Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)(21)

“Yeah. I’m aware of that.”

“You are, are you—Wait.” Macey suddenly went cold and angry herself. “When did you see him?”

Capone shrugged. “He came for a visit a week or so ago. We had a nice chat.”

“A nice chat?”

Capone looked supremely uncomfortable. “Look, doll, the last thing I need is Max Denton breathing down my neck. So get your stuff and get outta here. I ain’t got nothing to do with you Venators anymore anyway.”

Macey stared at him with dawning comprehension. “Do you mean my father came here and told you to stay away from me?” Her head felt as if it were about to explode. She was going to be an orphan after all, because she was going to kill her father. How dare he? She’d handled everything all on her own. She’d rid herself of Capone on her own terms, not because her daddy had come and set things straight…hadn’t she?

Capone seemed to realize he’d set off a powder keg, and he held up his hands. “We had other bizness, there, doll, and we come to an agreement. I gave up my vis bulla and he promised to let me alone. We were both happy with dat.”

“What do you mean, you gave it up? You can’t just give it up—can you?” She glared at him, and his eyes shifted away.

“He took it. All right? The asshole took it from me, and since he did dat, it means I ain’t got nothing to do with you all anymore.”

“He can do that?”

“He’s the summas, ain’t he? He and dat Wayren broad can do whatever da fuck dey want,” Capone replied, no longer attempting to hide his fury. “At least I already got my reputation built up solid. Most’a da city’s terrified of me. I don’t need that damned—er—that blessed thing stuck through my skin anyway. Always kept getting caught on my shirt and all.”

“Do you mean to say you lost your Venator powers when Max took away your vis bulla?” She didn’t think that was possible. Victoria Gardella lost her vis—but that hadn’t changed her abilities, had it? Maybe slowed her down a little? Macey was a little fuzzy on some of the details of her family history, to be sure, but she was certain the loss of a vis didn’t cause Venator powers to go away.

“It ain’t just the vis bulla being gone, all right? It’s just—I dunno—something he did or they did. Him and dat dame in the long dress. Dey made me normal again.”

“So you can’t sense the undead anymore? You don’t have extra strength and fast healing?” Macey stepped toward him. “Let’s test that out, shall we?” She was mad enough, frustrated enough, to try it out.

“I ain’t no lightweight, doll,” he said, his eyes glinting. “I can’t sense the undead, but I sure as hell can take you down if I want.”

Macey was sorely tempted. The thought of a good fight was right up there with having a few choice words with the almighty Max Denton.

But she thought better of it—this time. Any sort of altercation would send Capone’s goons running, armed with Tommy guns and pistols. They might shoot and ask questions later.

“Not tonight, Scarface. Maybe another time. I’ve got other things to do.” She gave him a long look. “But before I go…do you know where Iscariot has been holed up?”

Capone shook his head, fat lips pursed. “No. Believe me, if I did, I’d tell you. He’s already causing problems with my—arrangements. The sooner you get rid of that bastard, the happier I’ll be. So get on it, doll. And don’t forget your things. They’re still in your room downstairs.”

“One more thing,” she said, hand on the doorknob. “Leave Tony alone. Or I’ll be back. And I won’t come alone.” She gave him a cold smile.

Capone muttered something unflattering, but she was already closing the door when he spoke. Probably just as well.



+ + +

After Macey left Capone, carrying a single suitcase with the few items she never thought she’d want again, retrieved from her apartment, she had no other destination in mind. But she wasn’t ready to go back to The Silver Chalice.

And so she walked—trudging through puddles and along the wet sidewalks, alongside shops closed because it was Sunday, churches that were empty because it was past noon, restaurants that were shuttered in favor of family dinners.

It wasn’t until she’d walked for a long while—more than an hour, perhaps closer to two—that she realized where her feet had taken her.

She paused, bringing herself up short, surprised—and yet not surprised—when she looked around with suddenly comprehending eyes. There was O’Brien’s Hardware, Shillelagh Market, and Garrick’s Butcher Shop. And down the street sat St. Martin’s Catholic Church, with another church steeple visible only a block away.

And there—overlooking a small park that was deserted now because of the weather, its swings empty and dangling lightly in the breeze—sat Grady’s tall, narrow townhouse.

Macey’s heart squeezed as she studied the familiar building from across the street. The largest window had its lace curtains pulled haphazardly wide, and the opening was a warm yellow rectangle in contrast to the dreary gray of rain and mist. From her vantage point, she looked into the house, hoping to see a figure moving inside. And though she knew it was inadvisable, she couldn’t keep from walking across the street, just to get closer.

Seeking some shelter from the rain, she stood beneath a broad oak in the park, its branches stretching nearly to the brick wall of Grady’s house. The window facing her was the one on the side of the deep, narrow building that offered a view from the living room. Now she was in closer proximity to the beckoning window, and when she saw the figure moving around, her heart skittered a little.

He was there. Wearing only a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat and, she assumed, trousers—though she couldn’t see below the waist from her angle. She couldn’t make out much of his face, but she knew how thick and soft his hair was, how beautiful and changing his blue-gray eyes were… How he’d cock his head and look at her with warmth and call her “lass.”

How when she demonstrated her superhuman strength in an effort to show him why he couldn’t understand her life, why she was different from every other woman in the world, and lifted him up to shove him against the wall…his reaction was to kiss her with passion and love. Acceptance, and even joy.

Her vision blurred and she blinked hard, dashing a hand over her eyes.

He was safe from the undead when inside his home—and not only because of whatever it was that had upset Flora so strangely last night. Macey knew Grady had silver crosses set into the threshold of every window and doorway in the house. And he probably had wooden stakes somewhere as well, knowing him…

All at once, the memory flashed through her mind, so sharply and strongly that she actually gasped in a breath of mist. The night Grady had spent in her apartment in Mrs. Gutchinson’s house—or, rather, the morning afterward—Macey awoke to find him half asleep in a chair, holding a stake in his hand.

A stake he’d brought with him. A stake with which he’d come prepared.

He’d known even then about the undead, somehow. But how had he known?

Yes, he’d borrowed her book The Venators, which would have given him quite a bit of information about her family legacy—though much of its contents were inaccurate. But even from the beginning, from the very first time they met, he seemed to have known about the existence of the undead.

The first time they’d spoken it was on a street corner, where he showed her a posted sign about a young woman who’d gone missing and her body was found. Jennie Fallon was her name. Some people wondered if it had been dogs or some animal who’d done the horrific mauling, and Macey never knew why she’d made that illogical, murmured comment about vampires. But she had.

Instead of looking at her as if she were loony, Grady had looked at her with comprehension…and curiosity.

Even then, he’d somehow known about vampires. Or, at least, he’d suspected their existence.

And after that first conversation, he’d never given up—on her, on learning more about the undead, on fighting them, on supporting her as she took on her dangerous vocation. On being part of her life.

I’d be there with you till the end, Macey, lass.

Some of his last words to her, before she’d asked Wayren to obliterate his memory. That simple statement hung in her mind, making her woozy and warm and sad all at the same time.

She hardly realized what she was doing until her feet were mounting the steps to his front door. And there it was in front of her: smooth oak, stained a dark toffee color, with a small window and a knocker in a Celtic knot design. Embedded in the threshold floor was, she knew, three silver crosses.

Macey didn’t know what she was doing. Why she was here.

But she lifted her hand, grasped the Celtic knot, and raised it and rapped three times.

Knock. Knock. Knock.





TEN

~ Wherein Our Intrepid Newshawk Reveals Some Tricks of the Trade ~



Savina Eleaisa, known professionally as Sabrina Ellison, adventure photographer, had just finished a bath. Her hair was damp, and she’d donned a voluminous, warm housecoat and slippers. It was that kind of ugly, dreary day.