“Crap. Ant—he’llbe awa—expecting me.” Cally frowned at their sterile cage. Where had they hidden the mics?
It was another two hours before they heard footsteps outside their door, and by then Cally had dressed, and in lieu of other options, was sitting on the bed. The bolt pulled back and someone knocked, like it was all very civil.
“Come in,” Cally invited, with a roll of her eyes for Eve’s benefit.
Darian entered, still wearing his smart clothes but without the flak vest, shoes too clean and shiny to be anything other than a new pair. He left the door open wide enough to show an Order grunt waiting in the corridor outside, his weapon held ready.
“Ah, there’s our favorite witch. Nice to see you up and about.”
“Why are we prisoners?” Cally rose to her feet. “Why haven’t you killed the vampire?”
“You’re not prisoners,” Darian replied easily, leaning against the wall with his arms casually folded. “We secured the door for your own protection.”
“Protection from what?” Eve asked.
He smirked. “Yourselves.”
“I want to see Nico Aldobrandini,” Cally demanded.
“Excellent. That’s why I’m here. He’s just woken up.” Darian pushed himself off the wall and held an arm out toward the door. “After you.”
Eve stood too, but Darian stepped forward to block her. “Just Cally, I’m afraid.”
Cally crossed her arms. “She goes where I go.”
“Not on this occasion.” Darian was unmoved. “You have clearance; she, unfortunately, still counts as a civilian.”
“It’s all right,” Eve said, falling back into her chair. “You go. I’ll just sit here and watch the paint.”
Cally hesitated, then scowled at Darian and preceded him out of the door. Darian closed it behind them, sliding the bolt back into place.
The hallway was as stark as their room, bare concrete walls with doors staggered at irregular intervals.
“Where are we?”
“The Order’s New England headquarters,” Darian said as he led her down the passage, keeping it vague either deliberately or through disinterest.
They took a flight of concrete stairs up to another level, where two Order guards flanked an imposing steel door.
Darian grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you want to go in there?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She wanted closure, and seeing her mother’s killer helpless and captured would...Would what, Cally? How would it help?She frowned. “Why haven’t you killed him?”
“It. Why haven’t we killedit.”
“‘It’ has a gender.”
His expression hardened. “Itis a monster, a killer that feeds on the helpless, and it deserves no such humanization from us.”
Cally held his gaze. A monster? Yes, Nico was. But Cally couldn’t help thinking of Antoine, and how often she’d call him that. “Why isn’titdead? Wasn’t that the point?”
“That point was to capture it, which you helped us accomplish.”
“The point was to kill it. That’s what you told me.”
He held her gaze steadily. “We never said we would kill it.”
Damn it, they hadn’t; she’d just assumed. They’d just called it a ‘target’. “What the hell are you doing with it then?”
