“Anytime now, puppy,” I said quietly.

Beside me, Malik snorted, eyes gleaming. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you say that.”

Another kick, and metal dented, the door squealed open, revealing the leaf-strewn stairwell that rose to street level. And covered by a metal grate.

“This was the easy way?” Connor asked, glancing back with brow and mouth lifted.

“The other one would have been more fun, but much less politic.”

Connor rolled his eyes, climbed halfway up the stairs, and looked over the grate. “Hinges are the weak spot,” he diagnosed, as Uncle Malik and I shoved the door closed again.

“Allow me,” I said this time, and we switched positions. I flipped the sword upside down, used the butt to push against the hinges, which groaned in protest. So did my shoulder.

“Outside!” came voices from the basement as I half stood, half crouched beneath the grate to slam the sword into the connection points. One hinge rolled, broke away.

“Brat,” Connor said pleasantly, leaning against the door to block it. “Anytime now.”

“Almost there,” I said, and hit the other one, then again, until metal sheared with a rusty scream. “Got it,” I said, and used the katana to lever the grate off.

“Pass the grate down,” Connor said, feet planted as he and Uncle Malik pushed back against the door. I climbed up, maneuvered it into the stairwell.

Malik climbed up while Connor wedged it against the door.

“That’ll work,” I said and offered a hand to help him over it again.

We ran up to street level, and Malik gestured at a white SUV that rolled to a stop in front of us. He must have given someone a silent command to circle around and pick us up behind the building.

“Inside,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. But the street was still clear.

We climbed in, drove away just as vampires emerged into the alley behind us.

It took all the strength I had not to stick out my tongue.

NINE

Malik’s driver, a vampire I didn’t know, was very skilled. He weaved rapidly through traffic, down side streets, until he was satisfied the AAM hadn’t followed us.

I spent the ride sending Theo a report on the AAM’s attempted attack.

damn, he responded. we’ll find out where they’re staying, put a tail, and warn you if they try again.

That would be a nice change, I thought, and put the screen away.

Chicago’s four vampire Houses were located in central Chicago neighborhoods. Cadogan was in Hyde Park, home of the University of Chicago and the location of much of the 1837 World’s Fair. Navarre was in Gold Coast, tree-lined and stately, with its view of the lake. Grey House was in Wrigleyville, not far from the stadium.

Malik had placed Washington House just south of downtown in Dearborn Park. The house itself was a mansion of red brick and sculpted terra-cotta tiles, built in the 1880s by a gambler who hadn’t managed to hold it for long. The building had been empty for decades, until Malik—with the assistance of a century’s worth of compound interest—had restored it.

The SUV pulled under the portico, and we climbed out.

“Put the vehicle in the garage,” he said to the driver. “Just in case.”

“Liege,” the driver agreed, and pulled away as we followed Malik inside.

The floors were wide and gleaming tiles of black and white, the walls paneled in wood that gleamed beneath gas lanterns. The hallway led to a great room with more tile and vampires relaxed on couches or reading in wingback chairs. They looked comfortable and at their ease, and smiled politely—or with curiosity—as we followed their Master across the room and into a hallway that echoed the first.

Uncle Malik’s office wasn’t unlike the room outside. Cozy and comfortable, with leather chairs and watercolors in vibrant shades.

“Sit,” he said, and we both obeyed. He walked to a small refrigerator, pulled out a carafe of water, and poured a glass. Then he held it up, an offering.

I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

He drank deeply, then put the glass and carafe away, turned back to us. “That was certainly more excitement than I’ve had in several years. Unless arguing with my wife about curtains counts.”

I smiled. “Aunt Aaliyah is formidable.”

“That she is. Much like you and your companion.” He sat down on the edge of a chair, hands folded, and looked at us both in turn.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I threw out.

“Do you?”

“That I should pick a House and save myself and the city a lot of trouble.”

“It’s sound advice. Reasonable advice,” he said, and I opened my mouth to argue, but he simply lifted a finger. “But not my advice.”

“I’m listening,” I said, brows lifted in surprise.

“You are their daughter. They love you beyond measure, beyond fear, and want to protect you. Their suggestion is practical, but it requires a certain . . . dishonesty to self.”

Relief had my shoulders slumping. “Thank you for saying that. I was beginning to wonder if I was the only one who got it.”

He nodded. “I care greatly for your parents, and for you, and for Cadogan House. I owe much of who I am now to the life I led there. But I do not have the same allegiance to it that your parents do. I’m simply not built that way. It served me, and I’m grateful. But when the opportunity arose to do something different—” He gestured at the room to finish the thought.

“You said goodbye to that chapter,” Connor said quietly.

Uncle Malik looked at him, nodded. “You’ve grown quite a bit since your, shall we say, oat-sowing.”

“We shall say,” Connor said. His grin, I thought, still held some of his wicked teenage spirit, but his eyes were more solemn. They’d seen darker things now.

“I agree with you that they—this Clive and his people—won’t stop until they are stopped. And, in the event it needs to be said, you have an open invitation to Commendation in Washington House. We don’t do things exactly like Cadogan. We are more collaborative. We make good works the central mission of our immortality. But I believe you’d find a comfortable place here.”

“Thank you,” I said and hoped he could see the sincerity in my eyes. “But I have to decline.” This was, notably, the only offer I’d received tonight. Word of Blake’s death, and my suspicion in it, must have traveled. I’d become vampira non grata.

He nodded, smiled a little. “I expected you’d say that, and take no insult from the declination, but wanted to be clear that the offer was open.” He crossed his arms. “To my way of thinking, you have two options other than joining a House. You confront them with arms, or you confront them with brains.”

“Fight them or outwit them?”

“Exactly. Offer to fight them head-on, or make them stop by other means—because the AAM calls them back, or because you make your case in the press.”

“Is there a possibility the AAM would call them back?” Connor asked, looking between us.

“Not now,” I predicted. “Not until they’re satisfied I didn’t kill Blake.” And even if they believed me, they might still see me as the symbol of wanton Chicago . . . and they were eager to exact punishment.

“We need to think,” Connor said, reaching out across the space between our chairs to squeeze my hand. “Come up with a strategy to outwit them.”

“Grown quite a bit,” Malik said approvingly, then glanced at me. “You’ve chosen wisely.”

I glanced at Connor, watched his grin spread, but couldn’t disagree. “I know,” I said, then looked back at him. “And I appreciate your advice. I know you love them, and it’s probably not easy to give me advice you know they’ll disagree with.”

“They’ll disagree for now,” Uncle Malik said. “That’s the fear. But understanding has a way of beating back that fear. It’s one of the strongest weapons we have. They believe in you, and they trust you; they just need time.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“As much as I’ve enjoyed having you here,” Malik said, “the AAM will likely realize soon enough that this was your destination. You’re welcome to stay, of course, but I know that’s not what you want. So you should go now while your exit is easy.”

I nodded my agreement, rose, and gave him a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lis. Be careful. But be yourself.”

* * *

* * *

  I had no idea when I’d last eaten. Since the AAM hadn’t followed us from Washington House, I requested food before we turned in for the night—wherever that turned out to be.

Connor called an Auto, requested an address in what I guessed was the Humboldt Park neighborhood. I didn’t know the place, but since I was too hungry to make a suggestion, I had to trust him.

The building was low-slung and stubby, with a gravel lot filled with cars. The few windows had neon beer signs, and above the door was a blinking neon sign in brilliant pink and blue. Of a hot dog trying to jump out of a taco.

“Why is there a hot dog in the taco?”

“No one knows,” Connor said. “Looks like they beat us here.”

Lulu stood outside the building, sketching in a tiny notebook. Alexei sat on the steps a dozen feet away, watching her with an undecipherable expression. An intense one, though.

“She’s working very hard to ignore him,” Connor said.

“She’s probably in the zone,” I said. And knew that both were probably true.

When they saw us approach, Alexei stood, and Lulu slipped the book into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Light enough to draw?” Connor asked.

“Streetlight,” she said and came to me. “You okay?”

“I am. You have any trouble?”

“No. You?”