Macey couldn’t find it.
There was no electricity at the house anymore, but she had her flashlight. Nevertheless, she didn’t find the rosary, and though the piece had no real meaning for her—not being Catholic or even particularly religious—she felt guilty and unsettled that it was missing.
Weary and a little heartsick, she watched the dawn through her bedroom window—the window on which she’d laid that rosary the first night she’d ever encountered a vampire. After managing to stake him, she’d placed the holy article there on the sill in hopes of warding off any other undead intruders.
Grady had seen it and remarked on it too, and that was the beginning of him learning about her secret life.
She’d not realized how amazing it was that she’d been given the rosary on the very same day she encountered her first vampire.
That could not be a coincidence. Nor could it be one that the old woman wanted her to have it.
Perhaps Macey should go back and talk to her. Find out more. Find out what to do if she didn’t locate the prayer beads.
She shook her head and stood, restless, discomfited, and impatient. It was dawn. Time to leave, to return to The Silver Chalice and the secret room beneath Cookie’s Smart Millinery, and to put her life—such as it was—back together.
She chose to walk instead of trying to find a cab, and as it turned out, that was the best decision. For standing on the busiest street corners were newsboys, hawking their first editions.
Macey couldn’t stop herself from buying a copy of the Tribune, and sure enough, splashed on the top of the front page was the headline Explosive Event For Gala Attendees: Would-be Bombers Still at Large. The byline was, of course, J. Grady.
But before she could examine the photograph of a cluster of the movers and shakers of Chicago, surrounding Grady and Rob McCormick next to the defused Betsy, Macey caught sight of another headline further down the page. Brutal Attack Leaves Police Officer Near Death.
As she scanned the article, all feeling drained from her body, leaving her cold and shaky. And nauseated.
What have I done?
“Taxi!” she shrieked, suddenly spinning toward busy Michigan Avenue. “Taxi!”
Miraculously, one pulled up and she scrambled in, heart pounding, stomach churning. “St. Joe’s Hospital. Quickly.”
Oh God, oh God…please don’t let him die. Please don’t let him die.
TWENTY-TWO
~ Of Blame and Recriminations ~
Macey was out of breath by the time she got to the correct floor at the hospital. She rushed down the hall of the critical unit ward, ignoring the startled looks from nurses and patients alike, jolting to a stop outside Room 340.
Heart thudding, insides in turmoil, she drew a deep breath and peeked around the corner and into the room.
Grady sat, head bowed, in a chair pulled up close to the bed. Macey released her suspended breath when she saw that the patient was not—as she’d feared—shrouded from head to toe by a sheet.
She stepped into the room and Grady’s head snapped up, swiveling in her direction. Shock widened his eyes—weary eyes, with dark circles beneath them, gilded with pain and anxiety. He was overdue for a shave, and—as with Macey—he was still dressed in his formal clothing from the gala. He hadn’t even taken off his tuxedo jacket; it hung crooked and wrinkled from his shoulders, and would probably never be the same. His hair was rumpled and disorderly, and his cheeks were hollow with grief.
There was no one else in the room except for Linwood, whose rough, labored breathing also made the only noise. His eyes were closed, his skin sickly white. Macey could see yards of bandages around the parts of his neck, throat, and shoulders exposed by the half-drawn sheet. Grady held one of his uncle’s hands, his deft, lock-picking fingers wrapped around a paw that was just as large as his own, but too pale and limp to be powerful.
“What are you doing here?” The question wasn’t challenging or angry—but by all means, it should have been. It should have been filled with blame and fury. Instead, he sounded surprised and perhaps even relieved.
She moved closer, looking down at Linwood’s inert body. His breathing rasped loudly in the momentary silence. “I saw the newspaper. As soon as I read the article, I knew what had happened.” She didn’t need to say the words—that Detective Linwood and his companions, two other police officers, had been attacked by vampires.
It was an attack that could have been prevented if she had been fulfilling her duty instead of allowing Big Al Capone to manipulate and control her. Her stomach lurched again, and she spared a moment of thanks that she’d had nothing to eat since last night—or else everything would probably come up.
“He hasn’t been conscious since they brought him in. We’re just hoping he wakes up.” Grady’s voice was low and steady, and he was looking at his uncle again as Macey moved to the foot of the bed. “I wanted him to come to the gala last night. He wasn’t even supposed to be working. But he wanted to follow up on a lead about those counterfeiters…”
“The ring you broke up?” Macey asked, recognizing guilt and self-recrimination in Grady’s voice. “Don’t you blame yourself for that,” she added sharply, allowing her own fury and guilt to come through in her tone. “This,” she said, stabbing a finger at Linwood, “is not your fault in any way.”
“He’s all I have. And if he hadn’t been trying to help me, he—”
“No,” she whispered fiercely, trying to hold back tears of frustration and grief and guilt. Her hands trembled. “No, Grady, don’t you even say that. It’s my fault. If I’d been…if I’d been doing what I should have been doing, this wouldn’t have happened. I should have been out there last night. I should have been…” She stopped, everything suddenly making terrible, awful, horrible sense.
It was Nicholas Iscariot.
It had to have been.
She felt lightheaded with horror and fear. What better way to get to Macey—to torture and then destroy her—than to destroy someone she lo—someone she cared about. Not by killing or attacking him, but by attacking and mutilating someone he loved. Thereby extending the pain and anguish of both Grady and Macey…until Iscariot actually got to the final destruction of Grady himself.
And anyone else Macey had an attachment to.
“Are you all right?” Grady stood. He towered over her, his shadow falling across the white sheets of the bed.
Distance yawned between them as he faced her—a gulf, Lake Michigan, the Rockies; some nameless, vast expanse—and yet she felt him: his warmth, his presence, his energy.
He didn’t reach for her, but she felt him as if he had. They looked at each other, gazes meeting: anguish to guilt, weariness to regret. Something bumped deep inside her, nudging that hard little stone still lodged in her heart.
“I’m so sorry,” Macey whispered. He nodded and she saw him swallow hard. “What are the doctors saying?”
The damage had been done. Her lesson learned. Perhaps Linwood would recover…but with those sorts of wounds, the brutal laying open of throat and torso—that assault had been much more than a feeding. It was an attack. A message.
Just as had been laid upon Mrs. Gutchinson. And Chelle. Macey’s jaw tightened and her fingers curled, reminding her of their power—of the strength that flowed through them. Now she had more reason to confront Iscariot, to face him again and finish this.
“They don’t know. They’ve done everything they can for him,” Grady replied. “Now we wait. And pray he wakes up.”
Macey nodded. Then…pray. Her eyes widened. The rosary! Grady might know where it was, for he’d been the one to pack up some of Macey’s things after they found Mrs. Gutchinson in her apartment. Maybe he’d seen it then. She didn’t remember much about that horrible hour…
“Grady,” she said softly, “do you happen to remember that rosary I had? The one with the pink bead and the extra tiny cross?”
He nodded, seemingly unsurprised at her random question. “I have it. I—packed it up with your things. That day. It’s all still at my place.” How he managed not to sound filled with recrimination, she didn’t know—considering she’d slept with him, then fled his house after Chas punched him in the jaw to keep him there…and she never went back. Never saw him again after that for months except to tell him goodbye.
Oh, damn, this was hard.
She struggled to keep her emotions out of the way and focused on the matter at hand. “I need to get it—the rosary. Please,” she added belatedly. “It’s important—in all this.”
He looked away, back down at Linwood, and she said quickly, “Just tell me where it is. I don’t…you don’t need to leave him.” That would be much better anyway. Much, much better.
Before he could reply, the door opened and they turned as a nurse and doctor stepped in.
“You’re still here, are you?” said the doctor as he moved to examine his patient.
“You really ought to get some rest, Mr. Grady. You’ve been here all night.” The nurse, who couldn’t be more than twenty, patted his arm. When she looked over and noticed Macey, the warm smile froze into something stiffer.