Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)

by Colleen Gleason

  “There’s not much to be done at the moment,” Max said grimly. “I want to go back to The Silver Chalice and see if we can find anything that might help. Macey, do you have any idea where this Flora might be hiding out?”

  “I would guess the same place Iscariot was, but we weren’t able to find his hideout.” She looked disgusted with the situation. Or maybe she was just remembering seeing her father in the buff.

  Max forced himself to ignore that incident. “To get to the school yesterday without being exposed to sunlight, they had to be transported under some sort of cover. I suspect the white truck that was parked near the servants’ entrance was the vehicle. I’m going to check that as well and try to determine where it came from. Maybe we can trace them that way.”

  “I’ll go to the Chalice,” Woodmore said. “See if I can find anything.”

  “Where is the crooked tongue knife?” Max asked suddenly. “If we find Flora, we’ll need it when we get in. And do we know what to do with it when we get Rekk’s Pyramid?”

  “I’ll look at Temple’s notes while I’m there,” Woodmore replied. “See if she had more information. If not, maybe Wayren will help.” There seemed to be less of a combative nature beneath his words today. Perhaps the thought of going to Siberia after Cezar Moldavi had cooled his ire. “And I have the knife with me. I’ll keep it on my person at all times.”

  Max nodded. “Brilliant.” He noticed Woodmore’s face relaxed a bit at that show of trust and support, and he was glad for it. The man was an asset. He just needed to keep his hands off Macey.

  That brought his attention to Grady, and then casually over to Macey.

  Was Woodmore right? Was Macey in love with the Irish bloke? If so, Max sure as hell couldn’t tell.

  And why on earth was he so interested in who was in love with or sleeping with whom all of a sudden? They had work to do.

  He looked at his daughter. If possible, she appeared even more strained and exhausted than she had yesterday. As if she hadn’t slept a bit last night.

  “Macey, I know you’re going to argue with me, but I would appreciate it if you would stay here just for a while today. Let yourself heal, and”—he rushed on before she could speak her outrage—“be here in the event one of us learns something and needs assistance. Like a home base—there’s a telephone in case we need to use it and someone should be here to answer it. Only for a few hours, while Savina is gone.”

  “Where is Savina going?” Macey asked, mutiny blazing in her eyes. Max had a feeling he was going to regret this, but as a father and as the summas—but mostly the former—he really wanted her to take a little more time to rest and heal before whatever terrible challenge they were going to face next.

  For he knew it would happen, and he greatly feared how ugly it would be.

  “I have a late lunch meeting with the mayor,” Savina replied, entering the room at that moment. “In fact, I’m off right now. We’re meeting at two, and it’s after one.”

  “A meeting with Dever? Why?” Macey asked, still a little belligerent but curious nonetheless.

  Savina, who looked good enough to eat in a pink suit that made her arse look spectacular and a pair of shoes that showed off her gams, was charmingly bashful. “I’m being considered for the honor of receiving a key to the city. It’s just an initial meeting—I suppose to see whether I qualify.”

  “Good luck,” Max told her, his eyes lingering. Damn…that interlude in the lavatory had been something.

  She glanced at him, and he swore he saw her cheeks flush slightly more pink. “I can’t imagine I’ll be more than two or three hours, at the most. It’s only lunch.”

  Macey reluctantly agreed to stay at Grady’s for the time being, though Max was most definitely the recipient of an icy glare.

  Just another to add to the list.

  + + +

  As she rode in a taxi to her meeting, Savina quivered a little at the memory of the steamy—literally—interlude in the bathroom that morning.

  Then she exhaled a long sigh when she thought about Max asking her to marry him. She was a modern woman, and marriage wasn’t a requirement for her. She’d never really thought about it with Max. She figured he’d already had one marriage, and he wasn’t about to try it again.

  But he’d surprised her this morning, and she’d had plenty of time to think about it while getting ready for her luncheon. Maybe marriage was the only way he could prove his commitment to her—for his own sake. Maybe it was his way of letting her know that he really never would leave her again.

  If that was the case, she’d happily agree.

  She smiled, suddenly flushed with excitement as she climbed out of the cab. She was going to get married!

  Savina put all thoughts of Max and their upcoming nuptials (she’d insist they marry somewhere in Rome) out of her mind as she walked into La Petite Café, a small restaurant inside Marshall Field’s department store. She’d been surprised and delighted when a messenger from Mayor Dever’s office had found her yesterday morning at the Chicago Library while she was supervising the breakdown of her part of the photography exhibit.

  She’d dressed smartly in a pencil-slim skirt and matching jacket of pale pink, a white blouse with a large silk flower pinned at the throat, and a splendid cream and navy hat she’d bought in Paris. Her gloves were pristine and white, and her kitten-heeled shoes had been polished for the occasion and gleamed navy. Max had certainly seemed to approve, if the look in his eyes was any indication.

  Savina walked into the café, which was just as elegant as the Sainte Antoine in Paris—with its cloth-covered tables, single red roses in black bud vases, and fabric-swathed chairs. A print by Alphonse Mucha hung on the wall, along with other Art Deco decor echoed in vases, trim, and furnishings.

  A woman at a table near the corner gave a little wave, and Savina recognized her from the photography exhibit Saturday night. That must be Miss McGillicut, who’d sent the message. Savina had seen the woman with Mayor Dever at the show, and any last bit of nervousness that she’d somehow been mistaken or fooled about the honor of being gifted with the key to the city faded.

  Savina made her way across the room and greeted the woman as she approached the table. “And here I thought I’d be early,” she said with a smile, then offered her gloved hand to shake.

  “I’ve only just arrived myself,” replied Miss McGillicut. “Please, sit here—it’s such a lovely view to watch the street.”

  Savina took the seat next to her hostess and removed her gloves, setting them on the table next to her pocketbook. “I must say, I was quite surprised to receive your message yesterday.”

  The woman smiled. “I was very happy that my messenger found you at the library. Mayor Dever wasn’t aware of where you were staying while in Chicago, but I told him I was certain you’d be present while they were packing up your lovely photographs. Of course you wouldn’t take the chance some damage might be done to them.”

  “Most certainly not. And will the mayor be joining us?” Savina asked, glancing toward the door. She’d thought the message indicated Dever would be present, but maybe she’d misunderstood. “Or is it to be just the two of us gals?” she added, not wanting to sound as if Miss McGillicut wasn’t worth her time.

  “The mayor wanted me to get to know you a bit first. I do hope you don’t mind.” She flashed a broad smile and tucked her bright red hair behind an ear.

  “Of course not,” Savina said, then glanced around the café. “What a lovely place. It reminds me of a little slice of Paris, right here in the middle of America.”

  “It is, isn’t it? I am particularly fond of that print over there—do you see it?” Miss McGillicut pointed to the Mucha lithograph Savina had noticed. “Do you know what the name of it is?”

  “Why, no, I don’t,” Savina replied as a waitress brought over a tray with coffee set up for two and began to pour their drinks.

  “It’s called Friendship. What a lovely thing, a friendship. Do you have any
close friends, Miss Ellison?”

  Savina was momentarily startled at the reminder that her companion and the mayor both knew her by her professional name. Would the key to the city be engraved with her real name, or her professional name? Would she have a choice?

  “Do you mean female friends? Girl friends? I’m afraid in my line of work, I don’t have much of a chance to…cultivate many of them. I…er…travel quite a lot,” Savina replied as she added two lumps of sugar to her coffee.

  But she hoped, in the deepest part of her heart, that perhaps someday she and Macey might be friends. It would be refreshing and freeing to have a close friend—who wasn’t her lover—who understood what sort of life she and Max lived.

  It would be so fun to have a female friend with whom she could talk about things like where to hide a stake on her person, or how to use a garter belt to secret vials of holy water, whether silver cross earrings would be effective at repelling vampires…or even to simply talk about what an idiot her lover could be. Even though the man in question would be Macey’s father.

  And at the moment, she suspected Macey might just agree with her assessment. She smiled to herself as she stirred the sugar, then looked up to find Miss McGillicut watching her closely.

  “And you?” Savina asked, quickly remembering the thread of the conversation—though how it had anything to do with getting the key to the city, she didn’t know. Unless the mayor was just trying to find out what sort of person she was before he made a decision, and had sent his assistant to evaluate her. “Do you have many close female friends? I should think so, living in a city like Chicago. You probably go to the cabarets and jazz clubs and dance all the time, don’t you?”

  To her surprise, Miss McGillicut’s expression hardened. “I used to have a very close friend. And then she…changed. She became a different person, and no longer had time for me. She made different friends and began to do different things. She had a good job, and I couldn’t even find one that wasn’t working as a seamstress in a sweat shop.”

  Savina didn’t know what to say. “I’m so very sorry. It’s difficult to lose a friend.”

  “Especially since we’d been friends since we were young girls. We even moved to the city within months of each other. And then she just…left me. Left me behind.” Miss McGillicut shifted, digging in her pocketbook.

  “That must have been very upsetting for you,” Savina replied.

  “Very. But now, I’m in a much better position than she is. Look at me now,” Miss McGillicut said, a hard smile on her face. “She has no idea what she is missing.”

  “I see.” Savina felt wildly uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. Surely the mayor hadn’t intended for this assessment meeting to deteriorate into a personal diatribe. “So, tell me about your work in the mayor’s office.”

  “My work in the— Yes, right,” her companion replied. “My work is quite rewarding. Very rewarding. My dear, dear friend should be envious of me. She should even be frightened of me, really. I hold so much more power now.”

  By now, Savina was acutely uncomfortable. “Right, then,” she said, seeking a way to permanently change the topic—or, better yet, to escape the situation—without also losing her chance with the mayor.

  “She’ll regret what she’s done to me. She’ll realize she should have—”

  “Uhm, Miss McGillicut, I really appreciate your time. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our meeting short.” She gathered up her gloves and began to pull them on. Even a key to the city wasn’t worth this sort of awkwardness.

  The woman next to her was smiling again, and she shifted closer to Savina. Something hard pressed into her side, and Savina looked down to find the nose of a small derringer making an ominous dent in the fabric of her skirt.

  “Oh, no, that would never do. We have much, much more to talk about, Sabrina. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Sabrina. And please…you must call me Flora.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  ~ A Cryptic Call ~

  Macey would never admit it, even if someone held a gun to her head, but having a few hours alone to rest and relax was exactly what she needed.

  Especially since she hadn’t slept very well last night, after the great, awful revelation in the kitchen.

  Grady knew her.

  And he knew what she’d done—or tried to do.

  How he’d hid the fury and loathing he clearly felt was a mystery—though she did remember that flash of irritation she’d noticed when they’d first seen each other at the photography exhibit. He’d disguised it well after that, but it had been there at first. She just hadn’t known what it was.

  The thought made Macey feel even more disconsolate. He hated her.

  But perhaps not as much as she hated herself.

  Now, with everyone gone and herself alone at Grady’s place, she found it spectacularly painful to sit on the sofa and smell his scent on the pillow there, to see the photos strewn over his fireplace mantel and know she’d likely never see Linwood again, to see the selection of books about vampires—which they’d discussed the first night they’d met. There was no chance of getting past this.

  Remembering the cold rage in his face made her stomach churn. You’ve emasculated him. Castrated him.

  It must be just as hellish for him to have her here as for her to be here. Yet here he was—putting himself in danger to help the Venators. To help her father.

  But the thing that stuck in her mind, the fact she couldn’t keep from gnawing over, was how could he be the dauntless one? What made him dauntless? What made him special, and who was his “half”?

  Max? Herself?

  Oh, wouldn’t that be a bitter realization, a terrible irony, if Macey had destroyed their love—only to discover that it had been written that they were to be partners.

  She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the arm of the sofa. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she considered the selfish, foolish choices she’d made.

  “But I was doing it for him,” she said aloud. “I didn’t want the same thing that happened to my mother to happen to Grady!”

  Or the same thing that happened to my father to happen to me.

  And yet it already had.

  Macey lay there, stretched out on the sofa, miserable and grieving and furious with herself and the choices she’d made.

  I can make decisions for no one but myself.

  But it was too late now.

  Grady—the man she’d known and loved—was gone. It was over.

  And sometime in the next few days, she had to find and kill her best friend.

  + + +

  Macey must have slept, for the telephone woke her. She opened her eyes, and the first thing she noticed in the darkening room was the clock on the mantel.

  It was after seven o’clock.

  She sat up quickly and looked around. Savina had said she’d be back in two or three hours, and she’d left just after one. The lunch had either gone far better than expected, or she’d ended up shopping at Marshall Field’s.

  And where were Chas and Max? Neither had called all day?

  Macey climbed off the sofa and stumbled to the telephone, which was still ringing shrilly. Maybe it was Savina, explaining why she was late. Or some news from Chas or Max.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Grady?” said a strained female voice.

  “No, it’s not—”

  “Hi, Grady, it’s Sabrina Ellison.” The voice spoke over Macey’s correction, loudly and rapidly.

  “He’s not here—” Macey stopped. Sabrina Ellison? It was definitely Savina’s voice, Grady knew her real name…what was going on?

  “Listen, I’m in a bit of a pickle, and I know you’re just the one to help me out.” The tension in Savina’s voice vibrated over the telephone, and Macey went very still.

  “What can I do?” she asked, her heart beating hard.

  “I need you to come…come and help me.” Her voice, though tense, was steady
. She rattled off an address that had Macey fumbling for a pencil and paper to write it down. Fortunately, newshawk Grady had plenty of both next to the phone. “I… It’s a little embarrassing what happened, but I ran into an old friend of—of someone named Macey—”

  She stopped suddenly and there was a struggling sound and muffled voices from the other end. When Savina spoke again, her voice was a little unsteady—and angry. Underneath, Macey heard anger.

  “Just come. Come alone. You must come alone, or… I need your help…I only have until half past eight before— Please help me—”

  The phone line was cut off before the last word was out of Savina’s mouth. Macey stared at the silent instrument for a second before dropping it back onto its receiver.

  That left her hardly more than an hour.

  She swung into action, dashing upstairs to change and to equip herself with supplies and weapons.

  She was racing down the stairs when the front door opened—good, reinforcements—but when she got to the bottom, her heart sank when she nearly ran into Grady.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “I have to go,” she said, rushing into the living room for her pocketbook. “It’s Savina. She’s in trouble. I’ve got to get there by half past eight.”

  “What’s happened?” He dumped his satchel on the ground and strode over to block her way out of the living room. “You aren’t going to be going off without telling me—or anyone else—what’s going on. Unless Max and Woodmore already know?” He sounded really annoyed, and very determined.

  Macey knew she could easily get past Grady—but that would entail putting her hands on him…and that might not be a good idea. Yet he was right. Of course she couldn’t go off without telling anyone what was happening or where she was going—and of course she had been planning to write a note.

  She quickly told him about the phone call.