by Sarah Zettel
“Love you too!” came back the city echo. “Now shut the hell up!”
I found myself genuinely and honestly not knowing what to think.
“Considering a serving of humble pie, elder sister?” inquired Anatole, stepping up beside me.
“Crow,” I said. “Maybe pan-seared, with a red wine reduction.”
He smiled, mischief and humor sparking in his green and gold eyes. It felt comfortable standing beside him for that moment—way more comfortable than it should have. Worse, in the middle of talk of murder and blackmail and Maddoxes behaving badly, it felt safe. And I was looking in his eyes and seeing the secrets waiting there again, the secrets he would share if I moved a little closer.
My phone buzzed against my hip and I swore, but I wasn’t sure whether I was annoyed or relieved. I yanked it out and hit the button. It was a text message, and it was from Brendan.
home now news call l8tr
Yeah, right. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and faced Anatole. He had stepped away and folded his hands behind his back. The warmth around him was gone, replaced by a heavy, autumnal chill.
“Once again, I see I am too slow. Go to your Brendan, Charlotte. We will talk later.”
I laid a hand on his arm and then charged toward Sixth. “Taxi!”
27
I worked the old Jedi mind trick of promising a substantial cash tip to the cab driver. This got me to Brendan’s place in fifteen minutes. The elevator felt slower than Midtown traffic, and I was banging on the door and having a hard time breathing by the time Brendan opened it.
“Charlotte?” He peered sleepily at me and shoved his bangs back from his forehead.
“I get four text messages all night, and you expect me to wait for ‘call u later’?” I demanded. At the same time I noticed how he looked okay—as if I’d woken him up, but otherwise okay.
“Yes,” he said simply. “What’s the problem?”
“I…” I swallowed. “I don’t know. But you could have…” Lloyd Maddox was cleaning up loose ends, and Henri was running around without a keeper, and Oscar was so very dead and…and…
“Come in.” Brendan took me by the hand and led me into the living room where he sat me on the sofa. The papers, I noticed, had started encroaching there too. “And it’s okay. I know.”
He was trying to be soothing, and I found, as upset as I was, I wasn’t in the mood. “I’m glad it’s okay,” I said, but most of my concentration went into pulling myself together. “What do you know?”
“I know Uncle Scott financed that fake ICE raid.”
“Scott?” I pictured the high-priced nerd at his dining room table with his papers and his coffee and his self-deprecating smile. “Scott Alden? Karina and Deanna’s father?” The man I’d been told just wanted everybody to be happy.
“I don’t know that many Scott Aldens,” Brendan answered, shoving his hair back again. I’d definitely woken him up. Another time I would have said something about payback, but now was not the time. I would say something, later, when the force of his being okay wore off, and when I understood why nerdy Scott Alden had helped commit what I was pretty sure was a major fraud of some kind.
“I finally ran down the agents who pulled it off,” Brendan said. “He paid them fifty thousand to stage the raid and plant the appropriate paperwork in the ICE databases. They got another fifty if they, and any spare Renaults, vanished afterward. Unfortunately, one of my guys knows the guy who set up their new IDs for them.”
Scott Alden shelled out a hundred thousand for only one night’s work? I should have held out for more for the catering. “But why?”
Brendan gave a jaw-cracking yawn and scrubbed at his face. “Believe me, I spent a long time trying to find out. Unfortunately, Uncle Scott’s never been much of a talker. He just told them what needed to happen, and they just did it. I’m guessing it was so the theft could happen in the confusion.”
“But why would Scott Alden pay ICE to stage a raid so a vampire could steal something off the mantel? It makes no sense.” Especially when that little gun wasn’t even the Arall. Even if Scott didn’t know exactly what the Arall was, he’d have known what it wasn’t. Had Henri screwed up and grabbed the wrong thing? “Was it his idea, or did somebody talk him into it?” Like Adrienne, or Karina? He’d been coming out of Karina’s office. Was that to warn her Brendan was on their trail? Or was it just to make sure she was on track with whatever antivamp formula she was developing? A defense contract, especially one for Homeland Security, could cover the amount shelled out for the fake raid a hundred times over.
Brendan cocked his head toward me. “I take it this wasn’t what you were going to tell me.”
“No. I’d found out something…really different.” Brendan waited for me to get it back together. I really didn’t want to. He liked his aunt. He didn’t like a lot of people in the family he spent so much time trying to pull out of the Dark Ages. I did not want to be the one to have to tell him this. I wanted to retreat, or lie. But that would be even worse. “I think your aunt Adrienne gave Deanna and Gabriel a love potion.”
Brendan didn’t do anything immediately. Then his eyes went distant, and he shifted his weight, straightening his back and getting ready for action. “A love potion?” he asked quietly. “Are you sure?”
I told him about the conversation I’d overheard in the garden last night, about hiding under the bed while Lloyd Maddox removed the class ring from Gabriel’s hand, and about the conversation I’d had with Trudy afterward. I also told him about how Jacques had essentially confirmed all my suspicions, conclusions, and nagging little fears.
Abruptly Brendan stood, but not with his usual grace. Jerkily, as if his gears had rusted, he stalked over to his paper-strewn desk and stood staring at a blueprint taped to his clean white walls. In one motion he tore it down and balled it up tight, tossed it away, and reached for the next one.
“Don’t!” I leapt across the room to grab his arm. “Don’t let them do this to you.” He wasn’t just tearing paper. He was giving up.
“You’ve got no idea,” Brendan’s voice rasped in his throat. “No idea at all how hard I’ve worked, how hard I’ve tried. I’ve smiled and cajoled and bargained and compromised. I’ve put up with more of Grandfather’s everlasting shit than I ever thought I’d be able to. And it never stops.” He dropped into the desk chair and ran his fingers through his hair, as if trying to comb his thoughts back into his head. “It could have been great, Charlotte. I could have made this work.”
“You still can. Nothing’s…”
“Charlotte! My family is manipulating and murdering people using magic! You think people freak out about the vamp whammy? You wait until this hits the FlashNews. ‘City contract given to warlock embroiled in murder investigation.’”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m the one getting the city money, and I’m related. I’m not surprised Grandfather’s trying to keep this quiet.” He thumped his fist hard against the chair arm. “What the hell did she think she was doing?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Just when I think my family couldn’t get any stupider, they pull something like this. I’m going to renounce my loyalty oath, I swear. Let them all go to hell on their own.”
“Brendan…” I crouched down so we’d be at eye level, but he held up his hand.
“Don’t, Charlotte. Just…don’t.”
“Okay.” I eased back onto my heels. “But you ought to know, I’ll be hearing from Trudy soon. She said she’d do up an antidote for the love potion.”
Slowly, Brendan turned his face toward me, and it was rock hard. “You went to Trudy before you came to me?”
My mouth went dry, and I realized I was afraid. But the fear bled quickly away, leaving behind a bedrock of anger. Nobody talked to me like that—not even Brendan. “I didn’t think potions were your thing.”
“You don’t know what my thing is!”
“No. Because you don’t talk about it.”
“Pot. Kettle. Sooty.”
I straightened up and faced him squarely. I was not one of his whining, bratty cousins, and he did not get to treat me like it. “You want to fight, Brendan Maddox?” My voice was soft and tight, and my fists were clenching the air. “We can fight, but I’m not doing this halfway.” I’d seen the Maddoxes polite, backstabbing arguments. That was definitely not how we Caines did things. “If you start with me now, we’re going to really get into it. Screaming, throwing things, the whole nine yards. You just say the word.”
Now I saw something new in his eyes, and my heart swelled painfully. Because Brendan looked confused. “Charlotte, what are you doing?”
“Trying not to scream, Brendan. Because if I’ve got to have an argument with you, that’s what’s going to happen.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t…I don’t…” He buried his face in his hands.
I stood there, watching the strongest man I’d ever met within an inch of breaking down, and I didn’t know what to do. It was true. We never talked about this stuff. I didn’t want to talk about it. I’d wanted him to be just Brendan when he was with me, not Brendan of the Maddox witch clan. I didn’t want there to be things in his life bigger than I was. And I’d believed that was what Brendan wanted too. Because of that, I had no idea what he was really going through, or what to do about it now that it had all hit the fan.
There are times in your life you really don’t want to find out you’ve been a selfish brat. They tend to be accompanied by wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
“No, it’s my fault,” I said, gulping down pride and air. “What are we going to do?”
Brendan flopped back in the chair, letting his hands dangle between his knees. His face twisted up as if he weren’t sure whether to laugh or yell. “You cannot tell me you did not have some kind of plan coming in here.”
“I did, but you’re going to say you don’t like it.” And I told him about the meeting with Henri that Anatole and Chet and I had agreed to on Nightlife’s roof, making sure I emphasized Sevarin’s offer to set up the sting, and Chet’s willingness to play backup, something I had to admit he was surprisingly good at.
“Charlotte…,” began Brendan as I stopped to draw breath.
“I know, I know. I don’t like it either, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Charlotte…”
“I can’t let you be there, Brendan. You get that right? Henri will be able to sense you, and he’ll balk. If we’re going to find out what he’s got, we need to…What?”
Brendan had laced his fingers behind his head and crossed one leg over the other. “Just waiting until you’re done talking to yourself.”
I swallowed my snappy comeback. This really wasn’t the time.
“You’re right; I don’t like it,” Brendan went on. “But I also think you’re right that it’s the best idea we’ve got. It also covers the two areas I’d trust Sevarin absolutely on.”
“Two?”
His smile was small and it vanished quickly, but the light lingered in his eyes. “Sticking it to my grandfather and protecting you.”
He had a point. That this point made me squirm a little was really not Brendan’s fault.
“So, are you going to ask me to make sure my grandfather’s kept busy tomorrow night, or am I going to volunteer?”
“I’d rather you volunteered, because I’m already feeling pretty low right now.”
Brendan stood and crossed the short distance between us so he could take both my hands. He ran his calloused thumbs over the backs and looked me right in the eye. “Charlotte, I think it’d be a good idea for me to make sure I know where my grandfather is tomorrow night while you, Chet, and Anatole are meeting with Henri. Besides, I’ve got a whole lot to talk to him about.”
“Okay. But, Brendan…you’ll be careful?”
“I know you don’t like him, Charlotte, but you don’t really believe my grandfather would hurt one of his own, do you?”
I thought about the cold menace that surrounded Lloyd Maddox when he spoke of protecting his family. He was a man used to power, and to making calculations that got people killed for what he considered just causes. He was also very used to deciding whom he considered human, and whom he considered a monster. I thought about what Jacques and Brendan both said about his fading power. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “So, promise me?”
“I promise, but you be careful too, Charlotte.”
“Brendan, my restaurant’s going to be reviewed by the New York Times. There is no way I’m missing that.”
We kissed, and he did that thing where he cupped my cheek and looked into my eyes. I did that thing where I got melty and scared at the same time. But it was totally worth it.
28
I like exhaustion. Exhaustion is a bully that shoves all other considerations out of its way and lets you fall straight into sleep. That I was in my own bed in my own apartment for the first time in what felt like forever only served to back Exhaustion up. I slept like a vampire at high noon.
Sometime after sunup, I stumbled out of my room and headed to the bathroom. I stumbled out again, with no thought in my head except dropping back into my bed and finding out where I’d left that last bit of sleep.
“Hold it right there!”
Of course it was Jessie, standing at the living room end of the hall, her arms folded. She was wearing an expression on her perfect face that could only have been inherited from an Old World nana seen on one too many bad days.
I could not begin to count the ways I didn’t need her or her inherited glowers just then.
“Don’t you have faces to paint?” I growled.
“It’s a slow week, and my roommate’s gotten herself tied up in a murder. Oh, wait, that would be another murder!” Jessie brandished her smartphone at me, and I saw the FlashNews app was open. The headlines glowed in screaming red, indicating vital updates of personal interest.
Of course, my name was going to be all over whatever those articles and videos were. I grabbed the phone out of her hand and thumbed the screen.
Celebrity Chef Oscar Simmons had been murdered. This was the word from an “anonymous source,” inside the Paranormal Squadron. I winced. Either Linus had a leak, or he had let that out to make the Aldens nervous. I knew which I’d bet on. But, of course, buried down below these facts was a bio on Oscar, and that bio included the tidbit that he’d recently “turned down” a lucrative appointment as catering chef for the upcoming Alden-Renault wedding. It also pointed out that the job Oscar turned down had been taken over by the infamous “Vampire Chef,” Charlotte Caine. From there, the links branched back to Nightlife, and all the news that we generated last year.
I sighed and handed Jess her phone back. I did not need to read a recap of how I got to be infamous. I’d been there and done that. My head was throbbing. I needed more sleep, and coffee, and possibly to turn myself over to witness protection. “I’m not tied up in it,” I told her firmly. “I’m just in close proximity to it.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not!” Damn. That six-year-old was just not going away. Fortunately, Jessie decided to ignore my feeble attempts at denial.
“Charlotte, this is serious!”
“I noticed, Jess.” I dropped onto our sagging green sofa. “Believe me, I’ve spent the better part of a week noticing how serious this is.” I looked around. “Where’s Trish? She hates to be left out of these conversations.”
“New client, early meeting.” Jess tucked her skirt under her as she sat in the wingback chair she’d inherited from her grandmother. “What are you going to do?”
“Try to keep Elaine from quitting on me, for starters,” I said. The rest, she did not need to know. I looked thoughtfully at my roomie. Jessie was a good person. She just lived in another world, a bright daytime world that involved pretty colors and pretty smells.
Smells. I straightened up. “Jess. Tell me about perfum
e.”
I’m not sure what she saw in my face just then, but it made her shrink back a little. “What? Why?”
“How’s it made? What do you need to do?”
“I’m a cosmetics consultant. What do I know about perfume?”
“It’s the beauty industry—you must know something.”
“And PepsiCo is the food industry, but you couldn’t tell me how to make a snack chip,” she shot back.
“I could probably get you close.” Not that I made a habit of eating prefab snack chips where anybody could see, but that was a separate issue.
“Really? How?”
“I’d taste it, look at it, take it apart…Jess, this has nothing to do with perfume.”
“Actually, it kind of does. I’ve got a friend; she’s setting up as a private aromatherapist…”
“That’s a thing?” My forehead wrinkled. I should not be trying to talk about this stuff before coffee. I headed for the kitchen.
“Expanding market too,” said Jess as she got up to follow me. “But she worked for Estée Lauder for a while. She says that when a new perfume comes out, the first, like, twenty bottles are all bought by the competition so they can take the fragrance apart and analyze it.”
This was not what I was expecting to hear. I was expecting to hear about chemicals and formulae, and stuff like that. This was way different, and it was leading my brain down all kinds of uncomfortable paths, all of which were leading to Karina Alden’s door at Exclusivité.
I made coffee, and then because I was, however reluctantly, awake enough for my stomach to complain about it, I found the eggs and cream in the fridge and set a pan on the stove to get hot.
Assume Karina had in fact wanted to get hold of the Arall so she could mass produce it. If that truly was the case, whether that production was for the military or the general market didn’t really matter. Assume her father had offered to pay to help get it for her…Assume Oscar had found out what she was doing and was taking meetings to decide which side of this disaster would pay him more money, depending on the information he’d acquired…and that was what had been in the notebook pages he’d shredded.