Having come to that conclusion, and uncertain what to do about it, Macey turned her thoughts to something less unpleasant. Flora. What was up with Flora?
While Macey wasn't overly worried their friend hadn't shown up tonight, it was still unusual for her not to have heard from her for such an extended time. She and Flora had been best friends for more than a decade. They'd even moved to Chicago within a month of each other. And since none of their group of friends had telephones in their apartments, they had to rely on using those of others-and rely on any messages being delivered. If something had come up at the last minute, Flora had no way of letting anyone know. And with Flora, things like that happened all the time. So her absence wasn't terribly worrisome.
But since Temple showed up at Macey's flat and Flora left in a little bit of a huff, Macey realized her friend might even be sulking a little, and waiting for her to contact her. And she hadn't. Generally, Flora was too happy and upbeat to hold a grudge against anyone, though, so maybe she was just busy with her new job-and her new guy.
Macey would go visit her tomorrow. Unfortunately, Dr. Morgan insisted she come in for a few hours, even though it was Saturday, because of preparations for the upcoming fundraiser. But she'd go over later, drag Flora out dancing. They'd have a great time.
She looked at the huge clock on the lobby wall. Nearly midnight. No sign of Dottie or Chelle, or even the helpful manager Ben. The gals might have already left. Macey sighed. Might as well go home herself. She did have to work tomorrow.
Outside, the chilly April night made her wish she hadn't donated away her wrap. The breeze seemed to blow right through her gauzy frock. Unwilling to draw attention to herself (in case Capone had his men watching for her-but would he even do that?) and ask a bellman to flag her a taxi, she walked down the block away from the hotel toward the motion picture theater.
Though it was late, people clogged the sidewalks everywhere, coming from the vaudeville show, the theater, the hotel-or on their way to one of them. Cars trundled along, beeping and honking if a pedestrian dared set foot in the road nearby.
A car slowed next to her, and Macey looked over just as the back door opened.
"Get in," said a thick male voice. "My boss would like to speak to you. "
At the same time, a man emerged from the front of the car. As Macey stepped back, she caught sight of a black metal object in his hand. She didn't need to see anything else.
She dodged the hand that lunged for her and took off down the sidewalk, weaving between people, bumping into them, causing outcries in her wake. Back at the Palmer, standing by the doormen, she finally felt safe enough to turn and look back.
Her pursuers-if indeed they'd even pursued her-were nowhere in sight.
Now what?
She went back into the hotel, and, luck of luck, Dottie and Chelle were standing in the lobby, looking around. When they caught sight of her, they rushed over.
"Where have you been?"
"We've been searching everywhere. "
"Oh, I got caught in a tangle-had to help a man who got hurt, uh, in a fight. We called him a cab. Hey, Dot, mind if I sleep at your house tonight? Mrs. G's going to be waiting at the door for me, wanting to grill me about the gala. " Macey was looking around the lobby even as she spoke, watching for anyone who appeared to be looking for her.
"Sure, Mace. A pajama party sounds great. Haven't done that in months. "
Still leery, Macey insisted they leave through the exit at the far end of the hotel, opposite the main entrance. They hailed a cab and rode off.
As she watched for anyone who might be following them, Macey realized she'd opened one hell of a can of worms.
Al Capone was definitely looking for her.
Whenever he could manage it, Sebastian conducted his private vigil at Old St. Patrick's just before the sun rose. Not only was the church always empty at that time, still as a tomb, it was also the least likely time of day for him to be found and ambushed by Iscariot or Alvisi-or any of their goons.
And it required him to leave the church after or during the breaking of dawn, which only added to the experience.
So to speak.
The first few times he'd walked into a church after being turned undead, Sebastian thought he'd self-combust as soon as he stepped over the threshold. But when he brushed his fingers over the vis bulla at his belly and rubbed the red signet ring from Wayren into his other palm, the blaze of pain ebbed and he was able to continue inside. That was how he knew he still had some humanity, some bit of his soul, buried deep i
nside.
Not to say it was pain-free, those moments inside a holy space. Not in the least. But Sebastian bore it, as he'd borne his "long promise" all these years.
Tonight-or, rather, this morning-though it was approaching four-thirty, Sebastian found he wasn't alone in the nave. The single other occupant was a woman, kneeling in front of the Blessed Virgin Mary on the left side of the church. A collection of red candles, many of them twinkling with tiny flames, cast a soft, pinkish glow in the dim space. He could tell she was a woman simply because of the shawl over her head and shoulders. A tingle of awareness shuttled through him as it did when Wayren was present, and he frowned, his attention settling on the veiled figure.
It wasn't Wayren. But there was something in the air, some energy, some prickling, that sizzled between or around them.
He must have made a scuff on the floor, for she turned slightly as he forced himself to continue on, stopping where he always did: at the fourth row from the back. He caught a glimpse of her face and got the impression she was frail and elderly-though not as old as he himself was. Gritting his teeth against the incessant pain, he knelt in the pew, and the old woman returned to her prayers.