Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires 10)

I blew out a breath, nerves beginning to fire, fear beginning to settle in. I was about to walk across the lawn to the spot where a serial killer prepared to summarily execute my best friend.

I glanced at Ethan. “What if I can’t stop him?”

His responding gaze was unequivocal, his tone matter-of-fact. “Nonsense. You are Sentinel of my House. You have a job, and you’ll do it with gusto, as you always have.” He moved in and, despite the crowd around us, pressed his lips to mine.

Now stand Sentinel for Mallory, he silently said.

He was excellent at motivation. I looked at my grandfather and, at his nod, walked across the lawn.

Curt knelt beside Mallory, a set of small pennants in his hands, which were marked with blue crosses. He stuck them in the ground around her body, presumably to mirror the castle pennants on the card. Her arms and legs, I could see now, were tied to small wooden stakes in the ground. I didn’t see any weapon, but I could feel the tingle of them.

He raised his head like a startled deer, jumped to his feet, and pulled a handgun from the waistband of his pants. He pointed it at Mallory with an unwavering arm. “If you take one step closer, I will kill her.”

I stopped, held up my hands. “Okay. You’re in charge. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “You can’t stop me. Not now.” He gestured toward the scene he’d prepared. “I’m nearly done.”

“So I see. And with the Four of Wands of the Fletcher deck.”

His eyes shined with pride. “Fucking A.”

“That was tricky—using the tarot. It took us some time to figure it out.”

“That’s because I’m smarter than most of the ass**les that come into the store. They waste money on herbs, on spells, on nonsense.”

“You don’t believe in magic?”

“Of course not. It’s a waste of time and money. But it’s a job, you know? Pays my f**king bills.” His smile was cold. “I get to make money off their ignorance, and that’s fine with me.”

If Curt could see Mallory in her prime, fiery eyes and flames shooting from her fingertips, he’d have a very different view of what was and was not bullshit.

But the comeuppance would have to wait. My job was to keep him talking.

“Was Mitzy one of the ignorant ones?”

Like a switch had been flipped, his entire expression changed, softened. “Mitzy was part of me. We were connected. I got her a job at the Magic Shoppe—did you know that? Got her a job, helped her get her apartment. Tried to teach her how to respect me—how to respect the man she was dating.” His eyes filled with tears, and he wiped them away with his hand, which smeared blue paint across his face.

“You loved Mitzy,” I said.

“I love her,” he corrected. “We have a real connection. An honest connection.”

“But she was unfaithful to you?”

She hadn’t been, actually. Skylar-Katherine said they’d already broken up when Mitzy went on the date with Brett. But if Curt had built a shrine to Mitzy in his house, I doubt he appreciated the distinction.

His jaw trembled as he tried to stem his rising anger. “She was confused. I got her the job,” he said again. “And she didn’t give me a single word of thanks. And then she left me—” His voice wavered, but he shook his head, tried to control himself. “She just needed to learn. She needed to learn what was real, and what wasn’t.”

“And you tried to teach her?”

“She needed to be taught,” he said, voice low and sinister. Angry Curt was back again. “She went out with that ass**le, like she had the right. He’s a big f**king deal because his dad’s a cop.”

He grinned, but there was no happiness in his eyes. “Cop or not, I took care of him. He came into the store once looking for her while I was there. Said he got a kick out of the ‘magic stuff.’ But I was the one who worked at the store, wasn’t I? Me, not him. Asshole. He likes magic so much, he can die with it.”

“And Mitzy? Did you take care of her?”

Curt jerked his hand around his head, as if waving off a nest of hornets. “I took care of her, too. And made it magical.” He rubbed the backs of his hands over his face, smearing more blue across it, his white teeth a maniacal contrast.

“Fucking tarot. It’s a pack of cards with pretty pictures. She wants to believe in that nonsense? Fine. I’ll help her believe in it.”

As if remembering what he was doing here, he kicked the stake that held Mallory’s left arm, jarring it. Her eyes were still closed, but she made a low groan.

“What about Samantha Ingram?” I asked, shifting so he’d look at me again, trying to keep his focus off her—and the SWAT team members who were inevitably moving toward us from the back of the property.

He looked irritated by the question. “Who?”

“The Three of Pentacles. The girl on the beach.”

He waved off the question. Samantha Ingram meant nothing more to him than Brett Jacobs, maybe less. “Some dumbass who came into the store, went on and on about vampires.”

I wanted to show him. Oh God, how I wanted to bare my fangs and silver my eyes, rush forward and scare the living shit out of him just for the effect, just so he could understand that there were far worse monsters in the world than he, that he wasn’t nearly as innovative as he imagined himself to be.

I knew how the adrenaline would feel, how satisfying it would be to hear his heart pound and his blood race in fear.

Focus, I demanded before my eyes could silver. Focus.

“The blue crosses,” I slowly said, fighting for my own control. “That was a nice touch. It’s one of the tarot formations, right?”

He looked pleased I’d gotten it. “My signature, is what it is. Everybody who does something like this—who takes the time to plan it, to be careful about it—has to have a signature.”

He seemed oblivious to the fact that the signature was precisely the thing that had helped the CPD connect the crimes—and put the blame on him. And it would be the thing that put him away for a very, very long time.

I screwed up my face with worry. “Listen, that gun’s kind of freaking me out. Do you think you could put it away for right now?”

“Why? So you can try to take it from me?”

I offered my most guileless smile. “Do I look like someone who could take a gun from someone like you? I don’t even own a gun. You, on the other hand, look like you actually know what you’re doing.”