by Neill, Chloe
“I’m not surprised to learn your people were not involved,” Ronan said. “Are there any leads outside the community?”
“Those avenues are being explored,” Cash said, and I’d have called bullshit if the moment had been right.
“If you learn anything, I’d appreciate an update,” Ronan said. “In case they pose a threat to my people, as well.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll also admit to some . . . curiosity . . . about your guests.”
Ronan turned to me, evaluated. His eyes were intense, curious. Not unfriendly, but the inspection had the calculating edge I’d come to recognize in vampires, who often gauged the value of the fellow fanged by their political usefulness. I’d seen plenty of similar looks when I’d met single vampires curious about the only born vampire—and the prize I’d make.
“Elisa of Cadogan House,” Ronan said, taking a step closer.
“Elisa,” I corrected. “I’m not a member of Cadogan House.”
He lifted his brows. “I wasn’t aware, and assumed wrongly. I apologize.”
“No apologies necessary. I respect Cadogan House greatly. But I’m not a Novitiate.”
“I see,” he said, but puzzlement remained in his eyes. He looked at Connor. “The son of Gabriel Keene.”
“In the flesh,” Connor said stiffly and with more heat than I’d have expected. Surely he didn’t think of Ronan as a threat to the Pack. That wasn’t Connor’s style, and it wasn’t consistent with his usual swagger.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard much about your father, your Pack. Both are very well respected.”
“Appreciate it,” Connor said shortly.
“I hate to be rude,” Cash said, “and we appreciate your thoughts, but we’re in the middle of planning Loren’s memorial, and there’s work to be done yet.”
Ronan looked dismayed, put a hand over his chest, bowed slightly. “I apologize for the interruption. Perhaps I might have a word with Elisa while you continue your discussions?”
“Fine by me,” Cash said with a thin smile he directed at Connor. Another challenge, I thought, this time to test if Connor was brave enough to send me off with a vampire.
Connor looked at me, and while there was undeniably concern in his eyes, they held trust, at least for me. Because I didn’t think there were many others he trusted at the moment.
“Elisa is her own person,” he said, “and doesn’t need my permission.”
I caught snickers from more than a few shifters in the room who apparently thought the notion of my autonomy was hilarious. While I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to go with Ronan, I was certainly not going to hesitate in front of them. And since the night had barely begun and I was already sick to death of troglodytes, I decided something quite the opposite was in order.
I turned to Connor, let my eyes silver, and heard the gasp in the crowd. But his eyes, wide and wild, stayed on mine. I put one hand against his chest, the other into his hair, pulling him down to me. And I kissed him, let magic spill and rise around us.
It wasn’t politic of me. But it was very vampiric.
His lips curving against mine, Connor put a hand at the small of my back, pressed me forward, and kissed me without regret, without trepidation. He let the others feel the power of it, the strength of it.
By the time I pulled back, there were whistles in the crowd, and Connor’s eyes were glittering with desire and amusement. A pretty good combination of emotions, I figured.
“Be careful,” I said, then turned to Ronan, extended a hand toward the door.
There was a smile on his face before I turned away, walked through the gauntlet of shifters, and felt pretty good about my place in the world.
* * *
* * *
I walked through the lodge to the back patio, steam from the hot tub fogging the air with humidity and the scent of chlorine. I was half-surprised to find it worked, given the resort’s repair needs, but someone had apparently determined it was a priority. Maybe not so surprising, given we were in Minnesota, where heat was an important commodity.
“That was quite a show,” Ronan said when he met me on the porch. The other two vampires stayed near the doors, just in case.
“It felt necessary,” I said.
“The Pack—and the clan—is patriarchal in many respects. And that you are a vampire discomfits them.”
“So I’ve heard. I understand you’re local.”
“We have a small coven northeast of here. Unaffiliated, like you.”
“And you’re friendly with the clan.”
“Friendly enough,” he said, strolling to the hot tub and gazing into the water. “The clan generally keeps to itself, has the traditional distaste of vampires. We also keep to ourselves, although we are honest about who we are.”
It was hard to miss the subtle disapproval in his voice or to disagree with it. “You think they should tell the community they’re shifters?”
“I think they should have the benefit of making that decision for themselves,” he said. “But I also believe the costs of honesty are not what they were when Cash and the others were in their prime.”
“How many are in your coven?”
“There are twelve at present. Ten of us are employed by or with humans. I’m a physician. Attended Cambridge when Queen Victoria ruled much of the modern world. And learned most of what I know after that,” he added with a grin.
“That must have been fascinating.”
“It had its moments. Most of them immediately before and after the Ripper.”
“I bet.”
He looked me over, brow furrowed as if he was working through a puzzle. “And how was it to grow from child to adult as a vampire? That must have been fascinating.”
He seemed genuinely curious, probably at least in part because of his medical background, so I didn’t give a snippy response.
“It just was,” I said honestly. “Impossible to compare it to anyone else. I aged normally, stayed away from sunlight, ate plenty of chocolate chip cookies.”
His smile was broad. “I’m very glad to hear that. How long will you be in town?”
“To be determined,” I said.
Ronan nodded. “We would be happy to host you and Connor at our home while you’re in town. It would be . . . fascinating to learn more about Chicago’s vampires and shifters.”
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, but I appreciate the gesture.”
Connor came outside, joined us.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“We’re getting there. Details to work out, and we’re making our way through them.” He slid his gaze to Ronan. “Everything okay here?”
“Fine,” I said. “Ronan has invited us to the coven if we have time. I told him we’d see.”
Ronan smiled at him. “If there’s anything I can do to assist the clan or the investigation, I would be happy to offer my services.” But he kept his gaze on me, kept the words aimed at me.
“We’ve got it,” Connor said, the words short and clipped.
“Then I’ll leave you to it.” Ronan held out a hand to me, and we shook, magic tingling beneath my fingertips. Then he walked into the dark, the other vampires falling in line behind him.
I turned back to Connor, noticed the tightness around his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“Vampires,” he said, the word nearly a growl.
Since he seemed pretty displeased by the categorization, I pointed at myself again. “Vampire,” I reminded him.
This time, he actually did growl. “I don’t like being manipulated.”
“Manipulated? What did he do?”
“Glamour. You didn’t feel it?”
I looked to the spot where they’d disappeared into darkness. “I could feel his magic—but just of the
general vampire variety. He didn’t try to glamour me.”
“It felt like he was trying to keep us calm, relaxed.”
That was classic glamour, used once upon a time to keep humans eager for the bite of a hungry vampire.
I put my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. There was no need for him to use magic at all; he already knows the clan, and apparently has a decent enough relationship with them. I wonder if he was aware of it, or if it’s just habit.”
“Just habit,” Connor repeated, heat in his voice now, “to manipulate us?”
“Habit, and totally wrong.” Connor’s eyes had gone to ice. He drew a very hard line here, which I could appreciate. “He made a specific decision to use his magic on you now. And there’s no excuse for that.”
That I’d defended the Pack—against a vampire—seemed to loosen some of the tension from his shoulders.
“Vampires don’t get a free pass just because we share some biology,” I said. “Same for you and the Pack.”
“Same,” he agreed. “It’s a violation. He also noticed you.”
“Noticed me?”
“Seemed interested.”
I snorted. “If he was interested, it’s because I’m a vampire from Chicago. This close to the city, it would be weirder if he didn’t.” I looked at him, gave him a friendly elbow. “If I have to get jealous every time a shifter ‘notices’ you, I’d never have time to do anything else. You attract a lot of attention.”
“I guess that makes us a very interesting pair,” he said.
“I guess it does.” I gestured to the lodge. “How’s it really going in there?”
“Testily. It’s elders and a few others, and they’ve deigned to let me join them.”
“So thoughtful.”
Connor grunted. “It’s going to take a while to get through the rest of it—the clan has a very particular list of protocols, and every step has to be negotiated. I need to do that on my own. Can you entertain yourself for a few hours?”
“I can keep myself busy. I could start by talking to some of the shifters.”
“About?”
“About Paisley. She’s the best link we have to Loren’s death, so that seems like the logical place to begin.”
Connor frowned, crossed his arms. A lock of dark hair fell over his temple; he ignored it. “You think he was killed because of what happened to her.”
“I think it’s the best lead we’ve got.” I gestured to the lodge doors. “And Traeger is pretty pissed at him, pretty insistent he not get any posthumous honors. Maybe I’m wrong, but he seemed very capable of taking Loren out.”
“Yeah,” Connor said. “I had the same thought. You’ll be careful out there?”
“I will. And you be careful in there.” I looked back around the compound, the nearly identical cabins. “But first, can you point me in the direction of Paisley’s cabin?”
TWELVE
Paisley’s former home, a little larger than our cabin but with similar architecture, was on the opposite side of the resort, tucked into a sliver of coast between tree line and shoreline. The remains of logs smoldered in a firepit nearby, sending a ribbon of smoke into the air.
The blinds were drawn, but light shone through the slats, and I could hear the low thrum of bass from a screen. I knocked on the door, listened for footsteps, and, when I heard nothing, knocked again.
There was muttering before the door was yanked open. “Jesus, George, the music is turned down. Go to sleep and—”
The man who’d answered the door—a shifter about my height, with dark skin and short dark braids—looked at me, eyes widening.
“Oh, shit. You aren’t George.”
“Nope.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He leaned out of the doorway, looked left and right. “He’s got tinnitus or something. Complains about the music even when it’s not on.” He looked back at me. “Did you hear it?”
“Only a little when I got close.”
“That’s fine, then.” He paused, looked me over. “You’re the vampire. Ellen?”
“Elisa.”
“Right. I’m Dante Jones. You need something?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you about Paisley, if I could.”
Pain crossed his face, a clench in the eyes, in the muscle, that I’d have bet he felt as keenly in his heart.
“Connor has been asked to help find out what happened to Loren.” That was the truth, even if not all of it. “I understand Loren may have been the last person Paisley spoke with. And they’re both gone now. . . .”
I let the implication hang in the air, watched understanding dawn in Dante’s face.
“You’d better come in,” he said, and held open the door, looking around outside again before closing the door behind us.
The interior, like ours, hadn’t changed much since its resort days. The same knickknacks and decor, although there were a few more rugs here and there, framed photographs, colorful blankets that made the space feel less like a vacation cabin, more like a home.
The front rooms were roughly the same size as ours, but the hallway branched down to the left, led to a few different doors. The air was tinged with spices—cinnamon and cumin—and the citrusy tang of sour fruits. And once again, healthy magic. I still wasn’t entirely sure if the absence of broken magic meant anything—or what had caused it in the first place—but it felt important that I hadn’t found it yet in the resort.
“You can sit,” he said, and gestured to the couch. “You want anything to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
“I’m going to have a root beer. We have some Goose Island from Chicago.”
“Then I’ll change my answer,” I said with a smile. “I’d love one.”
He nodded, pulled two frosted bottles from the refrigerator, popped the tops, and walked them over.
“You live here alone?” I asked, sipping the drink, which was ice-cold and delicious.
“With my girlfriend,” he said. “She works overnights in Grand Bay. I work for the clan here at the resort. I’m an electrician.”
I smiled at him. “That’s handy, having a contractor in-house.”
“It does come in handy,” he said, and sipped his own drink. “She was my younger sister,” he added after a moment, gesturing to a photograph above the fireplace.
I rose and walked to it. Dante and Paisley stood in front of the lake, Paisley holding up an enormous fish. She had her brother’s coloring—dark brown skin and eyes—and nearly identical short braids. She smiled broadly, obviously proud of the catch, while her big brother looked on, hand on her shoulder.
“She liked to fish?” I asked, glancing back at Dante.
“I don’t know that she liked it. She was good at it.” He frowned. “Paisley had a way with pretty much everything. Had instincts, could learn quickly. I took that the first time she went out fishing with me. Probably five, six years ago. She nailed that big boy in fifteen minutes.” He shook his head in wonder, still smiling, but grief pulled at the corners of his eyes.
“I’m very sorry, Dante.”
He nodded, lips tight.
I straightened the picture, then walked back and sat down on the couch. “You know Loren was murdered, and it was . . . bad.”
He nodded. “I heard.”
“Do you know what she and Loren spoke about before she died?”
“I don’t. Loren was an elder. Paisley was young, but interested in clan politics, I guess you’d say. I don’t know if that’s what they were talking about, but it might have been.”
“I understand she was killed while walking near the old main road. Did she walk that way often?”
“Sure,” Dante said. “She was a runner. Was doing what she called her ‘long run’ that day.”
“She was training for a race?”
“Some kind of marathon,” he said. “Or 50K. Is that a thing?”
“It is. A long-distance race, then.”
“Yeah, I think that’s it. It was her long-run day, and she liked to run on the main road. Open, good visibility, good surface, but not much traffic. She was upset about something that day. I mentioned that to Cash, but there’s no evidence her death had anything to do with that.”
“And you don’t know what she was upset about?”
He shook his head.
“Would she have told Loren?”
Dante opened his mouth, closed it again. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He considered, nodded, seemed relieved by the possibility. “Yeah. Maybe that’s what they were talking about. She was going to him about some trouble. Something that concerned her.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at the floor. “Maybe something to do with the clan, with politics. She was interested in that kind of thing—how the clan was run.”
Or, I thought, she was talking to him about something he’d done that concerned her. Confronting him about that. But I didn’t need to mention that to him now.
“Was she seeing anyone?”
“Oh, sure. She was dating Traeger. One of the younger shifters. They’d been dating for about two or three months.”
It was the first time I’d heard them linked. Why had that taken so long? And given that Traeger didn’t seem to be one of Loren’s biggest fans, what did that mean?
“I miss her,” Dante said, and I looked up at him, recognized the fresh grief in his eyes. And felt bad that I’d stirred that up.
“She sounds like a wonderful person. And it sounds like you had a great relationship.”
“We did,” he said. “We did. I’m sorry she’s gone. I think the clan’s less because of it.”
* * *
* * *
I asked Dante for directions to Traeger’s cabin, then walked outside, breathed the fresh air, and tried to clear my mind.