What a class act.
“Because I’ve seen bigger,” I said dryly, stepping onto grass still soft from the winter snowmelt and walking toward him. I spun the dagger in my hand, watched his eyes widen as it caught the light. “But I know how to get dirty if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, I bet you do.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Fuck you.” His tone was as mean as his gaze. He didn’t know me or anything about me, but I was his enemy, and he didn’t care if I lived or died.
“Not in a million years. Do you work for the Circle?”
“You think it’ll be that easy?”
I shrugged casually. “I’m pretty sure I just chased you across Streeterville and managed to keep up.”
I flipped the dagger rhythmically through my fingers as casually as I might have scratched an itch, watching him, waiting for a lean or movement that would signal his next move.
“Not bad for a girl.”
“That’s what the last guy said—right before I kicked his ass.” I beckoned him forward, dipped my chin, smiled thinly. “If you’re so manly, come and get me.”
Sirens began to wail nearby. Someone had called the cops; I could only hope Ethan had managed to contact my grandfather, ask him to intercept. It wouldn’t do to have vampires arrested tonight, too.
Ginger didn’t want any part of cops. He feinted left, then barreled forward. But I’d been distracted by the sirens, caught the fake too late, shifted my weight too slowly. I jumped for him, extending my body, managed to grab his legs and bring him down. He kicked out, boot connecting with my cheekbone and sending a bolt of bright pain across my face. He jumped up and took off again.
I blinked back tears, but without pausing to think, relied on muscle memory and flipped my dagger toward him.
It connected, lodging in the back of his thigh. He cursed feverishly and hit the concrete on his knees, then yanked the blade out and tossed it away. Gaze narrowed, spittle at the corners of his mouth, he rose again, limping as he vaulted down the stairs to the road below.
“Damn it,” I muttered. A jackhammer pounding in my skull, I jumped to my feet and started for him, pain jolting through my head each time I made contact with the ground, and ran toward the small wall that overlooked the street below.
He was taking the stairs at a gallop, nearly to the ground.
There was no time to hesitate. I put a hand on the rail and vaulted over it.
The ground disappeared beneath me; for a moment, I was airborne. For whatever chemical or physical reason, gravity was more forgiving for vampires, so the jump from the upper street to the lower felt more like one big step than a twenty-foot leap.
I hit the middle of the street in a crouch, horns blaring deafeningly as an eastbound CTA bus roared toward me. I rolled out of the way, hair whipping around as the bus barreled past, four inches from my face, forcing the breath right out of me.
“Crap on toast,” I said, sucking in air before kicking up my legs and vaulting to my feet again.
I dodged the next car for the sidewalk, scanned the street both directions.
He was gone.
I cursed but set off at a jog, peering into the windows of a bodega, a fast food restaurant, and the fancy lobby of a fancier skyscraper, hoping he’d ducked inside to wait for me to give up, and I’d catch a glimpse of red hair in a corner behind a pop machine or a potted plant. But there was nothing.
This apparently being the CTA hub of Streeterville, a second bus sped past me, this one heading north. I glanced up. There, in the back left window, was Ginger, middle finger raised.
The bus turned and disappeared, taking him with it.
* * *
I stared, openmouthed, at the empty street for a full minute before pulling out my phone, sending Ethan and Catcher the information, hoping they’d be able to intercept the vehicle and give us back our lead. Because I was going to feel pretty crappy if I’d managed to let him, our only connection to the Circle, get away from me.
I cursed again, circled back to grab my dagger off the ground. I opted not to wipe off the blood, thinking the CPD might be able to process it for DNA, and tried to carefully conceal it inside my jacket. Uniforms would be circling soon, if they weren’t already, to track down the source of the gunfire—uniforms who probably didn’t know me or my grandfather. No point in exacerbating the situation with a visible and bloody blade.
There were still cabs to be had, but I decided to walk back to Navarre and steam off some of my irritation.
“Halfway across downtown Chicago and he hops a motherloving bus,” I muttered to the horror of a human couple who walked past as I turned back onto Michigan. At least they’d head back to Eau Claire with a good story.
Foot and car traffic lightened as I moved north, the streets quieting as I hit the Gold Coast again. Humans done with the day’s work enjoyed walks in the warm spring night, heading to a late dinner, to the river for a boat ride, or to the lake for a boat tour of the skyline.
What if I had that kind of life now? What if life became peaceful for Cadogan, and Ethan and I could settle down and become domesticated vampires, with a library full of books, a House of Novitiates, and possibly a child? After all the battles, the terror, the injuries, the grief, would we enjoy that life without drama? Hell, Balthasar was even older than Ethan, and he still wasn’t ready to settle down.
Since there was no end in sight to the current drama, the questions were purely rhetorical. But someday they might be. Could I go back to that quiet life—what Ethan had once called my small life—and be happy again?
As I turned toward Navarre House, I saw the city’s three Masters—Ethan, Morgan, and Scott—in front of Navarre House with Jonah, and my grandfather the Ombudsman’s van parked in front.
Yeah, I thought, and walked back into angst, political and otherwise. I could probably deal with a quieter life. As long as I got to keep my katana.
Chapter Fifteen
A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER
Grey House had an amenity for sports of all kinds and varieties, and its heavily male population, including Scott Grey, looked the part. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a matching soul patch beneath his bottom lip. Jonah, tall and auburn-haired, with generous lips and knife-edge cheekbones, stood beside him. They both wore jeans and Cubs T-shirts in lieu of the Grey House jerseys Scott had favored over medals.
Jonah glanced at me, nodded a silent greeting. There was a hint of sadness in his blue eyes, disappointment, probably, that we were still on the outs. Or maybe that I hadn’t yet given in to the RG’s demands.