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I bit back cross words. “I don’t know. Can you talk to her? Explain to her that supernaturals aren’t her enemies?”
“She wouldn’t listen to me, Merit.”
I felt hope draining. “You know that for a fact?”
“Fact enough. She thinks I’m a felon. And even if she listened to me, she doesn’t appear that willing to use reason or logic.”
“I’m just asking you to try.”
He looked away, worrying the inside of his cheek. “I can’t return to that life, Merit. Not when there’s so much to do here. So much good I could do. So much good I am doing.”
“There’s good to be done everywhere,” I said. “But the good in Chicago is the kind only you can do. I don’t know where else to turn.”
“Chicago isn’t my home anymore. It is lovely to see you, though. Would you like to stay? Work for a while? I think you’ll find it feeds the soul.”
I looked at him, mystified by the naive cheer in his voice. He couldn’t have missed the panic and fear in mine.
“This isn’t my town,” I pointed out. “And it isn’t really yours.”
His gaze snapped back to mine, and I saw the spark in his cold blue eyes. He wasn’t unaware of my panic.
He was in denial.
“Chicago is troubled,” he said.
“It’s not perfect. But it moves forward, and it fights. Its people and its vampires fight.”
He made a sarcastic sound. “For what? There will always be another monster around the corner, Merit. And I know. I was one of them. People will always be afraid of the monster. And that fear will win every time.”
“Courage has nothing to do with winning,” I quietly said. “Courage is about fighting the good fight. Stepping forward, even when stepping forward is the crappiest of all possible options.”
I looked at Jeff, saw the appreciation in his eyes, and smiled. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that,” I said. “But I do now.”
I glanced at the people who moved behind us, hauling pallets, reviewing clipboards, and preparing shipments.
I looked back at Tate, the furrow of his brow as he looked at them, and the distance that I saw there. He wanted to be part of what they were—of lives that were simpler than his own. I understood that perspective; I’d shared it for some of my nights as a vampire. But like me, he knew it wasn’t to be. He just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“I don’t begrudge anyone their recovery,” I said, thinking of Mallory. “But there’s something to be said for redemption. And right now, you have a perfect opportunity.”
I kept my gaze on his, hoping against hope that he’d change his mind, spring up, go with us back to Chicago.
But he didn’t speak a word, and my chest tightened with fear and frustration.
“If you change your mind, you know where to reach me.” I turned my back on him, began to walk with Jeff toward the parking lot again.
“Merit,” Tate said, filling me with hope.
But when I looked back, there was nothing but regret in his face.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology made me feel even worse.
I didn’t text the House that I’d been unsuccessful. I wasn’t ready to admit how utterly useless our trip had been or how resistant Tate had been to helping us. I wasn’t ready to face the degree of his denial about how he’d shaped the city, helping make it what it was today, for better or worse.
Of course, I still hoped he’d come to his senses and appear outside Cadogan House, holding a radio above his head, contrition in his eyes and stern words for Diane Kowalcyzk on his lips.
Unfortunately, and much to Luc’s chagrin, life wasn’t a movie, and Seth Tate wasn’t interested in our concerns. I empathized with him. It was undoubtedly easier to make good for your past bad acts in a tidy, cheery warehouse miles away from the mess you’d made, than on the ground in Chicago and in the middle of the trouble. In Chicago, he was the defrocked mayor, the man with the nasty past. In Portville, he was Father Paul. A man with a mission to help others.
Maybe that was what irritated me most—that he’d gotten a clean slate, free and clear. Tate hadn’t stayed in Chicago to face the consequences, to tell his tale, or to pick up the pieces. I had to give Mallory props for sticking around, fessing up, and trying to make it right.
“What are you going to do now?” Jeff asked as I focused on the road ahead of us, which was marked by billboards for outlet malls, chiropractors, attorneys.
“I don’t know. But it’s making me irritable.”
“I wish I had some advice to offer,” he said, glancing out the window. “Or some strings to pull.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
My phone beeped. I was a careful driver, so at my nod, Jeff checked the screen.
“Well, well, well,” he said.
“Ethan’s free?” It was easy to tell what was on my mind.
“I doubt it, because there are a hundred supernaturals picketing in front of the Daley Center demanding his release.”
Chapter Eighteen
OCCUPY CHICAGO
I dropped Jeff off at his car and raced back to Cadogan House. Car keys still in hand, I joined Malik, Luc, and a dozen other Cadogan vampires in the front parlor, where the television had been tuned again to the drama at the Daley Center.
In the time it had taken me to get back to the House, the crowd of protestors had grown to several hundred, many of them carrying FREE ETHAN! and SUPERNATURAL JUSTICE signs. I didn’t see anyone I recognized, but most were bundled up against the frigid night air.
“Any luck?” Luc asked, when I sidled next to him in the crowd of vampires whose gazes were trained on the screen.
“In finding him, yes. In convincing him to talk to the mayor, no. He’s started a new life, and he wants to stay that course. He’s working at a food bank. Noble work, but not exactly helpful here. Any news from Andrew?”
The question made his brow furrow, which made my stomach turn uncomfortably. Luc was usually unflappable. If he was concerned now, we had problems.
“They haven’t released Ethan, and they haven’t allowed Andrew to speak with him. He hasn’t had blood since he arrived. Just water. They’re saying they think blood will turn him into some kind of supervampire.”
“That’s ridiculous.” It was also worrisome. A blood deficit would weaken him, and eventually that need would drive him to find blood wherever—and however—he could.
