Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(104)

I climbed over his body, moved to stand next to Ethan. Ready? he said.

Ready, I agreed, and we moved cautiously forward.

There, in the middle of the roof, was an enormous metal sculpture. It was probably ten feet across, at least as tall. It was built like a tree—if the tree had been built from metal scraped from the bowels of the earth and blackened by fire, every branch sharpened and honed to a point. It was hollow in the middle, and green smoke and magic poured out of what I guessed was a crucible. That smoke rose and twisted and seemed to take form above us.

And there in front of the crucible stood Sorcha and Adrien Reed.

He wore a black suit that would have befit a presidential candidate.

Sorcha stood beside him in her signature color, an emerald green sleeveless jumpsuit with a formed and fitted bodice in bias-cut emerald silk, with an enormous, structural ruffle over one shoulder. On her left biceps was a four-inch-long gold scarab atop a gold cuff. And atop her head was a cannily perched fedora in matching green, a satin ribbon around the brim. Magic swirled around her in pale green tendrils that matched those in the sky. Three of them danced together in her cupped palm.

“Son of a bitch,” Ethan and I muttered simultaneously.

Our sorcerer was a sorceress. And a damn stylish one.

Sorcha Reed had been the “man” at La Douleur, the “man” Annabelle had seen at the cemetery. The sup we’d seen at La Douleur—the one I believed had ratted us out—had been relatively small of stature. But because of the suit, the fedora, I’d assumed the sup had been a man. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she—or any other woman—had been Reed’s sorcerer. And in retrospect, I couldn’t have been more stupid. Who else would Reed have trusted so completely with his master plan, with the magic he figured would give him control of the city? Who else would he have allowed into the inner circle?

This wasn’t the vacuous Sorcha I’d seen at Reed’s side. This was the woman I’d seen peeking through—working busily on her phone, surprised that we’d shown up at the Botanic Garden but seemingly excited by the fact that we’d been arrested.

Tonight, she showed poise and power, and her eyes shone as coldly as Reed’s.

“Oh, look,” she said blandly, with an eyebrow arch that nearly rivaled Ethan’s. “They’ve made their way up.”

If her tone was any indication, she didn’t think we posed much of a threat.

“And they’re staring,” she said to Reed. “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. You’re surprised. Most are, but then, that’s the point.

“I was born into a family not unlike yours,” Sorcha continued, apparently eager to offer up a soliloquy. “Older, and more genteel, of course. From Salem, originally,” she said with a widening grin. “But when I discovered my magic, they made me shut it down, made me reject my true nature. And then I became a debutante, like I was a horse to be shown off.” Her gaze slipped to her husband. “And then I met Adrien. He has his games, his pleasures, and I have mine.” Her eyes shone with purpose. “I’ve turned the system on its head.”

“You’re biding your time,” I said. “You play the perfect wife, help Reed establish his legit connections. And when he’s powerful enough, has control of enough, you can both rule the kingdom.”

She clapped her hands together, condescension in her expression and her movements. “Bravo, Caroline Evelyn Merit.” Her gaze skipped to Ethan. “I see you’ve adopted a similar plan.”

Anger pierced me, the fact that she believed I’d used Ethan in some kind of rebellion against my family. The recognition that she probably knew better—that she was baiting me just as Reed liked to do—kept me in my place.

“We have a countermagic,” Ethan said, getting us back to the point. “Your alchemy is being unraveled as we speak, and the CPD is waiting for you below. Your bluff has been called, Reed. It’s time to step away from the table.”

“You misunderstand,” Reed said. “Your magic’s failing.” He gestured to the airspace above us, where the QE still hung in the sky. It did look more stable than it had seemed before we came up here, but I refused to believe Mallory and Catcher weren’t beating it back, reversing the magic they’d created. I believed in her as much as I believed in anyone. And good had to win sometimes.

“It’s your sorcerer against mine,” Reed said, “and mine wins every time. She’s exquisitely powerful.” He slid his hands into his pockets, just casually enough to rankle. “I assume the magic’s effect on you has been dampened by those trinkets you’re wearing. A clever, if unsophisticated, measure. Not that it will matter. We appreciate a good game, but our magic is winning. When we have Chicagoland’s vampires—and everyone else—under our control, you’ll become nothing more than rounding errors in our empire.”

He doesn’t know about the House, I told Ethan. About the ward.

And let’s keep it that way, he said.

“And, of course,” Reed continued, because the man loved to hear himself talk, “we have a vampire.” He looked back at me, and his gaze crept over my body like a spider. “I understand you’re acquainted.”

I would have lunged for him, if Ethan hadn’t held me back.

Reed’s smile widened. “As I expected. That had been a bit of luck. I hadn’t known Logan when he was in Celina’s employ. And wasn’t it fortuitous that we met again, and he told me of his exploits?”