Blood Games 10 by Neill Chloe

Author:Neill, Chloe [Neill, Chloe]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Vampires, Paranormal, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Adult
ISBN: 9780451415202
Publisher: NAL Trade
Published: 2014-08-05T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

EAT YOUR HEART OUT

Ethan was gone when I rose, the remains of breakfast on the tray Margot usually left by the door at sunset. An empty bottle of blood, crumbs from a croissant. He’d left me a second bottle and pastry, and a trio of lusciously red strawberries that made me glad spring was on its way.

I sat down at the small desk in the sitting area, glanced at the folded Tribune that sat beside the tray. Samantha Ingram’s murder was the main story, and the headline was telling: WOULD-BE VAMP KILLED—SUPERNATURALS AT FAULT?

On the other hand, reading through the story, it looked like the reporter hadn’t yet made the connection between the sword and pentacle murders. Not that several cops, an Ombudsman, two vamps, a sorcerer, and a shifter had made the connection, either. It took a sorceress with a love of all things weird and witchy.

When I felt prepared to face the night, I checked my phone, found messages waiting.

Mallory had worked her particular magic. YOU’RE LUCKY, she’d said. THE MAGIC SHOPPE HAS OVERNIGHT INVENTORY TONIGHT; THEY’LL BE EXPECTING US.

I arranged to meet her in an hour, traffic depending, at her Wicker Park home.

My grandfather had also sent a message: There was, unfortunately, still no sign of Mitzy Burrows. But they had confirmed—and quickly this time—that Samantha Ingram had been given Rohypnol, just like Brett.

Both victims had been drugged, killed, laid out in very public spaces, their bodies arranged like scenes in a very particular type of tarot card. Both had been marked with small blue crosses. Those were particular, unusual, and supernatural elements. But why? Because the killer loved magic? Or hated it? Or did the killer not care either way, but wanted to take out a handful of people, and found the city’s supernaturals very convenient scapegoats?

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the answers. I did have a sword and a fast car, and no specific interest in talking to Ethan yet tonight. So I sent him and Luc a message, advised them of my travel plans, and grabbed my jacket and sword.

* * *

I headed north toward Wicker Park. Mallory and Catcher lived in the town house I’d once shared with her, a home she’d inherited when her only living relative, an aunt, had passed away. It still held her aunt’s flowery and comfy furniture, although Catcher had upgraded the audio equipment, and Catcher had transformed the musty and spider-laden basement into a spell-crafting room worthy of Martha Stewart.

I took the opportunity to call Jonah and check in.

“Hey,” he slowly said. “Thanks for calling me, Grandma. Hold on just a minute.”

I blinked at the non sequitur—and the muffled words I couldn’t make out in the interim—but kept my eyes on the road. “I’m holding and assume you’ll explain what this is momentarily.”

“Absolutely, Grandma.”

More muffled words, followed by the squeak of furniture and shuffling. The reason for the pretense belatedly occurred to me.

“You’re on a date!”

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, Grandma, and I’m glad you called so we could talk it over.

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