Rodriguez shrugged. “Maybe your little bullshit new sheriff-in-town stunts out here aren’t really all that important, buddy.” He smiled, showing his teeth. Any attempts at solidarity over the uniform were fading.
Edon bristled. “Ah. Okay. I’ll remember that next time a Neph attacks you on my watch. He’s not all that important. You got it.”
Politics. Bullshit. The usual.
New York meant the old-school Blue Bloods. The fancy-pants group who looked down on the wolves, no matter that they couldn’t have won the War without them. Old prejudices still held, and a wolf who chose to work with vampires didn’t exactly inspire trust, not in anyone he worked for or worked against.
So why did he do it?
Edon only wished he knew.
He lay in bed the rest of that night wondering the same thing, and by the time he found his shitty middle seat on his shitty three-way connecting flight, he still had no clue.
New York. Oh, well. At the very least, it wouldn’t be covered in brown dust. He was starting to hate the taste of grit in his teeth. Yeah, he could work it. Go see the old sights. Reacquaint. He hadn’t been there since during the War. Maybe catch up with Deming or something. Who was this Venator he was supposed to babysit anyway? Why’d she need a hound to hold her leash?
Dark Night
THE PRESENT
FRIDAY TO SUNDAY
O guiding dark of night!
O dark of night more darling than the dawn!
—SAINT JOHN OF THE CROSS
26 LOYALTIES
CHIEF HADN’T BEEN at his desk the night before, and so Ara got to work early Friday morning, for once, and was waiting in his office when he arrived.
“Did you know?” she demanded, holding the two photographs up together, not even giving him a chance to take off his coat. “Did you know Kingsley was back in town?”
“Sit down,” Sam growled. He motioned for Edon, who arrived after hearing the commotion from down the hall, to take a seat as well. “Calm down, Ara.”
He shut the door and glared at his Venators. “Now what the fuck is this about? What did you find?”
She showed him the two photographs. The one of Kingsley Martin during his time as Venator chief, with his old crew, along with Sam and Ted Lennox and Mimi Force, taken in the city of Rio, the Jesus statue in the background. The next one was a screenshot from one of Darcy McGinty’s parties that had been posted online. The grin was identical, the hair a bit shaggier in the older photo, slicked back in the new, but it was unmistakably the same person.
Sam squinted at the two pictures. He looked up at them and drew a heavy sigh. “No,” he said, massaging his temples. “I didn’t know he was here.”
“Bullshit,” she spat. “He’s your former commander. Your best friend. You’re telling me Kingsley Martin came back from the underworld, and you didn’t know a thing?”
“I swear, Ara, I didn’t know he was back in town. I didn’t.”
Edon kept silent, looking from one to the other. “To be honest, Scott, I fought with Kingsley during the War and I didn’t make the connection. It’s been ten years, you know.”
“What’s ten years to an immortal? It’s like you saw him yesterday,” she said, her voice filled with accusation.
“Well, I didn’t recognize him,” Edon muttered.
“Wolves,” she said under her breath.
“I heard that,” Edon said.
She turned her attention back to Sam. “The security breaches at headquarters, the missing time stamps—yeah, don’t look so surprised; I read the reports, too; they’re available to the whole team—it has to be him. He’s the only one who knows enough about our system to be able to break into this place. He was here, Sam. Kingsley Martin was here.”
Sam shook his head. “You don’t know that for sure. You’re just guessing.”
“And you’re defending a friend,” she accused. “I pulled his file. He’s an unregistered vampire with a list of priors as long as my arm and a liking for young girls. He met his wife, Mimi Force, when she was in high school. And by the way? Georgina Curry looks exactly like Mimi did at the same age.” Ara placed two more photographs on the table. One of Mimi Force from the Duchesne School yearbook and one of Georgina from Holy Heart.
“Look, he didn’t kill her,” Sam said. “How many times do I have to tell you? Kingsley Martin did not kill Georgina Curry.”
“No? How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know Kingsley. He’s an honorable man, a good man.”
“You haven’t seen him in ten years. He’s lived in the underworld. People change. And maybe, being down there… maybe he went back to his original nature.”
“What are you getting at?” Edon asked, while Sam looked horrified.
“I’ll say it. Kingsley Martin is a demon. He’s not a Nephilim, and he’s not one of us, either. He’s a Silver Blood. Lucifer’s own. Araquiel, Duke of Hell.”
“Kingsley has proven himself many times over to be faithful to our cause,” Sam said sternly. “You can’t keep throwing his past against him. He was the Venator chief before me, for God’s sake, and he proved he was doing the Coven’s work all along as a double agent for the Regis during the War. He’s a hero.”
“He knew Georgina. He was with her on Saturday night when she disappeared. He’s a demon, he’s out of Hell, and he’s out for blood. You need to put out a VPB.” A Venator Point Bulletin would go out to the entire squad. She could see she wasn’t convincing him, and she did something she didn’t have the nerve to do before. She read his mind; she broke down through his defenses and caught a glimpse of his subconscious. In and out without the chief even noticing. She was a Death Walker. She was good at this.
“Why are you protecting him?” she asked. “What’s he got on you?” She glared at the chief. “He’s got a cloak on him—otherwise he would have shown up in our radar. A good one, too, good enough to keep us from knowing he was here all along. Get me the warrant so I can arrest him. Come on, Sam. Please, you have to trust me. I deserve that.”
Edon shot Ara a curious look and raised his eyebrows.
Sam sighed. “I do trust you.”
They stared at each other until Sam looked away. “Fine. I’ll get your warrant. My gut tells me he’ll show up at the ball tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I know Kingsley. And if he’s here, he won’t keep away from the Four Hundred Ball. God knows Kingsley loves a party.”
“Fine.”
Sam’s face sagged. “I can’t believe it. But maybe you’re right. He’s been in the underworld for a long time, and I’ve seen him give into temptation way too many times to count. All right. Bring him in. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
“So you and the chief, huh?” Edon asked, elbowing her as they made their way back to their desks and trying to make light of the situation after the chief’s blistering lecture. “I should have known.”
“Was it that obvious?” Ara snorted.
“Not really. I’ve got a good nose for these sorts of things.” He shrugged. “So what happened, Chief dump you?”
She swirled toward him. “Why would you say that?” she snarled in the middle of the hallway, causing a few Venators in the area to cast disapproving glances their way.
“I dunno. Because you’re off your chain right now? Calm down, will you?” Edon said, putting two hands on her shoulders, which she shook off. He opened the door to their office, let her in, and closed it behind her.
Ara sighed. “No. I broke it off,” she said, falling onto her chair and kicking at her desk.
“Ouch,” he said, taking the seat opposite her, where Rowena used to sit.
“It’s why Deming hates me,” she said. “You asked what she had against me—that’s it. Sam. She’s mad at me because I hooked up with Sam and told him we had to stop.”
“Why would she care—Oh, right—because he’s practically her brother.” Edon nodded his head sagely and put his feet on his desk.
“Why didn’t they just date each other, do you think? I mean, you know… they’re exactly alike. I mean, how hard would it be to make the switch with twins?”
“You’re awful,” she said, making a face.
Ara seethed, but held in her temper. “Well, what do you think? Do you think the chief is right? That Kingsley’s innocent?”
“I don’t know. But what I do know is that lots of people said terrible things about the wolves forever, called us Hellhounds, all sorts of trash. And we’re not all bad.” He grinned. “And anyway, what I heard, Mimi Force turned him into a one-woman man.” He made a whipping sound and gesture.
“It’s been ten years. Once a ladies’ man, always a ladies’ man,” she said bitterly.
“Yikes, remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“Who says you’re on my good side?” she said. “A wise man once said, ‘Show me a beautiful woman and I’ll show you a guy who’s tired of boning her.’ What if he was here for variety—and Georgina looks a lot like Mimi, you have to admit, just younger,” she said.
There was a rap on the door. Ben Denham stood there with a new file.
“What’s up, noov?” Edon drawled.
“That other body—the one we found in Fort Greene?” he asked.
“Yeah, what about it?” Ara asked.
“The ID just came back. It was that artist who’s part of the exhibit. Ivy Druiz.”
“No shit,” Ara said.
“Yeah, Chief wants you guys to start knocking on doors. Trace her steps. You know the deal.”
“I thought Chen and Acker were leads on this case,” Ara said.
“Not anymore.”
Ara stood up, grabbing her gun and her blades, looking as if she were armoring up for battle. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Right this second?” Edon asked, twirling in his chair. “Can you let me read the docs first? Where are we going?”
She consulted the file. “We’ve got a bunch of people here we need to talk to, and when we’re done, we’re getting you a tux,” she said. “God knows you can’t go to the ball looking like that.”
27 DIVINE DETAILS
AT LONG LAST, her vision for the Four Hundred Ball was almost complete. On Friday morning Finn was at the museum bright and early, taking care of a hundred little details, from picking out the silverware they would use to making sure the stage was set where the investiture would take place to what time to have the orchestra stop playing music so that the DJ could take over for the after-party. It was going to be perfect, and it was all because of her.
She felt a heady rush of excitement and dread as she saw the palm trees being planted in the courtyard. It was yet another expense, but she knew it was just the perfect thing that the party needed. Her assistants, the museum staff, and event staff were buzzing with a million questions about the timing, seating, and setup.
Finn walked around the courtyard watching as they set up the billowing white tents for the party. There was so much activity all around that she hardly paid attention to the two Venators making their way toward her.
“Yes?” she asked, when the museum assistant whispered in her ear that they wanted to talk to her. “Can I help you?” She recognized one of them as the angry girl with the short hair—her name was Ara something—and the other had to be the wolf that had joined the force, the one who had been called in from Morocco. He looked like he crawled in from the desert all right.
“Miss Chase, I’m Venator Scott and this is Venator Marrok,” the girl said, motioning to her partner.
“I know who you are,” she said coldly. “What is this about? Does Oliver know you’re here?”
“We haven’t spoken to the Regent, but we’re here on orders from the chief.”
“Sam? He sent you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Let’s talk in the office,” she said, feeling a bit nervous that two of the Coven’s hard-boiled Venators had been sent to see her. She took them inside the museum and asked the curator if she could borrow his room for a while.
She bade them have a seat.
The wolf never said a word, just looked at her with those topaz-colored eyes of his. Finn tried not to shiver. “Now what is this about?” she asked.
“Can we ask you a few questions about Ivy Druiz?”
“Ivy? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked.
“She’s an artist with this exhibit?” Ara asked, consulting her notes.
“Yes,” Finn said. “I chose her especially for this exhibition.”
“And was she… how would you say she felt about being part of it?”
“Oh, she loved it. She was so excited.”
“And yet she failed to attend an important dinner last night, and she has not returned the museum’s calls about her work?” Ara asked.
“Yes, she has been hard to get ahold of. Is there something wrong? Why are you asking me these questions?”
Ara decided it was time to tell her the truth. “The body they found last night. The ID finally came in. It’s Ivy. She was bled to death, and her hand hacked off. A pentagram was painted over the body.”
“Oh my God. That’s terrible,” she said, turning pale. “Poor Ivy. What happened? Who did this to her?”
The wolf looked at her sternly. “We’ve been talking to a lot of people, and the thing is, Miss Chase, you were the last person to see her alive.”
“Her blood isn’t on file with the records. She wasn’t registered as a human familiar,” Ara said somewhat apologetically. “It looks like we’re dealing with the same renegade. Did she say anything to you? Did she mention anyone in the Coven?”
Finn thought about those two bites on Ivy’s neck and how happy Ivy had been the day they had confided their secrets to each other. She glared at the Venators, as she could feel them tentatively reaching through toward her subconscious. But Oliver had taught her how to keep her mind protected from outsiders. “No, she didn’t,” she said, the lie falling smoothly from her lips.
“Do you remember anything? Anything at all that can help us? Her body was found not far from the Nephilim hive we torched the other week. We think her death might be related. Have you ever seen one of these?” asked Ara, pushing over a dime bag with the five triangles on it.
Finn stared at it. The bags that contained Vitamin P. “No,” she said. “I’ve never seen that before.” She hoped they didn’t notice the beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead.
“No?” Ara asked. “Take a close look at it. The corner not far from her studio was a big drug freeway. Was she addicted to anything?”
Finn shook her head. “I’m so sorry. But we didn’t know each other very well. We only ever talked about her art. If you knew Ivy, you’d know she didn’t find many other topics very interesting.”
The Venators got up to leave.
“Looks like it’s going to be a great party,” Ara said as they left the museum.
“I hope so.” Finn smiled. “We’ll see you both tomorrow night?”
“Count on it.” The wolf nodded with his deadpan stare.
When they left, Finn went to the bathroom and tossed the last of the drugs she had in the toilet and flushed them down. She shivered, feeling cold all of a sudden, as if the hand of the dead reached out and touched her for a moment. There was no way she could tell them what she knew without implicating herself, and she couldn’t let anything spoil Oliver’s big night.
Their night.
28 THE DEVIL YOU KNOW
IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT. Kingsley had been gone for two days, and Mimi was starting to get really irritated that she had just let him walk out of her life without even asking him when he planned to come back. If he was in terrible danger, she could never live with herself. Donovan invited her out that evening, saying he was tired of seeing her pout around the office. “Get that scowl off your face, we’re going to have some fun!” he said. “There’s a new club I’ve been meaning to check out, let’s go. What are you doing except waiting
for your husband to call? Let him worry about where you are!”
“Okay, fine,” she said, making to grab her coat.
“Not now!” He laughed. “It doesn’t get hot until after midnight. Maybe two in the morning.”
“Two in the morning? But we have to be at work at the gallery at nine!” Saturday was their big day, as they had all the weekend shoppers.
“Exactly.” Donovan smiled wickedly, and Mimi suddenly understood why Donovan couldn’t as much as staple an invoice and why he made mistakes like rolling art into FedEx tubes. The poor boy wasn’t stupid; he was sleep deprived.
Fine. She would go out after midnight. She would see what the young people were up to. Donovan insisted they meet there, so at the appointed hour Mimi got out of a taxi and walked to a rather nondescript-looking warehouse building where clumps of people were standing on the sidewalk, smoking. She walked up to the entrance, fully expecting to face the door patrol and the velvet rope, but to her surprise, there was only a sleepy bouncer and no face control.
What happened to the desperate crowds dying to get inside an exclusive nightclub? What happened to being picked? Being special?
She asked Donovan as much when she saw him. Unlike his usual gallery attire of white shirt and black pants, he was wearing a fishnet shirt, heavy eye makeup, and what looked like a tartan kilt.
“Velvet ropes and champagne tables are so nineties,” he explained when she asked about the lax door policy. “We don’t need someone to tell us we’re cool—we know we’re cool.”
Mimi nodded. At least one thing remained the same: the cocktails were still as watered-down as ever. She took a look around the large dark room, where groups of people danced together or were sprawled on each other on the couches. She had been expecting something extraordinary but the music was the same techno she had danced to when she was a teenager.
Donovan didn’t seem to need to dance or drink too much; he just sort of stood there with a zoned-out smile. “Cool, huh?” he asked.
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