Dark Debt (Chicagoland Vampires #11)(31)
Author: Chloe Neill

“Magic tricks?” Luc asked. “Why is he doing magic tricks?”

“Illusions,” Catcher gruffly corrected. “Not magic. He’s fast, and he’s got the coat to hold his props.”

“And he’s doing it for attention,” Ethan said, “which he’s clearly getting.”

The knot of humans on the street grew as more gathered around to check out what the rest of them were gaping at.

“This looks like a setup,” I said. “A play.” Ethan, gaze on the screen, grunted in agreement.

“What’s the play?” Malik asked. “Scaring humans? He’s already told them he’s a vampire.”

“Kelley?” Luc asked.

“You see what I see. There’s nothing else here—no obvious weapon, no partner.”

Balthasar turned his wrist, fingers flicking, and a small silver ball appeared in his palm. He spun it around hypnotically, just as he’d done with the crystal globe in Ethan’s office. “You may be aware that Chicago has three vampire Houses. Can anyone name them?”

“Grey!”

“Navarre!”

“Cadogan!”

I didn’t like the context, but I was impressed by the humans’ speed. They’d clearly been paying attention.

Balthasar smiled proudly, whisked the ball in the air, where it seemed to hover by its own magic. The crowd cooed appreciatively.

“Très bon,” he said, tucking the ball into his palm again. He moved his hands above each other, then opened his palms, and the ball was gone.

“As it turns out, I am not of those Houses. But I helped to make one of them.”

“How?” one of the men in the crowd shouted back. Someone in his early twenties, I guessed from the voice, but his image was blocked by the crowd. “How did you make one of them?”

Balthasar didn’t look impressed by the asker. “Who knows the answer?”

“Ethan Sullivan!” shouted a girl, mid-twenties, with waist-length blond hair pulled back in a low tail.

“Ethan Sullivan, indeed,” Balthasar said. “I gave him immortality. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to want my attention.”

While the crowd waited, breath bated, for his explanation, Balthasar looked up, scanned the crowd, and when he found Kelley, smiled directly at her—and into the camera.

“Careful, Kelley,” Luc said. “You’ve been made.”

Ethan crossed his arms, his expression unfathomable as he stared at the screen. “I suspect he wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for our benefit. And for theirs.”

Balthasar moved two steps toward a woman, lifted her hand. Kelley adjusted her position so they were both in the frame.

The woman was petite, with coal black hair prettily tied into a topknot and held in place with a black patent headband. Deep-set eyes were poised above a Cupid’s bow mouth, and she wore a short and stylish dress with flats. On her way back from a date, I guessed.

“What’s your name, mon amie?”

“Park,” she said with a smile.

“Make a fist, Park,” he requested, and she did, eyes wide and bright with anticipation.

As the growing crowd twittered like excited birds, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss there. “Perhaps,” Balthasar crooned, “Ethan Sullivan simply doesn’t want to share.” He turned the woman’s wrist so her fingers faced upward. “Open your hand,” he said to the woman.

She did, and a small white bird, just like the first, flew from her hand and into the sky.

The woman laughed, put a hand on her chest in nervous excitement as the crowd erupted with applause.

“Thank you,” Balthasar said, and looked at the camera again. “Sharing is how we show love and respect.”

I know he hadn’t meant me, not specifically, but the remembrance of his magic—as potent as it had been unwelcome—sent a cold trickle of unease down my spine. Ethan must have sensed my discomfort; he put a hand at my back, warm and gratifyingly possessive.

“May I impose on you one more time?” Balthasar asked. His voice was sweet as honey, his gaze warm and inviting.

Or maybe that was just his magic working overtime.

The girl nodded, extended a hand when he offered, and stepped forward beside him.

“We’ve never met before, yes?”

She nodded. “We’ve never met.”

“And yet here, beside this beautiful building”—he gestured toward the Wrigley Building behind him—“in this beautiful metropolis, it is impossible but to be moved.”

“What’s he after?” Ethan murmured to himself, fingers rubbing his jaw as he watched.

“It’s very beautiful,” Park agreed.

Balthasar fanned and fisted the fingers of his right hand, then opened them to reveal a soft white flower in perfect blossom. The woman’s eyes grew wide.

“For you,” he said, and she took it, inhaled deeply.

Her gaze went slightly vacant, her lips parting in what looked like delicious agony. But I saw the truth in her eyes—the dilated pupils, the mask of arousal overlying fear, overlying lack of control.

A shiver ran down my spine in earnest sympathy. She wasn’t pretending; she was glamoured.

“Ethan,” I said, the word a bare whisper.

He moved closer to the screen, eyes wide in horror as he watched the scene unfold in front of us. “He’s glamouring humans on Michigan Avenue.” I caught the shock of fear in his voice, that Balthasar had done the very thing Ethan had feared.

“Right on the damn street,” Lindsey muttered, eyes glued to the screen.

“Kelley,” Luc said. “Is he doing what we think he’s doing?”

“Glamour,” she said. “I can feel it, but just the outer edge. It’s pretty concentrated on her at the moment.”

Luc glanced at Ethan. “Sire?”

Ethan didn’t hesitate. “He cannot manipulate humans on Michigan Avenue. It’s a violation against the humans, and they most certainly will crucify us for it. Send her in. Stop this.”

Humans knew vampires existed, and over the course of the past year had learned about some of our strengths and weaknesses. But they weren’t, at least as far as we knew, fully aware of vampire glamour—and its ability to influence and seemingly control.

“Roger that. Kelley, you are clear to intervene. Move forward and intercept. Get him off the damn street. Bribery, your own glamour if you have to. But no violence.”