Midnight Marked

  The other woman gestured toward the door. “You’ll find the silent auction over there, cocktails and light snacks on the terrace. You’re welcome to explore the park. The lights of Evening Island are on, and it’s a lovely night for a walk.”

  “That it is,” Ethan said with a smile, and handed me a pin as we walked inside. To the women and men who checked us out—or checked him out—he’d have looked cool and collected as he surveyed the room, evaluated his options. But I knew him better than most, and certainly well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the low-level buzz of irritated magic around him.

  “Do you see him?” he asked.

  “No.” But this vibe wasn’t right for Adrien Reed. The crowd here was mostly young couples with young money. Louboutin rather than Chanel. It was different flash for different generations, but flash all the same. Reed liked ostentatious wealth—his palatial house was as baroque as it got—all gilding and velvet and dark wood. But this wasn’t his particular brand of it.

  “I don’t think he’d be in here,” I said. “You’re sure he’s coming?”

  “I’m sure.”

  I wanted to hound him, to ask how my father had been sure, to get the details of the singular “phone call” he’d made. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

  “Champagne?” he asked as a waiter in black walked by with delicate flutes on a silver tray.

  “No. I’d rather have my wits.”

  “Fair point,” he said. “I think you’re right, and he’s not in here.”

  “I don’t suppose that means you’re ready to return to the House?” The question was rhetorical, I knew, but my tone was cutting.

  “No,” Ethan said, eyes flashing, a reminder that he hadn’t forgotten his mission.

  “Are you up for a walk?”

  I’d have preferred Pumas to the heels I was currently wearing for that particular activity, but I knew what I’d gotten into.

  “Why not?” I said, and we made our way through the crowd.

  • • •

  The Chicago Botanic Garden was actually composed of several themed gardens with weaving paths between. Evening Island was on the opposite side of the basin pond and was linked to other gardens by paths and bridges. We passed a rose garden and a small walled garden before reaching the meadow that surrounded the basin.

  The night was lovely and crisp, and there were plenty of people out for a stroll. It wasn’t often you could walk through the gardens after dark, which explained why so many people had donated a pretty penny for the opportunity. Unfortunately—or not—none of those people was Adrien Reed.

  The lights on Evening Island made a glow, reflecting lights like stars across the dark water that surrounded it. On a different kind of night, with a different kind of purpose, it would have been incredibly romantic. The kind of spot I could imagine Ethan proposing in. He’d want some kind of production, had already hinted that he’d given thought to the how and where, although it certainly wouldn’t be on the agenda tonight.

  We crossed a wooden bridge, passed beneath budding willow trees, and stepped onto the island’s footpath, took a moment to survey the humans who’d gathered there.

  The first face I recognized didn’t belong to Adrien Reed. It was even more familiar.

  My father stood at a crossroads where two paths met, chatting with two silver-haired gentlemen, all three of them in tuxedos that probably cost more than most Chicagoans made in a month. My father was gesturing to the building across the water, probably waxing poetic about architecture or development, two of his favorite subjects.

  He looked up, realized we’d arrived. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked toward us. The expressions of the men he left mixed curiosity and hostility.

  “Merit. Ethan.”

  “Have you seen him?” Ethan asked.

  “Not yet. Although I was assured he planned to attend.”

  “Did it occur to you that gathering information about him might put you in danger?” I asked. My tone was as sharp with my father as it had been with Ethan.

  “He’s dangerous whether I’m here or not,” my father said, straightening his jacket. “It’s better for me if I’m here, where I can at least keep an eye on him. And, frankly, it’s necessary.”

  “Because being on the outs with Adrien Reed could put you in a pinch,” Ethan guessed.

  “Financially and otherwise.” My father slipped his hands into his pockets. “Pinch or not, you have to be careful what you do here among these people. They are wealthy, and they are powerful.”

  “As he’s threatened Merit in my own home, I believe I’m entitled to a conversation.”

  My father’s brows lifted, his gaze shifting to me. “What kind of threat?”

  “A note promising victory at any cost,” Ethan said. “I don’t tell you that to alarm you, as Merit is safe in the House, but to make you aware. Reed continues to play a game, and he won’t stop until he believes he’s won. You heard about Caleb Franklin’s death?”

  That Ethan had to ask the question said he and my father weren’t working together that closely. That helped, at least a little.

  “The shifter who was murdered? The news said it was random violence.”

  “It wasn’t,” Ethan said. “We believe it’s related to magical symbols we found near where he was killed. And we have reason to believe Reed is involved.”

  “That’s the alchemy?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “Merit’s grandfather mentioned that.” My father looked out over the water, which rippled with the evening breeze, sending lights shimmering across its surface. “The more I think about Reed, the more I have trouble deciding whether he is guided by narcissism or insanity.”

  “The most successful evildoers are usually both,” I said.

  Another man rounded the corner, two short glasses in hand. It was my brother, Robert, who shared my mother’s blond hair and pale green eyes. I wasn’t close to my family, and my brother was no exception. I’d always felt like the odd one out, and certainly hadn’t changed when I became a vampire.

  Robert handed a glass to my father and took a sip of his own, which gave him a moment to look us over, pick his first volley.

  When he lowered his drink again, he settled on “What are you doing here?”

  “Good to see you, too, Robert.” I kept my expression bland. “We were invited, just like everyone else. You remember Ethan?” I gestured between them.

  Ethan offered a hand, and Robert shook it, but the act seemed distasteful. I was half surprised he didn’t wipe off his palm.

  Ethan looked nonplussed. But then again, Robert wasn’t the target of his ire.

  “This is an important night for Merit Properties, and an important event,” Robert said primly. He was being groomed to take over the family business. And while my father had undoubtedly helped us during our last go-round with Reed, it didn’t look as though his good faith would extend to Robert.

  “And our being here risks that how?” Ethan asked, giving Robert a cool stare that would have iced over another man. But Robert was a Merit; the stubbornness was genetic.

  “You tell me. Trouble seems to follow you everywhere you go.”

  “Ah, but we aren’t the trouble. Through hatred and fear, it finds us.” Ethan let his gaze slip away to the other faces around us.

  “Look,” Robert said. “Adrien Reed will be here, and I’ve been promised fifteen minutes to talk to him. He’s an integral part of our development plan in this fiscal year and next.”

  I glanced at my father, saw his expression tighten. And I’d bet good money he hadn’t told Robert the truth about Towerline, why he’d lost it to Reed.

  “Your business concerns are not mine,” Ethan said. “Your sister’s concerns are.”

  Robert looked at me. “What concerns?”

  “Reed isn
’t a fan of ours. He’s decided we’re his enemies, and he’s taken a particular interest in Merit.”

  Ethan was being circumspect—a wise course, given Robert’s apparent allegiances. Merit Properties was his lifeblood, his inheritance. I was the weird sister he suspected of inciting trouble and being overly dramatic.

  “Then maybe spend a little less time trying to get news coverage,” Robert muttered into his drink.

  “Would you like to say that again, and aloud?” Ethan’s eyes glittered. “Your convictions are wrong, but then I could at least say you had courage in them.”

  Robert rolled his eyes, but before he could open his mouth to spew more invective—or say something Ethan would definitely make him regret—my father put a hand on his elbow.

  “Why don’t we take a walk,” my father suggested, “before we all say something we might regret?”

  “Too late,” Ethan said, watching them walk away. “It appears your father may no longer be a complete asshole, but your brother’s keen on taking his place.”

  “High praise indeed.”

  “For a man who tried to sell his daughter to vampires, yes.”

  “We could leave,” I said. “We could leave right now.”

  Ethan turned to face me, his expression fierce. “You heard what he said, what he believed, what others believe. Your father once believed you’d done something wrong; your brother still believes it. Despite all evidence, he believes Reed couldn’t possibly be evil because he’s rich, because he’s powerful, because he has what others want. And that’s bullshit. Adrien Reed will not stop until he is stopped. We will do our part in that.”

  When I looked away, he tipped my chin back to meet his eyes. “I know our tactics are different. I can live with that, because it’s him. Because he will destroy this city if he can. And because it’s you, and I will be damned if he hurts you to get to me.”

  I found I couldn’t meet his eyes, and that made me unbearably sad.

  And the man who stood metaphorically between us emerged from the darkness, his wife at his side.

  “Well, well, well,” said Adrien Reed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND VAMPIRES

  Ethan turned his body to shield me as they stepped onto the path in front of us. I didn’t like it, but I knew this was a battle he needed to fight. A battle he believed he needed to fight for me.

  Reed looked coolly powerful in the dark tuxedo. His dark hair curled at the top of his collar, his goatee carrying more gray than his hair. He wore the same expression of arrogant conceit as he had in the Tribune photo.

  Beside him, Sorcha wore a long column dress in her preferred color of emerald green, her thick blond hair pulled up into a complicated braid that wound around her head. Around her neck was a gold necklace in the shape of a serpent, the triangular head resting in the deep V between her breasts.

  While Reed looked at us, Sorcha gazed at her phone, fingers tapping furiously. She looked up at the sound of Reed’s voice, and her eyes widened at the sight of us. But then the emotion was gone, replaced by bored indifference, her attention back on her phone.

  “Crashing a party isn’t your usual style, but it does show your lack of character.” Reed was playing his part, wearing the mask of cool and moneyed indifference. That mask was a lie; we’d seen the glimmer of excitement in his eyes at the possibility of murder, of destruction.

  Ethan’s smile was thin. “We were invited, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. If you’ll excuse us,” Reed said, and made to step around Ethan. But Ethan moved in front of him, blocking the path.

  “We’ll have words, Reed. Now or later, but we’ll have them.”

  “What could we possibly have to talk about, Mr. Sullivan?”

  “The threat you’ve made against Merit. The danger you pose to this city.”

  Reed’s eyes flashed with what looked like pleasure, but his voice stayed cool. “As usual, Ethan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I find most supernaturals tend toward hyperbole.”

  Ethan cocked his head. “Then how about the death of Caleb Franklin, the alchemy written near Wrigley Field?”

  “I have no idea who that is,” Reed said casually, lifting a champagne glass to his lips. That was perhaps the most infuriating thing about Adrien Reed. He bluffed as well as any vampire.

  “Ah,” Ethan said, nodding. “So you’ll play the mogul here, when surrounded by others who have money. Is that it? Afraid to let your true self show? Afraid they’ll see you for what you really are?”

  “And what, pray tell, is that?”

  “A thug.” Ethan dropped his gaze to Reed’s tuxedo. “A common thug at that, in a suit of medium quality. I’m surprised at you, Adrien—that your taste doesn’t run to something finer.”

  That arrow found its mark, slipping through Reed’s armor. The monster flashed across his gray eyes. “You forget yourself.”

  “I don’t, actually. I’ve remembered myself, and what my people stand for.”

  “Which is?”

  “Chicago, mostly. I’m sure you know we’ve discovered something of yours. A club in Hellriver. La Douleur, I believe it was called?”

  “I don’t know it.”

  Ethan frowned. “Curious. You don’t know Caleb Franklin, who was killed by one of your vampires. You don’t know about the alchemy near Wrigley, and you don’t know about a club run by one of your own people in a neighborhood where more of the same alchemy was located.”

  Ethan glanced at Sorcha. “For a man who professes to have his finger on the pulse of the city, your husband is surprisingly unaware of what his own people are doing.”

  She didn’t react. No flush, no huff of surprise, no curse. She just kept staring at her phone.

  While she seemed unaffected, Reed was annoyed, and angled his body in front of her. It also kept anyone else nearby from seeing his face.

  “I am aware of everything,” he said, that self-satisfied glint in his eyes. “From Robert Merit’s financial desires to the very unfortunate tension that’s developed between shifters and vampires.”

  “Tension you created.”

  “Actually, no. I didn’t kill Caleb Franklin, nor did I order him killed. And if, hypothetically, I had any familiarity with the other matters you’ve mentioned, what of it? You could never prove it.” Reed returned the condescending look Ethan had given him earlier. “They’d never believe you over me. I’m a pillar of Chicago. You are, quite literally, a parasite.”

  Reed shifted the momentum again. His anger now rising, Ethan’s magic filled the air, his glamour potent, and my body unfortunately primed for it. My eyes silvered and my fangs descended in reaction to the glamour he spilled around Reed.

  But it seemed to have no effect on Reed. “Glamour doesn’t affect me. Call it a side benefit of having . . . powerful . . . friends,” he said, then glanced at me. “Considering the look on your girlfriend’s face, seems like she could use a friend like that.”

  His tone was vulgar, obviously intended to incite Ethan, embarrass me. But I’d seen enough of Reed to be unsurprised. I glanced again at Sorcha, intrigued and baffled. If the comment bothered her, she didn’t show it. Then again, Reed was manipulative, controlling. Maybe she was under his thumb, too.

  Ethan dropped the glamour but bared his fangs. If he’d been wearing his katana, he’d probably have pulled that, too. “Stay away from her, and from the rest of my House.”

  But Reed was enjoying himself now. “Why should I? Your entire community is a mess, and that’s just one sliver of our city. Do you know how many murders occurred in this city last year?”

  “No, but I imagine you had a hand in most of them.”

  Reed shook his head. “Tsk-tsk, Ethan. I didn’t, of course. And the answer is, too many.
Chicago is, in your parlance, a disaster.”

  “And you’re going to save it?”

  “Not that it’s your concern, but let’s say I’m less troubled by the end result than the profitable middle. My job involves evaluating financial opportunity. Chicago has that in spades. Hypothetically speaking, a man with connections in both legitimate and illegitimate worlds would bring order and efficiency to a city that wastes time and resources on people who refuse to do their part.”

  My brain tripped back to Cyrius Lore and the conversation in his office, to the order he’d mentioned, Reed’s “plan.” Lore had believed Reed was a messiah. I wasn’t sure if that was spin by Reed or naïveté by Lore, but it was wrong either way.

  “So which is it?” Ethan asked. “Do you want the money or the power?”

  Reed clucked his tongue. “You know better, Ethan. Money and power are inseparable. Money begets power; power begets opportunity; and opportunity begets more money.”

  Reed should have that motto inscribed in his ouroboros, if it wasn’t already. Probably explained why he called his organization the Circle.

  “Power,” Reed said, “is the only game worth winning.”

  Ethan went rigid. “Chicago isn’t a prize for you to buy with dirty money.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Reed said. “This isn’t Gotham, and you aren’t some tragic superhero. This is the real world. People want money and power, so they respect money and power. I have both, so they respect me for it. And if you’re smart, you’ll heed it and walk away right now.” He slid his reptilian gaze to me. “Before anyone gets hurt.”

  Ethan’s magic flared again, this time with heat. “I’ve already told you once to stay away from her.”

  Ethan, he’s baiting you.

  Stay out of this. Even in my head, his voice was edgy, angry.

  I wanted to drag him back, to push Reed away. But that wouldn’t have helped anything. I wasn’t sure there was anything we could do right now that wouldn’t make things worse.