squealed open, revealing the leaf-strewn stairwell that rose to street level. And covered by a metal grate.
“This was the easy way?” Connor asked, glancing back with brow and mouth lifted.
“The other one would have been more fun, but much less politic.”
Connor rolled his eyes, climbed halfway up the stairs, and looked over the grate. “Hinges are the weak spot,” he diagnosed, as Uncle Malik and I shoved the door closed again.
“Allow me,” I said this time, and we switched positions. I flipped the sword upside down, used the butt to push against the hinges, which groaned in protest. So did my shoulder.
“Outside!” came voices from the basement as I half stood, half crouched beneath the grate to slam the sword into the connection points. One hinge rolled, broke away.
“Brat,” Connor said pleasantly, leaning against the door to block it. “Anytime now.”
“Almost there,” I said, and hit the other one, then again, until metal sheared with a rusty scream. “Got it,” I said, and used the katana to lever the grate off.
“Pass the grate down,” Connor said, feet planted as he and Uncle Malik pushed back against the door. I climbed up, maneuvered it into the stairwell.
Malik climbed up while Connor wedged it against the door.
“That’ll work,” I said and offered a hand to help him over it again.
We ran up to street level, and Malik gestured at a white SUV that rolled to a stop in front of us. He must have given someone a silent command to circle around and pick us up behind the building.
“Inside,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. But the street was still clear.
We climbed in, drove away just as vampires emerged into the alley behind us.
It took all the strength I had not to stick out my tongue.
NINE
Malik’s driver, a vampire I didn’t know, was very skilled. He weaved rapidly through traffic, down side streets, until he was satisfied the AAM hadn’t followed us.
I spent the ride sending Theo a report on the AAM’s attempted attack.
damn, he responded. we’ll find out where they’re staying, put a tail, and warn you if they try again.
That would be a nice change, I thought, and put the screen away.
Chicago’s four vampire Houses were located in central Chicago neighborhoods. Cadogan was in Hyde Park, home of the University of Chicago and the location of much of the 1837 World’s Fair. Navarre was in Gold Coast, tree-lined and stately, with its view of the lake. Grey House was in Wrigleyville, not far from the stadium.
Malik had placed Washington House just south of downtown in Dearborn Park. The house itself was a mansion of red brick and sculpted terra-cotta tiles, built in the 1880s by a gambler who hadn’t managed to hold it for long. The building had been empty for decades, until Malik—with the assistance of a century’s worth of compound interest—had restored it.
The SUV pulled under the portico, and we climbed out.
“Put the vehicle in the garage,” he said to the driver. “Just in case.”
“Liege,” the driver agreed, and pulled away as we followed Malik inside.
The floors were wide and gleaming tiles of black and white, the walls paneled in wood that gleamed beneath gas lanterns. The hallway led to a great room with more tile and vampires relaxed on couches or reading in wingback chairs. They looked comfortable and at their ease, and smiled politely—or with curiosity—as we followed their Master across the room and into a hallway that echoed the first.
Uncle Malik’s office wasn’t unlike the room outside. Cozy and comfortable, with leather chairs and watercolors in vibrant shades.
“Sit,” he said, and we both obeyed. He walked to a small refrigerator, pulled out a carafe of water, and poured a glass. Then he held it up, an offering.
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
He drank deeply, then put the glass and carafe away, turned back to us. “That was certainly more excitement than I’ve had in several years. Unless arguing with my wife about curtains counts.”
I smiled. “Aunt Aaliyah is formidable.”
“That she is. Much like you and your companion.” He sat down on the edge of a chair, hands folded, and looked at us both in turn.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I threw out.
“Do you?”
“That I should pick a House and save myself and the city a lot of trouble.”
“It’s sound advice. Reasonable advice,” he said, and I opened my mouth to argue, but he simply lifted a finger. “But not my advice.”
“I’m listening,” I said, brows lifted in surprise.