It would give her great pleasure to inflict a matching scar on Iscariot’s other cheek.
Macey measured and followed the unpleasant sensation that settled over the back of her neck, and it led her toward the opposite side of the hall, the chill growing stronger and eerier as she made her way there. It occurred to her that perhaps that was part of the reason Capone had drifted off so quickly. Could he have somehow aligned himself with the undead, now that Macey had rid herself of him?
Galvanized by the thought, she moved swiftly between the people, dodging waiters and navigating around tables, all the while looking through the crowd to see if she could determine where or who was the undead…and if she could locate Capone.
She wasn’t paying attention, and all of a sudden, Macey walked into a solid figure. One with which she was intimately familiar.
Startled, she looked up at Grady for a frozen moment, then removed her hand from where it had accidentally landed on his jacket and muttered an apology before ducking off into the crowd.
“Miss?” she heard him call after her. “Miss, is everything all right?”
She ignored him, ignored the pounding of her heart, and the way that silly incident had put her off, and made a beeline toward a cluster of distinguished-looking gentlemen standing in a tight group.
There. The vampire was there, among the men.
And so, Macey realized, was Mayor Dever. But not Al Capone.
As far as she could tell, Iscariot wasn’t there either. She felt a little shimmer of relief that the slick-haired “baron” hadn’t deigned to attend a photography exhibit.
And that she wouldn’t have to face him, at least today.
Then her jaw set, and she felt her lips stretch into a grim smile. She’d have a chat with whatever undead had attended tonight. She knew how to be persuasive—thanks in part to Chas—and surely she would be able to find out where the baron was staying.
As Macey approached, she considered several ways to interrupt the close-knit group. Blunt and direct, ingenue-ish and confused, or coquettish and charming—any of the three would likely work.
But as it turned out, she was saved from having to make the decision. For when she was only a few steps away, the group parted like a theater curtain to reveal a tall, slender woman sitting on a chair among the men.
She had carrot-colored hair and dead-white skin, except for the freckles sprinkled over it. Her frock was a shimmering display of sunny yellow, gold, and clear crystal beads in large diamond-shaped patterns.
“Macey, darling,” said the woman as one of the fawning gentlemen helped her to her feet. “What a pleasant surprise.” She smiled, and her eyes glowed red for a moment before her vampirism was quickly banked.
“Flora,” Macey said, successfully hiding the shock at seeing her former best friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, the same as you, I assume—looking at a photography exhibit.” Flora cast a sly glance around the circle of her admirers—including Mayor Dever—and smiled very warmly at them. “It’s a very enjoyable event, I must say.”
When Flora’s admirers grinned back giddily, Macey realized the gentlemen companions were under Flora’s thrall. Hanging on her every word, and she was controlling them with such ease.
The woman had become surprisingly powerful and confident in the last year.
Apprehension skittered through Macey like cat claws on a wooden floor. What was Flora up to? Any answer that came to mind was definitely not pleasant.
“It is a wonderful exhibit,” Macey replied casually. “Do you have a moment? I’d like to speak with you, privately.”
Flora smiled like Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. “I’m afraid I’m a little busy here right now, darling Macey. Perhaps we can catch up some other time?” Once again, she turned her attention to the men clustered around her, sweeping her gaze over one after the other. Macey actually saw each give a subtle shiver as the vampiress’s thrall connected with his eyes.
“Very well,” Macey replied, giving her old friend a hard look—but a brief one; she knew better than to allow Flora to capture her gaze. “We can catch up at another time. But I do have some business with Mayor Dever.” She directed this last to the man in question.
“I’m afraid he’s rather tied up right now too,” Flora said in a smooth voice. Her eyes danced with malicious delight and her lips—painted blood red, perhaps in an effort to hide any evidence of feeding—curled up at the corners.
Because, after all—what could Macey do? She couldn’t exactly attack the vampire right here in the middle of a party. Especially when Flora had an entire tribe of men at her beck and call.
She hid her irritation and acquiesced—at least outwardly. “Have a lovely evening then, Flora. Excuse me, gentlemen.” She turned and walked away, feeling the weight of her friend’s blazing eyes boring into her back.
Macey ground her teeth. Now what? She’d been jilted by Temple; run into the last person she wanted to see; had encountered an astonishingly subdued gangster king; and had found a vampire she couldn’t do anything about—and now she had to leave her to whatever devices she had in mind.
But what if there was a distraction? That might free the gentlemen from Flora’s thrall—or at least give Macey the opportunity to drag the vampiress away. She needed to stake her, yes, but just as important, she needed information.
So what sort of distraction could she manufacture? Cutting out the lights was an option, if she could figure out how to do it. People might even blame it on the bad weather.
But that was impractical—for even if Macey found the fuse box and pulled the correct fuses, she’d still have to make her way back here to the hall in the dark, and among panicked people, and by then, who knew where Flora would have disappeared to—and whom she would have taken with her. Macey needed an accomplice…but Temple was otherwise occupied. Hmm. What about Capone? Perhaps she could appeal to his Venator side and get him—or better yet, one of his minions—to help. But she didn’t see him anywhere in the room.
Another option was for Macey to find a way to lure Flora from her post.
She pursed her lips. What a frustrating situation for a Venator to find herself in. Being held hostage, in a way, by a single female vampire. She doubted Victoria Gardella had ever found herself stymied in such a manner.
By now Macey had walked far enough away that she could still watch the cluster of gentlemen and their vampiress coquette, but Flora couldn’t see her. Her arms folded over her middle, Macey leaned against one of the columns that held up the archways at the top of one flight of stairs, looking around for inspiration.
She saw Grady, without his older lady photographer, and felt a stab of relief that he seemed to have divested himself of her—or vice versa…and then she felt guilty about the thought.
Dammit. It wasn’t as if she could be in his life, so why was she hoping for him to be alone? He’d never done anything to warrant what she’d done to him—erasing his mind, indiscriminately taking away memories both good (she hoped) and terrifying. And now here she was, wishing and hoping he’d be alone. To what end? So he’d be as miserable as she—without even knowing why?
You’re a selfish bitch, Mace.
The thought was sobering in its raw truth, and her heart ached a little more. She’d done the right thing; she knew it in her heart. She had loved Grady, and she didn’t want him to experience pain or suffering simply because a woman targeted by the undead had fallen for him. He didn’t deserve that.
He deserved a woman who could love him, who could have a family and make a home with him. Not someone who had to creep around dark, dangerous streets every night, putting her life at risk every day.
Not someone who was the most wanted woman in the world, according to the undead.
Not someone who had a vampire “baron” that could make her bleed in a damned dream.
Grady didn’t deserve to be tortured and torn into ribbons as Macey’s mother had been, simply because she’d loved Max Denton. Simply because she’d meant something to a Venator.
She tasted sour in the back of her mouth, and Macey swallowed and then stilled. Grady was making his way toward Flora and her cluster of men.
Her heart began to thud harder. Flora not only knew who Grady was—and what he meant to Macey—but she also had helped herself quite liberally to his blood on that horrible night two weeks ago, when Iscariot tried to kill Sebastian.
Macey’s palms dampened and she moved away from the wall. No, Grady, stay away from her, she thought, sending the mental message as strongly as she could, and fully realizing the huge flaw in her decision to have herself removed from his memory.
The gold disk Wayren used might have erased Macey from Grady’s mind, but it couldn’t remove him from the vampires’ memory. And she wasn’t even certain to what extent the disk worked—did it erase everything about her and their memories together, and leave everything else? Did Grady still believe the undead existed, just as he had done before they’d met?
And as long as the vampires knew—or even suspected—Macey cared about Grady, there was nothing to keep the vampires from using him as they saw fit.
“I can give him something that will help keep him safe.”