Midnight Marked
Page 64
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“She looks fierce,” Ethan said, “because she is.”
Luc looked back and forth between us. “I feel like I don’t want to know what’s happening right now, so I’m going to just walk away and let you handle it.” Luc did, backing up until he’d put enough distance between us.
“All right, Sentinel,” Ethan said, “let’s get to it.”
Until we were ready to talk, there was nothing more to do.
• • •
Chicago’s Supernatural Problem Solving Team was an assortment of humans, vampires, and shifters.
Malik and Paige had already taken seats at the conference table. My grandfather came in with Jeff, and Mallory and Catcher arrived behind them. My grandfather patted me on the back as he moved past, then stopped to help Jeff with another board of symbols.
Morgan Greer—broodingly handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and soulful dark blue eyes—came in, followed by Scott Grey. Scott was dark-haired and tall, with the build of an athlete and a soul patch beneath generous lips. Grey House had an athletic bent, signaled by his jeans and Grey House hockey-style jersey.
Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t alone.
He’d brought Jonah, whose auburn hair was swept back from his face, framing sharp cheekbones and canny blue eyes. He wore a gray V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and boots.
Jonah scanned the room, found me still standing beside Ethan, let his gaze linger there for a moment. And then the moment passed, and he was moving to the table to sit beside his Master.
Was I on good terms with any of my partners right now?
Ethan gestured toward the table, and I walked to it and joined Lindsey to stand at the end of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ethan said. “The city has been presented with a magical threat that’s uncertain but potentially large, so we thought it best to have everyone in a room together. Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”
“One bit of news,” Jeff said, raising his hand, and all eyes turned to him. “Cyrius Lore is dead.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed to me, bright with anger, heavy with guilt. Cyrius had been an enemy only briefly, and by making the connection between him and Reed, we’d sent him to his death.
“His body was dragged from the river this morning,” my grandfather said. “He’d been killed by a vampire.”
“The same one that killed Caleb Franklin,” Catcher said, “based on the distance between the fangs.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I said. “Measuring the distance between the fangs to identify a culprit.”
“Supernatural criminal forensics,” Jeff said with a mirthless smile. “A growing field.”
“I guess so.”
“Sorry,” Scott said, holding up a hand. “Who’s Cyrius Lore?”
“He was the manager of La Douleur,” Ethan said. “He’s one of Reed’s people, and La Douleur was one of Reed’s places. He confessed to Merit and me that Reed was responsible for Caleb Franklin’s death, and that Reed has something big planned that will ‘bring order to the city’ by taking control of it.” Ethan mimicked justifiable air quotes.
There was lots of grumbling around the table.
“Reed must have decided Cyrius was a loose end,” Catcher said, and my grandfather nodded.
“That would not be out of character for the Circle,” he said.
“And what’s his long game here?” Morgan asked. “Even if he gets control, what’s the point of it?”
“Among other things,” Ethan said, “financial opportunity. Controlling the city’s coffers, awarding himself lucrative contracts, directing the allocation of resources. From what little he’s said, he’s somewhere near insane fascist on the political spectrum. Doesn’t like supernaturals, doesn’t like the poor. We suck away city resources.”
Scott snorted. “He’s clearly not looked at our property tax bills over the last few years.”
“Or any of the other ways we contribute,” Ethan agreed. “Maybe he’s using Celina’s neediness as his gauge. The point is, his motivations are personal, financial, political.”
“How does the magic tie in?” Scott asked, his gaze on the boards.
“That’s what we have to figure out,” Ethan said, and nodded at Luc.
Luc stepped forward, used a laser pointer—and whoever had given him that toy deserved an ear boxing—to gesture at the Wrigleyville symbols on the board from the library.
“These were found on an El track pedestal near the body of Caleb Franklin. The symbols are alchemical in nature. They constitute phrases that, taken together, appear to make up one part of a larger equation.”
“One part?” Scott asked.
“A local necromancer found another site yesterday.” Luc gestured to one of the new boards Jeff had brought in, which showed a map of the city, stars where the symbols had been found.
“There are similar symbols on both, including some hand-drawn images that look like hieroglyphics, so odds are they were created by the same hand.”
“Sorcerer?” Jonah asked, glancing at Catcher.
“Sorcerer,” Catcher said with a nod. “The symbols have magic to them, but the artist’s identity and origin are unknown. We’ve checked with the Order, and they don’t have any known alchemical specialists in Chicago. For what that’s worth,” he added grumpily.
Luc looked back and forth between us. “I feel like I don’t want to know what’s happening right now, so I’m going to just walk away and let you handle it.” Luc did, backing up until he’d put enough distance between us.
“All right, Sentinel,” Ethan said, “let’s get to it.”
Until we were ready to talk, there was nothing more to do.
• • •
Chicago’s Supernatural Problem Solving Team was an assortment of humans, vampires, and shifters.
Malik and Paige had already taken seats at the conference table. My grandfather came in with Jeff, and Mallory and Catcher arrived behind them. My grandfather patted me on the back as he moved past, then stopped to help Jeff with another board of symbols.
Morgan Greer—broodingly handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and soulful dark blue eyes—came in, followed by Scott Grey. Scott was dark-haired and tall, with the build of an athlete and a soul patch beneath generous lips. Grey House had an athletic bent, signaled by his jeans and Grey House hockey-style jersey.
Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t alone.
He’d brought Jonah, whose auburn hair was swept back from his face, framing sharp cheekbones and canny blue eyes. He wore a gray V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and boots.
Jonah scanned the room, found me still standing beside Ethan, let his gaze linger there for a moment. And then the moment passed, and he was moving to the table to sit beside his Master.
Was I on good terms with any of my partners right now?
Ethan gestured toward the table, and I walked to it and joined Lindsey to stand at the end of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ethan said. “The city has been presented with a magical threat that’s uncertain but potentially large, so we thought it best to have everyone in a room together. Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”
“One bit of news,” Jeff said, raising his hand, and all eyes turned to him. “Cyrius Lore is dead.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed to me, bright with anger, heavy with guilt. Cyrius had been an enemy only briefly, and by making the connection between him and Reed, we’d sent him to his death.
“His body was dragged from the river this morning,” my grandfather said. “He’d been killed by a vampire.”
“The same one that killed Caleb Franklin,” Catcher said, “based on the distance between the fangs.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I said. “Measuring the distance between the fangs to identify a culprit.”
“Supernatural criminal forensics,” Jeff said with a mirthless smile. “A growing field.”
“I guess so.”
“Sorry,” Scott said, holding up a hand. “Who’s Cyrius Lore?”
“He was the manager of La Douleur,” Ethan said. “He’s one of Reed’s people, and La Douleur was one of Reed’s places. He confessed to Merit and me that Reed was responsible for Caleb Franklin’s death, and that Reed has something big planned that will ‘bring order to the city’ by taking control of it.” Ethan mimicked justifiable air quotes.
There was lots of grumbling around the table.
“Reed must have decided Cyrius was a loose end,” Catcher said, and my grandfather nodded.
“That would not be out of character for the Circle,” he said.
“And what’s his long game here?” Morgan asked. “Even if he gets control, what’s the point of it?”
“Among other things,” Ethan said, “financial opportunity. Controlling the city’s coffers, awarding himself lucrative contracts, directing the allocation of resources. From what little he’s said, he’s somewhere near insane fascist on the political spectrum. Doesn’t like supernaturals, doesn’t like the poor. We suck away city resources.”
Scott snorted. “He’s clearly not looked at our property tax bills over the last few years.”
“Or any of the other ways we contribute,” Ethan agreed. “Maybe he’s using Celina’s neediness as his gauge. The point is, his motivations are personal, financial, political.”
“How does the magic tie in?” Scott asked, his gaze on the boards.
“That’s what we have to figure out,” Ethan said, and nodded at Luc.
Luc stepped forward, used a laser pointer—and whoever had given him that toy deserved an ear boxing—to gesture at the Wrigleyville symbols on the board from the library.
“These were found on an El track pedestal near the body of Caleb Franklin. The symbols are alchemical in nature. They constitute phrases that, taken together, appear to make up one part of a larger equation.”
“One part?” Scott asked.
“A local necromancer found another site yesterday.” Luc gestured to one of the new boards Jeff had brought in, which showed a map of the city, stars where the symbols had been found.
“There are similar symbols on both, including some hand-drawn images that look like hieroglyphics, so odds are they were created by the same hand.”
“Sorcerer?” Jonah asked, glancing at Catcher.
“Sorcerer,” Catcher said with a nod. “The symbols have magic to them, but the artist’s identity and origin are unknown. We’ve checked with the Order, and they don’t have any known alchemical specialists in Chicago. For what that’s worth,” he added grumpily.
