Lucky Break (Chicagoland Vampires #10.5)(14)
Author: Chloe Neill

“Can I sit her down and give her a talking-to?”

His smile widened, with something a little bit bashful at the edges. “No.”

I humphed but turned back to the front again. “All right. But you decide you’re ready for that heart-to-heart, and I’m all over it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Orangesplosion may have had new tires, but that didn’t make the drive any smoother over the pitted gravel road. Fortunately, the Clan wasn’t far from Ravenswood. I bounced in the seat for ten minutes before we pulled onto a long, paved road that curved through a stand of pole-straight pine trees stretching into the dark sky. We emerged into a flat clearing empty of trees but littered with residual pine needles.

The clearing held an enormous building in two parts—a circular component, the outside covered in curved wooden planks, and a straight component made of stone that intersected the circle like a spear.

The wood and stone were heavy and dark, the few pops of color all oranges and ochres. It had a 1970s feel and a UFO vibe.

“Interesting architecture,” Ethan said, pulling the car to a stop. We climbed out, took a moment to look over the building, the surroundings.

“Thoughts?” Damien asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the property with a careful eye.

“I don’t know much about them,” Ethan said, “so they’re hard to handicap. I suspect Vincent controls them, emotionally or otherwise. They’re vampires, so they’ll act accordingly.”

“With strategy and manipulation?”

I bit back a snicker, but even Ethan didn’t disagree. “All things considered, yes.”

We walked together to the portico situated in the junction between the compound’s circular and linear buildings.

Astrid opened the door before we reached it, her lean body draped in tented linen that flowed to her ankles. She smiled, opened her mouth to greet us, and then caught sight of Damien. Her eyes silvered immediately, and she bared her fangs and hissed.

Damien, unflappable, watched the reaction with flat eyes.

“Astrid Marchand,” Ethan said calmly, “meet Damien Garza, a member of the North American Central Pack. He is here on behalf of Gabriel Keene, the Pack Apex, as an emissary of diplomacy.”

Astrid, one hand on the doorjamb, was obviously flustered and not entirely sure she should allow a shifter over her threshold. She paused, eyes fixed on Damien for a silent moment, probably seeking permission from Vincent to let us in.

“Come in,” she finally said, and stepped back.

“Emissary of diplomacy?” Damien murmured as we stepped inside.

“It got us in the door,” Ethan pointed out.

The retreat’s interior was as unique as the exterior. The first room, a large foyer, had a Spanish tile floor, paneled walls in alternating shades of avocado green, orange, butter yellow. The walls bowed in front of us, the sides disappearing from view into hallways to other parts of the building. The rectangular portion of the building was a long lobby space, dotted with potted trees and backless leather benches in primary shapes. A circle and triangle here, a circle and square there.

“Good evening.”

We turned back, found Vincent and Nessa walking together down the hallway. Nessa had taken up her friends’ fashion and wore a blousy ivory tank and long, wide-legged trousers in a chalky blue, the same homespun fabric Astrid and Vincent wore. Her dark mane was braided loosely across one shoulder. She looked, I thought, less a vampire than a goddess, but I wondered if goddesses had ever looked so sad.

“Good evening,” Ethan said, then gestured to the building. “This is an impressive structure.”

Vincent nodded. “The building was created as a corporate retreat center. The business failed, and we were able to obtain it at minimal cost. Many of our vampires find us because they are escaping unpleasant situations. We try to give them a safe and lovely place.” He gestured toward the linear building, and we followed him toward it.

“We find living communally, without the presence of humans, gives us a chance to truly be ourselves.” The sound of trickling water blossomed, grew louder. There was a fountain that ran down the middle of the space, a small spout that poured a thick and gleaming stream of water into a narrow canal through the bricks. The canal was lined with cloudy blue-green glass, the water gurgling as it moved through the channel to the other end.

“Very nice,” Ethan commented, clearly sensing that Vincent was seeking compliments. “And how many residents?”

“Thirteen of our fifteen present members.”

When they began to discuss potentially applicable NAVR regulations, I glanced around the building, caught familiar streaks of blue and green in a painting on the opposite wall.

I walked toward it, squinted at the long and straight brushstrokes, the light gleam of varnish, the aged cracking of oil paints used to render a luminous valley landscape. Although the angle was slightly different, it was the same scooped valley, the same familiar crags of mountain on either side.

I glanced back at Nessa, smiled. “This looks familiar.”

Nessa nodded, pleased I’d realized it. “It’s a Barrymore—the same artist as the painting at the guesthouse. He traveled through Colorado in the 1890s, did nearly one hundred landscapes, including these two of Elk Valley.”

“You’re a collector?” Ethan asked, joining us.

Nessa looked back at him, sadness pulling at her eyes. “Actually, no. They were Christophe’s paintings. He had a great love of art, and he’d bought them in the hope he and Fiona would be able to build a larger home. We had them restored, Taran and I.”

Ethan nodded, and his voice softened. “Are you ready to return to the house?”

Nessa nodded shakily. “Yes. I mean, no, of course I don’t want to see where he—where Taran—was killed. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live there again. But if my going back can help . . .”

Vincent touched her hand. “If it’s too soon—”

Nessa smiled politely but firmly. I guessed she and Vincent had had this conversation before. “It’s necessary. But thank you, Vincent.”

We were walking toward the front door when magic prickled my neck. Since Damien and I both stopped short in the hallway, I guessed he felt it, too.

There were guns, sure. But their magic was dwarfed beneath a bigger and heavier magic, like an ocean of deep blue water resting on grains of sand.

Damien and I exchanged a glance, nodded.