I stiffened. “He’s not equipped to go up against Reed. His best bet would be to tell Robert the truth.”
“Which, as you know, would only tip off Reed and possibly incite him further.”
“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. What did you tell him?”
Ethan paused, looked at me. “Nothing. Yet.”
The most frustrating answer. It neither told me what he’d do nor agreed to keep my father out of it.
“You aren’t making this easy,” I said.
“War is never easy. A soldier knows that better than most.”
I looked up at him, surprised by the grimness in his voice. “Is that what this is? War?” I was asking about both of us—about us and Reed, me and Ethan.
“Reed believes it is, so we will treat it as such.”
And use the weapons at our disposal, I thought, whatever the consequences.
Luc walked toward us, and Ethan’s gaze went cool again. “I think we’re ready, or will be as soon as everyone arrives.” He looked at me, took in the leathers I’d paired with dark mascara and cherry red lipstick. “Sentinel, I like that color on you.” He winked. “Looking fierce.”
“She looks fierce,” Ethan said, “because she is.”
Luc looked back and forth between us. “I feel like I don’t want to know what’s happening right now, so I’m going to just walk away and let you handle it.” Luc did, backing up until he’d put enough distance between us.
“All right, Sentinel,” Ethan said, “let’s get to it.”
Until we were ready to talk, there was nothing more to do.
? ? ?
Chicago’s Supernatural Problem Solving Team was an assortment of humans, vampires, and shifters.
Malik and Paige had already taken seats at the conference table. My grandfather came in with Jeff, and Mallory and Catcher arrived behind them. My grandfather patted me on the back as he moved past, then stopped to help Jeff with another board of symbols.
Morgan Greer—broodingly handsome, with dark wavy hair that reached his shoulders and soulful dark blue eyes—came in, followed by Scott Grey. Scott was dark-haired and tall, with the build of an athlete and a soul patch beneath generous lips. Grey House had an athletic bent, signaled by his jeans and Grey House hockey-style jersey.
Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t alone.
He’d brought Jonah, whose auburn hair was swept back from his face, framing sharp cheekbones and canny blue eyes. He wore a gray V-neck T-shirt, jeans, and boots.
Jonah scanned the room, found me still standing beside Ethan, let his gaze linger there for a moment. And then the moment passed, and he was moving to the table to sit beside his Master.
Was I on good terms with any of my partners right now?
Ethan gestured toward the table, and I walked to it and joined Lindsey to stand at the end of the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ethan said. “The city has been presented with a magical threat that’s uncertain but potentially large, so we thought it best to have everyone in a room together. Since we’re all here, let’s get started.”
“One bit of news,” Jeff said, raising his hand, and all eyes turned to him. “Cyrius Lore is dead.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed to me, bright with anger, heavy with guilt. Cyrius had been an enemy only briefly, and by making the connection between him and Reed, we’d sent him to his death.
“His body was dragged from the river this morning,” my grandfather said. “He’d been killed by a vampire.”
“The same one that killed Caleb Franklin,” Catcher said, “based on the distance between the fangs.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I said. “Measuring the distance between the fangs to identify a culprit.”
“Supernatural criminal forensics,” Jeff said with a mirthless smile. “A growing field.”
“I guess so.”
“Sorry,” Scott said, holding up a hand. “Who’s Cyrius Lore?”
“He was the manager of La Douleur,” Ethan said. “He’s one of Reed’s people, and La Douleur was one of Reed’s places. He confessed to Merit and me that Reed was responsible for Caleb Franklin’s death, and that Reed has something big planned that will ‘bring order to the city’ by taking control of it.” Ethan mimicked justifiable air quotes.
There was lots of grumbling around the table.
“Reed must have decided Cyrius was a loose end,” Catcher said, and my grandfather nodded.
“That would not be out of character for the Circle,” he said.
“And what’s his long game here?” Morgan asked. “Even if he gets control, what’s the point of it?”
“Among other things,” Ethan said, “financial opportunity. Controlling the city’s coffers, awarding himself lucrative contracts, directing the allocation of resources. From what little he’s said, he’s somewhere near insane fascist on the political spectrum. Doesn’t like supernaturals, doesn’t like the poor. We suck away city resources.”
Scott snorted. “He’s clearly not looked at our property tax bills over the last few years.”
“Or any of the other ways we contribute,” Ethan agreed. “Maybe he’s using Celina’s neediness as his gauge. The point is, his motivations are personal, financial, political.”