Heroic Hearts

1

We’d made mistakes. And we were paying for them.

Shards of pink cardboard were spread before us. Only hours ago, they had been a glossy box holding a dozen donuts shipped from Lulu’s parents in Portland to our loft in Chicago. Now they were compost.

Beside me, Lulu sighed, hands on her petite hips. She had pale skin and a dark slice of hair down to her chin, some of it now falling across eyes I knew were as furious as mine. She was a sorceress who didn’t practice; I was the vampire she allowed to share her home.

“This is your fault,” she said.

“You can’t blame me every time she has a tantrum.”

The aforementioned “she” was Eleanor of Aquitaine, the sleek black cat who ruled this particular roost. Eleanor of Aquitaine had no fear. But she had a canny sense of entitlement and punishment for presumed wrongs.

“This isn’t a tantrum,” Lulu said, and picked through the cardboard, looking for remnants. “It’s a shot across the bow. There was one glazed left, and I’d been saving it.”

I narrowed my gaze at the cat. She sat in her usual spot—atop the window radiator—tail swishing as she watched us, boredom in her green eyes.

“Have a banana?”

Lulu looked at me, gaze dry as old toast. “Seriously?”

“Until she adopts a new personality, that is my only suggestion.”

My screen buzzed. I pulled it out, and found a message from Roger Yuen, the city’s supernatural Ombudsman.

sup death in south lawndale, the message read, and gave an address on the south side. shifter, he added. ca pack.

I was Elisa Sullivan, daughter of two of Chicago’s most prominent vampires, born because magic and fate twisted together. Me and my partner, Theo Martin, were associate Ombuds, liaisons between humans and sups: problem solvers, mediators, and occasionally investigators.

CA was an abbreviation for Consolidated Atlantic, the shapeshifter Pack that controlled the Eastern Seaboard. And that explained why Roger had tagged me, even though I was off tonight. Chicago was the territory of the North American Central Pack, led by Apex shifter Gabriel Keene. And Connor Keene, Gabriel’s son and the heir apparent to the North American Central Pack of shapeshifters, was my boyfriend.

If Roger’s information was correct, the shifter wasn’t one of Gabriel’s wolves, but the death of a stranger in NAC territory almost certainly carried its own complications.

acknowledged, I messaged back, knowing he’d given me the information to prepare me for what I’d see—to assure me that it wasn’t a shifter I knew. I was doubly glad of it when he sent the image: a wolf lying inside a pale white circle drawn on the street, its gold-tipped beige fur stained with blood.

I blinked, looked closer, and sent another message. is that a salt circle?

limited info, Roger responded. you and theo tell me.

That was fair, I thought, and put my screen away.

“What is it?” Lulu asked.

“A shifter is dead,” I said. “And it looks like magic was involved.”

Lulu’s eyes went flat. She refused to use her own magic, despite her parents being two of the most powerful sorcerers in the country. Her mother had overcome an addiction to black magic, but not before wreaking havoc on Chicago. My mother, Sentinel of Chicago’s Cadogan House of vampires, had had to deal with it. As a result, Lulu tried to avoid supernatural drama.

“Why magic?”

“Salt circle.”

“Ah.” She nodded and began to pick up the pieces of cardboard. “You should talk to Petra.”

“I will,” I said. Petra was also an associate Ombud, insatiably curious about all things supernatural, and an aeromancer in her own right.

“I’ll let you know if I’m going to be late,” I told Lulu. “Or not at all.”

“If you’re talking about sex, I don’t need the details.” She paused. “Unless they’re exceptionally good ones.”

“They usually are,” I said with a smile.

I grabbed my jacket and scabbarded katana, pulled my wavy blond hair into a knot, and called an Auto. I messaged Petra about the salt circle while the driverless vehicle transported me south through Chicago.

When it pulled to my stop, I climbed out and belted on my sword.

The street was silent here, sandwiched on one side by an empty lot and on the other by a park that needed serious rehab. There was a chill in the air, a harbinger of autumn. Death didn’t care about seasons; it took its fill throughout the year.

Magic peppered the air, either from the spell that had been worked here, or the spill of shifter blood, which carried its own unique power. And beneath both, something darker. Something oilier, that left a stain on the air.

This was dark magic—dangerous, painful, risky; magic that tipped the balance of the world.

As if in answer, thunder rumbled from sickly green clouds, spinning overhead. “Not at all ominous,” I muttered, and flipped the thumb guard on my katana, just in case.

The salt circle was twenty feet away, the wolf lying still in its center. I crouched outside it, careful not to disturb the scene.

There was a gap in the circle near the wolf’s head, a spot where the salt had been smeared, the circle broken. As I understood it, breaking a circle had a magical effect—either to end the spell or to release whatever creature or power had been bound inside it. So was this accidental or intentional?

The cause of death seemed obvious—the dagger still protruding from its belly. I couldn’t see the blade, but the handle was ornately carved wood with a glinting silver guard. Shifters in wolf form were larger than the natural variety. This one seemed pitifully small: as if death hadn’t just been an insult but a reduction.

“Lis.”

I stood, looked back, and found the prince emerging through darkness.

Connor strode toward me, blue eyes gleaming. His hair was dark and permanently tousled, his skin sun-kissed, his generous mouth worthy of an ancient god. He wore an NAC Pack T-shirt and jeans over boots.

I enjoyed watching him move, powerful and confident, and felt my blood begin to race. He put a hand on my arm, the touch warm and soothing, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. He gave ferocity to the world; the tenderness was just for me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey. I’m sorry for this.” I glanced back at the wolf.

“So am I. Didn’t know him, but I’m sorry just the same.” His eyes went dark. “No one, shifter or otherwise, should die alone in the street.”

“Not entirely alone,” I said, gesturing to the circle. “Someone was here, and we’ll find out who that was. What was his name?”

“Bryce. Jason Maguire sent a picture.”

Maguire was the Apex of the Consolidated Atlantic Pack. Connor pulled out his screen and showed me a photograph of a smiling young man with pale skin, blond hair, and green eyes.

“So young,” I said. “What’s a CA shifter doing in Chicago?”

“Visiting friends,” Connor answered while putting the screen away. “He was at The Raucous Wolf, a bar near McKinley Park. He went outside to chat up a woman. His compatriots didn’t hear from him for a couple of hours, thought he’d gone home with the girl. Someone sent them a picture of that,” he added, casting his gaze back to the wolf.

“The killer?” I asked, my pity a tightness in my throat but little comfort to Connor or Bryce now. “Why draw attention to what you’ve done? Was this for revenge?” I wasn’t asking him, but talking through the issues aloud.

“I don’t know.” Connor’s voice was quiet. “I’m told he was well-liked, had no obvious enemies. Easy to get along with. Do you know anything about the magic?”

“Only that this looks and feels like dark magic,” I said quietly, and he nodded.

“Death, blood, power,” he confirmed. “And it’s strong. Reminds me of the time a sorcerer in Memphis tried to open a gate to hell.”

“Because the blues and barbecue weren’t enough entertainment?”

“It takes all kinds,” he said philosophically. “And it felt a lot like this.”

He walked toward the wolf and stared down, hands on his hips and a furrow in his brow. “The dagger is silver. I can feel the interruption in the magic. As if splitting him open wasn’t enough, the silver could work its punishment too.” His words were hard and angry.

Saying I’m sorry again seemed inefficient. I brushed my fingers against his, our touchstone. He met my gaze, nodded once. Acknowledgment. Confirmation.

“You sense anything else?” I asked. “Any indication someone was here?”

“Not at the moment.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “But I’ll tell you if I do.”

I nodded, crouched to take photographs of the circle, the smear of salt, the wolf, and sent them to Petra. And saw something stuck in the blood beneath its fur. Before I could reach out, the sound of a vehicle rumbled through the night.

I rose as a CPD cruiser rolled up and parked diagonally in the street.

“Your cavalry,” Connor said.

“They’ll work for Bryce,” I reminded him.

Theo emerged from the passenger side in his typical uniform, jeans and a button-down shirt, this one in checks of white and periwinkle. His skin was dark brown, his hair black and twisted into small, short whorls. Grimness narrowed his brown eyes.

A woman emerged from the driver’s side. She was Detective Gwen Robinson, the CPD’s supernatural expert. She strode forward, her dark brown skin glowing against a trim suit in dark navy. Her dark hair was loose today in soft waves that framed her face. And although her wide brown eyes were cop-blank beneath angular brows, there was sadness there.

“Our condolences,” Gwen said when they reached us.

“Thank you,” Connor said. “He’s from the Consolidated Atlantic.” He gestured toward the vehicle. “No cruisers? No lights?”

“Our bosses thought it best to keep it quiet, given the magic,” Gwen said. “What do you know?”

Connor told her what he’d learned as she moved around the circle, occasionally crouching, and taking her own photographs.

“And I think I see something,” I said, and crouched beside her, pointed to the white fragment beneath him. “Do you have an evidence bag or . . . ?”

“Right here,” Theo said, as he set a kit on the ground, opened it, and pulled out gloves and a bag, which he offered to Gwen.

“You’re a very handy assistant,” Gwen said, without looking back.

Theo snorted. “Ombuds are not assistants. We’re liaisons. I’m liaising.”

Rolling her eyes, Gwen pulled on the gloves, then carefully extracted a piece of paper from beneath the wolf with a pair of tweezers. She slipped it into the evidence bag and held it up to the light. It was white, about five inches high, cut roughly into the shape of a wolf.

Gwen swore.

“What is that?” Theo asked. “A paper doll?”

“Possibly a kind of effigy,” Gwen said, rising again. “The second one we’ve found. A human was killed two nights ago. Stabbed by a dagger, a human-shaped effigy beneath him.”

Theo put his hands on his hips, looked at me. “We didn’t hear about this.”

“No,” I said. “We didn’t. Was there a salt circle in that one?”

“No,” Gwen said. “Which is why it wasn’t flagged as supernaturally involved.”

Connor frowned. “It rained two nights ago.”

“So it did,” Gwen said. “Washing away whatever evidence might have remained. So these crimes might be connected, by perpetrator or magic or both.”

“Dark magic,” I said, and they all looked at me with grim acceptance, and concern for whatever the consequences might be.

The silver ring of a bell echoed through the street, and we all glanced at each other.

“Did we all hear that?” I asked.

“We heard it,” Connor said, gaze narrowing on the shadowed trees in the park on the other side of the street. “It wasn’t magic. Maybe part of the ceremony. Maybe intended to scare us away.”

“Very high creep factor,” Gwen said.

“So what’s going on here?” Theo asked. “Some kind of sacrifice?”

“You kill someone in a salt circle with a silver dagger, it definitely seems ceremonial.”

“And what’s next? Vampire? Fairy? River nymph?” I looked at Theo. “We need to warn the Houses. Just in case.” My father was Master of Cadogan House, one of Chicago’s four vampire Houses. The man who’d stood as my uncle for most of my life was Master of another. I didn’t want to find any of them—or any of their people—like this.

He nodded. “Roger will get the word out.”

Gwen removed the gloves, pulled out her screen, did some swiping. “I’m going to call the forensics team, have them pull the dagger and get samples of everything else for the lab.” She looked around. “There’s a reason this was done here. No security or traffic cameras. Very few people.”

When she was done, she looked at Connor. “Legally, the Pack has no authority to participate in an investigation. But,” she added, holding up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue, “I’m also aware how valuable your contributions have been to the Ombuds and the CPD. So I’m willing to give you some latitude, as long as you don’t impede our investigation. Or break any laws.”

“I’m here to help the Pack, not impede the CPD or the Ombuds,” Connor said. “Obfuscating the truth isn’t going to help us find justice for Bryce.” He glanced at me. “And I have every reason to help.”

Gwen nodded. “That’s good enough for me. And if you cause trouble, I’ll sic the Ombuds on you.”

Connor’s smile was sly. “That’s no punishment, Detective.”

“Returning to business,” I said, before a flush could heat my cheeks, “we should check out the bar where he was last seen.”

“Why don’t you take him?” Theo asked, nodding toward Connor. “He might get more out of shifters, and I want to hit the magic angle with Petra.”

Connor nodded. “Fine by me.”

“Then we’ll let both of you know if we find anything,” I said.

Gwen nodded. “I know you will. Probably right after you feed your coffee addiction.”

I shifted my gaze to Theo. “Narc.”

His grin was wide, smooth. “Are you going to get coffee right now?”

Only if the universe was just.

2

The universe was just.

We found a drive-through Joe’s—my favorite Chicagoland coffee hookup—not far from the scene. I got a coffee, Connor went for the water, and we split a blueberry scone.

“They’re changing my opinion of scones,” he said, licking blueberry juice from his thumb as he drove, that small act sending a bolt of desire through me. “I used to think of them as the biscuit’s lesser British cousin.”

“That’s because you were born in Memphis. Southerners and biscuits have a very special relationship. These taste like butter and blueberries, which is a winning combination in any book.”

Chicago being what it was, we parked on the street two blocks away and hiked back to the bar through darkness.

The Raucous Wolf was not what I’d expected. Most shifter establishments were heavy on the leather, cheap booze, and loud music, but very light on inhibitions. This was the bespoke, artisanal, shade-grown version. Gray wood floors and walls with metal panels and enormous letters from old shop signs. Tables were communal and the bar industrial, with a full array of expensive and small-batch whiskeys behind it.

“Huh,” I said, looking around.

“We are a complex people. And occasionally we like good bourbon and truffle fries.”

“I guess.” I glanced at him. “Was I sheltered? Or is this another case of sups preferring that vampires not be in the know?” I’d only recently found out that the Taco Hole, a dive bar with mouth-searing tacos, served as a supernatural neutral ground.

“Both,” Connor said, and smoothed a hand down my hair. “But I like you just the way you are. Or mostly.”

“Careful, puppy,” I said, and looked around at the patrons. “With whom should we speak?”

“Let’s start there,” he said, gesturing to a broad-shouldered woman standing behind the bar. She had suntanned skin and salt-and-pepper curls that just reached her shoulders. She wore a T-shirt with the bar’s name and cleaned the counter with a rag.

“You know her?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

We strode toward her, Connor in the lead, and I watched with amusement as virtually everyone in the room paused to get a look at him. They knew power when they saw it and didn’t bother to hide their appreciation.

The bartender smiled broadly at Connor as we approached. Human, I thought, given the lack of apparent magic. But powerful magic could hide a lot of sins.

“Mr. Keene,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m Lucy Dalton, and very pleased to see you in my place. What brings you here? Can I get you a drink? Or something to eat?”

“There was a shifter in the bar last night,” he said, then showed her the photo. “Do you remember him?”

She frowned, nodded. “I do. He was cute.” She filled a glass with ice. “Young enough to be my son,” she added with a laugh. “But very cute.”

She added water to the glass from a pump, then drank deeply. “I think he was here for about an hour? We were pretty slow, and he was with a boisterous group.”

“Did he leave alone?” I asked, and for the first time, the woman seemed to actually notice I was there. And didn’t seem to like it.

“How could I possibly know that?” Her tone had changed, become guarded. Which I dutifully ignored.

“Did you talk to him?”

“He didn’t come up to the bar.”

“That’s not an answer,” Connor said.

She looked at him, smiled thinly. “No, I didn’t talk to him. I don’t talk to every customer who crosses that doorway. What is this?”

Connor ignored the question. “Did anything unusual happen while he was in the bar?”

“No, why? Did he get arrested?”

“He’s dead.” Connor’s voice was flat, and her eyes went flat. But he continued before she could respond. “Who served him?”

“We didn’t do anything wrong here.”

“I didn’t state otherwise. Who served him?”

After a moment of frowning, she looked toward a waitress on the other side of the bar delivering drinks on a tray. The woman was leanly built with light brown skin and long, dark, curly hair. She wore shorts, tennis shoes, and the same bar T-shirt as Dalton.

“She did,” Dalton said. “You’re welcome to talk to her but try to keep it fast. We’re short-staffed.”

When a shifter tapped a glass on the other end of the bar, Dalton gave Connor a smile and left us for the customer.

“Hmm,” I said, and Connor nodded.

For a moment we watched the waitress and waited until she headed back to a swinging door with a tray of empty glasses.

We reached her just before she disappeared into the back, and I realized the woman looked familiar. Very familiar.

“Ariel?” I asked.

Ariel Shaw was a necromancer, or the daughter of one, at any rate. I’d never seen her practice. But I could feel the magic, cold and heavy as a tomb, that surrounded her. Her mother, Annabelle, had helped my parents with issues now and again, and Ariel and Lulu had been friends as teenagers. I’d been a fan of rules and order growing up; Ariel hadn’t, and had tried to steer Lulu down the same rebellious path. They’d eventually grown apart, which was fine by me.

Ariel looked at me, brow knit, when something flashed in her eyes. It was gone in an instant, but not before I registered concern.

“The prince and princess come to visit the commoners?” Her tone was derisive, as was the expression she donned. “Vampires slumming with shifters these days?”

“Since you’re working in a shifter bar,” Connor said easily, “you might want to lose the attitude.”

“Working,” she said, “and I need to get back to it.”

“Tell us about this man,” Connor said, and showed Bryce’s photograph.

“He was a shitty tipper,” she said, tone edged with irritation, but I saw that hitch in her eyes again.

“What else?” Connor asked, putting his screen away.

Ariel gave a haggard sigh and rebalanced her tray. As she moved, I caught the edge of a black tattoo on her arm—a thin line with short hash marks, at the edge of her sleeve. When she saw the direction of my gaze, she shifted her body to block my view of it.

Totally not suspicious behavior.

“He was a customer,” she finally answered. “I served him.”

I bet that wasn’t the entire story, so I took a chance. “And what happened when you went outside with him?”

She jerked, and the glasses rattled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You clearly do,” Connor said. “Would you rather talk to us or the CPD?”

She met his gaze. “I’m not one of your subjects, and you don’t own me, prince.” There was teenage petulance in her tone.

“He’s dead,” Connor said. “He was killed with dark magic, or because of it. You have magic, witch. Did you kill him?”

“My coven is good. We don’t practice dark magic.” She started to move away again, but Connor took her arm, stared down at her with the threat in his eyes plain and clear.

Before he could speak, my screen buzzed. I found a message from Theo—an address only a block away, and a message: think we found his clothes.

I showed it to Connor, who nodded, then looked at Ariel again.

“A shifter is dead,” he said, fingers still wrapped around her arm. “If you were involved in that, it won’t matter that you’re a witch, or if your mother was good, or if we were friends once upon a time. I’ll find out. And you won’t like how that conversation ends.”

He lifted his hand, and she pushed through the door, where glass rattled again.

Connor took my hand, and we walked back through the bar together. This time, the gazes weren’t just on the prince, but on both of us, and our linked hands.

We found Theo in McKinley Park proper. He stood beneath a tree, flashlight aimed on the ground—and a pile of clothes tossed there.

He nodded in greeting when we reached him. “You get coffee?”

“Not enough,” I said.

Connor kneeled, looked over the pile of clothes. The shift between man and animal—whatever form that took—was magical and physiological; it didn’t affect clothing. So a shifter either sacrificed their clothes, which would be shredded in the transition, or took them off before shifting and dressed again afterward.

“These are from Bryce,” Connor confirmed. “They have the same scent as the wolf.”

“Can you smell anyone else?” I asked. “Anything else?”

“No.” He lifted his gaze to Theo. “How’d you find them?”

“Anonymous tip.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so.”

“You go through them?”

“Not yet,” Theo said. He took a plastic bag and a set of gloves from his pocket, then pulled on the gloves. We moved aside while Theo crouched and searched the T-shirt, jeans, and boxers, looking for anything that might have been tucked inside.

“Gwen?” I asked.

“Working with the lab,” Theo said, frowning as he inspected the jeans’ front pocket. He pulled out a rounded square of thick paper.

“Bar coaster,” he said, flipping it over. “For The Raucous Wolf.” He slipped it into the evidence bag and, when it was protected, offered it to me.

The bar’s wolfish logo was, in a bit of gruesome irony, tucked inside a circle on the front. The reverse side advertised a beer company with a curvy pinup. But there was something else—what looked like a tiny bit of writing on the bottom corner. A phone number? I wondered.

“Flashlight,” I said, and held out my hand, expecting one of them would fulfill the request. Connor got there first, putting a penlight into my hand. I flicked it on and shined it on the spot, illuminating a simple mark of lines and dashes inked so heavily into the coaster they’d left a groove in the paper: two lines crossing in the shape of an X, and a series of shorter marks that crossed them both or individually at intervals.

“It’s a stave,” I said.

“A what?” Theo asked, moving closer.

“A symbol that makes up a spell. Nordic in origin. I studied staves in college—supernatural sociology,” I reminded him. “I don’t know what this particular stave symbolizes, but each mark has meaning, and when you put them together, they have a magical effect. Combine that with a little blood, a little salt, and a little paper, and you’ve made magic.” I looked up. “I think Ariel has one of these tattooed on her arm. I saw it when she moved her tray.”

“Ariel?” Theo asked, and we told him what we’d found at the bar.

“The lines,” Connor agreed with a nod. “I saw that, too.”

“We need to talk to her again.”

“We do,” Theo agreed. “And good catch. Petra couldn’t do much with the salt circle, it was too general. But added to this, we might have something.” He pulled out his screen and sent her a message.

I rose at the scritch of shoes on pavement behind us. And along with it, the low buzz of magic.

I turned back. Connor positioned himself toward the sound, toward the threat. Theo slid the wrapped coaster into his back pocket and moved to put himself between the bundle of clothes and the interloper.

I knew the man who approached. Tall and lean, with blond hair, eyes the color of good bourbon, and a rather beautiful mouth. Not that I’d admit that to anyone in the present company.

Jonathan Black was part elf, evidenced by the delicately pointed tips of his ears. I wasn’t certain about the rest of his genetic origins. He appeared human but exuded more magic than part elf would account for. And unlike the first time we’d met, tonight he’d made no effort to use his elf-born glamour to hide his magic. It all but swirled around him.

I’d met him outside the Ombuds’ office one night and enlisted his help in dealing with the Assembly of American Masters, the ruling body of American vampires. He represented certain supernatural interests in Chicago but was cagey about who or what those interests were.

He looked at me, and while his smile was pleasant, it didn’t reach his eyes. Grimness had taken firm root there. Quite a change from the last time we’d spoken, which had been before my promotion to a permanent position in the Ombuds’ office. He’d been all charming smiles and flirty words then.

“Mr. Black,” I said. “What brings you to McKinley Park in the middle of the night?”

Recognition sparked in Connor’s eyes, and then his gaze shifted to take in the ears.

Jonathan didn’t answer, he just slid his gaze over Connor, then to Theo. They all looked at each other in hard silence, as if each waiting for the other to blink.

Alphas, I thought with a sigh. “Connor Keene and Theo Martin,” I said, making the introductions they’d apparently been too stubborn to make on their own. “This is Jonathan Black. Why are you here?” I asked again.

“My clients requested I come here and see what might be found.”

Theo crossed his strong arms. “And what did you expect to find?”

“Not that my clients’ instructions are any of your business,” Jonathan said, “but I wasn’t given specifics. I was only asked to take a look.”

Silence fell as we waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I sent a little magical persuasion his way. Just a touch of vampire glamour to make the confession easier.

His expression didn’t change. “I like you, Elisa, but glamour won’t have me break my promises.”

Beside me, Connor shifted. I wasn’t sure if it was the magic or the I like you that had him moving closer.

“How about an arrest for obstruction of justice?” Theo asked mildly.

“For having clients?” Jonathan said, and lifted a shoulder carelessly. “I suppose you could try to make that stick.” But his gaze darted around the park, searching. Seeking.

“Jonathan,” I said firmly. “A shifter is dead. He wasn’t the first and may not be the last. We need whatever information you’ve got.”

That got his attention, as his gaze snapped to mine, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean he wasn’t the first?”

“Information for information,” I said. “Quid pro quo. Even if we can’t take you in, withholding information will make you an enemy of the Pack. I’m betting your clients wouldn’t like that at all.”

He lifted his gaze to the dark sky, as if contemplating or irritated. Likely both. But when he sighed, I knew he’d relented.

“I have very little information,” he said. “Only that they’re aware magic was used—dark magic. They felt it along the lines.”

“The ley lines?” I asked. The lines of magic and power ran beneath the world; Chicago was a crossing point for several, making it a city of power and consequence.

He nodded.

“Your clients are sorcerers?”

“I’m not obliged to provide that information, and won’t. How many more are dead?”

“This is the second,” Theo said. “The first was a human.”

“A human,” Black repeated, as he considered it. “That explains why they weren’t aware of it.”

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Are people being killed to invoke some kind of magic? Are they sacrifices?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and looked earnest. But I already knew he could lie. “I’ve told you what I can,” he said, and looked beyond Theo, finally saw the clothes on the ground. “And I’m guessing you aren’t going to let me take that.”

“We are not,” Theo said pleasantly. “But you’re welcome to report that to your clients. They know how to reach us.”

We tried a few more questions, but Jonathan provided nothing else. He left unsatisfied. He didn’t say as much, but it was clear in the hard set of his shoulders.

“He’s in a mood,” I said, and felt Connor’s gaze on me.

“What do you know about his moods?”

“Fair question, and very little. But he’s been very collegial when we’ve talked.” I glanced at Theo. “Same when he’s come to the office?”

“Same,” Theo added. “And always a smile for Petra.”

“Unrepentant flirt,” I agreed. “At least usually. So what’s he gotten himself into?”

Theo’s screen buzzed, giving us a respite from wrangling with that question. Given the possibility we weren’t the only eyes on the park, we climbed into Theo’s nearby vehicle when Petra offered an update.

I took the front, Connor the back. And by some technological miracle, Theo shifted Petra’s image from his screen to the interior windshield, as if we were all squeezed into the car together.

“It’s the Great and Powerful Oz,” Theo said musically.

“I am the Great and Powerful Petra,” she said, and snapped her fingers so a spark appeared. With tan skin and dark hair, currently in a bouncy tail, Petra could manifest lightning in her fingers. She usually wore gloves to avoid electrifying the unaware.

“You’ve found yourself a poppet,” she said, tucking her long bangs behind her ear.

“A what?” Theo asked.

“A poppet, or little doll—in this case made of paper—for the spell. It’s symbolic.” Her image was replaced by the photo of the stave from the bar coaster. “And this beauty is an American stave.” The image on the screen appeared with the previously black lines of the stave now shown in three different colors. “These parts of the symbol stand for auspicious, sacrifice, and calamity,” she stated, pointing to each in turn.

We greeted that explanation with silence.

“Does that mean it’s a good time to kill someone to avoid a catastrophe?” I asked. “Or a good time to kill someone to cause one?”

“It’s dark magic,” Petra said. “Blood magic, so I lean toward the latter.”

“The stave doesn’t tell us what the calamity is?” Theo asked.

“It does not. That’s up to the words, the intentions of the witch, et cetera.”

Behind us, Connor swore. “We need to find them and stop whatever this is.”

“Or get them donuts and trophies if they’re doing a public service,” I said. “But there’s really no way to tell.”

“Not until we find them,” Theo said, echoing Connor’s words.

I glanced back at Connor and found his gaze on me, the same concern in his eyes. He reached out, brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

“Oh my god, you guys are so adorable.” Petra was back on the windshield, batting her eyelashes at us.

“Anything else?” Theo asked. “The magic’s getting thick in here.”

She snorted. “That’s it for now. CPD’s canvassing, but they haven’t found any other evidence, any other witnesses. It’s early yet.”

It didn’t feel early. Not with two people already gone and a storm literally gathering. And growing, I thought, glancing out the window at the sky. The ceiling of clouds seemed to be dropping, as if made heavier by magic. How long until we were all suffocated?

“We’ll talk to Ariel again,” Theo said, and turned on the vehicle.

But by the time we made it back to The Raucous Wolf, she was gone.

3

Her address was easy to find; one apartment in a fourplex not far from the bar. The yard and building were simple but tidy, the building dark but for her glowing window.

We moved inside, Theo in front, and climbed the stairs . . . and found her apartment door wide open. I flicked the thumb guard on my katana; Theo unholstered his weapon. Connor rolled his shoulders. His body was a weapon.

Theo put a finger to his lips, and he pushed open the door. We listened and heard nothing in the room in front of us. The soft sound of shuffling came from somewhere deeper inside the apartment.

Theo and Connor signaled each other and headed toward the noise. I moved through the front room, wondering about the girl who hadn’t quite been my friend, and hadn’t quite been my enemy. The building was old, the floors wood and doorways arched. The living room was dark and held mismatched furniture and a handful of plants. But there was nothing here that spoke of death or magic, no stain in the air. Just the ordinary home of an ordinary woman.

I felt a twinge of guilt that I’d somehow played some part in pushing her toward this, as if my excluding her as a kid had somehow turned her toward evildoing. But we’d only been kids, and her parents were kind and capable people. I don’t know what I could have said or done to redirect her.

I told myself later that the twinge was the reason I hadn’t sensed him coming for me.

A hand clamped on my mouth, his body at my back, his magic thickening the air. I couldn’t see the man, but I could read the magic clear enough.

Jonathan Black had beaten us here.

I threw back an elbow. He dodged it, but his shift gave me room to scramble beneath his arm. I spun my katana and he kicked it away, then lunged toward me.

I pivoted and dodged, threw another elbow, connected with his torso. He swore, grabbed my arm, and twisted. The pain in my shoulder, only just healing from another fight, was red hot. I worked to push through it, tried to beckon the monster to join me, but she had no interest in the muddled magic Black was throwing off. So it would just be the two of us, at least until Connor and Theo heard the scuffle.

I wrenched my arm free, threw a jab, but he ducked, kicked, and managed a glancing blow off my hip. I sliced upward, smelled his blood—dense with magic—before I heard his groan of pain. He hit the ground, a foot-long laceration in the top of his thigh.

“On your knees,” I demanded, chest heaving and shoulder singing, and pointed the sword at his heart.

Connor and Theo rushed into the room. “Lis?” Connor asked.

“I’m fine,” I told him, but kept my gaze on Black. “We have a guest.”

While Theo searched for bandages, Connor dragged Jonathan Black to a chair at a small dining table and pushed him down. Magic or not, Black made no effort to fight back.

He looked at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were.”

A lie, but it hardly mattered now.

“Talk,” Connor ordered, as Theo wrapped a kitchen towel around Black’s thigh, used duct tape to adhere it.

“Fancy,” I said, using another towel to wipe the blood from my sword.

“I’m looking for evidence,” Jonathan said.

“For your ‘clients,’ ” Theo said, using air quotes. “Unless Ariel’s one of your clients, and we all know a waitress at a shifter bar isn’t paying your fees, you have no cause to be in here.”

“You don’t have a warrant,” Jonathan spat back.

“The door was open,” Theo said helpfully. “We have a little thing called probable cause.”

“Talk,” I told him, “or we play with the katana again.”

He cursed with impressive creativity. “The magic they’re using is an ignition spell,” he finally said. “It’s intended to start an apocalypse.”

We all stared at him.

“An apocalypse,” I said. “Zombies, robots, locusts? War? Pestilence? What exactly are we talking about?”

“That depends on the caster,” he said, which mirrored Petra’s conclusion. “I don’t know.”

Connor’s gaze was narrowed. “How do you know that’s what it is?”

But I knew the answer before Jonathan had a chance to speak it, because I finally realized where I’d felt this kind of magic before: in my own house.

“You’re a sorcerer,” I said. No wonder he had so much magic and was so well-equipped at hiding it.

“Half,” he said, and there was impatience in his tone. “Part elf, part sorcerer. Too much of both, and not enough of either.”

“Why hide it?” Connor asked.

“I don’t,” Jonathan said, leveling his gaze at me. “But people see the ears, and they believe what they want.”

Guilty as charged. “And why do your clients care about this apocalypse specifically?” I asked. “How are they—and you—involved?”

He looked at the ceiling, began to hum a tune as if bored by the entire proceedings.

“He got into the apartment,” Theo said. “The door was open to us, but it wasn’t busted, and the locks weren’t scratched.”

I looked back at the door, then Jonathan, and understood the point Theo was making. “Either the door was open when you got here, or you had a key.” I saw the quick tightening around his eyes and understood. “Ariel gave you a key. You’re together?”

“Were,” Jonathan said. “Not anymore.”

“You’re lying,” I told him. “You told me you’d just moved to Chicago.”

“We were long-distance,” he said. “We had friends in common, talked online. When I moved here, we started dating—actually dating. That lasted a couple of weeks, and then we broke up.”

That was entirely plausible, and probably some of it was the truth. But not all of it. Maybe not even most of it.

“So you’re pissed she broke it off,” Theo said, crossing his arms. “And you’re trying to get even?”

“No.” His voice was hard now.

“Oh, we’re listening,” Theo said, “but nothing you’ve said makes any sense. If you broke up, how’d you find out about the magic?”

“My clients. I didn’t know until one of them told me, asked me to investigate. And then I could feel it. Ariel’s part of a coven,” Jonathan explained. “There are five of them in the group, and I found out what she’s trying to do. The leader of the coven said an apocalypse was coming, and they have to make sacrifices to stop it. That it’s necessary to fight darkness with darkness. I’m trying to stop the spell.”

“Why?” Connor asked.

“Because they’re doing it wrong. Because the magic they’re making won’t stop an apocalypse; it will start the apocalypse. I told Ariel the truth. And now I think she’s in danger because of it.”

“She told you that?” I asked.

“She called me, for the first time in weeks. I didn’t answer, but I found a message.”

Something in his tone had goose bumps lifting on my skin. “What was it?” I asked, quietly.

“The sound of a bell.”

The three of us looked at each other.

“You have to find her,” Jonathan said. “And you have to stop them from completing this.”

“Tell us where they are,” I said, “and we’ll be on our way to do just that.”

This time, he met my gaze. “I don’t know where they are.”

I watched him for a moment. “That might be the first honest thing you’ve said since we came in here.”

Magic pulsed, faded. Either he didn’t think it worth the trouble to challenge my assessment of his character, or he didn’t think the odds were in his favor.

“Look around,” Theo said. “See if we can find something that tells us where they might have gone. Grimoire, notebook, another screen, a grocery list for bells and candles. Whatever.”

Jonathan moved to rise, but Connor’s hand on his shoulder kept him in place. “You stay. We look. And if you so much as consider standing up, Elisa will show you what else she can do with that sword.”

He stayed and we looked, but found nothing in old journals, new notebooks, a beaten desk, or the junk drawer in the kitchen. I tossed through a stack of mail, checked pockets in a coat closet, and came up empty.

I cursed, looked back at Jonathan. He was still and silent but stared out the window beneath a furrowed brow.

“Where would the coven work?” I asked again.

“I don’t know,” he said again. “She mostly didn’t talk about them. The rituals, she said, were for her, for them. Not for me.”

Mostly truth, I gauged, and turned around. I ended up facing a chalkboard that hung between the coat closet and the front door. “Be kind!” was written in white script above a simple drawing of a daisy. And below, scrawled in handwriting so slanted and rushed it was nearly impossible to read, was a single word: elevator.

Memory hit me with the power of a punch.

Lulu, Connor, Ariel, me, probably sixteen or seventeen years old, in an abandoned grain elevator not far from McKinley Park. We’d thought ourselves urban explorers, had backpacks of water, granola bars, and flashlights. We’d climbed over the fence, then hurried to the tall concrete cylinders that once stored feed grain for waiting trucks. And we’d made our way into the main building—a long rectangle where metal chutes dropped from the tanks—and played a game of truth or dare.

“I dare you,” Ariel had said, smiling at Connor. “To kiss me.”

“That’s not much of a dare,” Connor had said, and he’d given her a chaste kiss on the cheek. It had been a tease, totally innocuous, and Very Connor.

But Ariel—whether driven by hormones or magic—had been embarrassed and furious that he hadn’t kissed her properly. She’d ended up storming out with Lulu in tow behind her.

I’d found out later it had been her first kiss. And apparently not a very satisfying one.

“Connor,” I said.

He came to me, put a hand at my back. “What is it?”

I pointed at the chalkboard, watched his gaze drop from flower to quote to the message scrawled below. And he blinked, frowned, blinked again, then looked at me.

“You think she left this for you? To tell us to go there?”

“I don’t know. But this building doesn’t have an elevator, she wrote it fast, and she had to know we’d come looking for her here.” I looked back at the slanted letters. “It’s a potent memory.”

Connor went silent, considering. “It could be a trap.”

“Or he’s telling the partial truth,” I said, dropping my voice, “and Ariel’s in danger. Maybe she was trying to warn us off before, realized that wouldn’t work.”

“Because in the last ten years, she forgot how stubborn you were?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” he said after a moment. “I keep half expecting a raven to come knocking at the window.”

“Nevermore,” Theo said behind us.

“We have to go,” I said. “God knows I wasn’t a fan of Ariel—and I’m still not a fan—but if the coven realizes she knows something, thinks she might try to stop them—”

“She may be next in the circle,” Connor filled in.

That’s exactly what I was afraid of.

We lost precious minutes waiting for the CPD and an ambulance to pick up Jonathan, more as we dodged through traffic. Theo had added a light to the vehicle, but that was hardly a deterrent to the Chicagoans still on the road despite the hour.

Clouds swirled like a typhoon overhead, and I wondered if that was a gift of our magicking coven. With dawn looming and Ariel’s life on the line, we needed to end this, and fast.

The grain elevator loomed over the south branch of the Chicago River like a six-pack of enormous concrete canisters. They were stained with time and graffiti but looked the same as they had nearly ten years ago.

There were no vehicles at the site, no obvious disturbance to the fence, no light that indicated anyone was here. But the magic was thick and felt oily on the skin.

“Are we thinking sharknado or hellmouth?” Theo asked contemplatively as he looked up at the sky.

“Hellmouth,” Connor said with a grin. “I’ve always had a thing for Buffy.”

“Hello?” I said, giving him a pinch on the arm. “It’s exceedingly bad taste to mention your love of a slayer to the vampire you’re currently dating.”

“I love you more,” he said with a wink.

“No pinching or winking on an op,” Theo said, but he was smiling when he said it.

We snuck through a gap in the fence, crept toward the main building, and looked inside.

A spotlight illuminated something in the middle of the long corridor.

There, in the center of a glittering circle of salt, was Ariel.

4

I held my breath until I saw her chest rise and fall; unconscious but not dead. We still had time.

“Let’s go,” Connor whispered, and we moved forward across the stained concrete floor to the edge of the light.

A bell rang and I looked up to find a woman in black moving through the haze of magic.

“Son of a bitch,” Connor murmured beside me.

It was Lucy Dalton, the bartender from The Raucous Wolf.

She ruthlessly pulled back her curls, slicked now into a tight bun, and wore a gown of black velvet that fell to her ankles. A silver cord made a belt, and on it hung a tinkling silver bell. Her arms were bare, the thin line of a stave tattoo stark against her skin.

Three more women, all in black gowns, stepped toward the light. They were different sizes, different skin tones, different hairstyles. But there was no mistaking the magic.

“Not what I thought I’d see when I climbed out of bed this morning,” Theo murmured. “I am Theo Martin,” he announced, the sound of his voice echoing through the chamber as he held up his badge. “And this is Elisa Sullivan. We’re Ombuds, and we’re ordering you to immediately cease and desist all magical activities. The Chicago Police Department is outside, and you are surrounded.”

They weren’t outside quite yet, but would be eventually. And hopefully soon enough.

The witches didn’t move closer, but magic rose higher, the scent of sulfur staining the air and leaving bitterness on the tongue.

“Stop,” Theo commanded. “We know you’re trying to cause a disaster.”

“We’re trying to prevent a disaster. Darkness is coming.” Dalton’s gaze shifted smoothly to Connor’s. “I’m sure you can feel it in the air, like a storm on the horizon. The pressure changes, and the storm breaks, and we will all be caught in its power. We will drown in its power.”

“So you decided dark magic was the solution?” Connor asked. “Blood sacrifice?”

“The loss of a few is a small cost to bear.”

I’d heard the AAM make that same argument, and I hadn’t bought it then, either. “I bet the ‘few’ would disagree with you. And dark magic has consequences. You might actually be making the disaster worse.”

Her smile was thin. “Unlike the Precursor, our understanding is strong.”

Something went cold and sick in my belly. Did she mean Lulu’s mother? The woman who’d become so addicted to dark magic she’d nearly destroyed Chicago in the process?

“I don’t suppose Expelliarmus would work here?” Theo murmured.

“Wrong fairy tale,” I said, and unsheathed my sword.

“We won’t allow this to happen,” Connor said. “You have to know that.”

“You have no choice. You cannot stop this,” she said, the magic growing thicker, as she pulled a gleaming dagger from her skirt and moved toward the circle. “If you attempt to do so, we all die. And that death will be ugly.”

But if we let it proceed, she’d kill Ariel in front of us. Murder and apocalypse were both bad options, but I laid odds that the apocalypse wasn’t going to happen today. “First problem first,” I said, and darted toward the circle.

And without bothering to consider whether it was a good idea or not, I swiped a foot through the salt. As if freed by the magic, Ariel groaned.

Dalton screamed like a banshee, and magic blew through the corridor like a hurricane, sending dust, salt, and shards of old glass flying.

I raised a hand to shield my face, used the other to point at the three young women who now looked utterly shocked to find themselves standing over Ariel’s unconscious body—and facing down a sorceress with spells at her literal fingertips.

“Get the witches,” I told them. “I’ll take the boss.” I smiled at Dalton and rolled my sword in my hand as she gathered up a swirling mass of green magic that resembled the clouds outside. She had been the source of the storm.

She tossed the first volley. Fortunately, katanas were fairly good weapons against fireballs. I raised my katana, used it to strike back. Magic bounced against the blade, spun off, and struck a metal support beam, which groaned in response, sending up a firework’s worth of sparks.

I spun and swung the sword into a low arc, sending another shot high into the rafters. Bird’s nests, and probably worse, snowed down around us. The concrete floor was dotted with kindling now, and it flared in the sparks that flew with each round of magic. Fires began to sprout in piles of detritus; it felt like we were fighting in hell itself.

Dalton’s face was red with fury, her eyes like flame as she reloaded and fired again. These blasts were smaller, faster, and I swung the katana wildly to catch them. I needed to redirect them, giving Connor, Theo, and the other witches a chance to escape through the doors behind me.

I spun and felt the sear across my shoulder as magic grazed my arm. I looked down to see a bright red smear of blood through a rip in my T-shirt, the pain hotter than anything I’d felt before. I heard myself whimper but swallowed hard against a bolt of nausea, glad at least that she hadn’t hit my shoulder.

Light blasted behind me and a growl rent the air.

Connor, I thought, my heart tripping in response as the great gray wolf barreled past me. He struck Dalton with enough force to send her flying back and into a pile of old lumber. Dalton screamed and tried to scramble away. He growled at her, lips curled back, human fury in his eyes.

She’d drawn my blood and would pay a price—this time, to him.

The sound of booted feet echoed through the room like an army on the move; its commander strode in front of them.

“We always arrive after the fun part,” Gwen said, as a dozen officers in protective gear filled the space around us. “We are the Chicago Police Department, and you’re all very under arrest.”

It had started as a gentle coven, Ariel told us when we were outside. Four of them, led by Dalton, who worked minor earth and love magic to heal heart, water, and land. They all had specialties, and Ariel had learned to use her necromancy to comfort those left behind. Added to the waitressing, she made enough for her own car, apartment.

“But something scared her,” Ariel said of Dalton. “She believed the end was coming, and we were the only ones who could stop it. We believed her. Maybe she added magic to it; I don’t know. Stupid or not, we believed her. And we helped her.”

“But you wanted out,” I said, and Ariel lifted her gaze to me. “Jonathan Black got your message,” I explained.

Her gaze darted away, full of emotions I couldn’t read. “He has . . . power. Maybe more than he lets us see. Maybe less.”

“And he is not well acquainted with the truth,” I said.

“No, he isn’t,” she said. “He can be a real son of a bitch when he wants to be.” Her smile fell away. “Anyway, Dalton told us about the poppets, the stave, the circle. Silverspell, she called it, because a silver dagger would be used each time to perform a small ritual.”

She looked at me, and for the first time I could see her own magic in her eyes. “She said only a bit of blood would be needed. That it wasn’t dark magic, because the blood wouldn’t kindle the spell. It was just a gift to the earth. She performed the ceremony on the human without us. But she said the human wasn’t enough, so we had to use a shifter the next time. We didn’t know she planned to kill him. We didn’t know she’d done it until he fell, and the dagger was—” She paused, looked away as if staring at the memory. “The dagger was in him.”

Ariel breathed in, exhaled. “She said each death would help ward the city from whatever was coming. Would keep the destruction at bay. We told her she had to find another way, but she didn’t believe us. So I sent Jonathan the message.”

“The bell,” I said. “And you put the coaster in Bryce’s clothes, and left the message on the chalkboard for me.”

She nodded.

“You did good, Ariel.” I put an arm around her shoulder. “No one died tonight, and that’s because of you.”

“Tonight,” she sobbed. “But I think she was right, and she was wrong, and I don’t know what’s coming next.”

I held her until the tears were dry.

Theo gave us a lift back to Connor’s vehicle, still parked at the bar. We said our goodbyes to Theo, watched him drive away.

And then Connor’s hand was behind my head, the long line of his body pressing forward, and his mouth against mine. Taking and promising, comforting and seeking comfort. I sank into the kiss as he slid his fingers into my hair, felt love and desire and magic—vibrant and clean and full of life—rise between us.

After a moment he pulled back, leaned his forehead against mine. “I needed that.”

I put a hand against his cheek; he turned to press his lips to my palm.

“We protect each other,” I said, our mantra. “And we found the villain.” I looked up at the sky, the green clouds all but gone, but the fear lingering. “We either saved the world, or we doomed it.”

“Together,” he said, his arms banding around me. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”