Chasing Midnight

“I thought I saw an intruder hanging around.”

“And did you?”

“I must have imagined it.”

Raoul regarded her with a half smile. “Your imagination is as troublesome as your impertinence, Allegra.”

“Impertinence? Is that what they call it?” She began to walk, and Raoul fell into step beside her, his shoes soundless on the path.

“Impertinence,” he said. “Rashness. Foolhardy defiance.”

Allie yawned behind her hand. “Glad I made an impression.”

“Oh, you most certainly did.” He moved almost imperceptibly, and suddenly he was in front of her, walking backward with casual ease. “I had hoped you would stay for a little chat.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, Raoul. Not anything we haven’t discussed before.”

Raoul’s handsome, ageless face altered before Allie’s eyes, becoming more animal than human. “I’m not satisfied with the outcome of our discussion.”

“I guess even the great Master will have to get used to the occasional disappointment.”

With a flash of white teeth, Raoul came to a stop. Allie caught herself in midstride. They stood face-toface, inches apart, gazes locked.

“I think not,” Raoul said. “I’ve ruled the clan for thirty years. I have no intention of allowing a rogue protégée to foster anarchy and disrupt the organization I’ve built here.”

“I’m not a protégée any longer, Raoul.”

He leaned closer, bathing her face with his breath. “You will submit. There is no other way for you.”

“I know the law as well as you. No one, not even the Master, can compel me to accept a new patron once I’m free.”

“Free to spend your nights among humans.”

“With anyone who doesn’t think that the last good hooch was distilled during the Roman Empire.”

“Does that include dogs?”

She remembered Bendik and his threats. “So what if it does?”

For a moment his eyes glinted red, and his body seemed to lift off the ground. Then he relaxed, the muscles under his perfectly fitted suit smoothing out with supple grace.

“You’re afraid, Allie,” he said. “There is no need for fear. If you give yourself to me, I will care for you. You’ll want for nothing. You will belong.”

Allie gazed into his eyes, feeling his power like hot, fresh blood flowing over her tongue. It would be so easy to agree. One bite, and she would be bound to Raoul as she had been to Cato…his offspring, his student, his property. She would be part of the strigoi hierarchy in which every member knew his or her place, virtually incapable of challenging the Master’s control. No need to make decisions or worry about spending the long centuries alone. No need for anything but obedience…

She shook her head, casting off Raoul’s subtle influence. “Nice try,” she said. “But I’m not likely to want for anything with the money Cato left me. And by clan law you can’t touch it, as long as I pay the settlement.”

“You think that’s enough?” He grabbed her arm and tightened his grip until she felt her pulse pound beneath her skin. “You’ll never leave this city or rise from your lowly rank.You won’t ever be permitted to create your own protégés, Allegra…not if you live a thousand years.”

Allie pulled his hand away. “You think that’s the ultimate ambition of everyone like us? To make more? It may be the only way to gain status in the clan, but I don’t care. Get it? I don’t care.”

She pushed past him and continued toward Fifth Avenue, bracing herself for another assault. But Raoul didn’t follow. That didn’t mean he’d given up, not by a long shot. She would have to keep fending him off until he got the message, even if it took the rest of the century to do it. Of course, there was always the possibility that he would resort to illegal force, but that was a chance she was willing to take.

And how far are you willing to go, Allie? She slowed her angry stride, her thoughts returning to the strange encounter earlier that evening. Funny that she was still thinking of Griffin Durant. She should have been able to put him out of her mind easily enough; she’d spoken no less than the truth when she’d told him that he wouldn’t want to know her. She’d done the right thing by implying that she was still blood-bound. One look at Griffin Durant and anyone would realize he was the old-fashioned type, still clinging to his Victorian morals, chivalrous to the core.

The problem was that she’d taken more than one look, and he had somehow become imprinted on her mind. There was no doubt he was handsome, and not in the pretty-boy way of so many among the pampered rich set. His slightly wavy dark brown hair tumbled over his forehead as if he hadn’t the patience to slick it down into the usual style. He had a small scar on his chin. His wolf-yellow eyes had been haunted with some past suffering.

He was the right age to have served in theWar, and that would explain a great deal. Allie couldn’t imagine that many werewolves had volunteered to fight. Certainly no vampire would have done so. But Griffin Durant wasn’t a member of the pack, and that in itself was highly unusual. The pack could be every bit as jealous as the clan. The fact that he’d kept his independence hinted at a powerful will and considerable courage.

Allie frowned as she stepped into the street and crossed to her building. Griffin Durant was a bit of a paradox. But then, so was she. Someone who didn’t know better might have thought they were much alike, but they were worlds apart.

You wanted to protect me from myself, Mr. Durant, she thought. You said I was too young, as if I couldn’t know my own mind. But you’re the one who’s naive. No one can save anyone else. All of us, breeder and dog and leech…we all go through this life alone.

With an impatient toss of her head, Allie dismissed Durant from her thoughts. She smiled at the night doorman and took the stairs all the way up to the eighth floor, relishing the exercise after the unpleasantness with Raoul. Almost the moment she touched the doorknob to her flat, the door swung open.

“Lou!” Allie said, shocked by the look on the other woman’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Lou retreated, letting Allie into the flat. “Something has happened, Allie…someone has—”

“Sit down, for God’s sake.” Allie grabbed Lou’s arm and led her to the nearest chair. “I should never have left you alone. Let me get you a drink, and then you can tell me what—”

“I’m all right.” Lou took a deep breath and clasped Allie’s hand. “Someone has been in the apartment. I lay down as you suggested, and I must have fallen asleep.”

She made a mute gesture at the room, and Allie looked. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong, but then she noticed the chair sitting off kilter, the pictures hanging crooked on the walls, the knickknacks scattered across the floor. A glass vase lay shattered beside the sofa.

“I didn’t move anything, in case you wanted to call the police,” Lou said. “I didn’t know where to find you, or I’d—”

“I know. You did the right thing, Lou.” Allie pounded her fist on her thigh. “For you to suffer two attacks in one day…”

“They weren’t after me. It’s obvious that the intruder was looking for something, something he wanted very badly.” Lou rose and took a few agitated steps toward the hall. “I think I woke up when the vase broke. I must have interrupted the thief, because he had barely started in your bedroom.”

Allie clenched her teeth. “How did he get out?”

“Your bedroom window was open. He must have climbed up somehow.”

“What did he take?”

“Only a few pieces of jewelry, as far as I can tell.” Lou turned in a slow circle, her arms folded tightly across her chest as if she were fighting the urge to clean, scour and polish until every trace of the trespasser was consigned to the dustbin. “I’m so sorry. If only I’d woke up sooner…”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allie put her arm around Lou’s shoulders and steered her into the kitchen. “I’m glad you didn’t, or the bastard might have hurt you.”

She pushed Lou into a seat at the small dining table and searched the cupboards for the tea Lou preferred to anything stronger. Once she’d prepared a steaming cup and left Lou to enjoy it in peace and quiet, she made a thorough examination of the flat from door to bathroom.

Lou had been right; it didn’t seem that much had been taken. Allie’s jewelry box had been upended and the contents scattered over her dressing table. The closet door stood open, boxes strewn and spilling mothballed clothing and last year’s hats across the carpet.

Allie opened her window and looked out. There was just enough of a ledge for a very skilled acrobat to make his way to the fire escape.

A very skilled acrobat.

Allie sat on the edge of the mattress, working her fingers into the quilted satin bedspread. After her conversation with Elisha, she couldn’t help but suspect that the “papers” he was looking for might be of interest to Raoul, as well. Elisha had said Cato had willed these mysterious papers to him purely because he was the only one who could understand them. But in the park he’d been scared to death that someone would see him. What exactly had those notes contained?

And who had been in Allie’s apartment?

Was it you, Raoul? Do you want something else from me besides my submission?

If Raoul was behind this invasion, he’d obviously had reason to make it appear as if a common thief were responsible. Whatever it was he hoped to discover, she intended to find it first.

If you’re spoiling for a fight, Raoul Boucher, she thought, you’ll get it.

Because Griffin Durant was wrong. If it came down to choosing a soul or survival, she would pick survival every time.

“I CAN’T GO BACK.”

The Master heard Elisha Hatch’s puerile excuses with a calm that the human had every reason to mistrust. Hatch cringed, his defiance a matter of one fear pitted against another. The Master could spare him no sympathy.

“I must have them,” he said coldly, holding Hatch still with the power of his gaze.

The human swallowed. “I tried. I asked her. She wasn’t lying…she really doesn’t know.”

“Why should I trust your judgment?”

“I’ve known her ever since she was Converted. She’s never been like the rest.”

“Skilled at prevarication, you mean?”

The human blanched. “I don’t intend any offense.”

“Naturally not.” The Master leaned back in his chair. “Even if she knows nothing of the papers, they may still be in her possession. You must finish searching her apartment.”

“I think I was seen. They’re looking for me already. If I go back now, they’ll find me and question me, and then I won’t be of any further use to you.”

A certain slyness had entered the human’s voice, a pathetic attempt at negotiation he had no hope of carrying off. “Let me wait a couple of weeks,” he said, “so they think I’m really gone. He’ll have enough to worry about soon enough, and then I can slip in with no one the wiser.”

The Master traced his finger over his lower lip. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “But if he gets the papers first, I will hold you entirely responsible.”

Hatch literally shook in his shoes. “I…understand.”

Of course he did. All the Master’s human employees were well aware of the penalty for failure. They were tools to be used and discarded, their petty dreams of wealth and power destined to end along with their short and miserable lives.

“Leave me,” the Master told Hatch. “Stay out of my sight until you’re prepared to complete your task, or I may lose my patience.”

Hatch bowed. “I understand, My Liege.” He scrambled from the room. After a moment the Master rose and went to visit the laboratory, reminding himself that what he sought was almost within his grasp.

Patience, he thought. You have waited thirty years. You can wait another few weeks.

A few weeks, a taste of ambrosia, and the new age of glory would truly begin.

“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND what’s happened to her, Grif,” Malcolm Owen said, dropping his head into his hands with a sigh. “It’s been three months since I’ve spoken to her. Three months! I don’t care what De Luca says…she wouldn’t just give me the brush-off like that.”

Griffin steepled his fingers under his chin, regarding his friend with sympathy. “You’re absolutely sure her father didn’t send her away?” he asked, signaling for Starke to refresh Mal’s drink. “Just because he didn’t object before, that doesn’t mean he approved of your plans. It’s one thing for you to take his daughter out to nightclubs and speakeasies, and quite another to marry her.”

Mal laughed bitterly. “You talk as if De Luca was a real father to her instead of a mobster more interested in his profits than any genuine human emotion. He could have stepped in long ago if he’d wanted to put the kibosh on our engagement.” He leaned forward, meeting Griffin’s gaze. “Margot wanted it as much as I did, Grif. She was sick of being a bootlegger’s daughter. She was ready to throw it all away…the furs, the jewelry, the automobiles, everything.”

And live happily ever after in your humble apartment off Washington Square, scraping by on a playwright’s income, Griffin thought. If she was that much in love with you, my friend, why did she disappear?

He frowned. Mal was a passionate lover, just as he was passionate about his plays and music and art and life itself. He threw himself into every scheme with a wide-eyed enthusiasm and guilelessness that belied his experiences overseas. There had been times during the War when only his high spirits and optimism had kept Griffin sane. Mal had been sixteen then…hardly more than a boy, but as courageous as they came.

He was nothing at all like Griffin, but there wasn’t much Griffin wouldn’t do for the man who’d saved his life.

Mal snatched up his glass and downed half his brandy in one swallow. “I don’t think I can go on without her, Grif,” he said. “She’s everything to me.” He ran his hands through his fair hair. “Should I go back to De Luca and grill him again? He doesn’t scare me. I’d do it in a second if I though it would make any difference.”

“I doubt it would help,” Griffin said. “The best you can hope for is that he’ll throw you out on your ear, and the worst…” He shook his head. “No, Mal. Recklessness won’t get you anywhere.”

“Then what will?” The young man’s eyes snapped with indignation. “I’m certain something has happened to her, and I won’t sit idly by if she’s in trouble.”

Griffin got up and walked to the window, pulling the heavy drapes away from the mullioned glass. Late-morning light beat a path over the aged Persian carpet but did little to brighten the study, encumbered as it was with dark paneling and heavy oak furnishings.

“I doubt she’d be in the kind of trouble you’re envisioning,” Griffin said. “De Luca has too much power.” He debated whether or not to speak his mind and decided to err on the side of mercy. “From all you’ve said, I still think it most probable that her father sent her away. And since he isn’t likely to tell you anything more…” He turned away from the window. “Let me look into it. I have a few…connections in the city. Someone may know more than De Luca is telling.”

Mal’s eyes filled with hope. “Would you, Grif? That’s awfully good of you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. It may take me a few days to track down my sources.”

“These sources…are they—” Mal cleared his throat “—are they like you?”

“The less you know about that the better.”

“But you will tell me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Of course.”

Mal grabbed Griffin’s hand. “You’re the best pal a guy could have, Grif.”

Griffin stepped back and gently freed his hand. “Will you stay at Oakdene tonight, or should I have Fitzsimmons drive you to the station?”

“Thanks for the invite, Grif, but I have that play to finish…and I think I might actually do it now that I know you’re on the case.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Griffin gestured to Starke. “Uncle Edward, will you please ask Fitzsimmons to—”

“Mal!”

Gemma’s voice cut across Griffin’s like sunlight through shadow. She bounded into the room, flashed Starke a smile of apology and came to a halt before Mal.

“Why didn’t you tell me Mal was coming, Grif?” she demanded. “He must think I’m terribly rude for not greeting him.”

“Nothing of the kind, Gem,” Mal said with a fond grin.

“It was just business…nothing that you would have found of interest,” Griffin said. “Are you already done with your lessons?”

Gemma took a sudden interest in the toes of her sensible shoes. “Miss Spires had a headache,” she said.

“I see. I wonder what brought that on?”

Gemma glanced up at him from under her thick brown lashes. “I’m making excellent progress.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to think that I made a mistake in extracting you from that boarding school.”

Gemma shuddered. “Mal, tell my brother how much I love America, and that I never want to go back to those horrid—” She broke off and put on a prim expression. “I’ll be forever grateful for the education I received in the convents and boarding schools, but I am nearly seventeen. Isn’t it time that I should see something of the world?”

“If that’s your aim,” Mal said helpfully, “New York is the place to do it.”

“Thank you, Mal,” Griffin said dryly. “Gemma, don’t you think you should take some tea up to Miss Spires? It might make her feel better.”

Gemma pulled a face. “Tea.” She looked toward the sideboard. “Brandy would do her more good, or maybe whiskey…”

“You know very well that Miss Spires doesn’t drink.”

“Only because she’s an old—” Gemma bit her lip. “Don’t you think I should be allowed to try it, big brother? My birthday is in less than a week.”

“Out of the question.”

“Why?”

Mal stared at the ceiling. Griffin sighed. “You’re too young, Gemma, and alcohol is illegal.”

“It’s only illegal to sell it, not drink it. And anyway, you keep it here.”

“Only for guests. You know I don’t drink.”

“You shouldn’t keep the stuff around just for my sake, Grif,” Mal said.

“Thank you, Mal. Your concern is appreciated but entirely unnecessary.” Griffin turned back to Gemma. “I’m not going to argue the merits of the Volstead Act with you, Gemma. You aren’t to drink in this house.”

Gemma glared for a moment, turning undoubtedly rebellious thoughts about in her head. It was amazing how quickly she’d gone from obedient schoolgirl to willful young woman. Griffin could still remember the day of the fire, when he’d held a wailing two-yearold in his arms and watched, helpless, as their parents and elder brother were consumed by the flames. She had been so tiny then, so desperately in need of his protection…

“You can’t keep me locked up forever,” Gemma said in a deceptively calm voice. “In a few more years I’ll be able to make my own decisions, and then…”

“Gemma, Gemma—” Griffin cupped her chin in his hand “—why are you in such a hurry to face the world? It’s not as pretty as you imagine.”

She met his gaze. “I know how hard it was for you…in the War, I mean…all the things you had to do—”

He dropped his hand as if she had burned it. “You know nothing about it, and I never want you to learn. You’ll have a good life. Nothing will ever hurt you, Gemma. That I promise.”

“A good life.” She flounced away from him, banging her heels on the carpet. “You mean, a life among the stuffy, boring, proper members of New York society. You want me to marry an ordinary man and become a good, obedient wife who gives respectable teas and occasionally plays tennis with the other young matrons.” She swung back to face him. “What if I don’t want that kind of life? What if I want jazz and dancing and fast motor cars? What if I want to be free?”

“Gemma…”

“Don’t you see? We aren’t like other people, Grif! We can’t just pretend we are. What would happen if I married some nice, upstanding young man and he found out what I really am? Or will I have to hide it for the rest of my life?”

Griffin looked away, knowing she had hit on the one point he could not refute. He thought of anotherwoman who would probably represent Gemma’s ideal of the liberated, modern woman: a certain long-legged vamp with a black bob and aqua eyes and a throaty voice made for whispering seductive promises; a brash and brazen youngwoman who considered herself the equal of any male, human or otherwise—who’d made Griffin remember that he was still very much a man…

“Why can’t you just let me meet the others in New York?” Gemma demanded, cutting into his thoughts. “Why can’t we be with our own kind?”

“The pack would hardly permit you the freedom you crave,” he said.

“How do you know what they’d permit? You say you don’t trust them. I know it has something to do with what happened in San Francisco, but that was a different place. They aren’t the same!”

“They’re bootleggers,” Griffin said grimly. “They break the law every day.”

“But that isn’t—”

“Please go to your room, Gemma.”

She opened her mouth, closed it again and retreated with the air of one who had suffered only a temporary defeat. Griffin gave Mal a weary smile.

“I’m sorry about that little contretemps,” he said. “You shouldn’t be subjected to our family squabbles.”

“It’s nothing, really,” Mal said. “You should have seen me and my sisters.”

“I don’t enjoy such disagreements,” Griffin said. “She’s so much younger than I. She never knewour parents.”

“You had to raise her yourself.”

“Starke took care of us after the fire, until I was old enough to assume responsibility for the administration of our inheritance.”

“That’s why you call him Uncle Edward?”

“He was like a second father to us.” Griffin glanced away. “Afewyears later came theWar. After that, Gemma spent more time with governesses or away at school than with me.” He walked with Mal toward the door. “It’s my own fault if she doesn’t see things as I do.”

“It’s not your fault, Grif. Change is in the air. It’s not the way it was before the War. There are so many girls just like Gemma…girls who won’t go back to the way our mothers lived.”

Griffin stopped at the foot of the staircase. “Gemma won’t be that kind of girl, not as long as I have anything to say about it.” He gripped the newel post, tightening his fingers until they ached. “My life has no purpose if I can’t protect my sister.”

“No purpose?Your money does plenty of good in the world.”

“What I do is a drop in the bucket.” The newel post creaked under his hand. “Gemma has no resources to face the harsh realities of a mad and violent world. I intend to see that she reaches womanhood with her innocence unspoiled.”

Mal glanced at the floor and then back at Griffin, his expression guarded. “I hope it turns out the way you want it to, Grif, but don’t blame yourself if it doesn’t. Gemma isn’t an ordinary girl, and not even you can control everything.” He scuffed his shoe on the parquet floor. “I know it isn’t any of my business…”

“No. It isn’t.” He heard the harsh tone of his own voice and managed a smile. “Don’t worry about us, Mal. You have enough problems of your own, and I intend to help you as best I can.”

“You know I’m grateful.”

“There are no debts between us, Mal…not now and not ever.”

They continued on to the door, where Fitzsimmons could be seen waiting in the drive with the limousine. Griffin sent Mal off to Manhattan and returned to his study, his thoughts bleak and troubled.

Despite what he’d told Mal, he wasn’t at all confident that he could control Gemma. She had abilities far beyond those of a human girl her age. She was also far too inexperienced to fully grasp the consequences of employing them recklessly.

Griffin picked up the brandy snifter and swirled the liquor around and around, flaring his nostrils at the strong, sweet scent. Gemma would have been delighted to drink what Mal had left, but alcohol was the least of the dangers she faced. Maintaining Gemma’s respectability would be easy in comparison to holding her wolf nature in check. For Gemma, just like her brother, could become an animal in the blink of an eye.