Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires 11)

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The front door was locked, no welcome party tonight, no cadre of limousines in line to drop off visitors. Ethan pressed the security panel beside the door.

“May I help you?”

“Ethan Sullivan for Adrien Reed.”

“One moment please.”

There was a pause, then a beep, and a woman in a dour black dress opened the door, gestured for us to come inside. The moment we did, two guards stepped forward, scanned us with handheld wands.

Metal detectors?

Looking for weapons and, more likely, recording devices, Ethan said.

When they decided we were clear, they gestured us forward. “Mr. Reed will see you in his study. I understand you know the way.”

“We do,” Ethan said through clenched teeth. “Thank you.”

The house had been stripped of its Venetian party decorations, but hadn’t diminished the excessiveness. Every nook and cranny was still stuffed with objects, art, furniture.

“Is he a hoarder?” I asked quietly.

“One wonders,” Ethan said. “That would certainly explain his criminal interest in accumulating more of it.” His voice was dry as toast.

We traveled the ballroom, the stairs, the gallery, made our way to his office. A new guard stood by the door, hands clasped in front of him, gaze suspicious. After a look-over, he nodded us in.

Despite the hour, Reed sat behind his desk, pen in one hand as he scanned a sheath of papers. “I’m a busy man, Mr. Sullivan,” he said, without looking up.

Ethan walked into the office, his gaze on everything in the room except Reed, his stride dangerously blasé. He walked to the bar cart, poured a finger of liquid into a glass, finished it.

So our Master vampire intended to toy with his prey a bit. If I wasn’t supposed to focus on his safety, I’d have pulled up a chair to enjoy the show.

Reed’s eyes widened at the move, but the facade snapped quickly back into place. “Help yourself.”

“Done,” Ethan said, putting the glass on the cart, bottom up, with a heavy thud.

Reed put down his pen, the move slow and deliberate. “Your manners leave something to be desired.”

“My manners?” Ethan said, turning back to him. “Do you know, Adrien—may I call you Adrien?—what isn’t mannerly? Being a loan shark. Facilitating a vampire’s addiction. Extorting murder. Assault. Oh, and leading a criminal enterprise.”

Reed’s eyes widened, this time with amusement. “Have I done all that? That’s quite a list of accomplishments.”

“Games are beneath you.”

He clucked his tongue. “I’m sad to say that’s wrong. All the world’s not a stage, but a game. Most are pawns. Some are kingmakers. Only a chosen few are kings.”

Ethan tilted his head. “Are you a king? Is this your castle?” He paused. “Is the Circle your kingdom?”

Reed went very quiet and very still. “I understand you fancy yourself a leader of vampires and think highly of your connections and your power. But I’m not sure you have as much of either as you believe, Mr. Sullivan. That could be dangerous for a man in your position.”

As if Reed had paid him the highest compliment—or been baited right according to plan—Ethan grinned wildly, took a step forward.

o;Or wanted to confirm the hit had gone down,” Ethan said. “There was, after all, some question whether that would take place. And to let it happen in his own home, he was incredibly confident King’s death wouldn’t be traced back to him.”

“That could be,” Catcher said. “For now, this is just speculation. We don’t have any hard evidence linking Reed to Maguire, as he’s now known, the Circle, or anything else. But it’s a first step. I have to go. We’re going to look into the King-Reed angle more. I’ll keep you posted.”

By the time I said thanks and hung up the phone, Ethan had grabbed his suit jacket and was headed for the door.