“Welcome to the land of Oz, sweetheart,” he whispered.
They buttoned her back up and left her, her eyes, like the young man’s, glassy with the drug of blood loss.
“Cade, tell me what you know. It’s important. Someone wants Hell again, and it’s coming.”
“It’s true the BOS are active again. The online chatter has increased, but there’s been nothing specific, and no one has stepped up to take Silgar’s place.”
A brisk wind buffeted them, but Vall didn’t feel the cold. It wasn’t exactly right to say the recent feedings warmed him, but the satisfaction of the rich blood insulated his body, numbing it from pain and cold and any other complaint his body would bemoan if he were hungry and weak. He wondered, not for the first time, how the sucklings could survive on bottled blood. The composition, color, and texture of the synthetic blood may emulate the real thing, but there was nothing like taking it fresh and hot from a kill.
“What do you want, Cade?”
Cade took a deep breath and raised his arms. “Look around you. I have what I want. My city’s been rebuilt. We live in peace with the mortals, and yet, as you can see, we still take what we want without censure or consequence.” He stopped and turned to Vall, pulling him close. “I am not behind your troubles, Wulf. Look to your own backyard.”
Vall pulled back, just far enough to look into Cade’s eyes. “If war comes, it will come here as well. Never doubt that. War is not the blessing it once was.”
Cade smiled and opened his mouth far enough to slide his tongue over his teeth, as if he wanted to taste his words before he voiced them. “War will not come.”
They headed back to Halsted, and Vall wondered if it was simply Cade’s usual overabundance of confidence, or if he really knew more than he was telling.
WITH THEIR BLOOD-hunger sated, they chose two women to take back to Noctule’s private rooms. Cade’s was a blue-eyed blonde, curvy and young, and his was a brunette, all leg, like a model. Vall normally didn’t go in for group sex, but again, he was in Rome, so he did as the Romans did. And since Cade was Caesar, one didn’t argue.
They entered Noctule through the side door, and before they got down to business, Cade checked IDs. The blonde was eighteen, named Dayla. Vall wondered if it was rebellion against her parents’ obvious prejudice that drove her to participate in sex orgies with the undead. He wouldn’t know, and it wouldn’t matter. The girl would be here for one night only, replaced tomorrow night by someone new, but most likely just as blonde. Vall’s prey was twenty-three and named Desiree, a name Vall preferred to Dayla.
They took their pleasure in one of Cade’s king-sized beds, a tangle of long limbs and long hair. Cade kept the temperature in his rooms set low, following the theory that hunts in the cold made for the most pleasurable kills. Desiree complied, her body dancing like a wood stove stoked to the max. He abandoned the quiet control he’d schooled himself to on the outdoor hunt, and when he thrust himself into her wet and waiting body, he groaned at the coiled heat that embraced him. He took out all his frustration with Veronica, Cade and the case on Desiree, using her with a force just short of brutality, driving into her long and hard, but any pain the girl felt only made her beg for more.
Hours later, satiated with sex and blood, Vall lay on his back and wished for more. As good as the sex had been, and as skilled and willing as Desiree had been, he found himself missing Veronica. Desiree had asked no questions, hadn’t cared who he was, what he was, or what he wanted. She’d been pretty, but faceless; giving, but empty.
Vall looked over at Cade. Cade was on his back with one arm folded behind his head. His tangled hair spilled over his hand and across his pillow, and his eyes stared at the ceiling. Dayla was quiet beside him, drained of energy and not a little blood. Long ago, after the Great Chicago Fire, there’d been a black rumor that Cade had been in love with a mortal woman who knew him for what he was. Vall couldn’t imagine Cade ever being in love, but more than one master had told him of a widow who’d briefly been a part of Cade’s life. Vall didn’t know if it was true. He’d never asked Cade about the affair, and in any case, he’d never expect Cade to admit to being in love. But something in Cade’s gaze spoke of a sadness that made Vall wonder again about the gossip.
Perception is reality, Cade had once said. Was it? Was the image all that Cade claimed? Eyes full of sorrow and emptiness that stared at ceilings, like Cade’s did now, weren’t seeing some glitter and gold fantasy, but the underbelly of truth. As much as Vall had been drawn to Cade’s world of wealth and power over the years, he’d wanted even more to be privy to whatever reality Cade saw right now, as black as it might be. But Cade had never shared his personal vision. Not in years past, not now. There was always some hurdle of trust that Vall felt unable to clear.
Vall wondered again about Cade’s rumored lover of years past. Was it loneliness Cade felt, or merely the emptiness of his lifestyle? No. If Cade had regrets, he’d change. Cade hadn’t changed in a very long time.
Hours later, after they’d sent the girls home, they relaxed, just the two of them. They would sleep soon in earnest, but dawn was still an hour or so away. There was plenty of time to unwind, and perhaps for letting guards down. Cade wore nothing but red drawstring trousers. His hair, long and straight, was worn loose, as usual, and flowed over a muscled torso as perfect as any Duvall had ever seen. As they were the same height and close to the same build, Cade had been kind enough to lend him a pair of black silk trousers for sleeping.
They were on the top floor of Noctule, in one of Cade’s private suites. Narrow one-way mirrored windows faced east, and while it wasn’t anywhere near the kind of view one had from a high-rise condo, it allowed them to view both the night and all those who came into and left the club. Cade leaned against the wall at the edge of the glass, so that he could see down to the sidewalk below as well as across the street. Vall stood at the other side of the window. The club had been closed for a good two hours, and there was no longer a line of people on the sidewalk, but even at this hour there was a dance of shadows below them as vampires hurried to find the shelter of darkness before dawn, and mortals, who had no reason at all to hurry on a Saturday morning, drifted through Lincoln Park.
“You do seem to enjoy your peace, Cade. Tell me, why didn’t you speak for peace twenty years ago? Why leave the negotiations to an idiot like Nestor? He doesn’t have a diplomatic hair in that rat’s nest of his.”
Cade smiled. “Neither do I.”
“But . . .” Vall couldn’t think of a redeeming trait Cade had that Nestor lacked. Still, Vall had always wanted to be part of Cade’s world. He’d never cared for Nestor or his dungeon.
“I like my privacy.”
Vall laughed. “Privacy? Several hundred humans march in and out of your club every night. You walk the streets more than a whore does. You call this privacy?”
Cade sighed. “Ah, Wulf. Sometimes I think it is 1812 again, and you know nothing. I am seen. I am not known. They are two completely different things.”
Vall was annoyed at being told he knew nothing. “Your attitude has always seemed a rather selfish point of view when the survival of so many thousands of our kind depends on you.”
Still leaning against the wall, Cade crossed his arms over his chest and turned toward him. “Are my people not cared for? There’s work for all who want it. And there’s blood. Human blood. My people have no need to try to subsist on shit in a bottle. And you, Wulf. Have I not shared with you? Always? What other doyen allows a master to feed alongside him at his kill?”
Vall shook his head. “No. You’ve shared, Cade, but as you said yourself a moment ago, you only share what we see. The image. You hold everything else close to the chest.”
“Interesting. I’ve never heard you talk like this. Go on.”
“You’ve never heard this because nineteen years ago I chose to leave rather than dis
respect my doyen.”
Cade opened his arms. “I’m not your doyen anymore, so speak your mind.”
“You’re a seducer. You make everyone see what you want them to see. But the reality isn’t as pretty as the image you sell, is it? In Chi-No it’s not. In Chi-No the sucklings starve. They live in poverty. And the threat of war blows on a very swift wind.”
Cade raised a brow. “Because Nestor is a fool.”
In the midst of Cade’s smoke and mirrors, an arrow of truth. But it didn’t help. Vall already knew Nestor was a fool. “Give me something I can use, Cade. If you truly want to share, share information. Help me.”
Vall expected anger, but instead Cade gave him a sad smile. “I could never pull you out of that burning building, could I?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Cade stared out the window. “It means, Wulf, that I’ve never been able to save you from yourself.”
He still didn’t understand. “I don’t ask to be saved.”
“Then you just might die.”
Twenty-six
AFTER THAT, VALL felt too uncomfortable to accept Cade’s invitation to spend the day. He dressed and took a cab back to the hotel, arriving just before the sun’s rays breached the horizon.
He’d been totally unprepared for seeing Cade again. It wasn’t so much the frustration in failing to wring anything useful from Cade. Thus far Vall had been unsuccessful in all his attempts to elicit information regarding the killings, the poisoned blood, and the BOS hit. Cade was just one more in a line of failures that included Nestor and Veronica.
No, it was simply being in Cade’s shadow again, as if he were a part of him, inseparable. It was like Vall had never been gone. The magnetism—the overwhelming desire to be a part of Cade’s perfect world—was like a drug. And as much as Vall knew it was all just Cade’s seduction, Vall still wanted it. He wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life.
It wasn’t the external trappings—the luxury suites, designer clothes, or even the parade of beautiful mortals willing to give of their bodies in exchange for a brush with immortality—it was Cade’s power. It was his ability to create a world all his own, a world large enough for all he loved to join him, in which everything was simply better than the real world. Vall wanted to love Cade. He’d always wanted to love Cade. But he’d never known the real Che Kincade.
He fell at last into a troubled sleep as surface as a shallow grave, exposed to every flesh-eating nightmare that had ever plagued him. He woke at dusk exhausted, and not even the thought of invading and shredding the mind of a Brother of the Sun could energize him. Perhaps the heavy feeding with Cade had been a mistake. There was no edge to his hunger—no hunger at all—and instead of feeling strong, he felt logy and dull-witted. He showered, took a cab to the First District station to join Kilpatrick, and forced his mind to the tasks ahead.
It had been a good day for the Warrant Squad. They’d hooked four Brothers of the Sun, all big fish in their respective chapters, who now sat in isolated holding cells, waiting to be filleted by Duvall and Ratkovich.
A debate had arisen years ago, when vampires had first been allowed into law enforcement, as to whether or not interrogation of a mortal by a vampire should be allowed. Many saw it as an unreasonable invasion of privacy, for a vampire’s mind was an invasive tool, but in the end it had been the winning end of a trade-off. Vamps could question human suspects, but they wouldn’t be allowed to carry a duty weapon.
Vall found Kilpatrick sitting in a small report-writing room near the cell bay. He was slumped in his chair, and it was a tossup as to whether his face or suit looked more rumpled. His blue eyes stared straight ahead, though there was nothing in the room to look at.
Vall pulled up a chair and joined him. “Hey.”
“We got four of ‘em. Did Starling tell you?”
“Yeah. Good job. I wish I could’ve been there with you.”
“They’re hard-core, all four. You really think you can get anything out of them?”
“Hey, I have clothes older than these guys. Piece of cake.” Vall noticed that the table was empty of cups. “You want some fresh coffee?”
Kilpatrick met his gaze, his tired eyes blinking. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Vall made his way to the coffee room, filled the largest Styrofoam cup he could find, and stirred in two creamers and a sugar, the way he knew Kilpatrick took it.
What if Cade really was behind the attempt to restart the war? He’d remained silent when Nestor and other doyens had negotiated for peace. And it was no secret there was no love lost between Cade and Nestor. Could Vall do what his partner had done earlier today—go after someone who had always been larger than life? Someone he’d idolized for years? Vall doubted he could do it. Yet the meatball had done just that in arresting his boyhood heroes.
He took the coffee to his partner and set it in front of him.
“Thanks.” Kilpatrick nodded to the stack of files next to him. “Those are the packages on the four we got. Starling says to look them over. He wants to start the interviews by eight o’clock.”
Vall looked at his watch, nodded, and drew a deep breath.
“You okay?” asked Kilpatrick.
Vall looked at him. Kil’s blue eyes were steady, like tired soldiers that knew they had a job to do and would go on, regardless of all else.
“Yeah.”
One side of Kilpatrick’s mouth curled up. “Late night?”
Duvall answered with a smile of his own. “Yeah. Now get lost so I can read these in peace.”
Kilpatrick slid his chair back, scraping the legs on the floor, and stood up. His cell phone rang, and he moved a few feet away before answering. “Kilpatrick. Yeah, lieut.”
There was a slight pause. “We arrested four BOS big shots. We’re just getting ready to . . .” He glanced at Vall and lowered his brows. “Now? But why?”
Kilpatrick lowered his head and turned away. “Jesus . . .” Another pause, a longer one. “Yessir, he’s right here . . .” He faced Vall, and his eyes stayed on Vall’s, though he continued to talk into the phone. “All right. We just have to drive back to the hotel, get our things, and check out. It won’t take long.”
The war has started. Vall just knew it.
Kilpatrick disconnected the call. “We gotta go. You see Starling on your way up here?” He started to move past him, but Vall reached out a hand and held Kilpatrick’s arm.
“Tell me.”
Kil’s blue eyes stared, as unblinking as in death. “Veronica Main’s been abducted.”
Twenty-seven
VALL STILL GRIPPED Kilpatrick’s arm, holding him close. He’d expected another vampire killing, not some random suckling kill, but a planned assassination of some high-profile mortal, like the mayor or Chi-No’s resident millionaire patron of the arts. But he’d never anticipated an abduction, and certainly not of Veronica Main. “Tell me all of it.”
“They want to make an exchange—you for the girl. And they want her father to release a statement to the media that the synthetic blood was intentionally poisoned for the purpose of killing vampires en masse.”
Bloody fucking hell. “All right. Find Starling and tell him what’s happened, and see if they can have someone bring our car up right away. I’ll meet you out front.”
“Where the hell are you going?”
“I have to make a call.” He released Kilpatrick, who muttered under his breath and swept down the hall like a holy avenger.
Vall called Noctule on his way downstairs, and when the hired help answered, he simply said, “Cade. Tell him it’s Duvall and urgent.”
Cade came on the line almost immediately. “What now, Wulf? I’m busy.”
“Are you behind this, Cade?” He didn’t expect Cade to admit to it if he was indeed involved
, but if he was, he wanted Cade to know he was coming after him. As small as the odds of success of such a venture were, he wanted his former doyen to know he would continue to fight, as he always had.
“Behind what?”
“Veronica Main is being held for ransom.”
“Main . . . related to Lawrence Main perchance?”
“His daughter.”
“And you care about this mortal why?”
Vall hesitated, then put it into terms Cade would have no trouble understanding. “She happens to be my latest kill.”
If sound could hurt, Cade’s cross between laughter and a growl cut his ear. “Ah, Wulf, Wulf, Wulf. You surprise even me, and I’ve seen almost everything the world has to show. No, I didn’t have anything to do with this. The BOS has her?”
“I assume so.”
“Retaliation. I’m sure they heard about your raids today. The BOS doesn’t like betrayal any more than I do.”
Now it was Vall’s turn to be confused. “Betrayal? What are you talking about?”
Cade’s hyena-voice lowered. “The peace you just ruined, Wulf. The next time you or any other Chi-No flatfoot decides to dip into my city’s business and kick the lantern, you tell me.”
Kilpatrick came striding up to him. “Let’s go.”
Vall disconnected the phone just as an officer brought their car around, and when he got in on the passenger side he slammed the door as hard as he could.
Kilpatrick merged into State Street traffic and almost hit a taxi. “Want to tell me what that was all about?”
“No. Drive.” Damn Cade to hell! Why hadn’t he told him he’d struck some sort of deal with the Brothers of the Sun? Vall had practically begged him for information, and Cade had said nothing—said nothing and then had the gall to blame him and Kilpatrick for Veronica’s abduction.
They stopped at the Balmour, quickly checked out, and were on the Interstate soon after—on it, but not moving. Evening Loop traffic, even on a Saturday, was a sluggish river of metal. Kilpatrick flipped on the lights and siren, and it was like a slow parting of the Red Sea. Cars in front of them moved reluctantly, but they moved. As they neared the northern city limit, traffic opened up, and by the Touhy Street exit, Kilpatrick was able to turn off the siren and maintain a speed of eighty like the Chicagoans did, with lots of balls and lane changes.
Half Past Hell Page 20