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“His eyes were dilated. His movements slow and stiff.”
“Magic?” Lindsey asked.
“I don’t know,” Ethan said.
“If it’s glamour,” I asked, “wouldn’t we have felt it?”
“That is another question to which I don’t have an answer.” Having drained his finger of Scotch, he turned to mine, took a sip, grimaced.
“It wasn’t your drink,” I reminded him, taking it back.
“Darius has more company,” Luc said, and we casually glanced back. A silver-haired man approached Darius, a large leather envelope in hand, the type used to carry documents. He and Darius shook, and the muscle escorted the pair back to the elevators.
“I suppose that’s the business,” Lindsey said.
“We could tail him,” Luc said, but Ethan shook his head.
“I don’t like this, and I don’t want us here, without preparation and backup, any longer than necessary.”
Luc pulled bills from a long, narrow wallet, and placed them on the table. “That’s fine by me. Let’s get the hell back to the House.”
Ethan glanced at me. We need to know what was in that envelope, he silently said.
Shall I contact the previously discussed tool in your arsenal? I asked.
He nodded, and I pulled out my phone, sent the necessary message: NEED YOUR EXPERTISE. PERHAPS A VISIT TO THE LIGHTHOUSE?
* * *
The Chicago Harbor Light, tall and white, stood sentinel at the edge of the breakwater that provided a harbor for boats on Lake Michigan. You could get in on foot—if you had the gumption to walk the quarter-mile stretch of rocks and riprap that tethered the lighthouse to the shore near Navy Pier.
The last time I’d tried it, the rocks had been slick and icy. Tonight, as Jonah and I stood in the darkness of the parking lot and stared them down, they were no longer icy. But they were still slick and dark.
“Might as well get this over with,” I said, and stepped onto the first boulder.
Going was still slow as we hopped from stone to stone, pausing after each bit of progress to regain our balance.
“I’m surprised there’s not a faster way out here,” I said, arms outstretched at my sides as I worked to stay upright.
“There is. We could take the boat.”
I stopped, stared back at him. “There’s a boat?”
“Of course there’s a boat.”
“Then why are we doing this?”
He grinned back at me. “For the challenge.” Jonah bobbled, momentarily losing his balance. Fortunately for him, he took a step, found purchase, managed not to fall into the drink. Which was good, because I wasn’t going to help him.
“For the challenge,” I mimicked, but I kept walking until we’d crossed the rocks and reached the concrete platform that held the lighthouse and the two small buildings that straddled it.
Jonah tapped a code on the keypad by the door, and we walked inside.
The lighthouse had been built in 1893 for the World’s Columbian Exhibition but had been moved and renovated several times since then. The décor was sparse and hadn’t been updated since at least the 1970s. But the décor wasn’t the point—the three-hundred-and-sixty-degree windows and views of the city and lake were.
“You can all relax,” Jonah said, hands lifted, to the handful of vampires who looked up as we entered. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
“You’re here—and full of shit,” said the vampire at the table across the room, whose muttonchop sideburns were immediately recognizable. Horace, an RG guard and Civil War veteran, wore a simple linen shirt and dark trousers. He turned, and his dark eyes widened. “And you’ve brought a guest.”
“You’re hilarious,” Jonah said. “Merit, you remember Horace.”
I nodded. “Hi.”
There was suspicion in Horace’s expression, maybe because he hadn’t seen me here enough for his own comfort. Not enough to vet me, anyway.
“Is Matthew here?” Jonah asked.
“Basement.” He cocked his head. “You need data?”
“This is your gig,” Jonah said, prompting me.
“It’s about Darius.”
Horace nodded. “He’s in Chicago. And you met with him today.”
“It’s about Darius. He’s in Chicago. And we met with him today at the Portman Grand. He had a security team, and he met a man who appeared to be carrying some papers.”
“You interact with him?” Horace asked.
“Ethan and I both. And he seemed completely off. Polite, but barely communicative. Dilated pupils.”
“Glamour?” Horace asked.
Glamour was an odd side effect of the magic that spilled from us. We couldn’t create magic—not like Mallory or Catcher—but we could manipulate the magic that escaped from us. It was, maybe not coincidentally, a manipulative magic. The ability to nudge, subtly or otherwise, people to do what we wanted. I had some immunity to it, but I also couldn’t make the magic myself.
“It was a thought. But we didn’t feel any magic. Nothing beyond the usual, anyway. Victor Cabot said Darius also acted strangely when he was in New York, although that interaction was brief. Darius apparently didn’t mention the GP, the challenge, or anything else to Victor while he was there.”
Horace sat back in his chair, linked his hands together on his chest, and rocked. The chair squeaked beneath him. “He and Victor were close.”
“That’s what I hear,” I said with a nod. “You’d think you’d talk to your allies if you were about to rush Chicago and kick aside a would-be challenger for the throne.”
“So you think he’s not here to challenge Ethan?”
“I have no idea what he’s going to do. That’s precisely the problem. I’ve met Darius before. He runs hot. I’d have expected him to be pissed off by the challenge, insulted by it. Not to play nice with Ethan. Darius has many irritating qualities, but being coy isn’t one of them.
“I don’t like the GP under the best of circumstances,” I added. “But I especially don’t like it when the head of the GP is acting oddly, and my House—and my Master—are on the line.”
Horace leaned back again; the chair squeaked. “You know being in a relationship with Ethan puts you in an awkward position regarding the Guards.”
I kept my gaze steady. “It’s only awkward if he’s elected and becomes an ass**le. The first one’s possible. The second isn’t.”
