“How did the Circle contact you before?” my grandfather asked.

“They called my cell or my office phone, the same way they did with Celina. They used throwaway phones. A different number every time.”

“Who called?”

“I don’t know. They used a computer or a voice modulator or something.”

“They’ll know what did and did not happen tonight,” my grandfather said, “and they’ll make contact again. I can have the CPD trace the House phone, your phone. We can put security on the House. The organized crime division will be very interested in the possibility of getting closer to the Circle. They’re very evasive, and this presents a unique opportunity.”

“I don’t want that,” Morgan said. “I don’t want to turn our House into a military state.”

“Morgan,” my grandfather said, “I’m going to be frank. We are well past the point of what Navarre House wants. Murder was proposed to you, and you didn’t report it to the police. Two of your members attempted, at a very crowded event with hundreds of witnesses, to kill a human. Getting an indictment against them will be child’s play.

“But we’re also talking about very dangerous people, as you’ve seen. They are powerful, manipulative, and very, very resourceful. Considering the scope of the House’s apparent debt, I’m frankly surprised they haven’t caused more trouble for the House in the past.”

Morgan just looked away.

I thought miserably of Shakespeare, of his advice not to be a debtor. Particularly when the debt was as dark as this.

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Morgan, take Chuck up on his offer. Do what it takes to keep your people safe right now. In the meantime, have someone you trust—someone outside Navarre—look at your books and evaluate the House’s connection to the Circle. Once you have that information, you can figure out a plan to move forward.”

“And who can do that?”

“We can,” Malik said, he of the numbers and figures and general math wizardry.

Ethan nodded in agreement. “We are not your enemies, and we’ve no incentive to lie to you. We have no ties to the old guard, and we aren’t interested in disguising the depth of the problem or the sacrifice you’ll likely need to make to fix it. If you don’t want us involved, talk to Scott. Or another Master that you trust.”

“I don’t want this leaving Chicago.”

Was he not familiar with the Internet? Two vampires in Venetian masks crashing a party at sword point? There were probably base stations in Antarctica that knew about this. The rest of the AAM wouldn’t be far behind.

“It’s undoubtedly too late for that,” Ethan said crisply, obviously beginning to lose patience. “And I agree with Chuck: This isn’t over. You did not do as they asked, nor were your guards successful. If you don’t get to the root of this particular decay, they’ll only want more. And it will be more than the murder of one man.”

Morgan was silent again, gnawing the inside of his cheek as he considered.

If only he’d been older—less human and more vampire—when he took the House, or when Celina had forced our hands, and lit the fuse that ended with her own destruction. He was such a canny, witty, confident man. But he’d seemed to struggle with being a vampire, and certainly holding the reins.

How much of that, I wondered for the first time, was because of the Circle? Because of the mess he’d inherited from Celina? Sometimes a vampire was dealt a really shitty hand. Pity replaced the irritation I usually felt when thinking about Morgan’s command failures.

Finally, Morgan looked up at Ethan, my grandfather. “We’d appreciate eyes on the House. I’m not comfortable having the House phones tapped, but I won’t hide any future contacts. I’ll come to you, directly.” He looked at Malik, Ethan. “You can come by tomorrow night to look at the books.”

Ethan looked at my grandfather, who nodded.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Ethan said, rising. “You should get back to your House, your vampires. I’m sure they’re worried.”

“Since you’re down two guards,” Luc said, “we can lend you one, have Grey give you one. They’d be working for us, but living with you. It would give you some extra bodies, some different perspectives.”

Morgan nodded, resigned.

“You’re doing the right thing here for your people, for your House,” my grandfather said, “getting Cadogan involved, letting them help you.”

“Maybe,” Morgan said. “But Celina is rolling in her grave.”

*   *   *

“There is not enough alcohol in the world to fix this nightmare,” Ethan said when Morgan and my grandfather were gone.

“It’s not Navarre’s finest moment,” Malik agreed, rising to grab a bottle of Goose Island root beer, a personal favorite, from Margot’s cart. He remembered that, held up another bottle for me, and at my nod, popped the caps. Margot had stored them in a silver bucket of ice, and a tempting little puff of frosty carbonation rose from the open bottle.

“Thanks,” I said when he walked back and handed it to me.

“You’ve been quiet,” Ethan said to Catcher.

Catcher crossed an ankle over the other knee, adjusted the hem of his jeans over the booted foot. “That woman has been the root of much misery. I hate to say that I’m not surprised she’s screwed her House again, but if the shoe fits . . .”