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No sign of recognition, and I realized I hadn’t told him about my meeting. I gave him the update, and he nodded.
“He’s not a vampire, and the OMB trusts him. But he was the only person we know of who was with Blake before he was killed. Someone needs to talk to him.”
“It doesn’t have to be you,” he said, “especially if he’s the one who’s stalking you, or he’s involved in it.” His voice was testier now. “Surely they can handle one interview with an elf.”
“Black said his people owe me a favor,” I reminded him. “He may be more likely to talk to me.”
Connor stepped forward. “And if he’s involved, more likely to hurt you.”
“Then it’s even more imperative that I find him and correct his misperception.”
“What misperception is that?”
“That anyone gets to lay hands on you other than me.”
Connor stared at me, nostrils flaring as he exhaled his frustration. “I’m going with you.”
“No,” I said, put a hand on his chest. “I don’t think he’ll be frank with you there. Or if you’re flurrying magic into the air.”
“Because he knows I could tear him apart with my own hands.”
“That does tend to discourage conversation. I need to talk to him alone. But I’ll be armed.” I thought through my options, had a twinge of anger that I’d been dumped by the OMB. Theo would have been the natural choice to accompany me. But that wasn’t one of my choices at present.
“What if Dan drove me? He’s security, right? But he won’t be as magically hyper. That way you can stay here and deal with”—I waved a hand at the building—“all of this.”
He stared at me for a moment, hands on his hips and every muscle tense. “It would make me feel better if you were locked in the town house for the duration of the epoch.”
We both knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m telling you about this ahead of time,” I reminded him. “Involving you in the decision-making. We’re running out of time; we’re going to have to do some uncomfortable things.”
“Such as it is,” he said, but sighed. “Fine. Dan, if he’s free and emotionally recuperated, will be armed. He’s a very good shot. He’ll keep me on the line, and you’ll contact me when you arrive, and when you’re back in the vehicle.”
He tipped up my chin, looked into my eyes. “But if Jonathan Black lays a finger on you, he answers tome.”
EIGHTEEN
Petra was able to give me Jonathan’s address—he worked out of his home—and Dan drove me to his house on Prairie Avenue, one in a line of historic mansions built by Chicago’s richest denizens during the Gilded Age. The house was pale stone with a green mansard roof, the lines ornate, and stood at the edge of a large lot big enough to be a park of its own.
I climbed out, belted on my sword. No point in being unprepared, especially if Black had powerful and magical friends.
“Any trouble,” Dan said, “and send me a message. Via screen, rapid flip of the lights, his bloody corpse thrown through the front door.”
“That would definitely send a message,” I agreed. “But I’ll probably go for something a little more subtle.”
“Must be that Midwestern nice I hear so much about.”
I snorted, closed the door.
The house was dark when I climbed the front steps, although thick curtains made it difficult to tell if the lights were on or off. I didn’t know if he worked for humans and Sups, or if he kept human or Sup hours.
I knocked. Waited and listened. And knocked again.
Five more minutes, and the door opened. Jonathan Black stood in the doorway, naked but for the towel slung around his hips, blond hair damp, and a very sultry smile on his face.
“Elisa Sullivan. What are you doing here?”
“I had a question,” I said, and I forced up a little blush.
