Biting Cold (Chicagoland Vampires #6)(42)
Author: Chloe Neill

"In other words, rarely used."

"Just so."

"Is it wrong of me to say this could have been avoided if only the Order had paid better attention to Malory?"

"Not wrong at al," he murmured. "Unfortunate that it’s come to this, but not wrong. They have failed al of us, and Malory, in a multitude of ways. And they appear to be offering no assistance in cleaning up the mess they so tidily made."

We were quiet for a moment, watching each other. Ethan seemed to be at peace, but it seemed likely his mind was roiling with possibilities, probabilities, strategies, outcomes. I just wasn’t sure how many of those involved me.

I decided to save myself the rejection, even if it was only temporary. "Wel, I should get back to my room. Dawn wil be here soon."

"I want to pretend al is wel in the world," he said. "I want to pretend our House wil be safe tomorrow and secure in the bosom of the GP. But that’s not the world around us."

I think he meant it as an apology, but I wasn’t in the mood. I wanted sleep and a warm body to curl against, and I wasn’t going to get it.

"The world is what it is," I said. "We can only battle it back."

As dawn approached, I slipped back into my room and my own bed, the sheets cool and undisturbed. I tried to quiet my mind, and I tried not to worry about what tomorrow might bring, or the fact that the Tates were stil out there, undoubtedly planning their next attack. The sun was rising, and there was nothing I could do about it now.

I hoped Chicago wasn’t Carthage. I hoped we could al find some peace. I hoped the sunrise wouldn’t bring more problems than it solved.

Chapter Thirteen

EVERY TIME A BELL RINGS…

I jolted awake nine hours later, stil alone in my chily bedroom.

My phone was ringing, so I grabbed it from the nightstand and checked the screen. It was Jeff.

"Hey," I said, checking the time. It was barely after sunset; Jeff must have been aching to cal me.

"We have news," Jeff said, "and it’s not looking good."

Not exactly the way I wanted to start the night, but then not terribly surprising, either. "What’s happened?"

"Not what has happened, but what might happen. Turns out, the crime scene folks found something at the scene of Paulie’s murder. They thought it was just a random bit of paper at the scene but, when they checked the blood patterns, discovered it was put there after Paulie’s throat was cut."

I sat up and puled my hair from my face. "What was it?"

"A newspaper article. Remember I told you about those four cops who got busted for beating up those vamps?"

"The ones you told us about in Nebraska? Yeah. Why?"

"The evidence at the crime scene? It was an article about them."

"Why would Tate be interested in something like that?"

"The article was about the cops being released. I guess they had to do some processing, or waiting for the bail money to go through, I don’t know. Their release is scheduled for tonight – there’s a big to-do at a CPD lockup on the South Side. Plenty of people are pissed about it."

That made more sense than I’d wanted it to. "Crap," I muttered.

"What?"

"As it turns out, we’re hypothesizing Tate’s an old-school messenger – an avenging angel with a revenge problem whose halo fel off many, many centuries ago."

"A falen angel?"

"That’s the one. And if he thinks the cops didn’t get the justice they deserved, he might be hoping to wield his sword against them."

"Tate the supernatural avenger," Jeff muttered. "In what universe does that make sense?"

"This one, unfortunately," I said. "First things first. Can you make contact with the cops or their attorneys? Let them know he’s a threat?"

"Already tried that route. Chuck caled one of the attorneys –  apparently he’d had some relationship with him when he was on the force – and tried to get him to cancel the conference."

Chuck was my grandfather. "The attorney didn’t buy it?"

"He did not. He said his client was a cop and he could take care of himself, especialy against, and I’m quoting here, a ‘desk-riding politician.’ He said he wouldn’t cancel the press conference because the city of Chicago needed to know how poorly his client had been treated. He supposedly went on for ten minutes about the injustice of being a cop behind bars."

I roled my eyes. "Then maybe the cop shouldn’t have helped beat the crap out of four people."

"I believe that was Chuck’s point. But I’m sure he said it more diplomaticaly."

"Probably so. I guess the lawyers wil find out soon enough about Tate’s ‘desk riding.’ If you’l send me the article, we’l see what we can do from this end."

"Wil do," he said.

"Thanks, Jeff. We appreciate it."

"No prob, Merit. I’m sure we’l talk later."

The e-mail came almost immediately. The article was lengthy; someone had done an in-depth review of the cops involved and their attorneys’ unsurprising friendships with Mayor Kowalcyzk.

That certainly explained the early release, and it might very wel have been enough to trigger another burst of angelic retribution.

I hung up, grabbed a shower, got dressed, and ran upstairs to Ethan’s bedroom.

He opened the door in nothing but silk pajama bottoms, and I nearly wept at the sight. Long, flat abdomen, ridges of muscle at his hips, his hair loose around his shoulders. It was almost cruel to see and not be able to touch.

"Is everything okay?"

I told him about the article Jeff had found. "This could always be a trap," I warned. "Maybe one of the Tates wants another run at us and left the article at the crime scene so we’d find it.

But we have to take the chance. The attorneys aren’t listening, the mayor has dismissed the Ombud’s office, and there could be hundreds of people at the press conference."

Ethan nodded. "If we’re the only ones who see the threat, I suppose we’l be the ones to handle it. And I agree – the risk of colateral damage is too high to ignore. I’l get dressed. Get your sword and meet me in the office."

This time, I did as I was told.

Luc, Malik, and Ethan were already in Ethan’s office when I arrived, the blade of my katana impeccable, my body clad in head-to-toe leather for the impending fight.

I’d finaly remembered to grab the worry wood from my room. It was a smal ridge in my jacket pocket, a comforting reminder that magic wasn’t al bad, that it could even be helpful.

That was a lesson I was fighting hard to remember lately.

They were seated around the conference table. I joined them.