“Damn it,” I said and rubbed my temples with my free hand. Too many knew about Minnesota, about Carlie. Anyone she or Ronan had told. Any Pack member in Minnesota who might have spread the word back here. Connor, Alexei, Gabriel, and whoever had learned it from them. My parents, and anyone in Cadogan House who might have overheard our conversation. Theo, Petra, Roger, and anyone else in the OMB.

It would have taken only a call, just that small and dangerous bait. And the AAM would have bitten immediately.

“Damn it,” I said again and pulled up Carlie’s number. I’d already insulted one person tonight; might as well give another bad news.

She answered immediately. “Elisa! How are you?” She always sounded cheery and charming, every time I called her.

“It’s been a week,” I admitted. “Are you okay? Is everything okay there?”

“We’re great. I’m working night shifts at the doughnut shop, and I think they taste even better now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She’d worked at the doughnut shop before the change, and I was glad she’d been able to maintain that connection to her community.

“Listen, Carlie. There’s something going on down here. The AAM, the vampire assembly, says I broke the rules when I changed you.”

“I was dying.” She sounded offended, which was exactly how I’d have taken it.

“They know. But they’re technically right, and vampires like rules. They don’t like exceptions. Has anyone tried to contact you? To talk to you about it?”

“No. I’d have told you or Ronan.”

“Okay. That’s what I thought. I just wanted to make sure. I don’t want them harassing you or causing any trouble.”

She snorted. “As if they’d come up to bumblefuck Minnesota for that. Chicago’s much sexier.”

I bit back a smile; I knew she was trying to make me laugh, but it felt too soon for that. Especially for her to be prodding at me, when this was all my doing.

I heard her shift, the tone of her voice change as if she’d sat suddenly upright. “Should I come down? Me and Ronan and the others? We would help you kick their uptight asses.”

I’d barely known Carlie when she’d been attacked. But each time I talked to her, I became more convinced I’d done the right thing. Maybe that, too, had been why Ronan wanted me to talk to her.

“No,” I said. “Let’s hold on that for now. I wouldn’t want to waste an army that talented on something as ridiculous as this.”

“Good,” she said, and she sounded relieved. “So it’s no big?”

“It’s no big,” I lied. “But if they get in touch, let me know, so I can deal with that, too.”

“Will do. Oh, I gotta go. Give Connor a big squeeze.”

I promised I would and ended the call. Then I put my head on my knees, and breathed.

* * *

* * *

I dressed in a drapey emerald tank and fitted jeans, my summer uniform, and had just pulled on boots when there was a knock at the door.

I doubted the AAM would be so polite, and we hadn’t made nearly enough noise to irritate Mrs. Prohaska. I actually thought to check the security peep this time, and found Theo waiting, along with Roger Yuen and Detective Robinson.

Fear was a cold stone in my belly, but I opened the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Elisa Sullivan,” Robinson said, stepping forward. “You need to come with us.”

“Why?”

“For questioning in the death of the vampire known as Blake.”

I looked at her, battling confusion at the name, and relief that it wasn’t someone I was close to. “From the Compliance Bureau?”

Yuen and Robinson exchanged a silent glance, then Robinson looked at me. “So you knew him.”

She must have known this; Theo would have told her. “He was one of the vampires who came to my door, who gave me the summons.” Fear was replaced by a sinking dread. “One of the AAM members is dead. And you think I did it.”

I certainly hadn’t killed him, and didn’t even know how he’d died. Did the AAM have enemies in Chicago? Or was it still trying to make them?

“Lis?”

I looked back, found Lulu in a robe, hair damp from the shower, arms wrapped around her torso. “What’s wrong?”

“Call Connor,” I told her and grabbed my jacket. “Tell him I’m with the Ombuds, that a member of the AAM is dead.”

It was all I had time to say before they hustled me down the hallway.

* * *

* * *

They put me in the back of a vehicle, drove me to the former brick factory that now housed the OMB office. No one spoke. Theo gave me a nod, but otherwise made no contact.

I wasn’t angry, not yet. But the dread was heavy. I knew Theo and Yuen, trusted them both. I didn’t know Robinson, and I didn’t trust the AAM. I had trouble believing the AAM would sacrifice one of their own to frame me, but I didn’t know of any other motive. If the AAM was behind this, they’d morphed from accusing me of breaking their rules to flat-out murder. What wouldn’t they do to punish me?

We drove through the gate to the complex of brick buildings, fronted by a small parking lot for any humans or Sups who might find their way to the offices. The vehicle stopped in front. Detective Robinson helped me out of the car and kept a firm grip on my arm as she escorted me through the lobby, the receptionist wide-eyed, and into a narrow hallway to an interview room.

I’d been in the interview rooms before, had sat at the aluminum table with Theo to question Sups who’d been accused of causing trouble, or had accused someone else.

Other than the table, the two-way glass that led to the observation room, and the caged overhead lights, the room was empty. It was grim and functional, and not designed to put the interviewee at ease. It was effective that way.

I took the chair that perpetrators had occupied during my prior visits, tried to roll the tightness out of my shoulder; Gwen and Theo came in, took the chairs opposite me. Roger Yuen was apparently going to sit out the discussion. Maybe, I thought ruefully, because he was my employer.

Gwen was in the seat I usually filled, and that was another pinch around my heart. She’d brought in a file folder, dropped it onto the table.

Might as well get this started, I thought. “I don’t need an attorney. And I’ll answer any questions you like.” And I was aware of the privilege that let me do that without further worry. “But I didn’t kill Blake. I’ve only seen him twice—at my door two nights ago, and last night at the Grove. I don’t know who killed him.”

“Tell us about the night they came to your door,” Gwen said.

“We’d had a party, and most everyone had left. Him, Levi, and . . .” I closed my eyes, trying to remember the name of the woman. “Sloan,” I remembered. “Blake was an ass. Sloan tried to smooth it over. Or that was the role she played.”

“Good cop,” Gwen said.

I nodded.

“And after that?”

“At the Grove,” I said again. I had a feeling I’d be saying lots of things twice. But I was still numb to my anger. For now there was only misery and disgust. “How was he killed?”

“Decapitated,” Gwen said. And with a considering look at me, flipped open the folder and spread the photographs it contained on the table.

I drew one toward me with a fingertip, and studied death.

His body lay sprawled on a floor of gold-flecked stone, his arms and legs spread. As promised, his head had been removed and lay a few feet away, eyes open wide, as if shocked by the situation in which he’d found himself. Blood was everywhere, in great dark pools, in splatters across the floor and the stone wall. Some had been smeared, maybe by the killer, maybe by a crime scene investigator. There was a coldness to it—not just because of the gruesomeness. Blake had been murdered, dropped, and left there in the pool of his own blood. The killer had simply walked away.

I looked up, found both gazes on me. Watching. Considering. Evaluating my reaction. I’d seen death, had sent vampires into its bony hands, its wicked care. I didn’t look for opportunities to kill, and regretted the need for it. I pitied his death, the insult of leaving him sprawled on the floor like garbage. But I didn’t know him and found it hard to muster sympathy.

For me, for the city, for Carlie, I had plenty. My anger was growing now, sparked by the waste of life and the real possibility the AAM was bringing more trouble than they’d revealed to me. That made it imperative I help find who’d killed him, and keep them from hurting anyone else.

I pulled the other photographs nearer, the same bloody visual but from different angles, and frowned down at them. Something was missing. There was no visible katana, but he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Casual clothing, so he may not have worn the scabbard anyway.

Something else.

I closed my eyes, thought of the night they’d come to the door in their matching suits, and last night in their matching fatigues. And the one feature they’d apparently been allowed to personalize.

I opened my eyes again. “His pendant is gone.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “His what?”

I gestured to my neck. “He had a pendant necklace. Some kind of stone on a leather cord.”

“You noticed he was wearing jewelry?” she asked.

“It was unusual,” I said. “They all wear the same clothes—like uniforms. Suits the first night; combat gear the second. A few had on necklaces or pendants. They were noticeable against the sameness.”

“That’s good,” Theo said and earned a sharp look from Gwen, who’d no doubt wanted him to maintain at least the pretense of objectivity.

“We’ll look into it,” Gwen said noncommittally. “Do you notice anything else?”

“The killer used a sword,” I said. I knew what a katana could do.

“Based on the medical examiner’s preliminary opinion, yes. Long, single-sided blade. And wielded by someone with skill. One cut, and no indication there’d been any second thought, any hesitation. The cut would have shown it.”