I picked up my glass. “To Hazel,” I said firmly, clinking the others’ glasses.
We all took a sip—even Quinn, whose body could absorb a swallow or two of water. Lily downed the rest of the beer sample like it was a shot.
“How are things going with you, Lil?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Every witch leader in the state wants to have a face-to-face meeting, just so they can go back to their clans and say they told me off. They never actually have anything to say.”
“Not even ‘sorry for your loss’?” Simon asked, looking annoyed.
She shrugged. “Some of them give condolences, but half the time they also slip in some kind of hint about how they were unhappy with Mom, or they’re relieved that there’s going to be new blood, or whatever. They might just be trying to kiss my ass, but it’s still kind of—”
“Horrible?” I suggested.
“Well, yeah. It’s like they’re relieved they didn’t have to go to the trouble of ousting Mom.”
“Gods,” Simon said in disgust. “How convenient that she got murdered so no one had to face the awkwardness.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to both of them. “It really sucks that you have to deal with that attitude on top of everything else.”
“Thanks. But that reminds me . . .” Lily’s voice was nonchalant, but her eyes were practically burning holes through Quinn. “Has there been any progress on who was helping Morgan?”
The big room suddenly seemed suffocating.
Before she died Morgan Pellar had waved around a lot of money—more than a banished witch should have been able to scrape together in a few years. Someone had been backing her, and Quinn, the former police detective, was trying to figure out who. This was what he’d been working on while Maven gave me government history lessons.
“The trail’s gone cold,” he said grimly. “I met with Maven’s tech team in Denver tonight. They were able to find the rest of Morgan’s accounts, but she had deposited cash at a number of different branches. Five thousand or so at a time. She probably has some other form of money somewhere, but we can’t find it.”
“Where are the banks?” Simon asked.
“New York.”
That didn’t mean anything to me, but Simon and Lily exchanged a worried glance. “What?” I asked.
“Malcolm,” Lily said in a small voice, and then she had to lean back in her chair as Henna arrived with our food.
There were a few moments of bustle while she delivered plates and we reassured her that no, we really didn’t need anything else. When she was gone the table got very quiet. Simon and Lily both stared morosely at their food. I looked at Quinn, who gave a miniscule shrug.
It felt like I was missing something. I’d heard Malcolm’s name, of course—Maven had mentioned him during her crash course in Old World politics. The cardinal vampire of New York City was notoriously power-hungry and generally not to be trusted—she wasn’t going to bother approaching him about the parliament, not until she had practically the whole rest of the country lined up. But that didn’t really explain why the Pellars looked so worried.
“New York is a big city,” Quinn said to them, his voice gentle. “There are plenty of assholes there. And Morgan was smart—she might have gone to New York to do her banking just so we would get distracted thinking about Malcolm.”
“Still,” Lily said. She had already downed all her minibeers and was toying with an empty glass.
I looked at each of them in turn. “I’m sorry, I’m still lost,” I said. “He’s just one vampire . . . right?”
“He’s a tyrant,” Simon said simply. “His own people are terrified of him.”
“You mean the vampires?” I asked. It seemed sort of normal for vampires to be scared of their leader.
“Witches too,” Lily chimed in. “There used to be a thriving witch community in New York. Now it’s down to a few clans, and they’re basically Malcolm’s puppets.”
“And there aren’t any werewolves in the five boroughs,” Simon added. “He drove them all out.”
Hmm. It wouldn’t surprise me if Simon and Lily were exaggerating a little—they had probably grown up hearing boogeyman stories about this guy. But I was watching Quinn, and I didn’t like his concerned expression one bit.
“What is it?” I asked him, realizing my own voice was hushed. I forced myself to ask the question in a normal speaking voice. “Is this guy stronger than Maven?”