“That’s it,” Ethan agreed.
“So Navarre’s debt is paid,” Catcher said. “But what about the vendetta against King?”
“Still not settled, any more than Reed’s interest in us, at any rate. But I suspect Reed is a patient man, and he’ll be willing to wait for King.”
“King will have to stay in witness protection until Reed’s under wraps,” my grandfather muttered almost to himself.
“Reed is rich, connected, and apparently has supernatural benefactors at his disposal,” Catcher pointed out. “He won’t be under wraps anytime soon. But for now, we’ve got Maguire. We bring down Reed one step at a time.”
“One minion at a time,” Jeff agreed.
“How is he?” Ethan asked.
“Conscious, under guard,” my grandfather said. “He’ll be arrested formally once he’s clear. Let’s go up and hear what he has to say.”
* * *
As a vampire, I didn’t have much use for hospitals, much need for them. But there was still something about the pale green walls, the antiseptic scent that made me nervous.
We followed a complicated trail from elevator to passageway to elevator, and finally through a gauntlet of nurses and cops before we reached Maguire’s room at the end of a hallway. Two uniforms stood by the door, and they nodded when my grandfather approached.
“Mr. Merit,” said the one on the left. “He’s awake. Watching COPS.”
“Ironic,” my grandfather said.
“I’d have to agree with that, sir. Three of you can go in at a time.”
“Me, Merit, Ethan,” my grandfather said, then gestured for Catcher and Jeff to wait.
“Let me talk to him first,” I said. “I think we have a rapport.” Mostly of the ass-kicking variety, but I think that still counted.
“Lead on,” my grandfather said, and we walked inside.
The room was small, as most hospital rooms were. A couple of counters, small bathroom, bed.
Maguire lay in the middle of it, looking weirdly small. Some of his hair had been shaved and his face was swollen, a thick pad of gauze around his head. He wore a blue hospital gown, his body covered by a thin white blanket with a waffle texture.
Maguire looked up when we entered, smiled at the sight of me, then winced at the pain the motion had apparently caused. “What do you want?”
“Answers, preferably,” I said. “And thanks for destroying the Ferrari. Are you going to write us a check for that, or . . . ?”
“Fuck you,” he said.
“Not interested. Tell us about Reed, Tommy.”
His eyes flashed. “My name’s Jude Maguire.” He lifted his wrist, the plastic bracelet snapped there. “Says so right here.”
“We’ve seen your picture with him, O’Malley. Reed didn’t destroy them all. He missed one.”
“Bullshit.”
I smiled. “Absolute truth. It was a college photo—both of you with popped collars and keg cups. Very charming. And since we’ve got that photo, this would be a perfect opportunity for you to cover your own ass by explaining Mr. Reed’s involvement in the Circle.”
“I don’t know anything about the Circle. Everything I know about Reed, I learned by watching television.”
“You’ll go to prison,” my grandfather said.
“It won’t be the first time, won’t be the last.” Maguire turned toward the window.