Drink Deep (Chicagoland Vampires 5)

"I can hear you thinking from across the table," Tate said.

"If silent mea culpas are the best you can do, then you aren't nearly as interesting as I'd imagined."

"Two vampires are dead."

"Do you know how many beings have lived and died since the origins of this world, Merit? Bil ions. Many bil ions.

And yet, you give little regard to the preciousness of their lives, only because you happened not to know them. But two vampires who've lived more than their share of years die, and you mourn them into the ground, so to speak?" He clucked his tongue. "Who's being il ogical now?"

I stood up and pushed back my chair. "You're right," I said. "Maybe it's selfish to grieve. But I'm not going to apologize for it."

"Big words," he said.

I walked to the door, then turned back and looked at him, the playboy in convict orange. "Maybe, deep down, I wanted you to admit to me what you'd done and that you'd lied to the GP. Maybe I wanted you to take responsibility for their deaths."

"You cannot obtain absolution from me."

"I know." And I did. I knew that railing at Tate wasn't going to change anything, and it wasn't going to assuage my secret fear that I'd been the cause of Ethan's death. After al , if it hadn't been for me . . .

There were many truths about the events of that night, and Tate couldn't relieve me of the burden of my own guilt.

But I knew - as sure as I knew anything else - that I'd gone into his office to stop the spread of drugs, to help the Houses, and to help the city's vampires. Whatever the GP

may ultimately decide, I knew what had gone down in that room, and I wasn't going to stand trial for a crime I hadn't committed.

I looked back at Tate, and felt a little of the weight in my chest ease.

He beamed. "There we are," he said, his voice a bit deeper, his cold blue eyes gleaming with pleasure. "Now we're back to interesting again. You came because you aren't afraid to. Because as much as you believe you relied on Sul ivan, you are your own person. I've always known that about you. For better or worse, your father made you the woman you are today. Maybe he was cold. But you are self-reliant because of it."

A wave of magic thickened the air again as he spoke the words, sounding a lot like a mentor imparting wisdom to a student. That only confused me more.

"What do you want from me?"

His eyes gleamed. "Nothing at al , Merit, except for you to be who you are."

"Which is?"

"A fitting adversary." Perhaps at the chil ed expression on my face, he sat back in his chair, a smug expression on his.

"And I do think I'l enjoy this particular round."

I had the distinct impression I wouldn't.

"I'm not engaging in games with you, Tate."

He clucked his tongue. "Don't you see, Merit? The games have already begun. And I believe it's my move."

There was something comforting about the scratchy gravel beneath my feet and the cool fal air. The air in the room had been heavy, Tate's magic unnerving. I sucked in a few deep breaths and tried to slow my racing heart again.

Catcher and my grandfather stood a few feet away from the building and walked toward me as I exited.

"You're al right?" my grandfather asked.

We stopped together thirty or so feet from the building. I glanced back at it. From the distance, it looked so completely innocuous - just a smal brick building that had once upon a time housed time cards and invoices. And now - it held a supernatural being of unknown origin.

"I'm fine," I told him. "Glad to be outside again. There was a lot of magic in there."

"Insidious magic," Catcher explained. "You rarely feel it until it's too late. Did you learn anything helpful?"

"No. He played coy, although he seems to truly believe I was responsible for wha [sibhing het happened that night."

That seemed to be enough to satisfy the both of them.

Silently, we climbed back into the golf cart and made our way back to the gate. A breeze was picking up. I huddled into my jacket, not sure if it was the looming winter, or the experience, that had chil ed me to the bone.

As it happened, I'd previously been to the heliport where my grandfather directed me to meet the helicopter for the flight to Lorelei's island.

My father, a member of the Chicago Growth Council, had fought for two years to get a heliport instal ed in Streetervil e, an area north of downtown Chicago along the lakefront, despite concerns that that part of the city was too thick with skyscrapers to safely provide helicopter service.

That heliport was breaking news for the four months it took politicians to decide whether it was electoral y riskier to veto the heliport or al ow it. As was often the case when money was involved, the CGC won out, and the heliport was instal ed.

I parked on the street in front of the sleek, silver building that housed the landing pad and walked inside. A security guard took my name and then sent me to the elevator.

The doors opened at the building's top floor, a giant asphalt circle with an "H" marking the center. The pilot met me with a wave - the only way she could communicate given the vicious wind and noise from the smal ish helicopter, whose rotors were already spinning.

She motioned me toward the door, indicating I'd get headphones when I got inside. I nodded and made a run for it, ducking farther than I probably needed to avoid the rotors, but why take a chance? When I was buckled in, headphones instal ed, we lifted off, and the city disappeared beneath us.

Forty-two roaring minutes later, we approached the island. I hadn't expected it to be visible until we touched down, but the helicopter's lights bounced off a breaker of white - the bony hul s of ships that had been dashed upon the edges of the siren's island.

Thank God we hadn't come in a boat.

The island was covered in trees but for two smal clearings - one that held a structure, probably Lorelei's home, and a smal er area closer to shore. We touched down there. The pilot switched off the rotors, and pul ed off her headphones.

"This is spooky," she said, peering out into the darkness, then looked at me. "I've got to make another flight in a couple of hours. You think that's enough time for you to do whatever you need to do?"

"I certainly hope so," I said, then climbed out of the copter. I glanced back at her. "If I'm not back by the time you need to leave, cal my grandfather and bring out the troops."

She laughed like I was kidding.

Unfortunately, I wasn't.

A path led into the woods, and I couldn't help thinking about Dorothy and Little Red Riding Hood and al the others who had dreaded that walk. But the pilot had a schedule to keep, so I needed to get the show on the road.