“I don’t suppose you know how I could go about doing that?” I asked with a half smile.

“I don’t,” he said. “And listening isn’t always the easiest thing to do.”

Without waiting for an answer, he walked back to the table and took a seat, then ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he needed help . . . or at least someone to listen.

“Ethan, could you give us a minute?”

Ethan didn’t look thrilled by the idea. But even if he didn’t entirely trust Tate, he trusted me.

I’ll be at the door. Be careful.

I will.

I watched him walk back to where the guard waited, then looked back at Seth. “Are you okay?” I quietly asked.

It took a moment for him to answer. “A conscience is a heavy thing to bear.” He smiled, brushed away a spot of lint from his right knee. “I’m neither saint nor priest, and I know the scales can never really be balanced. But I do believe everyone is redeemable.”

“And how is Regan?” I asked.

“She’s still so angry. It’s like a fire in her core, even here, where the magic is dampened. I’m not sure if she can lose that anger completely.”

“She may not,” I said. I knew something of anger and resentment, as I’d been angry at Ethan for a very long time, however unjustified that turned out to be. “But can she learn to manage it? To channel it?”

“I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, a signal of frustration. “She doesn’t like to talk to me about it. I would be more to her—a father to her—if I could. But she does not want that.”

Seth had been a playboy in his pre-Dominic days. Power was alluring to many, especially in a city like Chicago, which had been built on handshakes, backroom deals, and graft. I’d never known him to be a family man, but I guess given the opportunity, he’d discovered he wanted it. And then had been denied.

Seth rose and walked to me, hands gathered in front of him. “I appreciate your asking and listening. But you don’t need to bear the weight of my fears, too. You can’t save everyone.” A sad smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Much as you might try.”

I thought of Gabriel again, of the future that now seemed precarious, of the child he couldn’t guarantee, and I lifted my gaze to Seth. “I’ll try anyway. I’ll keep trying, because that’s what I have to do.”

The same smile again, edged with sadness. “Go find your magic maker, Merit. And be careful out there.”

“I will. Good luck, Seth.”

I hoped there was enough to go around.

• • •

My grandfather was waiting in his car when we came back, engine running and heater blasting against the cold.

“Report?” he asked, rolling the window down with its old-fashioned hand crank.

“Winston seems quite normal,” Ethan said. “Whatever delusions he was experiencing, he doesn’t hear them now.”

“The doctors suspect the sedation may have ‘reset’ his brain,” my grandfather said. “And besides that, the building is sealed from magic, thanks to the Order. So the magic won’t affect him while he’s here.”

“What if he stepped outside again?” I asked. “Do we think the effect just fades after time?”

“We don’t know,” my grandfather said. “We haven’t tried it yet.”

That wasn’t an answer I liked. Fading magic meant we just needed to keep the victims from hurting themselves or others until the magic wore off of its own accord. If it didn’t wear off, we’d have to keep them separated and safe—and figure out a way to make it stop. That sounded much, much harder.

Our phones—all three of them—began squealing at once. We pulled them out, checked the screens.

“Well,” my grandfather said, looking up at us, “I guess you’ll be going now.”

“Two dozen fairies on my front lawn?” Ethan said, gaze narrowed dangerously. “Yes. I believe that’s something we’ll need to address.” He glanced at me. “It seems you may get your chance to talk to Claudia after all.”

Tags: Chloe Neill Chicagoland Vampires Vampires
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