Dark Debt

  “I imagine what nearly happened to Sanford King is one of the reasons,” Ethan said, glancing at Catcher for confirmation. “If you take out your enemies, perceived or otherwise, you tend to keep everyone else in line.”

  “And they are remarkably careful,” Catcher said, “and remarkably well connected. And God knows I’m no fan of Seth Tate, but Diane Kowalcyzk doesn’t have nearly the grip on the city that he did. As mayor, he wouldn’t have objected to the Circle per se, but he would have demanded a cut.”

  “And Kowalcyzk?” Ethan asked.

  “Not interesting enough to the Circle to bother with. Word is, they see her as a temp, and not worth the effort.”

  Ethan cocked his head. “You have contacts in the organization?”

  “No,” Catcher said. “That’s the problem. With a lot of organized crime, there’s an obvious family structure, a clear hierarchy. The hierarchy generally demands respect from the capos, the other players, so you know who they are.

  “The Circle’s not like that. They’re not looking for glory; they’re looking for long-term plays. Businesses, people, Houses they can sink their fangs into—sorry for the pun—and ensure an income stream over time. There’s actually very little outright theft, not like the older-style gangs. A lot of this is cybercrime. Phishing schemes, transfer of international funds, hacking, extortion for cybercoin schemes. And the leadership is very decentralized, very big on anonymity, and very careful about giving any one individual too much information. That’s why the CPD doesn’t have them tagged in any significant way.”

  “How do you know so much about them?” Malik wondered.

  “Accumulated knowledge. I was fascinated by the mob as a kid, even before I came to Chicago, and I’d read a lot about Al Capone, Bugs Moran, Johnny Torrio. I’ve kept up with the news, the stories, the talk, mostly as a hobby. Jeff knows hackers, and the Circle pops up in that community. And, of course, your grandpa hears things. Supernaturals trust him. And being supernaturals, they tend to stay on the sidelines, or get ignored by humans. Word filters down, and you put the pieces together a bit at a time.”

  Catcher frowned. “We figured they’d get involved with supernaturals at some point or other—I’d guessed magic, actually. Spell-selling, maybe trafficking in magical creatures, stuff that’s actually within our jurisdiction. But we hadn’t seen anything like that. Unfortunately, this tells us our thinking was accurate.”

  “And that they were very strategic,” Ethan said. “If the interest was as high as Morgan suggested, they found—or perhaps ‘cultivated’ is a better word for it—what sounds like a very good source of revenue in Navarre House. But we’ll see what the audit turns up.”

  Catcher sighed. “I’ve got no lost love for Morgan as a Master, although I thought he was a good enough guy before that. But I don’t envy him this. This could be enough to break the House, certainly to cause a lot of pain, a lot of trouble, a lot of hardship for many, many years to come.”

  Ethan nodded. “Unfortunately, I tend to agree with you.” He looked at Malik. “You’ll make arrangements to review the books at dusk.”

  Malik nodded. “I do love math. Numbers are orderly.”

  “And real life rarely is,” Ethan said.

  Malik opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything else, Juliet rushed in, eyes wide, and skipping from Luc to Ethan.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Sire. Kelley called. He’s on the move. Kelley followed, has her lapel camera. We’ve got the feed live downstairs.”

  There seemed no point in asking who “he” was, or whether we’d make the journey to watch it.

  Chapter Ten

  HE CAN DO MAGIC

  We reconvened in the Ops Room, most of the guards’ eyes already on the wall screen.

  There, in the middle, stood Balthasar.

  He wore black pants and the same high-collared coat he’d worn last night. He looked what I’d have called vampirically handsome—dark hair against pale skin, eyes gleaming with promise and excitement. His scars peeked from beneath the edge of the collar.

  He stood in front of a tall, pale brick structure, a low stone railing behind him. A crowd of humans had gathered on the street in front of him, eyes wide as they watched him, waited for him to move.

  I recognized the spot. “He’s in front of the Wrigley Building. Those stairs go down to one of the boat docks along the river.” It was a common spot for street buskers, performers who typically danced or played instruments for cash from passersby, mostly tourists who roamed the Magnificent Mile to browse, shop, or take in the energy of downtown Chicago.

  Juliet brought Luc an earpiece, which he snapped into place. “Kelley, can you hear me?”

  “Roger that,” she said quietly, voice echoing through the room. “Tara’s positioned at my three o’clock.” She turned to the left, the camera panning until it focused on a lean woman with short brown hair at the edge of the crowd. She wore black cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. She stood at parade rest, but her eyes were cold and fixed on Balthasar. She was, I guessed, the human guard on this particular round of surveillance.

  “Stand by for now,” Luc said. “Keep your eyes and the camera on him. We’re here and monitoring.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Balthasar held up his hands as he addressed the crowd of humans below. “My name is Balthasar. I am a Master vampire, originally of France, but now home in your fair city.”

  It was an announcement uncomfortably close to the one Celina had made more than a year ago, the press conference that had changed the lives of supernaturals forever, and brought them—screaming, in some instances—into the light.

  The humans murmured together, recognition dawning, since they’d probably seen his face in the articles and stories about his interaction with Ethan. Some looked intrigued.

  “Do not be afraid of vampires. We are all creatures of the same God.” He waved one hand over another, and when he turned both hands up, revealed a small white bird that fluttered into the sky. The crowd gasped with excitement.

  “Magic tricks?” Luc asked. “Why is he doing magic tricks?”

  “Illusions,” Catcher gruffly corrected. “Not magic. He’s fast, and he’s got the coat to hold his props.”

  “And he’s doing it for attention,” Ethan said, “which he’s clearly getting.”

  The knot of humans on the street grew as more gathered around to check out what the rest of them were gaping at.

  “This looks like a setup,” I said. “A play.” Ethan, gaze on the screen, grunted in agreement.

  “What’s the play?” Malik asked. “Scaring humans? He’s already told them he’s a vampire.”

  “Kelley?” Luc asked.

  “You see what I see. There’s nothing else here—no obvious weapon, no partner.”

  Balthasar turned his wrist, fingers flicking, and a small silver ball appeared in his palm. He spun it around hypnotically, just as he’d done with the crystal globe in Ethan’s office. “You may be aware that Chicago has three vampire Houses. Can anyone name them?”

  “Grey!”

  “Navarre!”

  “Cadogan!”

  I didn’t like the context, but I was impressed by the humans’ speed. They’d clearly been paying attention.

  Balthasar smiled proudly, whisked the ball in the air, where it seemed to hover by its own magic. The crowd cooed appreciatively.

  “Très bon,” he said, tucking the ball into his palm again. He moved his hands above each other, then opened his palms, and the ball was gone.

  “As it turns out, I am not of those Houses. But I helped to make one of them.”

  “How?” one of the men in the crowd shouted back. Someone in his early twenties, I guessed from the voice, but his image was blocked by the crowd. “How did you make one of them?”

  Balthasar didn’t loo
k impressed by the asker. “Who knows the answer?”

  “Ethan Sullivan!” shouted a girl, mid-twenties, with waist-length blond hair pulled back in a low tail.

  “Ethan Sullivan, indeed,” Balthasar said. “I gave him immortality. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to want my attention.”

  While the crowd waited, breath bated, for his explanation, Balthasar looked up, scanned the crowd, and when he found Kelley, smiled directly at her—and into the camera.

  “Careful, Kelley,” Luc said. “You’ve been made.”

  Ethan crossed his arms, his expression unfathomable as he stared at the screen. “I suspect he wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for our benefit. And for theirs.”

  Balthasar moved two steps toward a woman, lifted her hand. Kelley adjusted her position so they were both in the frame.

  The woman was petite, with coal black hair prettily tied into a topknot and held in place with a black patent headband. Deep-set eyes were poised above a Cupid’s bow mouth, and she wore a short and stylish dress with flats. On her way back from a date, I guessed.

  “What’s your name, mon amie?”

  “Park,” she said with a smile.

  “Make a fist, Park,” he requested, and she did, eyes wide and bright with anticipation.

  As the growing crowd twittered like excited birds, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss there. “Perhaps,” Balthasar crooned, “Ethan Sullivan simply doesn’t want to share.” He turned the woman’s wrist so her fingers faced upward. “Open your hand,” he said to the woman.

  She did, and a small white bird, just like the first, flew from her hand and into the sky.

  The woman laughed, put a hand on her chest in nervous excitement as the crowd erupted with applause.

  “Thank you,” Balthasar said, and looked at the camera again. “Sharing is how we show love and respect.”

  I know he hadn’t meant me, not specifically, but the remembrance of his magic—as potent as it had been unwelcome—sent a cold trickle of unease down my spine. Ethan must have sensed my discomfort; he put a hand at my back, warm and gratifyingly possessive.

  “May I impose on you one more time?” Balthasar asked. His voice was sweet as honey, his gaze warm and inviting.

  Or maybe that was just his magic working overtime.

  The girl nodded, extended a hand when he offered, and stepped forward beside him.

  “We’ve never met before, yes?”

  She nodded. “We’ve never met.”

  “And yet here, beside this beautiful building”—he gestured toward the Wrigley Building behind him—“in this beautiful metropolis, it is impossible but to be moved.”

  “What’s he after?” Ethan murmured to himself, fingers rubbing his jaw as he watched.

  “It’s very beautiful,” Park agreed.

  Balthasar fanned and fisted the fingers of his right hand, then opened them to reveal a soft white flower in perfect blossom. The woman’s eyes grew wide.

  “For you,” he said, and she took it, inhaled deeply.

  Her gaze went slightly vacant, her lips parting in what looked like delicious agony. But I saw the truth in her eyes—the dilated pupils, the mask of arousal overlying fear, overlying lack of control.

  A shiver ran down my spine in earnest sympathy. She wasn’t pretending; she was glamoured.

  “Ethan,” I said, the word a bare whisper.

  He moved closer to the screen, eyes wide in horror as he watched the scene unfold in front of us. “He’s glamouring humans on Michigan Avenue.” I caught the shock of fear in his voice, that Balthasar had done the very thing Ethan had feared.

  “Right on the damn street,” Lindsey muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

  “Kelley,” Luc said. “Is he doing what we think he’s doing?”

  “Glamour,” she said. “I can feel it, but just the outer edge. It’s pretty concentrated on her at the moment.”

  Luc glanced at Ethan. “Sire?”

  Ethan didn’t hesitate. “He cannot manipulate humans on Michigan Avenue. It’s a violation against the humans, and they most certainly will crucify us for it. Send her in. Stop this.”

  Humans knew vampires existed, and over the course of the past year had learned about some of our strengths and weaknesses. But they weren’t, at least as far as we knew, fully aware of vampire glamour—and its ability to influence and seemingly control.

  “Roger that. Kelley, you are clear to intervene. Move forward and intercept. Get him off the damn street. Bribery, your own glamour if you have to. But no violence.”

  “Roger that,” Kelley said quietly. “Moving forward.”

  The camera moved closer to Balthasar, to the woman in his arms. She put a hand on his chest, and as the crowd guffawed with amusement—as if she were only acting her coquettish part—leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  Kelley pushed through to them, the camera jerking as she tried to muscle through a crowd unwilling to part for her. The humans were too absorbed in the show to turn away or lose their seats.

  Like prey scenting predator, Balthasar looked up and right into the camera, smiled broadly for all of us to see . . . and then pushed the hapless woman into Kelley’s arms.

  Kelley muttered a curse, grabbed the human, helped her to the ground, where the rest of the crowd surrounded them to offer aid.

  “Shit,” Luc said. “Kelley, get eyes on him! Get eyes on him!”

  Kelley moved fast, and the camera panned up again . . . but he was gone.

  “Move!” Luc barked out.

  Kelley did, rising and tunneling through the arms, legs, and torsos of the humans who’d surrounded her and the woman, forcing her way back to the stone railing that marked the drop to the Chicago River below.

  She looked down, left, right, scanned the stone dock where a water taxi sat empty, bobbing in dark water. There was no sign of Balthasar.

  Luc spat out a curse.

  “He can’t have just disappeared,” Ethan said, his voice low and dangerous.

  “No,” I said. “But he’s fast. So fast that being in his spell makes it seem as if everyone around you has slowed.”

  The vampires in the room looked at me curiously.

  “That’s what it felt like,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, “when he glamoured me. He is very, very powerful.”

  “He’ll show up again,” Ethan said ruefully, sounding suddenly tired. “He won’t be able to resist. Tonight, he showed us what he can do, what he will do, to disrupt this city unless and until we give him what he wants.”

  “He can’t get into the House,” Catcher said. “Not with the wards.”

  “No,” Ethan said. “But I suspect that won’t stop him trying. Either here, or in the street, or wherever else he believes he can extort action from us. He hasn’t made demands, not specifically, but he’ll do that soon enough.”

  He muttered a curse. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

  * * *

  After Luc turned off the screen and hurled his earpiece across the room in frustration, we reconvened in Ethan’s office.

  “Murder wouldn’t have eased your conscience,” I said quietly.

  “No. But it would have rid the world of one more sociopath. He will not stop until he has achieved his goal, whatever that may be. Adoration? Power? Almost certainly. Perhaps to destroy everything that has been built here. Perhaps to destroy me and mine.”

  “We won’t let him,” I said, sliding my hand into his, squeezing our joined fingers.

  He muttered something in Swedish. “What had I said about alcohol?”

  “That there wasn’t enough of it. But I bet some really old gasoline-style Scotch would take the edge off.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, then leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Perhaps.”

 
My phone rang, and I pulled it out, found Jonah’s number on the screen. I wasn’t any happier to talk to him now than I had been before. If he had things to tell me—or an apology to issue—he could send me a text. Since he didn’t, I put the phone away again.

  Ethan looked at Luc. “How will we get rid of him?”

  “Well, we haven’t exactly had much time to research.”

  “What about the timeline?” I asked Luc.

  “It’s moving, but slowly. The Librarian’s gotten some of the Memento Mori scans from London, and he’s working with Jeff on an algorithm to search them for mentions of Balthasar or the other vampires.”

  I needed to get Jeff a gift basket. Did giant white tigers like catnip?

  “What about the safe houses?” Ethan asked.

  “Safe houses are safe houses for a reason; they aren’t big on giving out information, especially now that we’ve given up our connection to the GP. But we’ve got a lead on the house in Aberdeen, and we’re circling back to that.”

  “And the condo owner?” Ethan asked.

  “I feel like I’m being interrogated,” Luc said, yanking dramatically at the collar of his shirt. “Fortunately, the condo, being in Chicago, was much easier to find. Smallish real estate management company. Legit, and they’ve got several condos across the Loop. Tend to rent them out to executive types.” He grinned at me. “I did check to see if it was one of your father’s. No hit there, unfortunately.”

  “A small miracle,” Ethan said.

  “The Librarian did look into disavowal,” Luc said, “at last, after a lecture about being overloaded. He said, ‘It depends.’”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to hear that, I’d have called the damn lawyers.”

  “Actually, I told him the same thing. But he wasn’t trying to sidestep—he had a good point. According to Canon, official disavowal takes place in front of a GP quorum.”

  “Ah,” Ethan said, understanding. “And there is no GP.”

  “There is not, since Nicole abolished it. Does the AAM count for those purposes? Probably. But who’s to say?”