. He just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

“I don’t begrudge anyone their recovery,” I said, thinking of Mallory. “But there’s something to be said for redemption. And right now, you have a perfect opportunity.”

I kept my gaze on his, hoping against hope that he’d change his mind, spring up, go with us back to Chicago.

But he didn’t speak a word, and my chest tightened with fear and frustration.

“If you change your mind, you know where to reach me.” I turned my back on him, began to walk with Jeff toward the parking lot again.

“Merit,” Tate said, filling me with hope.

But when I looked back, there was nothing but regret in his face.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology made me feel even worse.

•   •   •

I didn’t text the House that I’d been unsuccessful. I wasn’t ready to admit how utterly useless our trip had been or how resistant Tate had been to helping us. I wasn’t ready to face the degree of his denial about how he’d shaped the city, helping make it what it was today, for better or worse.

Of course, I still hoped he’d come to his senses and appear outside Cadogan House, holding a radio above his head, contrition in his eyes and stern words for Diane Kowalcyzk on his lips.

Unfortunately, and much to Luc’s chagrin, life wasn’t a movie, and Seth Tate wasn’t interested in our concerns. I empathized with him. It was undoubtedly easier to make good for your past bad acts in a tidy, cheery warehouse miles away from the mess you’d made, than on the ground in Chicago and in the middle of the trouble. In Chicago, he was the defrocked mayor, the man with the nasty past. In Portville, he was Father Paul. A man with a mission to help others.

Maybe that was what irritated me most—that he’d gotten a clean slate, free and clear. Tate hadn’t stayed in Chicago to face the consequences, to tell his tale, or to pick up the pieces. I had to give Mallory props for sticking around, fessing up, and trying to make it right.

“What are you going to do now?” Jeff asked as I focused on the road ahead of us, which was marked by billboards for outlet malls, chiropractors, attorneys.

“I don’t know. But it’s making me irritable.”

“I wish I had some advice to offer,” he said, glancing out the window. “Or some strings to pull.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

My phone beeped. I was a careful driver, so at my nod, Jeff checked the screen.

“Well, well, well,” he said.

“Ethan’s free?” It was easy to tell what was on my mind.

“I doubt it, because there are a hundred supernaturals picketing in front of the Daley Center demanding his release.”

OCCUPY CHICAGO

I
dropped Jeff off at his car and raced back to Cadogan House. Car keys still in hand, I joined Malik, Luc, and a dozen other Cadogan vampires in the front parlor, where the television had been tuned again to the drama at the Daley Center.

In the time it had taken me to get back to the House, the crowd of protestors had grown to several hundred, many of them carrying
FREE ETHAN!
and
SUPERNATURAL JUSTICE
signs. I didn’t see anyone I recognized, but most were bundled up against the frigid night air.

“Any luck?” Luc asked, when I sidled next to him in the crowd of vampires whose gazes were trained on the screen.

“In finding him, yes. In convincing him to talk to the mayor, no. He’s started a new life, and he wants to stay that course. He’s working at a food bank. Noble work, but not exactly helpful here. Any news from Andrew?”

The question made his brow furrow, which made my stomach turn uncomfortably. Luc was usually unflappable. If he was concerned now, we had problems.

“They haven’t released Ethan, and they haven’t allowed Andrew to speak with him. He hasn’t had blood since he arrived. Just water. They’re saying they think blood will turn him into some kind of supervampire.”

“That’s ridiculous.” It was also worrisome. A blood deficit would weaken him, and eventually that need would drive him to find blood wherever—and however—he could.

“That’s bureaucracy. And never mind that you can buy Blood4You at every supermarket in town.”

“What about the feds? Andrew thought he might have some luck there.”

“They’ve declined on jurisdictional grounds,” he mockingly said. “They’ll send in troops if there’s a ‘legit’ threat to public safety, but they don’t feel that’s happened yet.” He turned back to the screen. “That might change, now that Ethan’s fan club has taken the stage.”

“See anyone you know?” I asked Luc, who squinted at the screen.

“Not that I can tell.”

“How’d it get started?”

“We aren’t sure. Rogue vampires seem like the best bet, but we haven’t heard anything from Noah suggesting this was going on or asking us to participate.”

Noah was the unofficial leader of Chicago’s Rogue vampires. “And are we participating?” I wondered.

Before he could answer, a crowd of vampires in jeans and parkas tromped down the stairs and paused in the foyer, checking in on us. I recognized the ringleader, a sable-haired vampire named Christine, whose father was a famous Chicago criminal defense attorney. Not Ethan’s attorney, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’d been in contact.

She pulled down the hood, revealing sharp cheekbones, sharper eyes, and a lovely face. “We’re going to the protest,” she said, meeting Malik’s gaze. He stood on the other side of the arc of vampires in the parlor and watched her mildly.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace?”

“What you do on your time, including supporting our woebegone Master, is your business. But don’t get yourselves arrested.”

She grinned, nodded. “Liege,” she said, and her troops left the House.

“I hope that doesn’t make more trouble,” I murmured. Christine had always been the boisterous sort.

“They want to support their Master,” Luc said, “and unlike you, they don’t get many chances to do it.”

He had a point there. How many times had I had the opportunity to wield steel for Ethan and the House? Too many, by my count.

“It warms the cockles of my heart to see all those sups stepping out in support of our Master. And probably some of that support is legit, and not just because they want to sleep with him.”

I goggled, stared at him. “They what?”

Luc snorted. “He’s not my type, but there are plenty of folks out there who appreciate your vampire boyfriend for more than his strategic mind.” He tapped a finger against his temple.

I blinked. “And where is this coming from?”

He pointed to the screen and the gaggle of teenage girls who grinned and smiled at the camera, holding signs bearing glittery hearts and professions of love for one Ethan Sullivan. The girls, who had pink cheeks and infatuated smiles, couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen.

“Where are their
parents
?” I murmured, thinking I wasn’t thrilled that my “vampire boyfriend” had a fan club.

On the other hand, they had excellent taste.

“Anything new on the carnival?” I asked him, lest we forget about the other supernaturals potentially in danger.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “The librarian found one more location—Paul Revere Park. Carnival was there last year. But it’s empty again. They appear to be laying low.”

Which meant we had no other leads on where Regan, the carnival, or the missing sups might actually be—assuming our theory was correct and they were still alive. It was beginning to look like we’d have to wait for them to make a move, which didn’t thrill me. A harpy attack in the woods beside Loring Park was one thing; a harpy attack at Soldier Field would be something altogether different.

My phone beeped, a message from Jonah.
NEED BODIES AT PROTEST. WEARING MIDNIGHT HIGH SHIRT?

It was an RG assignment, signaled by the reference to the Midnight High School T-shirt. The school was fake, but the T-shirts were real, worn by RG members to secretly signal their membership.

I glanced at Luc and the others. I could get away, but I was going to have to explain to him why I was leaving and where I was going. The odds I’d end up arrested or on television by the end of the night were too high otherwise.

I tucked the phone away again, leaned toward Luc. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Luc’s brows lifted, but he nodded and followed me to the foyer.

We stopped in a quiet spot beyond the staircase, where he crossed his arms, looked down at me with chin tipped down. “What’s on your mind, Sentinel?”

I moistened my lips nervously. “I have to go to the protest. For reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss. But I didn’t want to sneak out of here without telling you I was leaving.”

He looked at me for a moment, then leaned closer. “This have something to do with that secret project Ethan has you working on?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. I wasn’t working with Ethan on a secret project, at least to my knowledge. I was only aware of two real secrets: Lakshmi’s GP challenge invitation, and my RG membership. Maybe Ethan had prepared Luc for the inevitable fallout of one or both of those things.

“Yes?” I offered.

That must have been the right answer, because he nodded. “Be careful, and keep your phone on.”

•   •   •

I messaged Jonah, arranging a meeting place, a spot two blocks north of the Daley Center, where we could find each other before we reached the chaos of the plaza and protestors.

Even from two blocks away, the sound was deafening. Much like during the human riots that had plagued the city last week, there were chants of protest, supernaturals demanding Ethan’s release, demanding rights for the city’s preternatural population. And like the humans, they weren’t especially subtle about what they’d do if their demands weren’t met. “No justice, no peace,” was a common refrain.

But unlike the human demonstrations, this protest carried the signature sensation of magic. A lot of it—chaotic and unfocused, like eddies of water swirling in the rapids of a rocky stream.

Jonah rounded the corner, walked toward me. There was no denying it: The Grey House guard captain was a looker.

Tall and trim, with shoulder-length auburn hair that framed clear blue eyes. He’d gotten his fangs in Kansas City, but he looked more like a warrior from a windswept cliff in Ireland, with his honed cheekbones and chiseled chin. Tonight he wore jeans and a navy pea coat, which only added to the effect. I half expected him to speak with a lilting accent but probably would have enjoyed it too much if he had.

“Hey,” I said, a little shyly. I hadn’t seen Jonah in a few days, and I spent so much time dealing with drama on behalf of Cadogan House that I didn’t have much time to serve as his partner in the RG.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s the House?”

“Nervous. They don’t like Ethan being out of reach. How’s Scott?”

“Fine. Pissed. There are a few Grey House vamps out there tonight. He didn’t want them to come but didn’t bar them outright.”

“Ditto at Cadogan.”

Jonah nodded. “Let’s get moving.”

We walked down the street and toward the plaza, each step bringing us closer to the noise and magic.

“Who organized this?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he said. “Word of mouth, I assume.”

It was a completely rational assumption, but that didn’t make me feel any better about walking into it.

“Plan?” I asked him, now forced to raise my voice to account for the noise.

“We’re monitoring. We’re here as peacekeepers, and we’ll stay on the perimeter. Help anyone who looks like they’re in trouble, or help disperse the crowd if things get dangerous.”

I’d left my katana in the car—all the better to keep the CPD from harassing me about it—but the dagger was tucked into my boot. It was the only weapon I’d have if things got ugly. On the other hand, if things got ugly here, even a sword might not have helped.

Daley Plaza was open on three sides, bounded by Clark, Dear- born, and Washington streets and the Daley Center. It was a large expanse of concrete, punctuated by an insectlike metal Picasso sculpture reaching fifty feet into the air and a square fountain currently closed for the winter.

The plaza was packed with people, the crowd thick and heavy like deep water, so that each person was leaned or shoved into his or her neighbors, sending the wave forward.

Cops in black gear were visible on the edges, as were a few journalists with video cameras on their shoulders, and a few vampires standing in pairs outside the main crush. RG members, I thought, trying to keep the city’s supernaturals safe.

“There are a lot of people here,” he said.

“There are. And a lot of magic.” It was rising and falling like the movement of a symphony, raising uncomfortable prickles on my arms. “Itchy magic,” I said, scratching absently at the back of one hand.

It occurred to me that I was probably within telepathic distance of Ethan, and I called out to him silently but could practically feel the words bouncing back to me. Too much magical interference, perhaps.

“Let’s walk the perimeter,” he said, and I nodded, fell into step beside him. The night was cold, but the crush of bodies in front of us worked like a furnace to push heat in our direction.

The crowd was diverse, from obviously smitten teenagers who grinned with excitement at the cause to vampires and shifters I didn’t recognize, wearing bleak expressions and repeating their pleas for Ethan’s relief over and over and over again.

“Your man has a lot of support,” Jonah said.

“The cause has support,” I corrected, stopping short when two twentysomethings in coats and scarves bounded out of a cab and into the fray with neon posters demanding supernatural rights and Ethan’s release. “I can’t believe how many of them know who Ethan is.”

“He has fan sites, Merit.”

I stopped, looked at him, and found a bemused expression on his face. “He does not.”

“Next time you’re online, look up EthanSullivanIsMyMaster-dot-net. It has fan fiction. You’re not doing a very good job of keeping up with Ethan’s many admirers.”

“There is no such place, and there is no such fan fiction.”

This time, he stopped and looked at me, his expression flat.

My mind whirled at the possibility of hordes of human women lusting over my very vampiric boyfriend. I decided I found it endearing, since I wasn’t worried about his fidelity. Although my Internet research was clearly lacking. I made a mental note to catch up when I had some free time.

Still, the reminder of Ethan dimmed my mood. “Do you think they’ll release him?”

“In his lifetime? Yes. Unfortunately, that lifetime may last an eternity.”

Not exactly the most inspiring of thoughts.

We passed a man and woman who wore Midnight High T-shirts beneath unbuttoned coats. The man was tall and gaunt, with pale skin and thick sideburns; the woman was petite, with dark skin and curls. He was Horace, a Civil War volunteer and member of the Red Guard. I hadn’t yet learned her name.

Horace exchanged the slightest of nods with Jonah as we passed. An acknowledgment of our membership, our partnership, our vampiric fence around the plaza.

We edged around the perimeter and turned to the other side of the crowd just as a woman, petite and dark haired, walked up the sidewalk in a satin coat and four-inch platform shoes, a red dress visible beneath and a cloak of magic flowing around her.

She was barely five feet tall, but with each step, another man or woman in her vicinity trained their eyes on her, awestruck. Like all nymphs, she had the big-eyed beauty of an anime character.

I glanced at Jonah, saw the same glazed expression on his face.

“River nymph approaching,” I warned, a little late. “Although I forget which part of the river she controls.”

“North Branch,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Her name’s Cassie.”