There was a glimmer in Luc’s eyes. “And you disagree?”

“He has the rest of us for a reason. Do what you can—but do it carefully.” I rose. “I’m going to give the obelisk to my grandfather, or track down Catcher afterward.”

Luc nodded and rose, and I followed him down the hallway to the vault built into the wall. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, plugged the square key into the vault’s door, and it flipped open.

The obelisk lay on its side, looking admittedly pitiful in the plastic bag on its bed of margarita salt. Luc pulled out the bag with two fingers, handed it over.

“I don’t think the magic can get on you,” I assured him with a smile, tucking it under my arm like a football. “It’s not a virus.”

“No sense in taking a chance with our health, Sentinel.” He closed the door again, looked at me. “Check in with us tonight, will you?”

I gave him the stink eye. “Are you asking as my boss, or because Ethan told you to keep an eye on me?”

He snorted. “I’m not going to tell you every conversation I have with your Master and mine. House business is House business.”

“And I thought we had a solid, trusting relationship.”

“Guilt doesn’t work on me, Sentinel!” he called out as I walked toward the basement door. “At least not as much as physical threats from a certain Master vampire.”

Every man had a price.

* * *

The best way to take a drive that led only to murder and loss? A sleek silver roadster purchased from a pack of shape-shifters and outfitted with a state-of-the-art engine.

I nestled the obelisk in the passenger seat behind my katana, strapped in, and turned over the engine, goose bumps lifting on my arms at the smooth and rhythmic purr of her engine.

I pulled out of the garage and into a clear spring night. The sky overhead was dark, but there was too much light in the city to see more than a few stars in the dark blanket of sky.

Because Chicago curved around the edge of Lake Michigan, there were dozens of beaches in the city. Montrose was on the north side of the city in Lakeview.

I pulled into the small parking lot across the street from the beach, but it was clear that something had happened. Police cruisers were parked along the side of the street, their lights flashing.

Jonah walked toward me, his car parked a few slots away.

“Good evening,” he said, looking dapper in jeans, a button-up, and a brown sport coat. “You all right? How’s your head?”

“Concussed, but I’ll manage.”

“I’m glad you’re conscious again.”

“I’m glad to be conscious again.” We walked to the edge of the lot, waited for traffic to clear before jogging across the street to the sidewalk that led toward the beach. My pulse pounded in my head with the effort, and I hoped I could make it through the rest of the night without a fight or a 5K.

“Did you get enough of the rescue story from Ethan?”

Jonah nodded. “He gave me the basic rundown. Nice job.”

“We couldn’t have done it without Matthew’s information. Still, not entirely a success. Cabot House lost a man.”

“So I heard. Scott sent his condolences to the House.”

“Yeah, Ethan, too.”

“Did Darius mention the challenge?”

“He did not. We got him back to the House just before dawn, and he left with Lakshmi just after sunset. Have you heard anything?”

“Only her outrage that someone dared attack Darius.”

Speaking of Lakshmi, she’d known Ethan for a long time and, considering her position, probably knew some of his history. Could Lakshmi be the “she” attempting to blackmail Ethan?

As we walked down the sidewalk toward the southeast end of the beach, I rejected that idea. She’d wanted me to encourage Ethan to challenge Darius. Why bother doing that, only to then threaten Ethan not to run? And more, she was on the GP. If she’d wanted to reject Ethan’s challenge, she could have done it directly.

The beach curved north, the southernmost chunk of it reserved as a sanctuary for birds, sand giving way to scrubby grass.

That was where they’d gathered—a gaggle of reporters barely contained by police tape, trying to snap photographs of the latest victim. They saw us approaching, began shouting out questions.

“Have vampires murdered someone else?”

“Why are you here, Merit? Did you know the victim?”

“Are you involved in her murder?”

“Are supernaturals killing humans?”

That one drew an irritated look—and nearly a verbal barrage—from Jonah, but I took his arm, squeezed. “Keep it in,” I murmured. “And let it go.”

“All right, all right,” my grandfather said, moving forward and guiding us through the tape and ignoring the questions they peppered at him. “That’s enough for now.”

“When Shakespeare said kill all the lawyers,” Jonah said, “he hadn’t met the paparazzi.”

“True enough,” my grandfather said, escorting us to the area where cops and investigators had gathered.

Detective Jacobs stood with several uniformed officers. Jacobs was tall and lean, with dark skin and a short crop of graying hair. Dark freckles were sprinkled across his nose. Tonight he wore a dark suit, overcoat, and matching fedora, always the gentleman, even when grief settled lines across his face.

“I’m surprised he’s here tonight,” I whispered.

My grandfather nodded. “Normally, he wouldn’t be allowed—he’s too close to the crime. But he’s a good man and a good detective, so the lieutenant cut him some slack. He wanted to work. It was important to him that he contribute to the process. It might be therapeutic, I think.”

“And where are Catcher and Jeff?”

“Ah,” my grandfather said. “That’s right. You haven’t gotten that story. They’re actually assisting the nymphs tonight.”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. “Color me intrigued, and give me the quick version.” Nymph drama was invariably entertaining.

“A New York artist created a giant floating hot dog. It’s supposed to represent anticonsumerism and remind folks to donate to food banks, that type of thing. The tourism folks think the project would be a great boon to the city. The nymphs were less enthused. They didn’t want a plastic hot dog in their waterway. Consider it a mockery of the river’s historic significance to the city and their jobs.”

Considering what I’d seen of the nymphs—including screaming and hair pulling—I presumed “were less enthused” was a euphemism for “went crazy.”

“We brokered a deal. The nymphs agreed to let the hot dog sit in the river for three days. In exchange, I have to agree to attend one of their dinner parties.”

I blinked. “You’re going to a nymph dinner party?”

He sighed, nodded. “They’ve been requesting I attend.” He looked over the scene in front of him. “For better or worse, tonight’s the night.”

“And Catcher and Jeff?” I asked.

“Catcher let them borrow the gym for the space, and they’re helping get things set up.”

Catcher owned a spare gym in the River North neighborhood. That was where he’d trained me to use my sword, although I hadn’t been there in months. Considering how much time he’d spent with my grandfather, I hadn’t assumed he’d been there, either.

I squinted, trying to imagine what a nymph dinner party might involve. Giggles, maybe. Pink champagne. Soundtrack by Kylie Minogue.

“How would one go about getting an invitation to a nymph dinner party?”

My grandfather smiled. “Do you want to go?”

“Not in the sense that I want to spend an evening with nymphs, or hear an evening with nymphs, so much as I want to see an evening with nymphs. Oh, actually, I do need to see Catcher. I have the obelisk that was used to control Darius. I’m hoping he and Mallory can give us some thoughts about who made the magic.”

He nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you—and the nymphs, too.” He waved at Detective Jacobs, who walked over and extended a hand.

“Detective,” I said, squeezing his hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Merit. Jonah,” he said, and they shook, as well. “Thank you for coming to assist.”

“We’re happy to do whatever we can,” Jonah said.

Jacobs nodded, looked at me. “I understand you took a hit in the line of duty last night.”

It seemed insensitive to mention immortality or vampire healing to a man who’d lost his son, so I kept my answer short. “I did. I’m working through it.”

My grandfather patted my back supportively.

“Shall we?” he asked, then gestured to the woman who lay on the sand. We walked closer.

She wore a simple sheath dress in deep red, the type a businesswoman might pair with a blazer. Her arms were at her sides. Her feet were bare, and her hair long, blond, and wavy. It spread like a halo beneath her.

There were no swords, but there was no mistaking the insult she’d suffered. Her neck was swollen, and there was a purple line of bruising across it. The blue cross my grandfather had mentioned marked her right hand, and added to the insult were the marks across her chest: three red pentagrams.

“You’re thinking a serial killer?” I asked, dread settling low and heavy in my belly. I looked up at my grandfather. “Two killings within a week.”

He looked, first and foremost, sad. Sad, perhaps, that someone in Chicago had turned to murder, or that Chicago would have to face the fear and horror of it.

“We don’t release the cross,” Jacobs said. “The victims are our priorities; finding justice for them. If we say ‘serial killer,’ the press and city will go wild.”

I nodded, and Jonah, who’d walked around, peering at the woman’s face, quietly swore, looked up at me, grief in his eyes. “I know her,” he said on a sigh.

Jacobs looked up. “You do?”

“Her name is Samantha Ingram. She’s a potential Initiate.”

“An Initiate?”

“That means she applied to join Grey House,” I said.

Jacobs frowned. “She’s a vampire?”

“She wanted to be one,” Jonah explained. “Some applicants are already vampires, but most are human. They seek immortality and House membership.” He looked down at Samantha. “She wasn’t scheduled to be interviewed until next week, but she’s on the short list. Good application. Had a history degree from Northwestern.”

“I see.” Jacobs looked back at Samantha, considering the new information.

“Did you publicize that she had applied to join the House?” my grandfather asked.

Jonah shook his head. “Applicants submit their materials; we review them in House, ask some in for interviews. If she’s selected, we tell her and the North American Vampire Registry. They’ll eventually identify the chosen Initiates, but no one’s gotten that far yet.”

I’d been one of those Initiates. My Initiate status had been listed in the Tribune by the NAVR, which kept me from going back to grad school. I hadn’t been thrilled, and I’d stormed into Ethan’s office for the first time to protest it. We hadn’t had an opportunity to select Initiates this year; there’d been too much drama.

“So it’s unlikely her selection was an attempt to pin this on vampires.”

“Considering the pentagrams,” my grandfather said, “it appears they’re trying to blame sorcerers.”

“Considering the reporters’ questions,” I said, “it’s working.”

My grandfather nodded. “I sent Catcher a photograph. He confirmed they’re magical symbols but said they weren’t used much by ‘legitimate’ sorcerers—his word. Since the last murder had vampire connotations—the swords—we wanted to get your take on it, too.”

Jonah nodded. “They’re magical. Ancient in nature, related to King Solomon’s key. But I’m not aware of any symbolic use by vampires. Vampires don’t have much in common historically with sorcerers. We have rituals of our own, but they’re based in feudalism, not sorcery.”

“Oath swearing, calling our Masters ‘Liege,’ that kind of thing,” I explained.

“What about the placement of the pentagrams on the body?” Jacobs asked.

“They’re roughly over the heart, which obviously has an important connotation for blood-drinking vampires. But other than that, not that I can think of.” He looked at me. “Anything in Cadogan House?”

I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“She was strangled?” Jonah quietly asked.

“That’s our initial conclusion,” Jacobs said. “We’ll confirm when we see Lin’s report. Could we get a copy of her Initiate application?”

“I’ll have to ask Scott,” Jonah said. “We want to protect her privacy, but I guess that’s moot now.”

“Do we know if Samantha knew Brett or Mitzy Burrows?” I asked.

“We don’t,” Jacobs said. “But that will be one of the first things we’ll look into. The presence of the connection—the crosses—suggests some relationship between them, but we’ll have to ferret that out.”

“Any sign of Mitzy since the raid?” Jonah asked.

Jacobs shook his head. “None. No sightings, no credit card activity, and she hasn’t gone back to the house; we’ve been watching it.”