Dark Debt
Page 36
He stood in front of a tall, pale brick structure, a low stone railing behind him. A crowd of humans had gathered on the street in front of him, eyes wide as they watched him, waited for him to move.
I recognized the spot. “He’s in front of the Wrigley Building. Those stairs go down to one of the boat docks along the river.” It was a common spot for street buskers, performers who typically danced or played instruments for cash from passersby, mostly tourists who roamed the Magnificent Mile to browse, shop, or take in the energy of downtown Chicago.
Juliet brought Luc an earpiece, which he snapped into place. “Kelley, can you hear me?”
“Roger that,” she said quietly, voice echoing through the room. “Tara’s positioned at my three o’clock.” She turned to the left, the camera panning until it focused on a lean woman with short brown hair at the edge of the crowd. She wore black cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. She stood at parade rest, but her eyes were cold and fixed on Balthasar. She was, I guessed, the human guard on this particular round of surveillance.
“Stand by for now,” Luc said. “Keep your eyes and the camera on him. We’re here and monitoring.”
“Acknowledged.”
Balthasar held up his hands as he addressed the crowd of humans below. “My name is Balthasar. I am a Master vampire, originally of France, but now home in your fair city.”
It was an announcement uncomfortably close to the one Celina had made more than a year ago, the press conference that had changed the lives of supernaturals forever, and brought them—screaming, in some instances—into the light.
The humans murmured together, recognition dawning, since they’d probably seen his face in the articles and stories about his interaction with Ethan. Some looked intrigued.
“Do not be afraid of vampires. We are all creatures of the same God.” He waved one hand over another, and when he turned both hands up, revealed a small white bird that fluttered into the sky. The crowd gasped with excitement.
“Magic tricks?” Luc asked. “Why is he doing magic tricks?”
“Illusions,” Catcher gruffly corrected. “Not magic. He’s fast, and he’s got the coat to hold his props.”
“And he’s doing it for attention,” Ethan said, “which he’s clearly getting.”
The knot of humans on the street grew as more gathered around to check out what the rest of them were gaping at.
“This looks like a setup,” I said. “A play.” Ethan, gaze on the screen, grunted in agreement.
“What’s the play?” Malik asked. “Scaring humans? He’s already told them he’s a vampire.”
“Kelley?” Luc asked.
“You see what I see. There’s nothing else here—no obvious weapon, no partner.”
Balthasar turned his wrist, fingers flicking, and a small silver ball appeared in his palm. He spun it around hypnotically, just as he’d done with the crystal globe in Ethan’s office. “You may be aware that Chicago has three vampire Houses. Can anyone name them?”
“Grey!”
“Navarre!”
“Cadogan!”
I didn’t like the context, but I was impressed by the humans’ speed. They’d clearly been paying attention.
Balthasar smiled proudly, whisked the ball in the air, where it seemed to hover by its own magic. The crowd cooed appreciatively.
“Très bon,” he said, tucking the ball into his palm again. He moved his hands above each other, then opened his palms, and the ball was gone.
“As it turns out, I am not of those Houses. But I helped to make one of them.”
“How?” one of the men in the crowd shouted back. Someone in his early twenties, I guessed from the voice, but his image was blocked by the crowd. “How did you make one of them?”
Balthasar didn’t look impressed by the asker. “Who knows the answer?”
“Ethan Sullivan!” shouted a girl, mid-twenties, with waist-length blond hair pulled back in a low tail.
“Ethan Sullivan, indeed,” Balthasar said. “I gave him immortality. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to want my attention.”
While the crowd waited, breath bated, for his explanation, Balthasar looked up, scanned the crowd, and when he found Kelley, smiled directly at her—and into the camera.
“Careful, Kelley,” Luc said. “You’ve been made.”
Ethan crossed his arms, his expression unfathomable as he stared at the screen. “I suspect he wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for our benefit. And for theirs.”
Balthasar moved two steps toward a woman, lifted her hand. Kelley adjusted her position so they were both in the frame.
The woman was petite, with coal black hair prettily tied into a topknot and held in place with a black patent headband. Deep-set eyes were poised above a Cupid’s bow mouth, and she wore a short and stylish dress with flats. On her way back from a date, I guessed.
“What’s your name, mon amie?”
“Park,” she said with a smile.
“Make a fist, Park,” he requested, and she did, eyes wide and bright with anticipation.
As the growing crowd twittered like excited birds, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss there. “Perhaps,” Balthasar crooned, “Ethan Sullivan simply doesn’t want to share.” He turned the woman’s wrist so her fingers faced upward. “Open your hand,” he said to the woman.
I recognized the spot. “He’s in front of the Wrigley Building. Those stairs go down to one of the boat docks along the river.” It was a common spot for street buskers, performers who typically danced or played instruments for cash from passersby, mostly tourists who roamed the Magnificent Mile to browse, shop, or take in the energy of downtown Chicago.
Juliet brought Luc an earpiece, which he snapped into place. “Kelley, can you hear me?”
“Roger that,” she said quietly, voice echoing through the room. “Tara’s positioned at my three o’clock.” She turned to the left, the camera panning until it focused on a lean woman with short brown hair at the edge of the crowd. She wore black cargo pants and a fitted black T-shirt. She stood at parade rest, but her eyes were cold and fixed on Balthasar. She was, I guessed, the human guard on this particular round of surveillance.
“Stand by for now,” Luc said. “Keep your eyes and the camera on him. We’re here and monitoring.”
“Acknowledged.”
Balthasar held up his hands as he addressed the crowd of humans below. “My name is Balthasar. I am a Master vampire, originally of France, but now home in your fair city.”
It was an announcement uncomfortably close to the one Celina had made more than a year ago, the press conference that had changed the lives of supernaturals forever, and brought them—screaming, in some instances—into the light.
The humans murmured together, recognition dawning, since they’d probably seen his face in the articles and stories about his interaction with Ethan. Some looked intrigued.
“Do not be afraid of vampires. We are all creatures of the same God.” He waved one hand over another, and when he turned both hands up, revealed a small white bird that fluttered into the sky. The crowd gasped with excitement.
“Magic tricks?” Luc asked. “Why is he doing magic tricks?”
“Illusions,” Catcher gruffly corrected. “Not magic. He’s fast, and he’s got the coat to hold his props.”
“And he’s doing it for attention,” Ethan said, “which he’s clearly getting.”
The knot of humans on the street grew as more gathered around to check out what the rest of them were gaping at.
“This looks like a setup,” I said. “A play.” Ethan, gaze on the screen, grunted in agreement.
“What’s the play?” Malik asked. “Scaring humans? He’s already told them he’s a vampire.”
“Kelley?” Luc asked.
“You see what I see. There’s nothing else here—no obvious weapon, no partner.”
Balthasar turned his wrist, fingers flicking, and a small silver ball appeared in his palm. He spun it around hypnotically, just as he’d done with the crystal globe in Ethan’s office. “You may be aware that Chicago has three vampire Houses. Can anyone name them?”
“Grey!”
“Navarre!”
“Cadogan!”
I didn’t like the context, but I was impressed by the humans’ speed. They’d clearly been paying attention.
Balthasar smiled proudly, whisked the ball in the air, where it seemed to hover by its own magic. The crowd cooed appreciatively.
“Très bon,” he said, tucking the ball into his palm again. He moved his hands above each other, then opened his palms, and the ball was gone.
“As it turns out, I am not of those Houses. But I helped to make one of them.”
“How?” one of the men in the crowd shouted back. Someone in his early twenties, I guessed from the voice, but his image was blocked by the crowd. “How did you make one of them?”
Balthasar didn’t look impressed by the asker. “Who knows the answer?”
“Ethan Sullivan!” shouted a girl, mid-twenties, with waist-length blond hair pulled back in a low tail.
“Ethan Sullivan, indeed,” Balthasar said. “I gave him immortality. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to want my attention.”
While the crowd waited, breath bated, for his explanation, Balthasar looked up, scanned the crowd, and when he found Kelley, smiled directly at her—and into the camera.
“Careful, Kelley,” Luc said. “You’ve been made.”
Ethan crossed his arms, his expression unfathomable as he stared at the screen. “I suspect he wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for our benefit. And for theirs.”
Balthasar moved two steps toward a woman, lifted her hand. Kelley adjusted her position so they were both in the frame.
The woman was petite, with coal black hair prettily tied into a topknot and held in place with a black patent headband. Deep-set eyes were poised above a Cupid’s bow mouth, and she wore a short and stylish dress with flats. On her way back from a date, I guessed.
“What’s your name, mon amie?”
“Park,” she said with a smile.
“Make a fist, Park,” he requested, and she did, eyes wide and bright with anticipation.
As the growing crowd twittered like excited birds, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss there. “Perhaps,” Balthasar crooned, “Ethan Sullivan simply doesn’t want to share.” He turned the woman’s wrist so her fingers faced upward. “Open your hand,” he said to the woman.
