Chapter 9
Nine
Eve lay sprawled on the bed, still engrossed in the book, when Cally re-emerged.
Cally flopped down next to her, smoothing out her bathrobe. “I only brought one change of clothes, but I figure that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.”
Eve faced away, and didn’t turn around. “Uh-huh.”
The clock on the mantelpiece showed they had hours before dinner. It frustrated her that they couldn’t even properly talk.
“Find anything?”
“Loads.”
“Want to tell me?”
“Shh. Reading.”
Okay then.
Was she upset about earlier?
“Eve, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you.”
Eve reached back without looking, finding Cally’s thigh and patting it. “Not a problem, babe. I’m absolutely fine. Now, do be good and shut up while I read the very important life-changing tome with which we may only have a brief time.”
Cally raised an eyebrow at that description, but lay quiet and didn’t disturb.
Without her phone, she had nothing to distract her, and her mind wandered, as usual, to Antoine.
Here she was, lying on a comfortable bed in a pleasant room, bored for the next few hours, while he spent every moment in pain.
She couldn’t dwell on that thought too long; it brought tears to her eyes.
The sun was bright outside, and she hoped that meant he could gain some relief through sleep.
The Order would want her to work through the list of vampires they had in Massachusetts, and there were many in Boston. Antoine’s name would be on their list. Gabe’s too, more than likely.
But so would the vampire whose territory was Milton. The one responsible for her mother’s death.
She would begin there.
Her goals and the Order’s aligned in more ways than one. She needed their knowledge to improve her magic, but she was also in favor of killing vampires—especially those like Minh.
Could she give them enough to keep them satisfied, while steering them away from Antoine and Gabe?
Eve remained absorbed, occasionally turning a page.
The hands of the clock had barely moved, and Cally muffled a sigh.
*
Cally took a look at herself in the mirror, wondering if jeans and a hoodie were appropriate evening wear in a mansion like this.
Not much I can do about it.
Eve had slipped away to get ready in her room, and her absence only emphasized that everything hinged on Cally. Her stomach had gradually tightened as seven o’clock drew nearer, until it was an uncomfortable knot at the prospect of dinner with Mr. Alexander and Darian.
A knock came, right on cue.
She opened the door to find Darian looking effortlessly formal in a dark suit that made her clothes feel painfully casual. He wore his jacket unbuttoned, its relaxed fit giving no hint of the gun she was sure it concealed.
He smiled as he saw her, as if he were genuinely pleased to be in her presence. “May I accompany you to dinner?”
“It’s business, not a social event,” she said bluntly, then remembered Eve’s encouragement to play along and returned his smile. “But sure. Thanks, I guess.”
Smooth, Cally, smooth.
Darian turned to knock on Eve’s door as Cally stepped out into the quiet hallway. They’d seen few people, and she wondered if there’d be others at dinner.
Eve opened her door after a short delay. She’d changed her top to a black turtleneck sweater—far more elegant than Cally’s hoodie.
“Good evening, Miss Sullivan,” Darian said formally. “Are you ready?”
“Sure.” Eve gave him a smile more natural than Cally’s had been.
“Thank you both for staying in your rooms this afternoon,” Darian said, as he escorted them downstairs. “I apologize if it was dull.”
“I spent it reading, and it wasn’t dull at all,” Eve replied, playing well into the cooperative role.
“How did you know we didn’t go exploring?” Cally couldn’t resist digging.
Darian turned to her, eyes sparkling with his amusement. “We have cameras.”
“Cameras?” Cally echoed, her voice tight as she wondered where they’d hidden them.
“We take security here very seriously, for obvious reasons.” He seemed to realize what he’d implied, and paused. “I assure you both, on my honor, there are no cameras in your rooms.”
He hadn’t said anything about microphones, and Cally knew Eve had caught the same implication. Still, it was curious to hear him talking about ‘honor,’ like it mattered to him.
“What’s a ‘sentinel’?” Cally asked. The custodian in the library had used that title.
“My rank. Mr. Alexander is the Primus Vigil, and as the Sentinel, I report to him.”
She wanted to make a comment about secret societies and their over-inflated job titles, but she bit her tongue.
Behave. I can do that for a few more hours, right?
Darian led them into a large dining room with a dark-wood theme and lush carpets, while a gentle piano concerto played from hidden speakers.
Candles lent soft lighting and a faint scent of smoke.
Against the walls, two unsmiling attendants stood at something close to parade rest, their military bearing unmistakable.
A long table that could easily seat twenty ran the length of the room; four place settings were arranged at its center, and Mr. Alexander rose from one as they entered. Like Darian, he wore a suit, though it didn’t look nearly as good on him.
“Ah! How wonderful to see you again.” He gave his insincere smile. “I must admit, the anticipation of this dinner made my afternoon more enjoyable.”
Darian showed Eve to the empty chair beside Mr. Alexander, then joined Cally on the other side, taking the seat next to her.
She sat uneasily, conscious of the quiet watchers, the ostentatious surroundings and elaborate place settings, each with tiers of cutlery and wine glasses.
They may have been used to eating in such a space, but it made Cally uncomfortable.
The air felt thick, stifling, as if the opulence were designed to trap her.
Mr. Alexander waited until they were seated, then resumed his seat. Waiting staff appeared with bottles of red and white, but Cally covered her glass with her hand and asked for water. Eve accepted a glass of red wine, taking a sip as she pointedly met Cally’s eyes.
“I hope you found your rooms satisfactory,” Mr. Alexander offered while the drinks were served.
“Lovely, thank you,” Cally said stiffly, trying to make an effort. “The candles are a nice touch.”
“Well, it’s a little refinement, isn’t it? Important to keep such things in mind while we fight monsters.”
Cally thought of Antoine’s timeless French charm and Gabe listening to Chopin, and smiled politely.
“Indeed.” Eve spoke up when it was apparent Cally wasn’t going to reply. “It’s important to remember our priorities.”
The subtle dig was a needed reminder, and Cally tried again. “Thank you for hosting us today. It has been most… informative.”
“You’re very welcome,” Mr. Alexander replied. “But let’s eat, and we can talk afterwards.”
The food arrived, and Cally received a tomato salad, while the others had Parma ham and melon. She noted the difference in silence, but Mr. Alexander leaned forward.
“You are vegetarian, are you not?”
“How thoughtful,” she replied neutrally, wondering who they’d spoken to, and what else they’d learned.
“We did a little digging this afternoon. I admit, it was partly out of an infantile desire to impress.”
“And an infantile approach to privacy.”
His lips twitched. “In our line, one can never be too careful.”
While they ate, they made pleasant chit-chat about political candidates and Boston’s unpredictable weather, and Cally kept her answers brief, letting Eve chime in where necessary. The food was probably excellent, but she tasted little, her mouth dry no matter how often she took a sip of water.
At last, dessert was finished, and Mr. Alexander settled back in his chair.
“I trust Darian explained our purpose, and your role in it.”
Finally.
“You believe my magic can help you hunt vampires.” She briefly wondered if saying that out loud was wise—the attendants hadn’t moved once during the meal, and she’d half-forgotten them. Still, no one batted an eye.
Mr. Alexander nodded. “Did you review the book Darian gave you?”
“I’ve made a start,” Eve said. “It shows potential.”
He turned to her in surprise. “Oh, I see. You’re not just her friend. You’re the brains.”
On that point they weren’t wrong—Eve was easily the smartest person at the table.
“No, I just got to the book first.” Eve played it off. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since.”
Mr. Alexander waved a hand. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”
Eve took a moment to collect her thoughts. “There are a variety of witch spells mentioned. From the time I’ve had to study it, I would say most are incomplete or too mundane.” She paused. “They also require considerable power.”
“Which Cally has,” Mr. Alexander supplied, his eyes flicking to her. “You made the obsidian glow like the sun.”
Eve nodded, hesitant. “Potentially. One witch does not a coven make.”
“You have others,” he added firmly.
“No, we don’t,” Eve contradicted. “The other ‘witches’ in our coven are… not like Cally.” She fixed him with her determined gaze. “Do you have others?”
Mr. Alexander’s hand clenched into a fist on the table’s surface. “No. We have two witches in the Order, but they are both in Europe, and already the demands on their time are excessive.”
Eve let her skepticism show. “You’re asking an awful lot.”
“Yes, we are,” he replied bluntly. “To be clear, you wouldn’t be alone. We have men. Trained professionals.”
“Then do it yourself.”
Mr. Alexander didn’t try to hide his irritation. “We do, Miss Sullivan. We are not idle. But the cost is excessive—not just in resources, but in lives.” He looked at Cally. “You could change all that. Failures could become successes. Fewer lives lost.”
“So you need us,” Eve said.
“I think we’ve already made that clear.”
Eve nodded. “Then we will take the book when we leave tomorrow, and study it further. We’ll explore what’s possible, and then we’ll let you know.”