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I closed my eyes. Detective Arthur Jacobs was a stand-up member of the CPD—both a good friend to my grandfather and an ally of ours. I wouldn’t have wished death on anyone, and certainly not the loss of a child.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “So very sorry.”
“He’s not here—too close to it, of course. He’s with his family. But obviously this is important to him, which makes it important to me. And that’s why I’m calling. It’s the manner of his death. I’m here with Catcher and Jeff, but we’d appreciate your thoughts—and Ethan’s, if he’s available.”
This time, my stomach fell. The last thing we needed was another vampire accused of murder. It would be a quick end to our temporary peace. “You think a vampire was involved?”
“We aren’t sure. The victim was found at Fourth Presbyterian Church,” my grandfather said. “On Michigan Avenue. He’s in the courtyard.”
That church—and the courtyard—was beautiful. It was a refreshing patch of green along the bustle of Michigan Avenue. I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse for the victim to have died in such a lovely place.
“It looks like someone may have tried to tie vampires to it. That’s part of what we’d like your thoughts about.”
“We’ll do whatever we can to help. And we’ll be there as soon as we can.”
I said my good-byes, hung up the phone, and met Ethan’s gaze again. His expression was blank; he knew something was wrong, and he’d already moved into Master mode.
“What’s happened?”
“Detective Jacobs’s son was killed,” I said, and caught his sympathetic wince. “They found his body at a church on Michigan Avenue, and my grandfather would like us to consult.”
Sympathy turned to concern—probably fear that vampires had been involved in such a heinous crime. “Vampires had something to do with it?”
“He’s not sure; that’s why he wants us there. I don’t want you to go,” I said. “Not after what happened earlier.”
“I can’t—I won’t—stay interred in this House in the meantime. And I won’t let you go alone.”
I could have argued with him, but he’d insist on going, as much for my protection as for his.
“I know,” I said. “I’m going to message Jonah and ask him to meet us there.” When Ethan’s eyes flashed, I gave him a warning look of my own. “I can’t help with a murder and keep you safe. Jonah can. One more sword. One more pair of eyes.”
I saw the fight in Ethan’s eyes, the battle between pride and logic. But he finally relented.
“Contact him,” he said, moving the table back and rising to his feet. “I’ll tell Luc and Malik.”
“You should apologize while you’re at it. You’re grouchy when you’re attacked.”
“Don’t push your luck, Sentinel,” he said, even as I was stealing a cube of pineapple from his plate. Because I lived in the danger zone.
* * *
I texted Jonah, got his agreement to meet us at the church, and then headed to the closet to dress. I generally opted for leather pants and jacket when facing potential calamity, but the ensemble seemed too flashy for the circumstances. I opted for my own fitted, black Cadogan suit and a black tank. I finished with black heeled boots, decided to leave my hair down. A ponytail seemed too perky.
I finished dressing before Ethan. While he fixed cuff links and pulled on a watch, I checked my pride and joy, my ancient katana.
She was housed in a deeply red lacquered scabbard, stored horizontally on a rack Ethan had placed above a console table in the sitting room. His own katana lay below it in its glossy scabbard.
I lifted my sword carefully from its rack, unsheathed it with a delicate whoosh. The steel, tempered with my own blood and carefully cleaned, gleamed in the light, which flowed down the blade’s gentle curve like water. Assured she was ready, I tipped the end back into the scabbard and slid her home again.
“You think we’ll need those?”
I turned, found Ethan behind me in his well-fitted suit, hands in his pockets, hair pulled back. He looked more like a captain of industry—and possibly an illegal one—than a Master vampire. Captain or not, he could handle himself.
“I hope not,” I said. “But better safe than sorry.”
And speaking of safety, Moneypenny, my silver Mercedes coupe, was beautiful, but she was also recognizable and predictable. Moneypenny had the curves of a 1957 300SL Mercedes roadster but the speed of a Formula One prototype. She was a bombshell. Absolutely beautiful, and absolutely mine.
Lindsey, on the other hand, drove an SUV. It was large, black, and ubiquitous in Chicago. Midwesterners preferred heavy vehicles for treacherous winters.
Well, most midwesterners. Ethan drove a Ferrari. Of course.
“I’m ready if you are,” I told him. “Although I’d like to stop by the Ops Room. I need to make a request.”
* * *
Although much of Cadogan House was built to impress, the Operations Room was built for work. It was located in the House’s basement beside a well-stocked training room and an arsenal of weapons.
The Ops Room was also the headquarters of the Cadogan guards, which was why Luc sat at the central conference table, ankles kicked up on the tabletop, eating potato chips from an open bag beside him as he stared at the giant screen on the opposite wall.
He looked up when we walked in, gave Ethan a flat look before glancing at the screen again.
“Liege,” he sniped.
Ethan’s lip curled, but he managed not to verbally respond. Still, the hot wash of magic that filled the room made it clear how he felt.
“Lucas,” he said, and Lindsey, who’d turned to watch, cringed at one of the computer stations that lined the room.
“Any luck with video of the Mustang?” I asked.
“We haven’t found any footage of him so far. Nor any hint online the crescent tattoo signifies anything vampiric.” His gaze caught my belted sword, and he looked up at me. “Going somewhere?”
“There’s been a murder downtown—Detective Jacobs’s son. My grandfather asked us to consult.”
Luc’s expression fell. “That is rough. He’s a good man. Always been good to us. I presume he’s human, so why us?”
“That, we aren’t sure about. Only that the death has some tie to vampires. Considering what Jacobs has done for us, I didn’t argue.”
