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Chapter Twenty-three
WALK LIKE A (WO)MAN
Ethan needed time to breathe, to process, to cool off. Jeff, Catcher, my grandfather, and I gathered in the hospital lobby—Catcher standing, me on the floor in front of the bench Jeff and my grandfather shared—looking at the small tablet Jeff operated. Through the window, Ethan paced the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear, probably talking to Luc or Malik.
Jeff continued to tweak his ledger-searching algorithms, still looking for mentions of Balthasar, but without success. “I got bubkes,” he said, obviously frustrated. “The algorithm isn’t working. It’s not even catching words I can verify are actually in there. I can go through the microfiche by hand, but I’ll want my own comp and scanner for that.”
“We can provide staff to assist you with that. I’d bet the Librarian would be happy to help.”
I looked up to realize Ethan was behind us, arms crossed over his chest.
You’re all right? I asked.
No. But I will be as soon as I wrench his head from his body.
Jeff nodded. “That would be good. It’ll go faster the more eyes we have.”
“For the moment, let’s think more broadly,” my grandfather suggested. “Reed knew about this vampire. How?”
I looked at Jeff. “You said the ledgers were at a library in London?”
“Not the ledgers themselves,” Jeff said. “Just the microfiche. A private collector owned the ledgers.”
“A private collector?” Ethan asked.
“On that,” Jeff said, diving into his tablet again. His response was nearly immediate. “Well, Odin’s balls.”
We all blinked, not sure whether to respond to the very creative curse, or the fact that he’d been excited enough to issue it.
He looked up, obviously exhilarated. “The Memento Mori’s ledgers were purchased at auction by a private investor. The collector was represented at the auction by LMN, LLC.”
“Odin’s balls, indeed,” I said, and glanced at Ethan. “That’s one of the Circle’s companies that paid for Balthasar’s condo. When were they purchased?”
He scrolled. “Looks like four years ago. Oh, this is something. I’ve got the text from the auction catalogue. The ledgers were described as an ‘intriguing exploration of the inner workings of a London cult, including references to monsters and vampires.’”
I glanced at Ethan. “Celina’s relationship with the Circle started seven years ago, and we guessed the Circle learned she was a vampire at some point. Maybe that point was four years ago.”
Ethan nodded. “He learns what she is, develops an interest in vampires, begins researching, compiling information. He then discovers our faux Balthasar, and proposes an arrangement to him.”
“It’s been a long con,” I said. “And Reed is very, very patient.”
“All right,” my grandfather said. “Research, possibly the ledgers, would have given him Balthasar’s history and enough about Ethan’s to fill in the gaps. But how did he match the face? The voice? He’d have needed help.”
Ethan nodded. “You’re right. The ‘Balthasar’ we’ve been dealing with is a Very Strong Psych. The extent to which he can psychically manipulate—that’s a level of vampire strength I’ve never seen, but it’s not an impossible level. But that only explains part of it. It wouldn’t explain his voice . . .”
Ethan looked away, nodded, considered. His gaze went distant, picking apart some faded memory. “It is the same. Precisely the same. The intonation. The intermingling of French.” He looked up at me, at Catcher. “How could he have done that? How could he have matched it so precisely?”
“It’s possible to emulate a person with magic.” Catcher didn’t sound thrilled about the possibility that that was what had happened. “It’s in the same chapter as making a familiar, and equally as dark.”
Mallory had reincarnated Ethan in an attempt to make him a familiar for her magical use. She hadn’t entirely succeeded, but that magic, the darkness of it, had nearly sent her over the edge.
“So Reed’s got this faux Balthasar, and a sorcerer to remake him?” Ethan asked, anger only just banked. Sorcerers, to his mind, caused trouble in Chicago nearly as frequently as vampires, even though there were fewer of them.
“The sorcerer would need an actual piece of Balthasar. A lock of hair, a bit of skin—”
“A tissue sample from the Memento Mori?”
We all looked at Jeff.
