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He’s really efficient, I silently told Ethan, as he flipped and zip-tied guard number two.
And remarkably quiet, Ethan said. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment—or a concern.
The guard addressed, Ryan looked back at us, motioned us to the right, where a wide doorway led to the living room. The bedrooms would be beyond it, again to the right, as the penthouse circled around half the building’s top floor.
We formed our line like kindergartners at recess—Ryan, Cord, Ethan, me—and moved silently into the living room.
The room was dark, empty. Ambient light from the surrounding high-rises streamed in through another floor-to-ceiling window. Marble floors and warm, taupe walls were a canvas for pops of color from a crimson sectional sofa and accent rugs. There were no signs of life.
Without a sound but my pulse—which still pounded in my ears like ocean waves—we crept through the great room to the hallway beyond. Pin lights illuminated architectural prints and provided a bit of light in the otherwise dark space, which split off into the two bedrooms.
Ryan and Cord slipped into the first, and we slipped into the second.
Where the hell is Darius? I asked Ethan.
Possibly gone. He could have run or been told to.
I didn’t want to think about gone, not when we were so close to putting closure on our issues with Darius West, so I did what a good investigator would do. I checked the trash can (empty), the drawers (empty), the closet (empty) for any sign of the documents Darius had executed, or any other hint about who’d been manipulating him. Ethan checked the mattress and between the towels in the bathroom for any sign, then walked back into the living room and checked that room as well.
A creak behind me had me spinning around, katana in hand and at the ready.
The curtain on the left side of the wall billowed, its hem rising like the swirling skirt on a dancer, and a breeze blew in.
I blew out a breath, chastised myself for making monsters in the dark, and took a step forward.
I pushed aside the curtain, revealed an open doorway. A cool spring wind blew from the terrace beyond it.
There’s a terrace, I told Ethan. The door’s open. I’m going outside.
There hadn’t been a terrace on the plans Luc had found. Maybe it had been a later addition, an afterthought to make the enormous, marble-floored penthouse even more desirable to the people who preferred their marble-floored penthouses with terraces.
Adjusting the grip on my katana, I walked outside. Moonlight glinted off the surrounding high-rises, casting a glow across the stone floor, the giant urns that lined the stone rail . . . and the lone, lean figure that stood on the other end of the balcony.
I felt Ethan move behind me, held up a fist to stop him, and pointed out the tall, lean vampire who stood in the wedge of moonlight.
Let’s say hello, shall we, Sentinel?
Ethan walked forward, one hand on his katana handle, then passed me as he moved closer to Darius.
If he knew we were there, he didn’t acknowledge it. His hands were braced on the thick stone parapet that sat on turned-stone balusters.
“Darius,” Ethan said, quietly stepping forward.
He looked back at Ethan, eyes widening with an increment of surprise. “Ethan. It’s good to see you again.”
There was no obvious untruth, no apparent duplicity. Darius seemed completely earnest and by all accounts was happy to see Ethan again. That was the part that rang false. But we already knew something was wrong. The issue now was fixing it—and isolating the rest of the issue.
“You as well.”
I felt the team moving quietly behind me, creating gentle ripples in the magic that enveloped us all as they surrounded us.
“Perhaps we should go inside?” Ethan politely asked.
Darius frowned. “We might as well. A chill wind is blowing.”
That was hardly his only problem.
Chapter Nine
WORTH HIS SALT
Darius sat in an armchair, feet on the floor, hands together in his lap. His posture was as meek as his attitude.
“I don’t want to take him out of here until we’re sure it’s safe,” Ryan said. “This looks like magic to me, and there could be a fail-safe.”
“Agreed,” Ethan said. “But let’s be fast about it. Whoever’s done this could be on his way.”
“And we still haven’t seen the two guards we saw in the lobby earlier today.”
“Agreed,” Ryan said, glancing between Ethan and Cord. “Since he’s still my Sire, I’ll take the first stab, if you don’t mind.”
Ethan nodded, and Ryan pulled up a chair in front of Darius.
“Sire. I’m Ryan, New York’s Cabot House, NAVR Number Three.”
Darius nodded. “Ryan.”
“Could you tell us how you came to be here?”
Darius frowned. “Here? I came here from London.”
“Why?”
“Business,” Darius said, crossing one leg over the other, smoothing the fabric over his knee.
That Darius was here on unspecified “business” was becoming a common refrain; he’d told Ethan and Victor the same thing.
“Business?” Ryan asked.
“Transactions that required my attention.”
“I see,” Ryan said. “And what was the nature of those transactions?”
“Financial,” Darius said. “For the good of the Presidium and its Houses.”
“Oh?” Ryan asked. “For new projects?”
“For the good of the Houses,” Darius said again, parroting the phrase like he’d read it from a script. And if someone was working him magically, suggesting his thoughts and emotions, that might just be true.
“Thank you, Sire,” Ryan said, rising. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment?”
Darius gave him a regal nod, picked another mote of dust from his knee, linked his long fingers together.
Ryan rose, pointed toward Cord, then Darius, assigning him to guard the king. Then he gestured the rest of us into the hallway between the bedrooms.
“Magic,” Ryan said when we were assembled.
I didn’t feel any glamour around us now, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t here. It might have been low-grade but still insidious.
“There’s no one else here but us,” Ethan said.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, “but there aren’t any other options. If no one’s here, they’ve figured out a way to transmit glamour to another location.”
“Like an antenna?” I asked. “Is that even possible?”
