into me. I’m bi,” she added. “In case you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t,” I said, wishing I could give her a hug. “Thanks for telling me. And I’m going to need all the date details later. But for now, back to killer vampires.” I looked at Theo. “And you?”
“No glitter stars. No date. But Greg Voss was a human who was turned fifty years ago. It doesn’t appear he goes by that name any longer. But I think you’ll recognize his face.”
He and Glitter Stars disappeared, their images replaced by a white guy with blond hair. Average features, good smile, square jaw.
And I’d seen all those features before.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, staring down at the man who—according to Jonathan Black—had stalked me, killed Blake, and tried to kill Connor.
Greg Voss was Clive’s goddamned brother—Levi, one of the vampires who’d come to my door that first night.
It took me a full beat to understand that, to grapple with it. I’d spoken to him for, what, seconds in the doorway? That I knew so little about him, had seen so little of him, and yet had become an object of his obsession, seemed . . . worse . . . somehow.
What scenes had played out between us in this man’s mind? Didn’t matter, I told myself. I had to deal with my immediate circumstances.
“Levi,” I said finally.
“Yep.”
“Pick him up,” Connor demanded. “Now.”
“We told Gwen before we called you, and she’s on it. Cops stationed at the Portman Grand say he’s not at the hotel.”
“Is he at the NAC building?” I asked.
“I’ll handle that,” Connor said and pulled out his screen.
“Clive will know where he is,” I told Theo. “Sequester the vamps at the Portman Grand and find out.”
“Did Jonathan Black say Levi killed Blake?”
“No,” I said, irritation rising, because I knew what was coming.
“So you’ve got a person who saw Blake with another vampire. Possibly the killer, but that’s supposition. We have no hard physical evidence Levi was with Blake, or that Levi killed Blake. We don’t have a basis to hold Levi, much less anyone else. But we’re looking for him,” Theo said again, “and we’ll find him. In the meantime, don’t do anything rash.”
I ended the call before I started screaming, then stuffed my screen into my pocket and paced down the hall, considered seriously punching a fist into drywall.
Seriously considered but didn’t actually. I was sick to death of vampires. But I’d made enough problems for Connor with the Pack, and exacerbating it wasn’t going to do anything.
Connor moved in front of me when I paced his way again, put his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s go back to my place,” he said, voice soothing. “We’ll take a break and process this, decide what we want to do next.”
“I don’t want to process. I want to end this. I want justice for Blake, for you.”
“In that order?” he asked, lips curving.
“Most justice for you, slight justice for him. And I want Clive to piss off.” I leaned my forehead against his chest. “Fucking vampires.”
“Fucking vampires,” Connor said and drew me into his arms. “Thank god you aren’t dating one.”
“Can you imagine?” But the sentiment made me smile. “You’re right. We should let the CPD do this part of the job. Clive knows about Levi now, and that might be enough to send him running.” I shook my head. “He won’t leave. Not until this is done. So we have to figure out a way to end it. To wrap this up, close this circle, et cetera.” I sighed haggardly. “But first, we have to feed the cat.”
* * *
* * *
Lulu and I had agreed to take turns checking on Eleanor of Aquitaine, and my turn had come, so we drove back to the loft.
We circled the block once, then twice, looking for prying eyes, waiting vehicles, found none. We climbed out of the SUV, looked around.
The loft was dark, as it should have been. The street was quiet of magic; only humans stirred here, some preparing for work at this dark hour, some returning home from work or entertainment. But most lights were off, the steady drum of traffic from the streets on the edge of the neighborhood the only real noise.
“Anything?” Connor asked, voice a whisper in the night.
“No. You?”
He shook his head.
We went inside, glancing right and left, then cautiously took the stairs to the loft. The building was quiet, probably much to the delight of Mrs. Prohaska. And since it smelled like cabbage again,