“Sam?” Alistair called from the direction of the office. “Can I talk to you?”
God, he looked even worse than he had earlier, if that was possible. “Sure. Just give me a minute.” Alistair vanished into the back while Sam collected his tools and returned them to the case. The completed hexes, he left on the table.
Alistair waited beside his desk in the office, holding a stack of money and a sheet of paper. When Sam entered, Alistair extended them to him. “Here.”
“Why are you giving me money?” Sam asked. Then he saw what was printed on the paper. “Hold on, is that a train schedule?”
Alistair made a sound of frustration, grabbed Sam’s hand, and pressed the schedule and bills into it. “There’s a train leaving for Milwaukee this afternoon. The money will cover your ticket and somewhere to stay, until you can get on your feet.”
Sam shook his head. “What? No! I’m not leaving you to face a gang war alone!”
“But I’m not alone, am I?” Alistair’s voice held a cutting edge Sam had never heard directed at him before. “I have Wanda, Teresa, Doris, and Philip. People who can actually do something to help.”
Sam’s heart dropped. “I-I can help!” he protested, ignoring the sting of Alistair’s words. “I can cook—you all still need to eat. I can take care of things here at The Pride, I can—”
“Get yourself killed,” Alistair cut him off. “Listen, Sam, it’s been fun. But it’s time for both of us to move on.”
Sam’s lips parted, but words deserted him. Everything had been going so well…hadn’t it? “You’re…you’re breaking up with me?”
“We both knew this was never going to last.” Alistair folded his arms over his chest. “Like I said, you and I had a lot of fun together. Maybe we could have gotten a few more weeks out of it, if the situation was different. But as it is…I don’t want you here, Sam. So pack your bags, catch your train, and move on.”
Tears stung Sam’s eyes, but he refused to shed them. Not in front of this man. “You aren’t who I thought you were,” he managed to say, though his voice cracked.
“No,” Alistair said, turning his back. “I guess I’m not.”
23
Alistair downed another shot of whiskey. Like the previous ones, it failed to fill up the aching hollow in his chest.
Maybe the next one would do it. Or the next. If nothing else, maybe they’d blot out the memory of the expression of raw hurt on Sam’s face.
He reached to pour another, but Philip snatched the bottle away before Alistair could touch it. That was what he got for drinking at the bar, instead of taking the bottle back to his room and nursing his pain in private.
“I think you’ve made enough mistakes for one day,” Philip snapped. His yellow-gray eyes narrowed in annoyance, or maybe even anger.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alistair replied. “It’s not even sundown. Plenty of time to do worse.”
“Fur and feathers, what now?” Wanda asked as she emerged from the back.
Doris and Joel sat at a table together, playing cards to pass the time. “Alistair sent Sam to Milwaukee,” Doris said, not bothering to look up from her hand.
“Good,” Wanda said bluntly.
Philip stared at her incredulously. “Good? He’s a witch! We could have used him!”
“Give it up, Philip,” Alistair snapped.
“Fuck off.”
“We have Joel,” Wanda said, cutting through them both. “I like Sam, but we’re in a war, and the fewer people we need to worry about protecting the better. Holly is in hiding with friends on the south side, well away from Ursino’s territory. She’ll come back when the coast is clear, and Sam can too.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Philip arched his brows. “You seem to be under the impression Alistair handled this like a rational person. Instead of, say, breaking Sam’s heart and kicking him out.”
Alistair ground his teeth. “He wasn’t going to leave otherwise. I did what I had to, to keep him from being hurt.”
“Him, or you?” Doris asked. “Plenty for him to do here at The Pride. But God forbid Alistair Gatti climb out of his shell—”
Alistair spun on his bar stool, hands clenching into fists. “Damn it, Doris—”
“Enough.” Wanda’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing them all. “What’s done is done. Now—”
A knock on the door interrupted. The air instantly became tense, and they exchanged worried glances.
“Is anyone expecting a visitor?” Wanda asked. “No? Doris, you get the door. Alistair and I will back you up. Philip, stay ready. Joel, go in the back.”
Joel did as he was told, while the rest of them shifted into cat form, with the exception of Doris. She crossed the room and peered cautiously through the peephole in the steel door.
“It’s Adamo Vescovi,” she said.
Vescovi? Alistair shifted back to human shape, as did the others. “I say we let him in.”
Wanda nodded. Doris swung open the door, grabbed Vescovi’s arm, and hauled him inside before he could react. The moment he cleared the threshold, she slammed and locked the heavy steel door.
“Oh!” Vescovi yelped, stumbling a little as she let go of him.
“Apologies, Mr. Vescovi,” Wanda said. “But we can’t be too careful. I’m sure you’ve read the newspapers.”
“I have.” Vescovi removed his coat and hat, and laid them on the coat check counter. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I have some information that might help you out.”
Wanda and Alistair exchanged a glance. “Philip, pour Mr. Vescovi whatever he wants,” Wanda said.
“Thank you.” Vescovi smiled, but it contained more worry than warmth. “A Monkey Gland, please.”
While Philip retreated behind the bar, Alistair and Wanda led the way to a table. “You have information for us?”
Philip brought the drink, and Vescovi accepted it gratefully. “Yes.” He dropped his eyes, his lips pressing together. “A part of me feels guilty about coming to you, even after everything.” His jaw hardened. “But then I remember how Ignatz used me and threw me aside. Let me ask: did you kill his new witch?”
“No,” Wanda replied.
“Too bad.” Vescovi took a generous swallow from his drink. “There’s a secret entrance into The Black Rabbit.”
Alistair glanced at Wanda, whose face remained neutral. A secret entrance that would allow them to emerge into the very heart of Ursino’s fortified lair could be invaluable. He’d never see it coming, and if they timed things right, they could overwhelm any defenses and rescue Reinhold.
“Tell us,” Wanda said.
“At the back of the building, there’s a false chimney.” Vescovi leaned forward. “It leads to a secret basement, which is connected to the Chicago freight tunnels. Rumrunners use them to move hooch from the docks to The Black Rabbit at night, when legitimate traffic is nonexistent. The booze is hauled up from the basement via the false chimney, which connects to the first floor of the casino.”