VAMPIRES, INTERRUPTED

I'd braced myself for the worst, and that was hardly preparation enough. The picture was grainy and the colors were mottled, but there was no denying the subject matter.

Oliver and Eve were dead.

There were few guaranteed ways to kill a vampire - aspen stake, sunlight, total dismemberment, decapitation. The latter two options were why vampires carried swords into battle. Our blades were a sure weapon to fell an immortal foe.

Whoever had done this deed, whatever dark-hearted monster, had chosen decapitation.

They lay side by side on a wood floor in a pool of blood. They were holding hands, their fingers intertwined in a final act of love - a denial of death. Their arms were covered in tattoos that seemed to flow together, as if they'd been inked arm over arm by the same artist.

They both had blond hair, but it was matted with blood. Their throats had been cut completely, their heads severed but resting only centimeters away from their bodies, a mockery of their immortality. They might have survived other wounds that would kill most humans; vampires healed quickly, and gashes might have eventually closed. But decapitation was, quite clearly, a mortal wound. A cruel cut.

There were no other signs of trauma. They might have been sleeping . . . other than the obvious insult.

I'd seen death before, and I'd taken life myself - always in the heat of battle, and always to protect someone or something that I'd loved. That was different. Unless Noah had information about Oliver and Eve we just didn't understand, this was cold-blooded, and shocking in its brutality.

My stomach swooned. My skin felt clammy, and a cold trickle of sweat slipped down my back. My head spun. I was swamped by the sudden memories of the loss I'd suffered a few months ago, before Ethan had been brought back to me. . . .

Shakily, I handed the phone to my grandfather, then looked at Noah, Rose, and Elena. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Noah nodded. "We aren't troublemakers. I don't know who could have done this."

"A monster," my grandfather said frankly, handing the phone to Catcher and Jeff, then looking at Noah, Rose, and Elena in turn. "I'm sorry for your loss, as well. I know that's little consolation, but I'm sorry for it."

I wondered how many times he'd spoken those words in his decades-long career as a cop.

"You took the picture?" Catcher asked.

Noah nodded again. "A friend of ours is a professional photographer. He loves to take shots of urban decay: building husks, graffiti, rusting steel, things like that. There's an old document warehouse not far from his studio. It was built in the nineteen forties, and he didn't think it would last much longer. He wanted to take a look before it was torn down or fell down, so he was walking through it with a colleague."

Noah cleared his throat, as if the explanation was getting more difficult. "They were walking around one of the upper floors, and they smelled blood, but they couldn't figure out where it was coming from. No visible source anywhere. James - that's the vampire - eventually found a latch. There was a secret room, a vault of some kind at the back of the room. They opened the door . . . and found Oliver and Eve."

Rose sobbed. My grandfather offered a box of tissues housed in a cozy knitted by my grandmother. Elena pulled a few out and handed them to Rose, who pressed them to her face but only cried harder.

"We took a look - just to confirm it was them - then came here. I left others to retrieve their remains. In case there's other evidence there, we wanted someone to know."

I looked at my grandfather, silently seeking his advice. A murder would fall under the purview of the CPD, but it wasn't as if the city's sentiment toward vampires was friendly right now. We were, after all, animals that required licensing.

"I can make a discreet phone call to the CPD," my grandfather said. "In the meantime," he told Catcher, "you might take a look at the scene for any other evidence." He glanced at Noah. "If that's all right with you?"

Noah nodded.

"Merit and I will go," Catcher said.

Noah was a big and buff man, but I caught a glint of relief in his eyes. He didn't want to return to the crime scene, and I didn't blame him. "Yeah," he said. "That's probably best."

"I hate to ask this," Catcher said, "but is there any chance James or his friend is involved?"

Noah shook his head. "I know you have to ask, and no. I've thought about it, and I truly believe he had nothing to do with it. Oliver and Eve were good kids. Ditto James. He prefers cameras to weapons, and he volunteers at a halfway house for guys with addiction problems. The service-oriented type."

Catcher nodded. "Then we'll start with the building. Jeff, while we're gone, check the property records for anything interesting. The owner, the history, anything that might tell us why the building was picked."

"Will do," Jeff said. He stood and waved gallantly down the hallway. "If any of you would like to join me in my office, you're welcome to. You could lend your expertise."

Noah rose and followed Jeff down the hall, leaving Elena and Rose on the couch, curled together in their grief.

My grandfather looked around the room. "Why don't I make some coffee, or perhaps tea?" He smiled gently at Rose and Elena. "Would either of you young ladies like that?"

"Tea would be great," Elena said gratefully, and my grandfather nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

"We'll be back," I assured Elena. "Noah knows how to reach us if necessary."

"Find something," she said, and I truly hoped we would.

* * *

Catcher volunteered to drive to the address Noah had given us, which was also in Little Italy. Unfortunately, it made a grim kind of sense that the killer would do the killing not far from the registration center where Oliver and Eve were taken.

On the way, I took a moment to update the House. I called Ethan, but didn't get an answer, and opted not to leave a grim voice mail. This was news I'd deliver in person.

"Two dead vampires," Catcher said when I tucked the phone away again. "And by all accounts, decent, innocent vampires."

Two vampires who'd lain down together, hands intertwined, and wouldn't awaken again. I wasn't sure why I kept coming back to that detail. Perhaps it was the former grad student in me. I'd studied medieval literature, and there was something about the image that evoked Romeo and Juliet.

Had that been the killer's purpose? Not just to kill vampires - or to kill these two vampires - but to paint an image of sweet and sad and bitter death?

There was something terrifyingly foreign about the idea. I understood killing in the heat of battle. I could understand killing for anger or revenge; the motivation was clear. But killing for poignancy? Killing to shock or offend? That was something much stranger, and I couldn't quite wrap my mind around it.

"The killer was setting a scene," I said. "Arranging them just so. They couldn't have held hands through . . . what happened to them."

"And he knew how to take out a vampire. He knew decapitation would do it, or he got really lucky on the first try."

I nodded. "Staking would have been easier. Aspen is so fast - a second and they'd have been gone. But if they'd been staked, ash would be the only thing left."

"Sunlight also would have been faster," Catcher said. "If he'd wanted them really, truly gone, there are lots of ways to hide that evidence, and we'd never have found them. So that's the first question - what's he trying to tell us? And second, why these vampires in particular? Why Oliver and Eve? Did he mean to kill them . . . ?"

"Or did he just mean to kill?" I wondered.

Not exactly the most comforting thought.

* * *

The rain fell in a whispery mist, adding another layer of bleakness to the evening. We parked the car on an empty side street and stared up at our destination - a white brick warehouse with WILKINS painted across the side in peeling blue paint. The windows were mostly boarded now, and the site was wrapped in torn plastic fencing to keep out visitors. Unfortunately, the warehouse's condition was similar to that of the other nearby buildings. They were old or dilapidated, in serious need of paint and rehab.

Catcher lifted the collar of his jacket and buttoned it up against the irritatingly constant rain and chill in the air. "Into the deep?" he asked.

I nodded and prepared to take the lead when a figure emerged through the darkness on the other end of the block. I put a hand on the pommel of my sword.

"Merit," Catcher whispered, a warning.

"He's a vampire," I quietly said when the familiar magic reached me. "No hostility that I can sense."

He was tall and angularly thin, with long arms and legs tucked into an old-fashioned black suit complete with vest beneath his trim jacket. His dark hair was short, a striking contrast to his muttonchop sideburns.

The light of a passing car reflected in his eyes, which were completely silver.

Vampires' eyes silvered when they were in the throes of strong emotions. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell which emotion he was feeling; his magic, although nervous, was otherwise neutral. Was he so adept at hiding his feelings, or was his reaction merely biological?

"You're Merit?" he asked.

I nodded, but kept a hand on my sword, a warning that I was prepared for action, and funny business wouldn't be tolerated. (Although in stressful times like this, I rarely said no to a good bit of sarcasm.)

Catcher watched him warily. "I'm Catcher, and you have us at a disadvantage."

"Horace Wilson," the vampire said, extending a hand. "Corporal, if you prefer it, although Horace is fine, too."

"You serve?" Catcher asked.

"Served," he said, emphasizing the past tense. "Eleventh Maine Volunteer Infantry."

That would have made him a soldier in the Civil War, and at least a century and a half old.

"We're sorry to hear of your losses," Catcher said.

"Appreciated, although I didn't know them myself. I'm just here to help. Rogues have a public service corps - purely volunteer, but we take care of things that need to be done. Some of them grimmer than others."

Horace glanced around the neighborhood, which seemed quiet and asleep, but we were odd-looking enough that we'd attract attention eventually.

"Let's get inside," he said. "We've taken care of the kids."

"Kids?" I asked.

"Oliver and Eve. They were relatively young. Kids to me and most in my circle." He waved us toward a bit of fence that was rumpled, then lifted it so we could sneak beneath. When we were inside the barrier, we followed Horace toward the building and a set of double entrance doors.

He looked over at me. "You're a kid yourself."

"Vampire since April," I said.

"Good transition?"

"It's had its moments," I said.

The doors, heavy and industrial, hung poorly on their hinges. Horace pushed them open with two hands, sparks flying up from the grate of steel against the concrete pad below. When he'd made a gap large enough to squeeze through, he switched on a flashlight.

We followed him into the building and directly into a stairwell. We climbed up to the third floor and emerged into a gigantic empty space, presumably where the documents had once been stored.

It might have previously been a warehouse, but its storage days had long since passed. No furniture, no shelves, no operating lights. Graffiti marked the exposed brick walls, and water dripped from ceiling tiles into puddles on the scarred wooden floors.

Horace shined a flashlight across the huge room to other side, where the door to the hidden room that James had found stood open.

"That's it," he said, then offered the flashlight to me. "I've been in once, and that was plenty for me. I'll wait out here."

I took it and nodded. Catcher beside me, the circle of light bobbing in front of us, we walked across the room, footsteps echoing across the worn wooden floors.

We reached the secret door, a tidy slab of faux brick that, when closed, would have slotted neatly into the rest of the wall. But for the blood, James never would have found it.

The door rotated on a single point that balanced its weight. A brick to the right of the door stuck out a bit farther than the others. That, I assumed, was the hidden latch that opened the door.

"It's an interesting contraption," Catcher said.

"For someone wanting to hide something, sure."

The scent of blood spilled from the vault, and I was glad I'd had blood before I left the House. Intellectually, I had no interest in the spilled blood of two murdered Rogues. But my baser predatory instincts didn't much care for ethics, and the blood's origin didn't diminish its desirability. I was a vampire, and blood was blood.

We stepped inside.

Oliver and Eve - as Horace had promised - were gone. But the evidence of their brutal murders remained. Their deaths had been marked by the pool of dark blood on the floor, still damp in the night's humidity.

A wave of scent washed over me, and I closed my eyes for a moment against the instinctive attraction.

"Keep it together," Catcher whispered, moving ahead of me toward the puddles.

"In the process," I assured him. When I was positive I was in control, I opened my eyes again, then ran the beam back and forth across the room in the event any clues might be found there. The room was big enough on its own, probably thirty by thirty feet square.

There were no windows, no shelves, no goods a warehouse would actually store. As in the rest of the space, the walls were made of exposed brick. Other than the size, and the hidden door, there was nothing here that differentiated it from the rest of the warehouse.

"Maybe they used this for secure storage?" Catcher asked.

"Maybe," I said. "Customers pay a little more, and their goods get locked into the hidden room."

"If this place was built in the forties," Catcher said, "that means wartime. We aren't far from where the Manhattan Project operated. There could have been sensitive scientific information here, which would explain the security measures."

I nodded, walking back and forth, moving the flashlight a few inches with each sweep, like a TV crime scene unit. And just like in a forensic television show, I didn't hit pay dirt until the end, when a bit of something on the floor caught my eye.

"Catcher," I called, freezing the beam on the spot. There in the dust and grime was a small sliver of wood.

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I scanned the area . . . and found more of them. Two, then a dozen, then a hundred scattered in a triangle about ten feet across at its base.

"What did you find?" Catcher asked.

I picked one up - no larger than a toothpick, but much more jagged - and extended it in the palm of my hand. "Wood slivers. And I'll bet they're aspen."

"McKetrick?" Catcher asked.

"It could be shrapnel from one of his aspen bullets," I reluctantly agreed. McKetrick had invented a gun that shot bullets of aspen intended to quickly dispense of vampires by turning them to ash. He'd tried to shoot me with it. Fortunately, the gun had backfired. He'd caught the worst of the resulting explosion of metal and wood shrapnel, and I hadn't seen him in person since. I also hadn't assumed we'd seen the last of McKetrick, but nor was I thrilled about the possibility he was making a move again. Unfortunately, this evidence pointed that way.

Catcher knelt on the ground and picked up another sliver. "Oliver and Eve were decapitated. If he had a gun, why didn't he use it to kill them? Was he trying to scare them first?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was his first stage of attack, his warning weapon. Maybe that's what got them into the room. If he did this . . ." I murmured, my anger beginning to rise at the possibility McKetrick was involved and that he'd taken the lives of two innocent vampires.

"We don't know McKetrick killed them," Catcher said. "Maybe he used the weapon; then someone else finished the job. There's no direct evidence he's involved."

But I had a hunch. "This is exactly the kind of thing McKetrick would do. Taking out vampires attempting to register? Proving that we're damned even if we try to abide by human rules?"

"You're absolutely right," Catcher said. "But that's not good enough."

And I knew he was right, but that didn't make me feel any better.

* * *

We thanked Horace for his help and drove back to my grandfather's house. Noah, Rose, and Elena were gone. They'd helped Jeff garner what information he could before taking Rose, who was overwhelmed with grief, home again.

Jeff was at the computer when we walked inside. I offered up the wood sliver.

He knew of McKetrick's penchant for aspen, and he whistled at the sight. "Is that what I think it is?"

"That's what I need you to find out. Can you get it tested?"

"I'm on it."

Catcher sat down at his desk and kicked up his feet, then rubbed his hands over his face. Since his day had started with an evidentiary pickup hours and hours ago, he was probably exhausted.

"The property?" he asked. Catcher was evidently too tired to spare a verb.

"As you saw," Jeff said, "the building is a former warehouse. But I haven't been able to find anything about who actually owns it."

I leaned against the opposite desk. "Any other ideas?"

"Not until the labs come back," Catcher said. "That'll take a little while, but we'll let you know."

I nodded and stood up. "In that case, I'll leave you to it. I need to update Ethan and Luc. Can you dig into Oliver's and Eve's backgrounds a little more? Maybe this isn't a random attack. Maybe they've been somewhere or done something that really pissed someone off and completely explains this."

I knew that was unlikely, but I needed to believe there was some reason, some logic to what I'd seen.

Jeff nodded. "Safe driving. And let us know if you find anything interesting."

I was hoping to find anything at all.

* * *

I drove back with the car's window cracked. I needed the bracing chill to wipe clean the scents of blood and dilapidation.

I parked the car and jogged into the House, then headed immediately to Ethan's office. The door was open, and he stood in front of the conference table, perusing documents piled there.

He looked up when I entered, a line of worry between his eyes as he looked me over. "Merit?"

I walked inside. "Oliver and Eve are dead."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "How?"

I moved closer to him so I could lower my voice. There was no need to publicize the gory details.

"Decapitation," I said. "They were in a warehouse in Little Italy, in a secure room tucked into the back of one of the storage floors. Their bodies had been arranged, but there was no other notable evidence except wood slivers on the floor. Lots of them, just like the kind produced by McKetrick's gun."

Ethan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "There's evidence he's involved?"

"Only circumstantially. There's nothing but the wood at the moment. Jeff and Catcher are sending a sliver to Detective Jacobs; the phone and glass we found in the alley are already there. Unfortunately, that's all the information we've got. The property records were a dead end."

He walked closer and put a hand on my cheek. "And how are you?"

"Disturbed," I admitted. "Noah and the others are clearly grieving, and we've got nothing but potential lab results. Although Jeff's going to look into Oliver's and Eve's backgrounds, see if anything pops there."

He rubbed his thumb along my jawline, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "It's a good thought, Sentinel."

"Any word from Darius?" I wondered.

"No," Ethan said. "But I expect I'll hear something soon enough. Darius rarely acts without an ulterior motive."

"Has Paige ferreted out anything about what that ulterior motive might be?"

"Not yet. The other Decertification records weren't helpful. They were many years ago, and the disputes involved alchemical equations and the treatment of tenants. The lessons aren't entirely applicable in the modern age."

"Huh." I remembered Jonah's comment about the contract being the key, and feigned a bright idea. "You know, since vampires are, as you said, sticklers for rules, maybe there's something in the rules themselves. I assume the House has some kind of contract with the GP about sharing investment funds and stuff; is there anything in there about the transition?"

Ethan's brows lifted in surprise. "That's not a bad idea, Sentinel. I'll suggest it to Paige." It wasn't a positive development, but at least it was movement. I'd take progress any day.

There was a knock at the door. A dark-haired man stood in the doorway. His jaw was square, his cheekbones honed. His face was angular, but not unattractive, mostly because of his eyes. They were big, dark, and hazel, with lashes long enough to tangle at the corners. He wore black trousers and a white button-down. On his right hand he wore a gold signet ring. He was handsome, but in an almost severe way. Like he might have been a Spartan in a past life.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked.

"You're just in time," Ethan said, walking forward with a hand extended. "It's nice to see you."

They shook hands at the elbow, one of those masculine rituals that suggested they were, as Ethan had said, already acquainted.

"Good to see you, too, Ethan." The stranger slid a glance my way. "And this is her, I presume?"

Ethan smiled slyly and extended an arm toward me. "This is her. Merit, this is Michael Donovan, our security auditor."

"Merit," I offered, extending a hand. Michael's grip was strong, confident. His magic was subtle, checking me out and testing my measure. He wasn't the first vampire to try such things on me - Celina was famous for doing it - but since Ethan trusted him, I let him get away with it.

"Michael Donovan," he said. "You stand Sentinel?"

"All night long."

He smiled, a dimple alighting at one corner of his mouth. "She's clever, Ethan."

"Yes, she is," I agreed, glancing between the two of them. "And how do you know each other?"

"We met a few years ago," Ethan said. "Michael was acquainted with Celina."

I glanced at him cautiously, and held back the snark that would have normally followed a comment like that. God knew I wasn't a fan of Celina's, but there were plenty of vampires - including the members of the GP - who thought differently.

"Oh?" I simply asked. "Were you a member of Navarre House?"

"I was not," Michael said, leaning toward me, eyes twinkling. "Nor was I an admirer of Ms. Desaulniers's."

"Then you're on the side of right and justice, and I won't hold it against you."

He held out a hand collegially. "I think that's entirely fair."

We shook on it, and I found myself liking Ethan's new security guru.

There was another knock at Ethan's door; his room had apparently become the House's Union Station.

Malik stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry, but could I interrupt you for a moment? Our banker has a time-sensitive question."

"Of course. Excuse me." Ethan smiled politely, then followed Malik out of the room, leaving Michael and me alone.

Their obvious friendship aside, I was curious why Ethan felt the need to hire an outside security expert, given that he had a full guard in the House and mercenary fairies outside it.

"What exactly do security auditors do?" I wondered.

I didn't mean for my voice to carry a tone, but I could hear the suspicion just as clearly as Michael Donovan undoubtedly could.

I blamed my father for that one. He was a managerial whiz, but through the course of his business dealings, I'd seen come and go dozens of outside "consultants" whose only value, as far as I was aware, was validating whatever my father told them. They were highly paid yes-men who brought nothing to the table except a willingness to praise my father and snipe at others who posed a threat to their careers.

"We do not facilitate synergistic synergy," Michael said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Synergistic synergy. It's one of those bullshit business phrases that make you pretty confident I'm going to steal money from your House."

I could feel the blush from my toes, mortified that he'd called me out.

He crossed his arms and smiled a little. "I appreciate your obvious skepticism. It's easy to call yourself an auditor. It's harder to provide a meaningful service for your clients.

"In brief, my job is to ensure the House is stronger after the split than it was before. Among other things, I've been reviewing the House's crisis preparedness and its physical and technical security. I'm trying to identify chinks in the House's armor and fill them, at least in the limited time we've had since the House voted to leave."

"And have you found them yet?"

He nodded. "Not many - Luc knows what he's doing - but there are things we can improve. Your infosec protocols - information security - aren't as strong as I like, and we've been updating them. Your House evac plan is top-notch, but I'd prefer if your alternate housing options were stronger." He leaned in a bit. "And frankly, I'm not a fan of the House's choice of outside guards, but Ethan won't hear a thing about it."

"The fairies can be fickle," I agreed.

"Indeed they can. But ultimately, this all comes down to the GP. I'm also no fan of Darius West's, but the man's got balls of steel and the vampiric prowess to back it up."

"Unfortunately, I'd agree." The members of the GP were reputably the strongest of the strong, with physical and psychic skills - like the ability to glamour humans - that gave them a leg up on other vampires. That was precisely why they'd been chosen to lead us, although it seemed clear that strength did not equal leadership ability.

"I don't know about you," Michael said, "but I'm also trying to speed up Ethan's reinvestment as Master of the House. Malik and I both believe it would help solidify the House's position. Ethan disagrees."

That was new information, but I certainly didn't mind that Michael was sharing it with me. "Why does he disagree?"

"I suspect he wants his reinvestment to be a more enjoyable occasion. A celebration, not undertaken in fear of the GP."

That made some sense.

"My turn with the questions," Michael said. His posture changed; he crossed his arms and dropped his chin, eyes narrowing as he looked at me skeptically. He was in security mode now.

"You were a graduate student?"

"I was. University of Chicago. English lit."

"And twenty-seven at the time of your turning."

"Nearly twenty-eight."

"You were part of this year's class?" Michael asked.

"I was. Commended in April as Sentinel."

"Did Ethan have to woo you?"

"Excuse me?" Was he asking about our relationship?

"Into the House, I mean. It can't be a coincidence that you're Joshua Merit's daughter. I assume that's why Ethan sought you out? Not that you don't have your own achievements, I'm sure."

My beginnings as a vampire weren't common knowledge - the fact that Ethan had made me a vampire to save my life after a vicious attack. Unfortunately, it wasn't unusual for someone to accuse me of having gotten my golden ticket to vampirism and immortality by using my father's connections.

"Ethan didn't recruit me because of my father." Quite the contrary: Ethan hadn't recruited me at all, although it would have been wrong to say my father hadn't been involved.

Michael looked at me for a moment, his expression perfectly neutral.

"Very well," he finally said.

"Was that a test?" I wondered. "To see how I'd react?"

"In part. And partly simple curiosity. Ethan often stands alone. To hear that he'd chosen someone to share his life with was a surprise."

Ethan walked back into the room.

"Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Fine," Ethan said, but he stopped and looked between us. He must have caught the hint of tension in the air. "Is everything okay here?"

"Everything's great," Michael said. "We're just testing each other's defenses."

So we were, I thought.

"It's in your natures," Ethan said, then put a hand on my arm. "We've got work to do, Sentinel, if you'd like to head to the Ops Room and update Luc on the Rogues."

I could tell when I was being dismissed. I gave him a mild salute. "Of course, Liege."

Ethan rolled his eyes.

"Merit," Michael said. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm sure we'll see each other again."

If he was here to guide Cadogan House through the final stages of the transition, there seemed little doubt of that.

* * *

On the way to the stairs, I found a message from Mallory on my phone, asking if I wanted to grab pizza.

I missed her, truly. Lindsey was a great girl, and I was glad I had friends in the House to commiserate with. But Mallory and I had history, and the comfortableness that had come from a long friendship.

I was suddenly struck with melancholy, missing my former life, when my only worry would have been whether I was ready for the next day's classes at U of C. I'd worried about due dates and dissertation chapters and grading papers, about whether my car would last through another Chicago winter (it had) and the Cubs would win another pennant (they hadn't).

These nights, I worried about murder, the safety of my House, and whether my best friend could keep her hands out of the black magic cookie jar.

But with those supernatural hassles came Ethan and the thrill of knowing I was truly helping the vampires of my House.

Tonight, that House came first.

CAN'T TONIGHt, I texted back. MIDINVESTIGATION. RAIN CHECK?

OF COURSE, she said.

I put the phone in my pocket. Someday, hopefully, Mallory and I could get back on track.