~ Revelations of a Family History ~

Macey's breath caught. Hunt vampires.

"I can't hunt vampires," she managed to say, shaking her head. "That's ridiculous. I'm a library assistant. I'm a...I'm a woman. And look at me-I'm not big or strong or tall, and I have no idea how to...do that. This is the silliest thing I've ever heard."

Yet, even as she said the words, Macey felt a little tingle inside. Almost like a sizzle, a zing.

Confused, frightened and-yes-curious, she lifted her glass to drink and froze with it halfway to her mouth. Its scent was sharp and pungent. "This is-this is whiskey."

The man named Chas laughed softly. He'd removed his fedora, finally, and now she could see his eyes. They were emotionless and gray, set in a surprisingly handsome countenance. She'd imagined him to be as craggy and sharp in appearance as he was in personality, but he looked like an exotic Gypsy, with jet-black hair and swarthy skin. "Indeed it is. And an excellent vintage if I do say so. One thing about Vioget-he always has the best."

For some reason, she remembered Grady tossing back a gulp of the same cider-colored liquor last night at The Gyro. Guilt nudged her for leaving him at the diner. She hoped he wasn't too worried about her. She hoped he didn't have reason to be. "Whiskey's illegal. I can't-"

"I beg to differ, ma cherie," Sebastian Vioget said mildly. "The sale, production, and distribution of spirits is explicitly prohibited by Volstead. But not the actual imbibing of it."

He smiled warmly at her, and Macey felt another different sort of sizzling tingle in her belly. She tore her eyes away, her cheeks warming. Sebastian Vioget exuded sensuality, heat, and danger. Yet, even though a look from him caused warmth to shimmy up her spine, she still felt a chill over the back of her neck. As if a constant breeze settled there.

She looked down at the whiskey, pretending to consider taking a sip. In reality, Macey was trying to organize and control her racing mind. A vampire hunter? Me?

Father as well? Her insides turned cold at the memory of his stony heart. How could a man send his daughter away after she lost her mother? To place after place, home after home...and never ever see her again?

Vampire hunter or not, Max Denton was not a person she wanted to emulate. Or respect. Or even remember.

My father...a vampire hunter. Impossible.

But perhaps not as impossible as she would have believed only yesterday. Before she'd seen a vampire.

Since vampires do exist, there must be those who hunt them. The police are surely incapable of doing so.

But me? Impossible. Crazy.

Macey set the glass down. Her heart thudded harder as she stood. "I'm going to leave now." It occurred to her that perhaps they wouldn't allow her to leave, these two dangerous-silkily dangerous-men. Her palms were damp and she could hardly breathe, fearing what would happen.

She suspected facing Al Capone or Bugs Moran would be a cakewalk compared to a showdown with the two in this room. Her heart filled her throat and she great-great-granddaughter of Victoriat - thought she might choke, but she walked steadily toward the exit.

"Macey."

She was at the door. Hand on the knob, she turned, not expecting to see that Sebastian and Chas had remained in their seats. Neither made a move to stop her.

But as her gaze was caught by Sebastian's, she felt a funny tug in the center of her belly. And had the impression he'd changed somehow. His eyes were...warm. Hot. Glowing?

"Now, now, Vioget...let's play fair." Chas moved suddenly, his arm jerking in front of Sebastian's eyes. Macey blinked and the tug inside eased.

Then all at once, realization jolted her. Her knees wobbled. She clutched the knob as they buckled a little, then caught herself before her legs gave way. "You-you're a vampire."

"And a Venator." He wore an odd expression-a little chagrined, a little wary.

"But...how can you be both?"

"That is a damned good question," Chas said brightly. "How can you be both, the lady asks?"

"Get out," Sebastian growled. "Now." His eyes burned-literally-red and glowing, just like those of the man who attacked Macey last night. Her pulse jerked when she noticed fang tips pressing into his lower lip.

"Very well. If that's what you wish." Chas set his glass down and it clinked gently against the whiskey bottle. "Good luck convincing a Venator to help a vampire."

"Wait." Macey held up her hand. To her relief, it wasn't even trembling. Maybe she was made from sterner stuff than she realized. "I'm leaving. I'm going to think about this. And I'll let you know...in a few days."

"Of course, cherie. But do you truly wish to place yourself in danger overnight? Now that the undead know who you are and where you live, you're no longer safe. Particularly since you've already slain one of them-the clock has begun to tick. All has been set in motion." Sebastian rose, but the glow in his gaze faded, and he looked at her with mortal eyes. "Whether you wish to accept it or not, whether you believe it or not, you are Macey Gardella. Daughter of Max Denton, great-great-granddaughter of Victoria. You are the heir to Il Gardella-The Gardella-line, and destined to change the world in this era. The undead know this. They've been waiting for you. And Count Alvisi will do whatever he must to destroy you."

"Now you're scaring the girl, Vioget."

Chas's voice wasn't particularly kind, but Macey couldn't disagree. She had no feeling in her legs, and her insides were a jungle of nerves. "But I don't have to accept the Calling. You said I didn't have to accept it." She looked at him, over the back of her neck slyuncertain whether she'd find help with him or not. "What if I don't?"

"If you don't...well, first, you'll live in utter ignorance of this very conversation, of this very place and even our identities," Chas said, speaking before Sebastian could.

His lackadaisical attitude had evaporated. Gone was the insolent, testy man who'd drunk half a bottle of whiskey in forty minutes. Now his words were sober, matching his expression. "And the undead will continue to do what they have always done. What they must do to survive: take from mortals, feed on them, rape and maul them. For that is what they've been created to do: to take. Without reservation.

"If unchecked, they'll grow in large numbers, as the likes of Capone and Torri have done-but these are immortal beings, not gun-toting mortals. Someday soon, instead of being run by gangsters, Chicago will be controlled by vampires. Particularly if they convince Capone and the others to join them. And there is nothing-not one thing-redeemable about one who is undead. They cannot be saved, they cannot be corrected. A vampire is unadulterated evil. They must take in order to live. That is the core of their existence. Rape and violation."

Macey couldn't breathe. Not so much because of Chas's speech, but because of the expression settling on Sebastian's face. Tormented, dark, burning with fury.

"Ah. But there is one exception," Chas added casually. He hadn't looked at Sebastian, but surely he felt the antipathy rolling off him. "And that is our host here-the fine proprietor of The Silver Chalice. He has a chance for redemption. And he needs you to help him."

Grady had no intention of allowing Macey Denton out of his sight-particularly with the gangster she'd somehow attracted. He knew how to take care of himself, but more importantly, he knew how to read a man. That bastard made his skin crawl and his instincts go very sharp.

He's a friend. It's fine.

Like hell.

But Grady made the fatal mistake of going to his automobile, assuming they'd get into a car and he'd follow. Besides, his gun was under the seat.

Instead of getting in their own vehicle, Macey and her escort turned down a pedestrian alley a block away and across the street. By the time Grady got there, they were out of sight.

Sonofabitch.

He looked around for a while, talked to a few witnesses who'd seen them, but he'd lost their trail. Now Grady sat behind the steering wheel and cursed. Hope to hell you know what you're doing, lass.

But he didn't have a good feeling at all. Especially since he was pretty over the back of her neck sly damned sure that had been a vampire bite on her delicate neck.

He swore again and pushed the ignition, engaging the engine, considering his next move. Then, his mind made up, he pulled into the street.

Fifteen minutes later, Grady was out of his car, knocking on the front door of Mrs. Gutchinson's house. There were many ways to go about finding answers, and thanks to his work during the War, he knew a hell of a lot of them. Some techniques were legal, and others...not.

He decided to start with a legal one.

"What? You again? Where's Macey?" The spirited landlady, who was hardly more than skin and bones, was already demanding answers before the door was fully open. Though she'd probably watched him approach alone, she peered around as if to spy Macey lurking in the bushes.

"She's at the library. But she left a book here and begged me to fetch it for her since I have an auto. I told her I would, if you'd allow me." He gave her his warmest smile, knowing just how to make his eyes sparkle.

"What book? Where is it?"

"It's a volume of Gray's Anatomy," he said without hesitation. "So will you be letting me in, or do I have to go back and tell her my Irish charm wasn't working on you today?" He made his eyes glint with levity, knowing they'd be crinkling at the corners and that his dimple would be showing.

Mrs. Gutchinson stepped back and gestured him into the foyer with a large-knuckled hand. "I suppose I could let you. But I'm gonna be watchin' you every bit of the time. Don't want you pawing through that girl's drawers."

Good thing she was already climbing the steps ahead of him and didn't see the expression on his face. And just what sort of lacy things does Miss Macey Denton have in her drawers? That thought was enough to keep him smiling to himself, despite the landlady's skinny, sagging behind creaking slowly ahead of him-precisely at eye level.

However, the slow progress up the creaking steps gave him the opportunity to arrange for the second part of his plan. Mrs. Gutchinson was so enamored with her own voice, she didn't notice when he paused to balance a small can of pebbles between two spines of the staircase railing. Precariously situated, the container would tip with the slightest bit of encouragement.

So just as Mrs. Gutchinson finished unlocking Macey's door, Grady bumped hard against the railing at the top of the steps. The apartment door opened as the railing jolted and the can went tumbling.

"What on earth?" Mrs. Gutchinson whirled, looking behind her. One thing he had to say-the woman had excellent hearing. Of course, the rattling sound all the way down the steps and ending metallic clunk was hard to miss.

"I don't know what that was. Sounded like it came from down there," Grady said helpfully. He stepped neatly aside as she turned, allowing her past him to make her way down the stairs as quickly the slightest bit of encouragement.He slipped into Macey's apartment. Her scent-something floral without being cloying-lingered, along with the layer of another musty, nauseating smell that put him in mind of a graveyard. Or a morgue-a place he'd had the misfortune of visiting far too often. Knowing he didn't have much time, he quickly looked around and snatched up the first book he saw: on the bedside table. It was too old to easily read the title on front or spine, so Mrs. Gutchinson would just have to take his word it was Gray's Anatomy.

Holding it protectively against his chest, he examined the rest of the small flat while listening for the landlady's return.

It wasn't particularly neat, but nor was Macey's living space cluttered. Her bed was made, and his attention lingered there for a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, noting how inviting it looked with the white crewel-stitched coverlet and a variety of colorful pillows. Dresses of slinky, silky fabric were folded over the back of a chair. A few canned and boxed goods were on the kitchenette's counters along with a loaf of bread. Then he saw the broken broomstick. The broom part was on the floor near the fridge. The other half, with its wicked-looking point, was on her dresser next to perfume bottles, hair combs, a hand mirror, and several pairs of earrings.

Interesting.

He picked up the broken stick and sniffed it. The foul, musty smell was strong there. When he pulled his hand away, he felt and saw an ashy, gritty residue. It, too, smelled foul.

Damn. His suspicions were looking more and more probable.

A strand of beads glittered on the windowsill, and, replacing the broken broomstick next to a torn picture on her dresser, Grady went to take a closer look.

Good Catholic boy he was-or had been, anyway, in Dublin; he hadn't been in a church for years, thanks to the War-he knew a rosary when he saw one. The prayer loop was a circle of beads with a short extension that ended in a cross. The circular part consisted of five sections of ten beads each-for the Hail Marys-separated by a single, larger bead that represented the Our Father. The tail had three Hail Mary beads with an Our Father bead on each side. Then the cross, which was for the Apostle's Creed.

Usually.

But this rosary, made of silver links with blue-black beads, had an extra decoration on the extension. A bead that didn't match the others, linked in between the cross and the first Our Father nodule. It was a rosy pearl, set in ornate silver filigree, and dangling from the setting was a tiny silver cross. The size of his small fingernail.

Grady felt a tremor of something skitter up his arms...a sort of buzz, a pleasant warmth...and he sifted the beads through his hands again. A rosary but not a rosary.

Then he realized the stairs were creaking, and he quickly replaced the rosary, arranging it as it had been. H great-great-granddaughter of Victoriat -e was walking out of Macey's apartment, book tucked under his arm, by the time a puffing Mrs. Gutchinson reached the top step. He squelched a niggle of guilt for inciting her to drag herself up and down the flight of stairs unnecessarily.

"I've got the book. Thank you so very much, ma'am," he said, giving her a tip of his fedora. "Macey will be very appreciative."

The landlady sniffed and looked at him, then into the apartment. She didn't seem worse for wear with the extra activity. "That young lady needs to learn how to keep house better. Instead of gallivanting off to the dance clubs and a job every day." She closed the door and locked it smartly, but by the time the bolt shot home, Grady was heading out the front door to his auto.

He had work to do. Research and investigation.

But it wasn't until some time later he actually looked at the book he'd taken from Macey's apartment.

Chas came awake abruptly when someone kicked him in the arm.

Groggy, he blinked and looked around. "What the hell?" he growled at Temple, who stood over him and appeared very riled up.

"I've been looking all over for you." She glowered down at him. "It's coming onto twilight, and Sebastian wants you guarding Macey."

Stifling a groan, Chas sat up. The world shifted and tilted a little and he took in the setting, remembering after a minute that he was in an abandoned warehouse. On the floor. His neck throbbed, still pulsing from a recent wound, and the dull scent of undead lingered. He felt Temple's attention shift from the oozing blood, to the stake still in his hand, to his shirtless chest where the vis bulla glinted, and onto the other bites decorating his bare shoulder.

She didn't say anything, but he could feel the shock and revulsion rolling off her. Fuck her.

He pulled upright easily and shrugged into his shirt, buttoning it with agile fingers. "Are you coming too?"

"How much bloody help do you think I'd be if a Guardian showed up?" she snapped. "I'm staying at the Chalice. Sebastian's going with you."

Chas nodded. He couldn't fault the plan. Despite the fact that he and Vioget had a different perspective on nearly everything, the two of them were a formidable team. That was why Wayren brought him here.

Macey Denton would be safe for another night at least.

"So, she didn't accept?" Temple asked, shoving his coat at him. the slightest bit of encouragement.

"Not yet. She's thinking about it."

"Will she?"

"I sure as hell hope so. Hate to see what Vioget will do if she doesn't. And it's only a matter of time till Alvisi or Iscariot dust him. Then they'll have the rings." He pulled on his coat, shoved the stake in his pocket, then adjusted his extra weapon in its hidden slot in a trouser leg and felt for his gun. "Will you be ready if she does accept?"

"Of course. I've been waiting five years for this chance."

"Good. Because she's going to need everything you can teach her. Any other news?"

"Iscariot's rned humorless