living with terrifying and humiliating bouts of panic for the rest of my immortal life.
“Okay,” I said a moment later. “I’m okay.” I shook my head, accepted without argument the bottle of water Lindsey handed me, took a long drink.
“He didn’t know her name,” I said when I was done.
Luc looked confused. “Who?”
“Persephone. When he attacked me, I mentioned her name. Balthasar looked completely blank, like he had no idea who she was.”
Luc looked at the chart, contemplated. “He’d been tortured. Could have forgotten it.”
“Yeah, but that seems to be the only thing he doesn’t remember. He was attacked by a band of ‘some girl’s’ relatives, held by them for magical purposes for years, can tell us every place he’s been since then, but he doesn’t mention the girl’s name?” I looked at Luc. “If they show up at his house to punish him, to kill him, damn straight they’re going to mention her name, tell him they’re avenging her death, or his attack on her, or whatever. I’d sure remember it.”
“He didn’t say he didn’t know it,” Lindsey pointed out. “He just didn’t mention it. And we’re talking about Balthasar. He’s not gonna win Feminist of the Year.”
“And even if you’re right,” Luc said, “and he didn’t remember her name, why does it matter?”
Because her name mattered. To Balthasar, to Ethan, to the story. And maybe, I thought, dread beginning to rise thick in my chest, to all of us.
“A vampire comes back into Ethan’s life,” I began, “centuries after his supposed death, and tells a story about where he’d been the entire time. But he doesn’t know one of the most important parts of that story. We also find out he’s being funded by an organization that’s out to control all the vampire Houses in Chicago.”
My heart thudded, but I asked the question anyway. “What if the story he told wasn’t actually about him?” I looked at Luc, then Lindsey. “What if he isn’t the real Balthasar?”
The Ops Room went deathly silent.
I wasn’t sure which possibility was worse—that the vampire who made Ethan was psychopathic and misogynistic enough to forget the name of his most important victim, or that he was a magical imposter who’d gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to play that psychopath.
“Even if you’re right,” Luc said quietly, as if speaking the words more softly would minimize their power, “even if there’s some way he could have gotten the information, made himself look like Balthasar, there would be easier ways to get to Ethan.”
“Easier, but not with more legitimacy. Not with a tie to Ethan. Not like this. He’s got the Circle behind him, Luc. They are strong, and they are wily. They’ve already got Navarre under their thumb. What’s the best way to stake a claim on Cadogan?”
“Jesus Christ,” Luc murmured, staring at the timeline.
I nodded, walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Luc asked.
“I want to talk to Ethan about Persephone, about that night.”
And if this vampire, this man who’d thrown our lives into chaos was nothing more than a very powerful grifter running a long con, he was going to answer to me.
* * *
My palms began to sweat on the trip upstairs to Ethan’s office. I wasn’t looking forward to making him focus on Balthasar again, and certainly not to suggest that Ethan had been wrong from the beginning.
His office door was open a few inches. I put a hand on the door, nearly pushed it open, until I recognized Jonah’s voice in the room.
I froze, shifted so I could see them through the crack in the door. They stood in the middle of Ethan’s office. Ethan had a glass in hand. Jonah had his hands in his pockets, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable.
“She is sad, Jonah,” Ethan was saying. “She feels you’re underestimating her. As you are.”
My eyes widened in surprise, just as Jonah’s did.
“She told you?”
“Not the details. She didn’t have to.” Ethan turned back, looked at him. “Her relationship with me, my involvement in the AAM. Of course you’d see that as a potential asset.” He paused. “I know you have feelings for her.”
“Had.”
“That’s debatable. If your emotions weren’t coloring your analysis of this situation, you’d see it differently. That’s what makes it disappointing.”
“And how, exactly, would I see it differently?”
“If I were you, instead of seeing her relationship with us as a liability, I’d see it as a bonus.” He put a hand on his chest. “I’d consider the information she’ll be privy to,