Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(99)

“Maybe she’s involved in it,” Morgan said.

“We haven’t seen any evidence of that,” I said, and flipped through my memories of her. Bored or vacant or typing on her phone.

“So potentially the four of them,” Ethan said, “and at least three supernaturals.”

“With heavy weaponry,” Catcher added. “He’ll have borrowed from the Circle’s cache.”

“Oh, good,” Scott said. “Because this wasn’t already an enormous cluster f*ck.”

“No argument there,” Ethan said. “He’ll control any sups within the boundaries who aren’t otherwise protected. They’ll come at us, irrespective of their desire or their alliances, because the Circle wills it.”

I wondered if my immunity from glamour would have given me any protection. Not that it mattered now.

“What do we do about them?” Morgan asked. “We can’t take them out.”

“Chuck’s working with the CPD on that,” Catcher said. “They’ve been developing some small-batch tranq weapons. We’re hoping we can use those, since these sups won’t have been fighting through any fault of their own.”

“You have enough for the entire team?” Jonah asked.

“I’m waiting for word,” Catcher said.

“And speaking of the team,” Ethan said, “we propose Catcher and Mallory, Jeff, Gabriel, Eli, Fallon, Morgan, Merit, and I go downtown.” He looked at Scott and Jonah. “Bringing the sups here will protect them, but if Reed figures that, he may split his troops and attack here. I’d appreciate it if you’d work with Luc and Malik to protect the House.”

Scott drummed his fingers on the table while he considered, then nodded. “I’ll have my vampires come here.” He glanced at Malik and Luc and nodded. “We’ll do what we can to keep everyone here and safe.”

“Appreciated,” Ethan said, then looked at Gabriel. “You have any bodies you want to spare?”

“The countermagic work on shifters?”

Mallory nodded. “Yep. Anything that meets a magical threshold.”

“Then if you’ve got enough, I can offer a few more. They’ll stay outside on the grounds. They don’t need to be in the House. Not after what they’ve done. The rest of them will stay outside the QE.”

Ethan nodded. “Then we leave now. Basement in fifteen, and we’ll arrange transportation.” He looked at all of us like a general surveying his troops. “This isn’t our war, nor is it a war we want to fight. But it is a war all the same. Reed would control us, obliterate us as creatures with free will in order to achieve his ambitions. We must not allow that to happen. We will not allow that to happen.”

? ? ?

We scattered, colleagues clustering together to make plans, arrangements. I drank a bottle of blood—like an athlete preparing for battle. When I returned to the foyer, Ethan and Malik stood together, Ethan’s hands on Malik’s face.

Ethan whispered something, Malik’s eyes flared with concern. It wasn’t difficult to guess the nature of Ethan’s words. This was the last communion of a soldier and his family before war. It was a promise by Malik to care for the House, a confirmation by Ethan that he knew Malik would protect and serve it, and a good-bye for both of them.

I’d seen this scene before, and each time it moved me; I had to look away to keep tears from blooming.

“Sentinel,” Malik said, walking toward me when their discussion was complete. “Good luck. Take care of yourself and our Master.”

“He’s the first thing on my mind,” I promised. I embraced him, then Luc.

“You got this, Sentinel. Go kick their asses.”

“I fully intend to.”

There was one particular vampire on my mind.

? ? ?

CPD had cordoned the blocks around Towerline with police tape and crowd barriers. Officers in riot gear were stationed every few yards, and people were stacked ten deep behind them, cameras raised high above the crowd to catch photos and video. They probably weren’t entirely sure what was going to happen, but they figured it would be exciting.

Magic filled the air like the tingle of electricity before a thunderstorm. The entire city was waiting for something to happen. And Reed was working to ensure that it did.

The plaza was empty of people, but figures moved inside the building’s two-story atrium, which had already been surrounded by glass. Maybe that had been a strategic decision, too.

We walked toward the cordoned area, were waved in by my grandfather, who stood with Detective Jacobs in the middle of a V formed by two canted police cars in the northbound lane of Michigan Avenue. My father stood with them in a Merit Properties windbreaker against the spring chill, and his expression was utterly dour. I had an extra twinge of guilt about both of them. Fathers and daughters were a complicated thing.

My grandfather greeted us, then introduced the rest of the team to the several officers he was working with. But for him and Jacobs, they were also dressed in riot gear—dark shirts, dark pants, boots, protective vests, and plenty of communications equipment. They were not messing around.

How much blood would have to be shed to satisfy Reed’s ego?

“They’re still on the top floor, as far as we can tell,” Jacobs said. “Sups in the lobby with automatic weapons.”