AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do not be mistaken,” he said. “The dragon was created by Sorcha Reed to terrorize this city. And though she may be gone, she has succeeded at that. The city is destroying itself in an effort to kill a creature that clearly has defenses to human weapons.
“Unlike others, we will not discuss blame. We will not talk about failures or missteps, because that solves nothing, and because it takes the focus away from where it should be—on the perpetrator of these crimes. On a woman whose self-centeredness and egoism have wrought destruction over the city. We will note that destruction, in part, was caused by this city’s willingness to believe human over supernatural, to give deference to humans with wealth and power, and to blame others for their failures. That attitude must change.
“Chicago is not perfect. But Chicago is ours, and it has been ours for a very long time. We have protected it as we’ve been able, and we will continue to do so. We are not the city’s enemy. We are Chicagoland’s vampires. Human solutions to this problem have not worked. When you’re ready to discuss a real solution, you know how to reach us.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked inside, leaving reporters yelling questions in his wake.
Ethan’s phone rang before he’d even made it back to his office. He answered it, eyebrows lifting. “Madam Mayor.” A pause. “Yes. We will.”
The call lasted less than a minute, and then the phone was put away again. But the smile on his face looked pretty damn good.
“The mayor has formally requested we step in and handle the dragon in the manner we feel most appropriate. The CPD and National Guard await our instructions.”
Now we could begin. And a good thing, because we had a lot of work to do.
• • •
We assembled the Ombuddies in the Ops Room again, and the energy was much different from the last time. Lindsey picked “Bad Blood” as our preparation music, and the vibe made us all feel pretty vindicated.
Scott Grey and Jonah showed up, as did Gabriel and Morgan. I’d wondered if Claudia would put in an appearance, but she wasn’t the helping type. Besides, we didn’t yet know what Sorcha’s death had done to her newly replenished power; she might not have been interested in destroying the dragon.
“And so,” Ethan said as everyone gathered coffee and filled seats at the conference table,“we find ourselves here again.”
“And with authority,” Scott said, raising his mug to Ethan. “Kudos.”
Ethan nodded. “This is a rare and important moment, and we need to capitalize upon it. That’s why we’re here—to create a plan for dealing with Sorcha Reed’s creation once and for all.”
; “Public Enemy Number One ate Public Enemy Number Two,” Luc corrected. “Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think that means the mayor neutralized jack shit.”
Pundits tended to agree with him. They blasted the mayor for failing to keep the city safe—and causing more destruction in the city’s efforts to kill the dragon—and us for contributing to the chaos.
“I’m not saying this was the vampires’ fault,” said one woman with big hair and a pinched face. “But these are the dangers of living in integrated communities—that humans will be dragged into their internal struggles. Into their violence.”
Angry magic roiling off him in waves, Ethan looked back at Luc. “Schedule a press conference. It’s time we did some talking of our own.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
IMPRESSED
We waited until a couple of hours before dawn, hoping that even if the National Guard didn’t scare off the dragon, it would take its leave during the day like it had before.
This time, our hope wasn’t futile. Its movements had begun to slow, each flap of its wings seeming heavier than the last. After a final flight over the Chicago Lighthouse, the dragon disappeared in the direction of the sunrise. But the mayor didn’t remove the soldiers outside Cadogan House.
It was late for us and early for humans, but it didn’t matter. The first press conference held by Navarre House more than a year ago had pulled them in. And now, this first time he’d agreed to hold a press conference, the city would finally hear from Ethan Sullivan.
Representatives of magazines, Web sites, radio and television stations, and newspapers—including our shifter friend Nick Breckenridge, who wrote for the Tribune—weren’t going to miss this. They gathered on the Cadogan House lawn. Ethan stood on the front steps in his suit, strong and powerful, his attitude completely different from the supernatural eroticism Celina Desaulniers had worked to project at her press conference.
Ethan didn’t need to work at it. His power was nearly tangible, his confidence unwavering. He’d played the political game in the interest of peace. Now he would fight back.
