Chicagoland Vampires: Wild Things Part 8

Here, in the midst of Pack territory, I didn't think it would be easy to escape.

I woke once during the day, the bedroom still dark. We weren't meant to wake when the sun was above the horizon, so my mind was thick and fogged. But I heard a wolf baying, the sound long and mournful. More voices joined in, the animals obviously grief stricken and wailing for their dead.

They'd have their own rituals, their own ways of mourning. This was their funeral, their dirge beneath the cold, cruel sun.

I drifted back to sleep, Ethan warm and quiet beside me, and dreamt of amaranth.

Chapter Six.

GAME, SET, VAMPIRE.

I woke with a start just after sunset. Ethan lay at my side, his eyes closed in sleep, an arm over his head. His long legs were tangled in the pale sheets, his silk pajama bottoms riding temptingly low on his hips.

He opened one eye, smiled invitingly. "Good evening, Sentinel."

"Sullivan," I said, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Catcher opened it without waiting for a response. I sat up straight again, grateful I'd slept in pajamas and wasn't staring him down half naked.

"You're awake," he said. He wore his typically dour expression and a T-shirt with NOPE! across the front in bold, white letters.

Ethan flipped the blanket over my body like a matador, covering even the pajamaed parts. "I don't recall inviting you in."

"I'm a sorcerer, not a vampire. I don't need an invite. And now that we've discussed our supernatural predilections, we need to get going. Gabriel wants to talk."

Mallory stepped into the doorway, a bowl of cereal in hand, mouth busy with a spoonful. "Good evening, vampires."

It didn't escape me that she took a moment to admire my particular vampire.

"Eyes on your own man candy."

"My man candy's already dressed," she said between bites of what looked like chocolate sludge. "Yours is . . . less so."

And mine was clearly enjoying the attention. He linked his hands behind his head, showing off his well-toned chest.

"Down, boy," I murmured.

"Yes, boy," Catcher said. "Quit flirting with my girlfriend."

Ethan only smiled. "You're the ones darkening my doorway. I'm beginning to see why so many sups don't like sorcerers."

"Oh, he's grumpy at sunset," Mallory said, glancing at me.

"It's not just sunset," Catcher offered. "And we're wasting time on the argument, so get dressed, and let's go." He rapped twice on the doorjamb before he and Mallory shuffled back into the main room.

"Fine friends you have, Sentinel."

"They're your friends, too, Sullivan. You've known Catcher longer than you've known me."

I climbed out of bed, and he swatted me on the bottom.

"I'm not sure that's flattering to either of you."

"Neither am I," I admitted, "but at the moment, we're all stuck with each other."

Ethan grabbed breakfast from the kitchen while I dressed. Thinking I couldn't be too careful, I dressed in my leathers, then settled in with blood and a bagel.

After he'd eaten, Ethan pulled on jeans and a V-neck sweater with a shirt beneath. A lock of blond hair fell across his face as he tucked the shirt into very-well-fitting jeans, looking more like an East Coast blue blood than a midwestern vampire.

His phone rang, and Ethan finished the tuck, pushed his hair behind his ears, and picked it up.

"Luc," Ethan said in greeting. "You're on speaker. We were just about to leave."

"This won't take long. Just wanted to give you an update. The lawyers report Kowalcyzk is apparently trying to convince the prosecutor the House's security tapes were tampered with-that the video of Monmonth arriving at the House and killing Louie and Angelo was doctored."

"And therefore that Ethan didn't act in self-defense," I concluded.

"That's patently ridiculous," Ethan said. "As if we don't have anything better to do than doctor our own security footage."

"Rumor is, the prosecutor has doubts. And he's the one who'd have to take the case to a jury. In any other city, that would probably be enough. But this is Chicago; the mayor's got pull."

G.o.d knew, I loved my hometown. But sometimes the Second City needed a good kick to the groin.

"We can prove the tapes weren't doctored," Ethan said. "Forensics run both ways."

"We can," Luc agreed. "And the lawyers are negotiating for that, and billing the House like its going out of style," he mumbled. "Unfortunately, while the lawyers argue, she's attacked on another front."

Ethan's gaze narrowed. "How?"

"Anne Ricestyle, as it turns out." Luc waited a beat for us to get the punch line.

"Interview with the Vampire," Lindsey put in. Luc must have had us on speakerphone.

"That's my girl," Luc said. "And you win the prize. Jonah called. The mayor's people picked up Scott Grey fifteen minutes ago for questioning."

Scott Grey was the Master of Grey House, and Jonah's boss.

Magic spiked as Ethan's irritation rose. "I presume Scott's Second arranged for a lawyer?"

"He has. Our guys say she's sharp, but the mayor's muscle isn't letting her near Scott. She apparently was told he doesn't have a right to counsel because the Houses are under suspicion as domestic terrorists."

It took Ethan a moment to respond. And in the seconds that pa.s.sed, magic rose to a furious crescendo.

"Domestic terrorists?" Each syllable was bitten off.

"Their words. The muscle's from a task force she's set up. All the lawyers are talking. I also called Morgan and gave him a heads-up."

Morgan rounded out the city's three Masters. He became Master of Navarre after the former Master, Celina Desaulniers, was accused of murder. Morgan and I had briefly dated when I'd first become a vampire, but the relationship, such as it was, hadn't lasted long.

"I'm surprised he answered the phone considering the blacklist."

When we left the GP, the organization had responded by forbidding Navarre and Grey from communicating with us. That hadn't stopped Grey House, at least not in the long run, but Navarre played by the GP's rules.

"He wasn't thrilled. I'd call it denial with an arrogance chaser."

"I don't know what you saw in him," Lindsey said.

I glanced at Ethan. "My Master demanded I date him for the benefit of the House."

"Not one of my better decisions," Ethan admitted. "Kowalcyzk can call us domestic terrorists if she wants, but she won't be able to make that stick. There's no evidence of anything but the opposite-that we help the city at every turn. What about the governor?"

"No dice so far," Luc said. "Malik's spoken with her, but she's loath to get involved in an investigation. She's calling it comity and federalism and blah-blah political mumbo jumbo I don't care about. In any event, we'll let you know if there's any movement."

Ethan nodded, and silence descended for a moment.

"You're exactly where you're supposed to be right now," Luc said, responding to Ethan's unspoken complaint. "And we have a plan. It just may not come together as soon as we'd like."

"Well, we're here for the duration in any event," Ethan said.

"Shifter arrest is better than human arrest?" Luc cheekily asked. "Oh, and one more thing while I'm checking off my list of c.r.a.ptastic news. Lakshmi's arrived. She's in a suite at the Peninsula." The Peninsula was one of Chicago's sw.a.n.kiest hotels, located a few blocks east of Michigan Avenue.

Nerves jangled at the edges of my consciousness, but I pushed them back. Worrying about when she'd call in her favor would have to wait; my plate was full.

"She's made arrangements to speak to Malik?"

"Nope. She said she'd wait to talk to you."

I looked at Ethan. "That seems like good news. If they were going to go ballistic, they wouldn't care if you were there or not."

"Or their price is stiff and meant just for me."

That ominous prediction settled uncomfortably in the room.

"We have to go," Ethan said. "The Pack is awaiting our arrival. Keep us posted."

They said their good-byes and ended the call, and Ethan slanted a worried glance at me. He'd pulled his hair back today, framing rugged cheekbones and his emerald eyes, which were clouded with worry.

"Is this one of those times I'm supposed to be supportive and tell you everything will work out perfectly?"

Ethan made a vague grunt of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Only if you can say it honestly."

"So I'll just keep my mouth shut."

Ethan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He pulled me into an embrace, his warmth and clean cologne enveloping us both. "I don't want others to bear the burdens of my choices."

So Scott's situation concerned him, I thought.

"She's just interviewing him," I pointed out. "We've all been through worse than an interview. And frankly, this may not be retribution against you. If she's got a task force, it could just be her usual brand of paranoia."

He kissed the top of my head. "You're a good and comforting Sentinel."

"I'd prefer to be the Sentinel that talks some d.a.m.ned sense into the mayor, but that opportunity hasn't yet arisen."

I texted Jonah, let him know we were aware of Scott's interrogation and were monitoring. Unfortunately, there wasn't much else we could do from Loring Park.

Vampiric business concluded, we met Catcher and Mallory in the front room.

"Took you long enough," Catcher said, taking a final drink from a mug before putting it down on the table.

"Scott Grey is now in Kowalcyzk's custody," Ethan said.

Catcher looked up, surprised. "Really."

Ethan nodded, just once. "Suspected of domestic terrorism, according to our rather creative mayor."

"That lady is off her rocker," Mallory said, adjusting her knit cap, from beneath which peeked two ombre braids.

"She is something," Ethan said. "Any leads in the sorcery area?"

Catcher shook his head. "Baumgartner's on vacation in Tucson with his wife and grandkids. And even if he'd been here, he's not exactly a think-outside-the-box type of guy. We haven't reached Simon yet. Paige and the librarian have been in a hotel room in the Loop for a belated Valentine's Day. Their minds are on other things."

"So Paige and Baumgartner are out, if they weren't already. And once again, we have nothing."

"For now," I said, squeezing Ethan's hand. "We always find something."

The issue was finding it soon enough.

We pulled on coats and gloves, belted on our katanas, and headed outside. The shifters who awaited us didn't even spare them a glance, so I presumed Gabriel had approved our wearing them.

The night was cold, the sky covered by a bank of clouds that glowed orange on the horizon, lit by the pollution of a million sodium lights in Chicago. But I was jumpy and couldn't stop glancing into the darkness, waiting for a new squadron of monsters to emerge.

We walked silently back to the house, hands in pockets and collars lifted against the wind, the shifters forming a guard in front of and behind us. They were all men, all wearing NAC jackets. They didn't bother to look at us, which I found I preferred. Disinterest, in my book, was better than barely concealed loathing.

One of the shifters in front held open a door, and we entered a spare and utilitarian hallway. This part of the house was for the staff, allowing them to serve the Brecks inconspicuously.