“Amusing, wasn’t it?”

“And you say I’m a troublemaker.”

“We’re both troublemakers in our way.”

“Probably.” I stopped, looked up at him. “I don’t care how we do it. But we’re taking them all down.”

“Oh, yeah,” Connor said, with a deadly smile that had nothing of humor in it. “We absolutely are.”

* * *

* * *

Two bottles of blood and a cup of coffee. That was all I had room for. I’d be hungry for food soon enough, but the predatory contentment, and jolt of caffeine, was worth it.

We drove to Cadogan House, parked on the street, were waved inside by guards.

“Any sign of him?” I asked.

“None,” said one of the guards. “It’s been quiet, and we’re hoping it will stay that way.”

We nodded, walked toward the House. If the sword spoke to the monster tonight, it made no reaction. Too tired to be seduced by magic after its battle. Our battle.

“I always thought of this place as your castle,” Connor said, gazing up at the stone façade. “Rapunzel in her tower.”

I chuckled. “I always thought of the Keene house as your castle.” It was a Queen Anne–style house, complete with turret and balcony. “And you were, I don’t know, beauty and the beast?”

His laugh was a low rumble as he opened the door and the receptionist nodded politely. “They’re in your father’s office.”

“Thanks,” I said, and we walked across the foyer.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked.

“The monster sometimes gets edgy here because of my mother’s sword. But it’s quiet so far.”

He squeezed my hand, and we stepped into the office, found my mom and dad in the sitting area. They both jumped to their feet when we entered, came toward me with concern in their eyes.

“I’m fine,” I said, holding up a hand. “We’re both okay. A little bruised, but okay.”

“Mr. and Ms. Sullivan,” Connor said.

My mother snorted. “You’ve never called me that in your entire life. No point in starting now. Sit,” she said, gesturing us back to the chairs. “Let’s take a break and talk. You need to rest; you still look pale.”

“Vampire,” I pointed out.

The noise my mother made told me she didn’t appreciate the joke.

“Do you need anything to drink? To eat?” my father asked.

Connor looked at me. “No, thank you,” I said. “We’re good.”

We sat down, and I gave my parents a moment to look me over, assure themselves that I was fine.

“Clive is now in the custody of the CPD,” I said, “thanks to Johnson.” I gave them the rest of the update.

“I’d like to get my hands on Levi, that miserable little monster,” my mother said. “Not just for hurting you—although that’s more than enough. Lying in wait is a coward’s game.”

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “Held my own, just like Connor.”

She nodded, exhaled.

“I checked our records for the human name you gave me,” my father said. “Greg Voss, as Levi was then known, applied to join Cadogan House twice. Both times before your mother joined the House. I haven’t seen a photograph of Levi, and didn’t make the connection.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I said. “Why would you? Cadogan House rejected him.”

My father nodded, but there was still guilt in his eyes that I wanted to wash away. Violence so rarely affected only the victim; its effects spread like ripples in a damnable pond.

“I reviewed my notes. Voss had been adamant Cadogan was the right House for him,” Dad said, “went on and on about its qualifications. How he’d selected it from all the others. How he deserved it. But there was nothing about the skills, the passion, the ethic he’d bring to the House. I had a bad feeling about him, and asked the guards to search his history. They found a sealed juvenile file, but we weren’t able to obtain the details. We presumed it involved violence, given the size of the file.”

“It would be in character,” I said, cold sweat beading when I recalled the hot flash of his anger.

Connor reached out, squeezed my hand. I squeezed back, collected myself. “So you rejected him?” I asked.

Dad nodded. “He applied again the next time we were open for submission, was denied again. Didn’t try a third time.”

“How did he take the rejection?” Connor asked.

My father reached out for a tablet on the coffee table. “Not well.” He swiped it, then offered the tablet to me.

He’d pulled up a list of communications, each dated about a week after the other and running for nearly four months after the last rejection.

“He sent you letters,” I murmured and opened one at random. With Connor reading over my shoulder, I found the same tone of faux intimacy in the notes he’d sent me. The excitement. Opened another, then another, and found the same escalation, from bafflement to fury to declarations of war. The mania was obvious, and so was the pattern. More evidence we’d use to keep him from hurting anyone else—if we could find him before that happened.

“This is the entire set of communications?” I asked.

Dad nodded. “There was silence after those. I assumed he’d moved on. Joined another House, affiliated with a Rogue community. Apparently not.”

“Those were reasonable assumptions,” I said, and I handed back the tablet. “Can you send these to Theo and Petra? They’ll need to review and send them to the CPD.”

“Maybe there’s something in the letters we can use to pinpoint his location,” Connor said. “To find him, to stop him.”

Dad nodded. “Do you think his stalking has something to do with the House?”

“I suspect that’s how he learned about me—following House news—but it evolved into something else. He said in his first note he was glad I’d decided not to go back to Paris; he mentioned Paris in the loft, too. I get the sense that kickstarted this new stage.”

That seemed to loosen something in the set of my father’s shoulders. “All right.”

“What about Nicole?” I asked.

“Luc found her, as suspected, deep in meetings and with no idea what was happening here. She can’t leave New York until tomorrow—apparently there’s alleged financial fraud, and federal investigators are involved. But when she’s reached a stopping point, she’s coming here to deal with these issues.”

“What does ‘deal with’ mean?” Connor asked, moving incrementally closer to me, as if his nearness was a shield.

Dad looked at me. “The Bureau botched its handling, and she’ll deal with them directly along with members of her own guard. But she’s also insistent rules be equally applied in this, shall we say, new era. She wants to speak with you directly.”

“Interrogate?” Connor asked.

My father kept his gaze on me, strong and steady. “She hasn’t called it that. We’ve requested the meeting take place here, which is at least a minimal advantage. She agreed.”

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow. Midnight.”

Damn it. I’d guessed this was a possibility given Clive’s temporary arrest, but I thought I’d have more time to prepare for it. Well, it couldn’t be helped. I’d have to figure out a way through it. And, if possible, a way to use it to my advantage.

I sighed, looked at my parents. “Is the AAM truly better than the Greenwich Presidium?”

“Yes,” my parents said together, and looked at each other in a way that spoke of shared experiences. Shared fears and triumphs in the years before I’d been born.

“That’s it, then,” I said. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow. In the meantime, can I use the library?”

“Of course,” my father said with some surprise, then his gaze settled on Connor. “While you’re there, I’d like to speak with Connor.”

They looked at each other for a moment, two strong men, both important to me.

“Up to him,” I said.

Connor nodded, the deal made.

And my curiosity firing.

* * *

* * *

It was the largest room in the House. Two stories of books, including the wrought iron balcony that ringed the upper floor. There were massive skylights, library tables on gleaming floors, and of course, the vampire librarian, who’d snuck me detective mysteries when I was younger. They’d come in every few weeks, a numbered series about an eleven-year-old detective with a pet finch, glasses, and a little leather satchel. I saved my allowance for a month to buy a matching bag and wore it until the straps wore through.

I wasn’t sure what I was looking for here. But if I was going to face down Nicole directly, I knew I was going to need good, convincing arguments. Legal arguments. And vampire law was stored here. The Canon filled dozens of volumes that took up dozens of shelves, but I started with the Revised Canon of North American Vampires: Desk Reference, which felt heavy enough to contain most of the important rules. I carried it to a table, took a seat, and began scanning the table of contents.

Most of those contents were mind-numbingly boring: the rights and obligations of Houses; the accounting methods Houses were obliged to use; AAM committee structure. I skipped ahead to the criminal provisions, found the rule that I presumed the AAM was trying to use against me, even though no one had specifically mentioned it. Maybe not a big surprise, given we now knew details weren’t Clive’s strong suit.

The provision read, “The making of vampires is prohibited to any and all vampires who are not Masters.” That seemed, unfortunately, clear enough. I wasn’t a Master or a formal Rogue, so I was prohibited from making vampires. It seemed impossible that I was the only unaffiliated vampire who’d done so. Again, I was the example to be made.