“Vampires are strategic. But also, yes. Where shall I take you?”
“To the Ombuds’ office, please. You know the address?”
“I do.” He pulled into the street and turned on the radio. The song that emerged was slow and seductive.
Connor trusted me a lot, I thought with a smile, and relaxed into the seat for the ride.
* * *
* * *
We stopped for pastries at a diner not far from the brick factory, a place where Theo and I had grabbed truly atrocious coffee a dozen times while investigating. The memory clutched at my heart—and strengthened my resolve. I had to finish this. Deal with the AAM and get back to work.
There were no vampires lurking over the doughnuts, and no sign of the AAM in the small parking lot outside the guarded gate at the brick factory; and in the unlikely event they’d been invited inside, someone would have told me.
“Thank you for the ride,” I said, as I slid from the car.
“Would you like me to stay?” he asked.
“No, thank you. I’ll get a ride back. And if he asks, yes, I’ll be careful.”
His smile was wide now. “I’ll tell him you said so. Good luck,” he said, and he waited until I’d made it through the gate. I waved back, watched as he drove off toward one of his rendezvous.
The parking lot was empty but for a white sedan. No sign of the AAM or its member vampires. Stupid enough to loiter outside the Pack’s enclave, but not the OMB? It was a very strange line to draw.
I walked toward the building, decided it was a good night for beautiful men as another came toward me. This one was tall and on the lean side, with suntanned skin, golden hair, whiskey eyes, and a faint sense of magic. Probably related to the sharp cheekbones and slightly pointed ears. I’d have said they were elvish, but that came from fairy tales and preconceptions. I’d heard there were elves in Chicago, a small and tightly knit group that generally avoided contact with other Sups—primarily because they believed themselves superior to others—but I’d never met one before.
The man wore perfectly tailored trousers, paired with a white button-down shirt that skimmed his trim torso, along with the strap of a gray messenger bag. He made eye contact, his smile vague and distracted. Then something flickered in his face, and he offered a tentative smile. “Elisa Sullivan?”
“Yes?” I asked cautiously, my guard already up.
His smile was brilliant, and undeniably beautiful. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
The smile, the words, sent a shudder through me. Was it a coincidence the note I’d received had said something similar? Or was I now being paranoid?
“Oh?” I asked, as blandly as I could manage.
“Jonathan Black,” he said and offered a hand. I shook it and felt nothing unusual in the warmth of his hand beyond the faint tingle of his magic.
“In addition to being half elf,” he said, “I’m an attorney. I represent various interests in Chicago, most of them supernatural. Your work stopping the fairies was greatly appreciated.”
“Interests?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Their identities are confidential. But you saved them a lot of trouble and expense—not to mention loss of life—by sparing Chicago returning to a more rural existence. You’re owed a boon.”
“I didn’t help with the fairies in order to collect a debt.”
His smile was broad and generous. “I know. That’s why they’ll give it to you.”
I cocked my head at him. “That was weeks ago. Why are you telling me this now?”
That smile erupted into laughter, full-bodied and contagious. I couldn’t help but smile, too. “In addition to being naturally suspicious, Sups are very stubborn folk, especially the older ones. They’re more accustomed to getting their way. It took some . . . convincing . . . for them to appreciate my argument. I was actually planning to send you a letter—to formally acknowledge the debt.”
“I appreciate the offer, but that’s unnecessary.”
He winced. “But it took me so long to convince them,” he said with a slightly pouty smile that I bet worked wonders on the dating scene.
Then his eyes widened, and his gaze went a little vague.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“What?” He blinked. “Yes, sorry. I had meetings just after dusk and haven’t eaten yet, and my mind tends to wander when I’m hungry.” He pointed at the box. “And those smell delicious. Doughnuts?”
I nodded. “There’s a diner down the street. The coffee is atrocious, but the glazed are phenomenal.”
“Then that will be my next stop.” He glanced at his watch, an old-fashioned anachronistic accessory when screens offered a world of information in seconds. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got an appointment.” He pulled a thin card from his pocket, offered it. A business card, another old-fashioned relic. “Until I manage to get that letter written, you can use this. Like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. But much less effective.”
I nearly told him that I could have used it yesterday. But I didn’t know this man, or who he represented, and some needs didn’t need sharing.
“Thanks,” I said noncommittally and took it, feeling the raised text with a fingertip.
“No,” he said, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as he walked toward a white vehicle. “Thank you.”
TWELVE
I was cleared into the offices by the human guard, who managed a sympathetic look but still required me to sign in and show identification. I refused to write “civilian” on an OMB form, and opted for “vampire” instead.
He let me walk down the hallway unattended, so I offered him a doughnut, then carried the box through the window-lined hall and into the office shared by the Assistant Ombuds.
We worked—I had worked—in a long room with four screen stations on two long tables, and additional work spaces. There weren’t any assigned desks; screens were communal, and mostly used for research and paperwork. Most of our time was spent in the field, and none of us had been the type to install pencil cups or motivational pics. Or hadn’t, in the little time I’d been working there.
Sadness threatened to rise again, and I pushed it unmercifully down. I didn’t have time for that. Not with the AAM on my trail.
Theo and Petra sat at two of the comp stations. Roger, lean and compact, stood in front of the wall screen, sliding his fingers over the small handheld device that controlled it, and reviewed photographs of what looked like the interior of a bank vault. Evidence from the robbery, I assumed. He had medium brown skin and short dark hair and, like his Assistant Ombuds, had opted for business casual.