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“Time for the meeting?” Zachariah asked.
“We need to go. There’s been an attack.”
* * *
The suburban house was a bloodbath.
Every member of the family had been slaughtered, shot in their beds while sleeping. There was something about the scent in the house that made my hackles rise, my instincts urging me to get the fuck out. It wasn’t death. I’d become accustomed to that over the centuries.
Eight of us swept the property, then met in the spotless living room of the home where Patrick O’Flannery, the human emissary to the Conclave, waited with two members of his own council.
“Thank you for coming,” he finished telling Alek as we filed in.
Zachariah stood with Saint and Dagon, who’d paused their hunt for Samuel at the king’s request for their presence, and Talon and I moved to their sides. All of us were quiet.
Finding four dead children didn’t exactly lend itself to chatting.
“Of course,” Alek answered Patrick as Benedict held the front door open.
Corbin, one of the assassin trainees, ran out of the house, and the sounds of vomiting reached my ears a few seconds later. Couldn't blame the kid.
“What’s happened here is an obvious tragedy,” Alek said, “but would the human authorities be better equipped to investigate the murder of a human family?”
I shifted my weight, ignoring the call of my instincts to vacate the premises.
“That’s the thing.” Patrick’s jaw flexed as he took a plastic bag out of his pocket and pulled apart the zipper. “We found these shell casings and thought you might recognize—”
“Night thistle,” I said as the scent permeated the room. “The scent is muted by the bodies.” It was one of the few things that could kill us.
Patrick nodded. “The Sons did this.”
Alek paled. “Could you zip that up?”
Patrick did so, then handed the bag to one of his men. “We were tipped off by a council member who stopped by earlier for an appointment.”
“These humans were on the council?” Zachariah’s brow furrowed.
“No. He’s an auto-parts dealer,” Benedict said, running a hand down his face. “His name was Harold. He was the one hunting down the parts on the sixty-four-and-a-half Mustang I’ve been working on. I met with him a few—” His mouth slackened and his gaze flew to Alek. “Is this our fault?”
My stomach sank.
“I’m not blaming you,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “I know you would never bring harm to a human family. Can I ask where you met with him?”
“He kept his shop open late for me,” Benedict replied softly. “It’s a second-generation family business I’ve patroned for fifty years or so…” He sighed. “So he knew what I am.”
“That was never in question,” Patrick assured him. “The family has quietly been a friend of the council for years.”
“Not so quiet, now,” Alek said. “But I’ve never seen Sons use night thistle bullets on humans.”
“The scent isn’t as strong,” Benedict added. “Could be they’re adding a small amount to every bullet they make just in case.”
“Their targets have been larger than this lately,” Dagon said. “They’ve gone for schools. Clinics. Aristocratic vampire estates, not human families.”
“Guess they’re changing tactics,” Patrick muttered. “Either the Sons knew that Harold was a friend of the council, or they knew he was doing business with Benedict, but it’s clear that one of those things led to the execution of the family.”
We were quiet as we filed into the front yard. There wasn’t anything else we could do but leave the human police to do their jobs.
One by one, we scattered to our nightly missions, until only Benedict, Talon, and I remained.
