Chapter 21 Declan
DECLAN
I had no fucking clue where this crypt was. Until I did, Nyxia couldn’t transport me there. The Tacitus family were clearly important in the magical world, yet I’d never heard of them. Someone had to know where the crypt was.
I walked away from The Pit, my pace faster than normal.
Every second that ticked by sent my anxiety higher.
All I could think of was what might be happening to Veronica and Wendy.
That Virgil fucker had incinerated his own brother for promising to help me.
It terrified me to think what he might do to them.
Stopping at a crosswalk, I got my bearings and realized I was only a few blocks from Tombstone Station. The scowl on my face faded. I might be able to get some info there.
By the time I arrived, it was nearly two in the morning.
The sky was pitch black, the lights of the city the only illumination.
The denizens of Tombstone Station were out and about in full force.
While not as boisterous and chaotic as The Shadow Streets, this place was a close second for the areas in and around Chicago.
I passed the alley where my apartment safe house was.
The door still hung off the hinges, and flickering light and music played from within.
Those two dumbass shifters had taken me up on the offer to crash there. I moved on, leaving it behind.
Toward the end of the street, I came to a moderate-sized apartment complex and found who I was looking for sitting on the stoop outside.
“Good evening, Hathor. You’re still going by Hathor, right?”
The vampire, a Black man with a shaved head and multiple piercings, turned slowly toward me, his motions languid and bored.
“Oh, my. Declan McClintoc? As I live and breathe,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest.
This being was one of the oldest creatures I’d ever met.
Allegedly, he’d been a priest to one of the first pharaohs of Egypt before being turned.
Thousands of years walking the earthly plane, and he was growing bored with the world.
How could you not after all that time? He’d also been around so long that he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the paranormal world.
“What brings you to these dark streets after so long?” Hathor said, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.
“I need information. Can you help with that?”
“What type, my dear?” he said, lifting a pierced eyebrow. “You know I love to help tall, dark, and handsome men.”
“Have you ever heard of the Tacitus family?”
“That does sound familiar,” Hathor said. “Roman in origin. I seem to recall one of them was a legion general or some such. What do you want to know?”
“I want to know who the fuck they are,” I said.
Shrugging, Hathor inspected his nails. “A rather well-off family. They were quite popular in both human and paranormal society. Attending balls, galas, and concerts with important people from both.”
“Were?” I said. “Want to expand on that?”
“I’ve heard things. Being as old as I am, I get invited to a lot of the same parties.
They had some bad luck a few years back.
Bad investments, failed partnerships, and less than stellar earnings from the human companies they owned.
The whole empire basically went belly up over the course of about eighteen months.
Mr. and Mrs. Tacitus took the coward’s way out.
Both took a death potion and died in one of their foreclosed penthouses.
Left what little there was of the remaining fortune and holdings to their youngest son.
Rumor is, the eldest child is a real fuck up. ”
Won’t have to worry about that anymore, I thought bitterly.
“Do you have any idea what they might still own? Houses, property? Stuff like that?”
Hathor rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Sweetheart, I know a lot, but I don’t know everything. Go ask Eduardo Conalès. His office is right down the street.”
“I need this info now. Can I trust this guy?”
“As much as you can trust any panther shifter. He’s down the street that way. First left, second shop on the right,” he said, pulling a cell phone out. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go live. My followers demand it.”
Growling, I moved along while the vampire started filming.
My left hand clenched and unclenched as I hurried along, following Hathor’s directions until I came to a brown brick building with a simple, handwritten sign tucked in the window: EC and Associates, Real Estate, Acquisitions, and Auctions. BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.
Ignoring the appointment-only part, I banged on the metal frame of the glass door, slamming my fist against it over and over and over. After a couple minutes of that, I spotted a man shuffling toward the door. He looked irritated as all hell.
I stopped knocking and watched him unlock the door.
“Can’t you read? What? Are you on something? I’m trying…to…” His words trailed off as he took a step back, eyes locked on the gun pointed at his face.
“My apologies, Mr. Conalès—you are Eduardo Conalès, correct?”
He nodded quickly, eyes never leaving the barrel.
“Good. I’m sorry for the interruption, but I have a life-and-death situation going on right now, and I need information.”
“Wh…whatever you need,” he said, slowly raising his hands.
“The Tacitus family,” I said, stepping into the store and gesturing for him to back up as well. “Your sign says you deal in real estate. I need to know if they have any property and where. Now.”
The fear faded from his face as his brows drew together. “Sir, I can’t give you that information. Don’t you—”
I cocked the pistol and bared my teeth. “I don’t think you understand the position you’re in.
I need the information, and if you can’t give it to me, you are worthless.
Do you know what I do with worthless things?
I put them in the trash. So, unless you want someone to find your body in a dumpster, you’ll do as I ask. ”
I wouldn’t kill an innocent person. Not even to save Veronica. I’d always find another way, but this guy didn’t need to know that.
He swallowed hard and pointed to a filing cabinet on the far side of the room.
“Calm down, friend,” he said. “I’ve got it right over there.”
I jerked my head toward the cabinet. “Grab it.”
He walked to the cabinet, moving slowly and deliberately.
“If you do anything I find suspicious, aggressive, or weird, I will put so many holes in you, the wind will whistle as it blows through you.”
“Understood,” he said, his voice shaking. “Did…uh…did the Tacituses piss you off in some way?”
“You could say that,” I said.
“We handled the foreclosure auctions when they went bankrupt,” he explained as he pulled a file out. “This was years ago, though.”
He kept one hand held up in surrender while holding the file out with the other.
“What did they get to keep?” I said, nodding to the file. “Any properties?”
“Not much,” he admitted. “It was a terrible financial situation for them. They apparently even tried to get a few fae to do a luck charm on their finances, and went to human banks to get credit extended. None of it helped, they lost everything.”
I laid the file on the table, keeping the gun on him, and flipped through, stopping when I saw a photo of a cemetery.
“What’s this?” I said, pointing to it.
Eduardo leaned forward carefully, taking a look at the photo. “Oh. That.”
“Go on.”
“They kept a few hundred thousand dollars in protected money from an insurance payout they’d put together as a sort of golden parachute for their sons, and they kept the location of their ancestral home.
It originally had a house on it, but that was torn down back in the eighteenth century.
The basements and cellars were repurposed and renovated into crypts.
Due to it being an active cemetery, no one was able to foreclose on it.
They can never build or live on it, nor sell it.
Once the living heirs pass away, it will revert to the local human government. It’s basically worthless.”
A sudden explosive surge of hope lit up deep in my chest. I stared at the photo, knowing this was it. Somewhere on that property, Veronica and Wendy were being kept.
“What’s the address?” I snarled, turning to glare at the man.
He must have seen the savage rage in my eyes. He took a hesitant step back. “Uh…it’s on the back of that photo. It’s about ten minutes outside the city.”
I yanked the photo from the file, flipped it over, and quickly memorized the address before shoving it in my pocket. Backing toward the door, I kept the gun on him.
“No one knows I was here,” I said. “You understand?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding so fast, he looked like a bobblehead I got as a kid at the ballpark.
“Good.”
Shoving the door back open, I stepped out onto the street and turned away, slipping my gun into my holster. After casting a glance around, I pulled my phone free and dialed.
“Hello?” Toby’s squeaky voice said.
“It’s me again,” I said. “I need some more help.”
“God,” he groaned. “Uh, okay. What’s up?”
“I need something that will rain down hell,” I said. “Imagine I’m coming for your worst enemy. What would you give me?”
There was a long pause, then he said, “I think I have something. It’ll need a bit of tinkering before it’s fully ready, though. When do you need it?”
“Two hours.”
“Oh shit! Uh, okay.”
As I walked, I called in every favor I had with anyone I’d ever helped or done a job for. Other weapons makers, priests who could bless the weapons, and people who could re-up the protection charms on my clothes. If I was going in, I was going in loaded.
When I reached my car, I got in and sped into the night. There was someone I needed to talk to. Someone who needed to answer for what happened earlier with Percival Tacitus.
I screeched to a stop outside the strip mall and got out of the car, pulling my pistol free. Without hesitation, I aimed at the glass doors and fired three times, shattering the glass into tiny fragments.