Twice Bitten (25 page)

“I heard there was commotion in the hallway?”

Ethan nodded. “We may have found the men who took the contract. We overheard them talking about the money and the hit. And they were well armed.”

Gabriel’s brows lifted. “The guys sent to kill me talked about the hit in the church?”

“Not the brightest bulbs,” I put in.

Christopher and Ben approached Adam, then leaned in to whisper something to him. Adam nodded, then signaled to Gabriel.

“They’ve been taken care of,” Gabriel said flatly. His tone raised the hair at the back of my neck, and I reminded myself never to cross him. “Can we proceed?”

“There’s a chance that whoever put out the contract will try again,” Ethan warned him. “That we dealt with these two doesn’t mean we eliminated the risk.”

Gabriel reached out and gave him a manly arm pat. “The show must go on.”

With no fanfare, and no introduction, Gabriel stepped to the lectern. Ethan and I took positions on his right. At his immediate left stood Robin and Jason. Adam and Fallon stood point on the far left. I found Jeff in the crowd, sitting on the end of the second pew, arms crossed over his chest, his expression grave.

Gabriel began to speak, his voice booming through the church’s speaker system, the sound bouncing across the stone walls.

And weirder still, he recited a poem. It was Yeats, I think, if my nearly completed PhD in English lit was working correctly.

“ ‘I have heard the pigeons of the seven woods/make their faint thunder,’ ” he said. “ ‘And the garden bees/hum in the lime-tree flowers; and put away/the unavailing outcries and the old bitterness/that empty the heart.’ ”

I couldn’t help it; my jaw dropped. A room full of three hundred shifters in varying degrees of denim and leather, carrying all manner of weaponry, was now staring rapt at the leader of the North American Central Pack of shifters as he read them a poem about nature. They nodded their agreement, heads bobbing like faithful parishioners in church, which, I suppose, they were.

“ ‘I have forgot awhile/Tara uprooted, and new commonness /upon the throne and crying about the streets/and hanging its paper flowers from post to post./Because it is alone of all things happy./
I am contented
—’ ”

Gabe paused, lifted his gaze, and lifted his hands to the crowd around him. They shouted their affirmations, some standing, some with hands raised, eyes closed rapturously as they celebrated the world and pronounced their contentment. Goose bumps rose on my arms, and not just because the magic in the room had reached electric levels.

“ ‘For I know that quiet/wanders laughing and eating her wild heart/among pigeons and bees, while that Great Archer, who but awaits his hour to shoot, still hangs/a cloudy quiver—’ ”

“ ‘
Over Pairc-na-lee!
’ ”finished the entire group of them together, and then they burst into raucous applause.

Without waiting for the thunder to quiet again, Gabriel dropped the bomb.

“Tony Marino, leader of the Great Northwestern Pack, is dead.”

The chapel went immediately silent.

“We convene today with four Packs, but three alphas. When we are done, the Great Northwestern will begin the task of choosing another to speak for the communal voice, for the Great Family. But today, we must focus on the business at hand.”

A tall, thin, rough-looking man stood up from his seat in the middle of the room and punched a finger in Gabe’s direction. “
Fuck that
,” he said. “Our Apex, our father, is dead, and you tell us this
now
? This is bullshit.”

More shifters popped out of their seats, their voices joining the clamor. You could see the pain in their faces, the shock of their loss. But that was nothing compared to their irritation at the leader of the North American Central.

Adam, Jason, and the others tensed, moving a half step forward as if preparing for inevitable violence. I raised my right hand to the handle of my katana, the easier to free it should the need arise.

“And you’ve brought goddamned
vampires
to a convocation!” accused one man with a military-style crew cut. “This is our meeting, our gathering. A gathering of Pack, of kith and kin. They
contaminate
it.”

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, waiting as they hurled insults and anger in his direction. He looked unfazed by the allegations, but I was close enough to feel the angry magic that rose from his body in a greasy wave.

On the other hand, I understood now why he’d insisted on going forward with the convocation. There was a lot of emotion in the room, and the city was undoubtedly better served by allowing the shifters to hurl it in Gabriel’s direction—instead of outside at the rest of Chicago.

Gabe had broad shoulders; I had no doubt he could handle the barrage.

After a few minutes, he held up his hands. And when that didn’t work, he bellowed—in words and magic—across the room.

“Silence
.
”

To a man, the chapel quieted. And when Gabriel spoke again, there was no mistaking why he was Apex, or what the repercussions would be for not heeding his word.

“You are here because the Packs have called a convocation. If you wish to have issues decided without your input, you needn’t be here. All or any of you can stand up and walk out of this room with impunity.” He leaned over the lectern. “But whether you stay or leave, you will goddamned follow the dictates of the Packs. That is our way. That is the only way. And that is not up for debate.”

The collective energy in the room diminished, as if the shifters in the chapel had tucked their tails between their legs.

“You’re right,” he continued. “There are vampires in our midst, and that’s a change in Pack protocol. We aren’t like them, and maybe we’ll never heal the wounds between our people. But rest assured, war is coming whether we like it or not. And you’re right—there are vampires who care little for the Packs, just as there are Pack members who are willing to assassinate their alphas. But I have
seen
things.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room at that revelation. The Pack members must have trusted in whatever prophecy Gabriel was about to make.

“I have seen that future,” he said. “I have seen the future of my child.” He beat a fist against his chest. “My
son
. I have seen the face of those who will keep him safe when times become the hardest for all of us.”

He dropped his gaze, and when he raised it again, knowledge in his eyes, he turned his head . . . and he looked at me.

There was pleading in his eyes.

My lips parted.

“Vampires will keep him safe,” he said, and we stared at each other, and I saw the racing events of his future—and mine—in his eyes. No story lines, no dates, but I saw enough, including the eyes of his child, and another set of green eyes, eyes that looked nothing—and everything—like Ethan’s. I had no way of knowing how powerful, how accurate, a shifter’s visions were . . . but it packed a punch.

Tears stinging my eyes, Gabriel looked away again.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, trying to take in what he’d said, trying to keep my breath from becoming so shallow that I passed out in the church.

Merit?
Ethan silently asked, but I shook my head. This needed processing before it needed debate. Before I’d be ready for discussing it . . . if I ever would be ready to discuss it.

The crowd had quieted again, the weight of the information Gabriel had shared enough to make them contemplative, to make them seriously consider the things he was going to ask them.

“You will face death,” he told them. “Tony’s death, and possibly others’, if we stay. But we will face death if we go, as well. The world is a harsh place. We know that. We live by its code—a different code from vampires or humankind—but our code, just the same. That’s the decision you must make tonight.”

He held up his hands. “Let the discussion begin.”

“Discussion” was a nice word for what commenced. As soon as Gabriel opened the floor to debate, most of the shifters who’d already bellowed at Gabriel flipped off the crowd and walked out. That prompted the remaining two hundred shifters to stand and yell at the deserters.

Chaos, indeed.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but saluted the walk-outs.

“Let them go,” he said into the microphone. “They aren’t obliged to stay. None of you are required to stay. But whether you walk our or you stay and participate,
you will abide by the decision made here
.” It was clear by the tone of his voice and the menace in his eyes that he wasn’t making a request. He was issuing an order, reminding the Packs of their obligations. Those who chose to ignore those obligations did so at their own risk.

The remaining shifters chastened, the debate over their future began in earnest. A microphone had been placed in the middle of the church’s center aisle for the shifters’ use. I wasn’t crazy about the location—it gave anyone who stepped up to the mic a direct shot at Gabriel—but there wasn’t much help for it.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t be proactive. Without asking for Ethan’s permission—I’d seen the fear in his eyes after I’d helped Berna beside the bar—I left my post at his side and walked to the front of the church, then stood directly in front of the podium.

Bullets—and shifters—who wanted a shot at Gabriel would have to go through me first.

Good thought
, Ethan silently complimented,
but a heads-up would have been nice.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission
, I reminded him.

Although the shifters were a rainbow of shape, size, and skin tone, the views they espoused at the microphone fell into two categories. Half were pissed at the thought of having to leave their homes and businesses for Aurora. They mostly yelled at us, screamed at Gabriel, made rude gestures.

The other half wanted nothing to do with vampires or vampire politics, and they were convinced the threat to their well-being as a society was vampire in origin.

They also mostly yelled at us, screamed at Gabriel, and made rude gestures.

After long minutes of vitriolic monologues, the final speaker reached the microphone.

He was tall and burly, a giant black leather vest over his barrel chest. He wore a bandanna on his head, and his long beard had been bundled into consecutive bands. After waiting patiently for his turn to speak, he stepped up to the mic, then gestured toward Gabriel.

“You know me, sir. I ain’t one with words or talk. You know I work hard, follow the rules, do right by my family.”

I couldn’t see Gabriel’s face, but given the soft earnestness in this big man’s voice, I imagined he nodded in understanding.

“I don’t see the future, so I don’t know about war. I tend to stick to my kind, and I don’t know much about vampires or the like. I don’t know what’s coming down the road, what kind of things we’ll see when the dust kicks up, or when it settles again. Frankly, I don’t know exactly why we’re here, or why we think we need to run.” He swallowed thickly. “But I’ve lived among humans for many, many moons. I’ve been in human wars and fought beside ’em when I thought it necessary. They’ve stood up to protect me and mine.

“I also heard talk these vamps did right by us. And here they are again, and they step up to protect you like they’re willing to take any danger comin’ your way.” He half shrugged modestly. “Politics and such ain’t my thing, but I know what’s right. They step forward, but we don’t?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean disrespect to you or your kin, but that ain’t right. It just ain’t.”

He nodded at me, this man in the leather vest, then turned and walked humbly back to his pew in the middle of the church. He slid inside, then sat down, blinking as he waited for whatever came next.

My heart ached with emotion. I couldn’t very well leave my post, but I watched him until he made eye contact, then offered a nod. He nodded back, two would-be foes acknowledging the virtue of the other.

Life as a vampire wasn’t always what I expected it to be.

“As is our way,” Gabriel said into the silence of the chapel, “in the pews before you are two chits. One black, one white. Black, we return home to the sanctity of the Seven Woods. White, we stay. We risk the fight—whatever fight that might be. Place your vote in the box as it’s passed. If you have a proxy, you may cast those votes, as well. Cast your ballots according to your conscience,” he said.

Jason stepped down from the platform, a wooden box in his hands. He carried it to the back of the chapel, then handed it to the last man in the last row.

It took eighteen minutes for the vote to be cast—eighteen nerve-wracking minutes, during which most every shifter in the room gave me alternatingly curious and grave looks. I had to work not to shuffle uncomfortably under the weight of their collective stares.

When the box had traversed the chapel, Jason hauled it back to the front of the room, and then the counting began. A long board, not unlike the marker for a cribbage game, was placed on the table where the box had rested. As each marble-shaped chit was pulled from the box, it was placed upon the holder.

Black, then white, then black, then three whites, then six blacks, and so on. Although my new friend had spoken eloquently, the shifters hadn’t been completely convinced. Whatever the vote, it wouldn’t be unanimous.