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The night was lovely and crisp, and there were plenty of people out for a stroll. It wasn’t often you could walk through the gardens after dark, which explained why so many people had donated a pretty penny for the opportunity. Unfortunately—or not—none of those people was Adrien Reed.
The lights on Evening Island made a glow, reflecting lights like stars across the dark water that surrounded it. On a different kind of night, with a different kind of purpose, it would have been incredibly romantic. The kind of spot I could imagine Ethan proposing in. He’d want some kind of production, had already hinted that he’d given thought to the how and where, although it certainly wouldn’t be on the agenda tonight.
We crossed a wooden bridge, passed beneath budding willow trees, and stepped onto the island’s footpath, took a moment to survey the humans who’d gathered there.
The first face I recognized didn’t belong to Adrien Reed. It was even more familiar.
My father stood at a crossroads where two paths met, chatting with two silver-haired gentlemen, all three of them in tuxedos that probably cost more than most Chicagoans made in a month. My father was gesturing to the building across the water, probably waxing poetic about architecture or development, two of his favorite subjects.
He looked up, realized we’d arrived. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked toward us. The expressions of the men he left mixed curiosity and hostility.
“Merit. Ethan.”
“Have you seen him?” Ethan asked.
“Not yet. Although I was assured he planned to attend.”
“Did it occur to you that gathering information about him might put you in danger?” I asked. My tone was as sharp with my father as it had been with Ethan.
“He’s dangerous whether I’m here or not,” my father said, straightening his jacket. “It’s better for me if I’m here, where I can at least keep an eye on him. And, frankly, it’s necessary.”
“Because being on the outs with Adrien Reed could put you in a pinch,” Ethan guessed.
“Financially and otherwise.” My father slipped his hands into his pockets. “Pinch or not, you have to be careful what you do here among these people. They are wealthy, and they are powerful.”
“As he’s threatened Merit in my own home, I believe I’m entitled to a conversation.”
My father’s brows lifted, his gaze shifting to me. “What kind of threat?”
“A note promising victory at any cost,” Ethan said. “I don’t tell you that to alarm you, as Merit is safe in the House, but to make you aware. Reed continues to play a game, and he won’t stop until he believes he’s won. You heard about Caleb Franklin’s death?”
That Ethan had to ask the question said he and my father weren’t working together that closely. That helped, at least a little.
“The shifter who was murdered? The news said it was random violence.”
“It wasn’t,” Ethan said. “We believe it’s related to magical symbols we found near where he was killed. And we have reason to believe Reed is involved.”
“That’s the alchemy?”
Ethan nodded.
“Merit’s grandfather mentioned that.” My father looked out over the water, which rippled with the evening breeze, sending lights shimmering across its surface. “The more I think about Reed, the more I have trouble deciding whether he is guided by narcissism or insanity.”
“The most successful evildoers are usually both,” I said.
Another man rounded the corner, two short glasses in hand. It was my brother, Robert, who shared my mother’s blond hair and pale green eyes. I wasn’t close to my family, and my brother was no exception. I’d always felt like the odd one out, and certainly hadn’t changed when I became a vampire.
Robert handed a glass to my father and took a sip of his own, which gave him a moment to look us over, pick his first volley.
When he lowered his drink again, he settled on “What are you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too, Robert.” I kept my expression bland. “We were invited, just like everyone else. You remember Ethan?” I gestured between them.
o;That it is,” Ethan said with a smile, and handed me a pin as we walked inside. To the women and men who checked us out—or checked him out—he’d have looked cool and collected as he surveyed the room, evaluated his options. But I knew him better than most, and certainly well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the low-level buzz of irritated magic around him.
“Do you see him?” he asked.
“No.” But this vibe wasn’t right for Adrien Reed. The crowd here was mostly young couples with young money. Louboutin rather than Chanel. It was different flash for different generations, but flash all the same. Reed liked ostentatious wealth—his palatial house was as baroque as it got—all gilding and velvet and dark wood. But this wasn’t his particular brand of it.
