Of Scions and Men

by Courtney Sloan

  “Thing is,” Norman continued, “took a while to find someone who’d been in the house. Most times, they flock to feed off the energy of a violent death, but not this time. I had to search out where’d they’d gone. We found them, though. Some had been inside the house, feeding off this girl’s study workings, but they high-tailed it before everything went down.”

  “Why?” Devon asked.

  “Because, no offense, they can’t stand to be around your kind.”

  Devon nodded, but Nadia spoke. “So I’ve been told. Our experts hypothesized we’re not a natural enough energy source.”

  “No, ma’am,” Norman sheepishly disagreed. “That’s not it. Your type’s energy, if you’ll pardon me, sends them into a spin they have trouble getting out of. Even those I spoke to tonight were not able to make much sense from it all.”

  “So, even though we weren’t able to get a clean bite sample from the body,” Lyle offered, “we can confirm vampires were in the room. Involved somehow.”

  “Ain’t any doubt on that part. Two vampires, both with foreign accents the spirits couldn’t recognize. Nothing from ‘round these parts.” Norman ate more stew while we thought that over.

  “Unusual accents aren’t that helpful,” Carson offered. “Still leaves a world of options out there.”

  “But it does tell us more,” I disagreed. “With the travel restrictions in place for almost fifty years, most people around here don’t have accents.”

  “You have an accent,” Carson countered.

  “No, I don’t. Anyway, they said accents not from around here–you know, like yours,” I modified. “That’s more description than we’ve gotten from anything else.”

  Devon and I exchanged looks. Those obscure facts told us more than our visitors from the north realized. I had some ideas of what my next move would need to be, and neither of us was happy about it.

  “The spirits skid out of there pretty quick once the strangers arrived and the ley went all wonky,” Norman said. “What I could reckon from the ghosts’ nonsense is: the girl didn’t know the guys when she opened the door. I don’t rightly understand this, but they had shirts that matched her bag. Whatever that means. That’s what they could tell me.”

  Shirts that matched her bag? It had to mean something if it made her open the door for strange vampires in the night. Perhaps they wore Northwestern University shirts or something else school related to make her drop her guard.

  Norman continued, “She let them in. They created some weird ley energy. She followed them around, but them spirits high-tailed it out.”

  “An aura of compliance?” I asked.

  “Probably. And that girl’s spirit didn’t stick around after.”

  Lyle put a hand on Norman’s shoulder. “Ro, he asked other spirits outside who could make more sense. The vamps’ car arrived about an hour after sunset. Forensics put her death at nearly four in the morning.”

  They’d had her all night. I remembered the contusions on the second girl, Linda–they’d had her a while, too. What were they doing? Why was it taking so long?

  I raced to the first crime report and read the notes. “The first victim, Elisa, was last seen on her corner by, um… friends. At just before ten the night she died. Her body was discovered two hours later, already dead.”

  “So, not that long,” Carson noted, following my line of thought.

  I paced to the sidebar and read the report. “The second, Linda, finished her shift at midnight, though her car never left, and her body was discovered at almost five am.” I locked eyes with Devon. “She was also covered with pre-mortem contusions.”

  His hands clenched then released, but his face remained calm.

  Devon stepped to his own desk and scrutinized the material there. “They are taking more and more time with each victim. Why? Normally killers get better, faster with each crime, not slower.”

  No one had an answer.

  yle went to get fresh bowls of stew for Norman and himself. I decided to use the time and took the wingback chair opposite Norman, crossing one leg over the other.

  “Thanks for the help in this,” I said.

  He nodded at me then sat back. “Do you know what you’re getting into, girl?”

  Anyone else, and I would have bristled at the “girl” moniker, but it just kind of fit on Norman’s good ol’ boy, trucker vibe. His serious expression drove away my smile.

  “Yeah, Norman, I do. Not much I can do about it.”

  He leaned in. “The spirits mentioned something about a white dress. Said the guys carried it in. It wasn’t hers. Lyle, though, he put to me not to say anything about the dress in front of the cops. What’s that all about?”

  I stared at the headrest behind him, then gazed back at him without answering. “Tell me: is there a way to keep spirits from spying on you or messing with you?”

  He hesitated then jerked his head toward Devon. “Keep him close. They won’t be going near his type if they can help it.”

  “But they can if they’re forced, right?”

  “Yes, but it takes a powerful and corrupt medium to–” He stopped. “Rowan, you planning on going to see him, sweetheart?” He reached out and gripped my shoe. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

  I bit my lip. Masterson was a gangster who could make Chicago’s history proud, but he was also a medium. Mediums were usually altruistic folks out to help the spirits trapped after death; he was vicious and didn’t want his ghosts to leave at all. He used his spooks to dig dirt on everyone, and then blackmailed them to hell and gone. Could I manipulate the master manipulator?

  “Just help me,” I said. “Is there a way to keep his attack spirits off me long enough to take the wind out of his sails and get what I need?”

  Norman sat back, staring hard at me. He tapped his leg, shaking his foot up and down. I grinned at his display. I needed to play poker with him someday. His poker face was shit.

  “Norman,” I continued, “I’ve dealt with Masterson before. Right now, he’s the quickest route to information on any out-of-town visitors. I need to take away any chance of his incorporeal friends stalking me. So, other than bringing Devon, cause that’s never going to work, what else you got?”

  He clasped and unclasped his hands repeatedly as he shifted back and forth. Crossing his arms, he stared at me, but held his tongue.

  “I’m going either way. Just figured I could get a leg up with your help. No big.” I stood up and stretched, acting like I was going to head out.

  He exploded forward with an exasperated sigh. “I can give you a gris bag that will help. It’ll blur you from their vision. They’ll have trouble tracking you. But that’s only for his lower level spirits. If you stir him up–”

  A bowl lowered in front of him, at the end of Lyle’s arm.

  “What have you done to him, Ro? He looks like he ate some of your cooking,” Lyle said.

  “Hey,” I complained, “it’s not that bad.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, darlin’.”

  “She’s asking for help against Masterson.”

  “Norman!” I stared open-mouthed at his betrayal.

  “What?” Lyle squeaked. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Who’s Masterson?” asked Nadia, who’d wandered over at the shouting, Carson in tow.

  “Julius Masterson,” Devon answered from across the room. “If there is someone in town who gives Romaric a run for his money in power and, well, money, it’s Masterson. He runs the Chicago underground, though his reach is far greater than this one city.”

  “He’s a medium of phenomenal strength who’s lassoed an army of spirits to do his work. And he controls them all with an iron leash,” Norman provided.

  “Would he cause the kind of damage we’ve seen?” Carson asked.

  “No,” I answered. “He has shifter and spirit bodyguards, but he doesn’t work in direct damage. He works in information.”

  “What better spy than the one no one else can see?”
Devon stood next to my chair.

  “He has rooms of cabinets full of files on everyone. I mean everyone. I went to lean on him in an official capacity two years ago.” I shivered as I recalled the incident. “He brought me to one of these rooms, pulled out my file from one of the hundreds of drawers in the room, and started discussing key points of my personal life to ‘clarify’ his findings. All the time with a kind smile on his face.”

  It had been one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and he’d only gone over things in my teenage years. He’d flipped through a huge section of notes. A small part of me wanted to know what else was in there, but that would have cost me more than I could afford. That’s how he worked. Gave you just an inch and hanged you with the rest.

  Devon patted my shoulder, sure of what I was thinking. “He’s blackmailing most of North America with those files.”

  “You mean ‘the States?’ Why do Americans still insist on claiming all of North America?” Nadia admonished.

  Devon shook his head sadly. “Remember, dear, I’m not originally American. I meant all of North America. That includes many in your Great White North.”

  Nadia grew even paler, if that was possible, and eased herself down. Her movements took on a languid flow. The stress was getting to her. “With no travel, how can he accomplish this?”

  “His agents don’t require any visas. Then again, I’m not sure he cares about the regulations either,” I muttered into my hands. I tried to rub away the strain in my forehead.

  “And you want to involve this man why?” Nadia asked.

  Lyle sat on the edge of the wingback with me. He put a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezed, but answered Nadia. “He considers Chicago his town as much as the capital. And he demands grift for protection from outsiders. He’s a classic that way. Well, that and his tailor-made suits.”

  “Protection from whom?” Carson asked.

  “Him.” I still spoke through my hands. I peered up at him. “This is true, old school, gangster-style protection schemes. He expects tribute, or while you’re here, he’ll play ‘This is Your Life’ for the cops or whoever can make your work the most difficult.”

  “He’s actually helped us catch several European cartels trying to ship people out when they ignored his invitation,” Lyle added. “He’s a prince among scum, when he wants to be.”

  “So, he’s on the side of angels?” Carson questioned.

  “Only until the money runs out,” I replied. “Then you just hope you’re not important enough for him to care about.”

  “Rowan, I still don’t understand. Why on Earth would you want to involve this man?” Nadia put her hand on Carson’s wrist. The intimate gesture did not mesh with the hardness in her eyes. She was a master of being two things at once.

  I gathered up pictures from the different tables as well as our applicant list. “Because Norman’s contacts say we’re dealing with foreigners. I want to know if anyone’s come to Chicago we should be focusing on.”

  Devon stood and picked up a few other bits from the files. “And you will have all the backup you need. The DEC can’t be brought into this any further, by the president’s orders, until we have control of the situation or admit defeat. We’ll spend the time searching for other bits of inspiration.” Handing me the pages, he grazed my hand with his. It is a good idea.

  I took the pages and slipped them into the folder in my bag. I hitched the bag on my shoulder and exited the room as the others circled the wagons to scour over the remaining notes. As I exited the study, I caught sight of John curled up on his side, dreaming on Devon’s three-thousand-dollar couch. I’d forgotten about him.

  I stuck my head back into the study. “Lyle, walk me out.”

  Freezing mid-overly-done-gesture, he squinted and angled his head at me. With a quick reassuring motion from me, Lyle recovered and smiled his best fake smile at me, showing almost as much gum and he did teeth.

  “Already scared of the dark, Ro? Sure, I’ll hold your hand on the way out.” His words were right, but his eyes were tight and his jaw stiff as he glided to me.

  With the barest of taps, I hip checked him as he passed me. “Careful, or I’ll tell Selma it’s birdy boy season.”

  “I’d like to see her try to catch this. Better cats than her have tried.”

  As we passed him, I gave Johnny Wolf a long look, then glanced up at Lyle with a raised eyebrow. He stared straight ahead and opened the door for me.

  The evening was growing heavy with the cool moisture off the lake. Goosebumps broke out up and down my arms. Fall was coming fast. My car unlocked, beeping as I approached. I threw my bag to the passenger side then sat and eyed his model chic, thin form with a smirk.

  “So what’s the word on Johnny-boy there? How long will he be playing slumber party?” I asked.

  “He should be here only a couple of days. I just have to check on a few things. I really appreciate this, Rowan. I think I’ll send Devon a fruit basket.” He smiled mischievously.

  “Just make sure to include some blood oranges in it. You know how swift he is at getting jokes.” I paused and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t fill in the blanks voluntarily, I prompted him more directly. “So, are you going wolf? How does that work?”

  “Hey, my mother was a fox, and my dad was a coyote, and you see how their pride and joy turned out.” He gestured to himself with a flair of his wrist. “Shifters don’t care what another shifter’s form is. It’s the representation of their personality.”

  “But the wolf packs often have families?”

  “Ah, that’s nurture, not nature, dear. Now, get your head in the game. Get what you can from Masterson, but don’t push too hard. Not worth your life.” With a gentle kiss on the cheek, he closed my door and stalked back up to the door.

  Pulling out of the drive and on to the street, I couldn’t get my mind off Lyle. He was being overly dramatic which meant he was hiding something behind his queening, and he wasn’t answering half of my questions. What had he gotten into?

  parked right on South Wacker, flashing the street security guard a smile and my handy-dandy DEC parking pass, then gave my SUV a last look before heading up the stairs to the glass doors of Masterson Towers. The official entrance to the Skybox Restaurant was around the corner on Jackson, but I didn’t want to give the wrong impression that I was slipping in with the crowd. I wanted Masterson to see the respect I was giving him; his people knew where I was at every step. So, I was coming in, bold-as-brass, through the office entrance.

  The wind off the lake whipped my hair around my face as I squinted up, craning my neck at the ungodly high glass building. This thing outdated the Reclamation by something like forty years. I wasn’t sure when Masterson had gotten his hands on it, but the name change had become official just over two years ago.

  Three large men in suits paraded up to me as I approached the doors. I fingered the silver urn pendant on my breast from Norman. What was inside it smelled god awful, but I hoped it was keeping any invisible eyes off me.

  “Can I help you?” the goon in the middle asked. He was nearly as broad as he was tall.

  Sidestepping, I moved downwind and caught their mixed scents. At least one of them was a shifter, and, from the looks of it, my money was on Short ‘N Stout. The other two were probably lower-level mediums with spirits under their control. That or just run-of-the-mill, human thugs.

  Pushing my hair aside, I made sure he could see my DEC choker. After a quick flick of his eyes over me, he didn’t seem impressed. Noise from the Metropolitan Club forced me to speak up and get closer to him than I liked.

  I squared my shoulders. “I need to see Mr. Masterson, tonight if possible.” Sometimes if you believed you had every right to be there, they did too.

  “Do you have an appointment?” And sometimes not.

  Did I have an appointment? What the hell? You now had to have official appointments to see a gangster?

  “No,” I said with a cock of my hip.
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  He pulled out a flip phone. “What is your name, and what is this in reference to?”

  “Officer Rowan Brady, and this is in reference to official Department of Energy Conservation matters.”

  He continued to stare at me with bored eyes, the phone still idle in his hand. “About?”

  “About matters higher than the street level pay grade.”

  The two beside him took a step forward, but I held my ground, as did he. My view of the glass panes behind the goon on the right wavered. I guessed a ghost was there. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  My skin broke out in goose bumps, but I stood firm. “You need to let me see him, now.”

  “Do you have a warrant, Officer Brady?”

  Crap.

  “No.” I wilted a bit. “Please ask him. It is important. Life and death, and not mine, if that makes a difference.”

  Short ‘N Stout weighed me in his gaze then turned and marched behind the other two, flipping the phone over as he moved.

  I waited in uncomfortable silence with my guardians, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Ghost. After a few moments, the shifter returned.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  ‘Cause I had so many other places to go.

  For ten minutes, I waited beneath the tower of windows, bouncing on the balls of my feet and trying not to scratch my shoulder blades. A tall, elderly man strode out of the building, a silver ear piece protruding from his right ear. He had a strong build of muscles, especially for someone his age. He wore his custom suit in a style more like a martial artist’s gi than HSM formal wear. He seemed vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place him.

  “Officer Brady?” He smiled as he approached me, causing a white scar down his right cheek to stand out against his tanned skin. His grin never reached his eyes; he searched in all directions around us. This guy was on alert, but from his relaxed posture, he knew what he was doing.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “I’m Silas Marx, Mr. Masterson’s head of security. I’m sorry for your wait. Mr. Masterson has extended an offer for you to join him for dinner.” His eyes took in my day old, casual clothing. He sneered, but changed into a professional smile so quickly, I questioned whether I’d really seen it. “If you would follow me.”