Chapter Seven

I’d only met Sean once in person, when he arrived in the late 1990s. I told him to stay out of my way and he’d listened. We spoke occasionally on the phone, but mostly corresponded by snail mail. He politely invited me to attend gallery openings and other art-related events, and I politely declined but sent a check to donate to whatever cause he was supporting.

Sean respected my request for space, unlike Philippe. For the last five years Philippe had sent me a dozen long-stemmed red roses every week with a note asking me to come home. I dumped them all into the trash. He’d even shown up at Elizabeth’s website once. Mistress Elizabeth treated Philippe like any other paying client for exactly thirty minutes before she kicked him off the site. Afterward I blocked his IP address and added his credit card information to our banned users list.

Sean’s lair was an Americanized version of an English country estate in a well-to-do “historic” area of Oak Park—history has a different meaning when you’re unaging. I was older than every one of the brightly painted Victorian houses in Sean’s neighborhood. Technically I was older than the city of Chicago.

We flew over the Frank Lloyd Wright home and studio, but I didn’t stop because I doubted Angie would want to sightsee. Not that there was much for a human to see with the power off. I’d lived through candlelight, gaslight and electric light, and I’d nearly forgotten how dark the night could be without them. The shadows added an ominous cast to the quiet, tree-lined streets, and the silence was eerie. Chicago hadn’t been silent since I’d lived in it—there had been trains, streetcars, carriages, automobiles, airplanes and helicopters combined with the constant hum of living people. I hoped that the winter quiet wasn’t permanent.

Sean’s mansion and grounds took up an entire city block and were surrounded by a high stone wall topped with curling wrought-iron bars. The walls had doubtless saved them from being overrun, and fresh barricades blocked the gates. Not that it impeded our flying cars. Angie was seated in the cruiser, and I’d stopped to pick up a midsized moving truck and an assortment of cardboard boxes.

I set the vehicles down near the servant’s entrance, and Angie and I crunched through the snow and up the back steps. Guess Sean had forgotten to shovel. Angela was dressed in her full police-officer regalia, including hat. It strangely made me want her even more—I guess I had a newfound appreciation for women in uniform.

I knocked, and after a flurry of scraping, shuffling and unlocking, the door opened to reveal my little brother. Like our Master, he was a pretty, tall, slender thing who possessed definite runway model potential. Sean had light blue eyes with long, pale lashes, artfully tousled ginger-blond hair and high, sharp cheekbones. Like any vampire of our line, his beauty made him dangerous. Charm and disarm was hunting’s first step. Elizabeth wanted him, and her inappropriate commentary kicked into overdrive. Thankfully I’d been prepared for that and was able to ignore her.

“You should really salt your walkway. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” I said.

Sean frowned, but ushered us inside. “We haven’t been using the walkway as of late.”

“This is Officer Angela Kinney of the Chicago Police Department. She’s my flock of one.”

Angie extended her hand to Sean with a polite smile.

“Sean MacMillan. I wish this meeting could have taken place under more pleasant circumstances.”

I scrutinized Sean’s reaction as he shook Angie’s hand. Sean shifted as he caught my scent on Angie, and he held her hand for a few moments longer than was polite. He stepped back with a slight crease of disappointment across his pale brow—his demon sensed that she wasn’t food, and that made Angie less interesting.

“Will you grant us Sanctuary?” Sean asked, straight to the point.

“We need to talk before I make any decisions. First, why didn’t you go to Philippe?”

“Philippe would kill me and take my flock, and explain my death to our Father any way he liked. Philippe has no need of me, and I’m not strong enough to protect my flock from him or from the horde. I’m asking for your aid. Please. If not for me, for them. They are innocent, and Philippe will harm them.”

It was the please that gave me pause. My Master would never ask, and he would never say please. He also would never place his flock’s welfare above his own. Sean’s gaze was sincere, and it was as foreign to me as if he spoke ancient Greek. Sincerity and good manners from a male vampire? It really must be the end of the world.

“And you’re going to play nice and be well behaved?” I asked, still skeptical.

“Will you?” he countered. Angie coughed as though swallowing a laugh.

“That’s fair. I believe in treating people with respect, and only feeding from people who give their consent. As long as you do the same, we’ll get along fine.”

“Very well. I will do as you bid me. You have my word.”

It was odd to hear. I couldn’t imagine any of my other brothers taking orders from me. My Master had a type when it came to men—less powerful clones meant to populate the new world with loyal vampires created in his image. His sons were pretty, cruel monsters who were never satiated. Maybe as an Irishman Sean had some aspect of spirit that the rest of my brothers lacked.

“I want to meet your people,” I said.

“Very well. This way.”

The house was dark and chilly—no power, but when we entered the sitting room it was lit by candles and a cheerily crackling fire in the hearth. The curtains were drawn, but I imagined that the large windows would let in a lot of light. And mobs. The building was a stately, well-appointed security nightmare.

Sean’s flock was seated around the fireplace, and they weren’t what I was expecting. My Master collected nubile young women. Classic beauties, for the most part, and not the plasticized Barbie dolls popular today, but the seven women of Sean’s flock ranged in age, ethnicity and shape. They looked like a book club.

The youngest woman sat on the floor, watching over a toddler as he played with several plastic trucks on a giant mat decorated like a town. The boy looked up, spotted Angie, and happily shrieked, “Policeman!” He scampered to us and hugged Angie’s leg.

“Policewoman,” she corrected, smiling.

“I had that same reaction when we met, and you ruined it when you shot me,” I said dryly, and Angie chuckled.

“She shot you?” Sean repeated, sounding horrified.

“She did. I forgave her.” I kissed Angie’s cheek to display that there were no hard feelings, and to mark my territory. “But you still owe me a new coat.”

Angie chuckled and picked the little boy up. “What’s your name?”

“Gavin.” He reached for Angie’s hat and tugged it off, eager to try it on. Gavin was a ginger cherub, and I eyed Sean. Vampires are sterile. The kid couldn’t be his.

“This is Lizzy Addams and Officer Angela Kinney. This is my flock. Evelyn is a poetess. Nathalie is our resident computer genius. Bailey is a sculptor. Aiko is a cellist. Karolina is a ballet dancer. Leila is a writer. Trinity is a painter, and Gavin is her son.”

“And not your son, right?” I asked.

“Correct.”

“Oh good.” I sighed in relief. “No offense, but I don’t think I could handle another surprise.”

Trinity was ginger herself, a true carrot-top with springy flaming-red hair, big green eyes and a dusting of freckles across her nose. Very cute, but also very young. I doubted she was old enough to legally drink, but she could probably vote and drive.

“I’m sensing a running theme. Are you an artist as well?” I asked Sean. “Or just a patron of the arts?”

“I’m a composer.”

I sighed. “Computer genius could be useful. What we really need is a gardener, or an electrical engineer.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Nathalie said. My brow rose as I blinked at her. Was she one of Mistress Elizabeth’s clients? I’m sure I’d remember her blue-streaked, spiky hair. “I’m in your guild in World of Warcraft. I’m a fan of your website too.”

My demon perked up at the possibility of a bisexual among Sean’s flock, and what that might mean for future feeding. According to the rules of Sanctuary, Sean’s flock was my flock. I shushed Elizabeth and concentrated on the rest of the group. I connected a few of the names to the donations I’d made. Bailey worked with graphic arts programs for inner city students. I was fairly certain that Karolina was a member of the Joffrey Ballet.

“How have you ladies been holding up?” I asked.

“Well enough,” Evelyn said. She was the eldest, a blonde with streaks of white in her hair and a regal, poised posture. Angie set Gavin down and the boy ran back to his cars, Angie’s hat in hand.

“Do you have a playroom or something Gavin can hang out in while we talk flock business?” I asked.

“I’ll take him.” Trinity picked up her son and carried him off, still in possession of Angie’s hat.

Angie and I sat together on a loveseat opposite the group, and Sean sat next to Evelyn and took her hand. I paused—in our Master’s house, he sat higher than everyone else like a king upon a throne. He would have expected his flock to sit on the floor at his feet, but Sean seemed to have no problem with everyone being on the same level. Huh. Clearing my throat, I launched into a quick speech about my building and its amenities, and about the other survivors currently in residence.

“Will you require feeding rights?” Sean asked.

“No. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. I have blood donation equipment, like the Red Cross. Donations are appreciated, but not required.” I barked a quick, nervous laugh. A torrent of memories I’d tried to repress flashed through my mind. Life at Tara was like living inside a hardcore porn movie—no plot, no costumes, just nudity and constant fucking. Angie took my hand and squeezed it, and I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

“Are you unwell?” Evelyn asked.

“I’m okay.” I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’m going to be completely honest with all of you, and if this is going to work I need you to be honest with me. I came to Chicago because I couldn’t deal with vampire life. I hated being at Tara, and I don’t do any of that anymore. That’s why I started the website and the videos.” I turned to Nathalie and blushed. “Mistress Elizabeth is my demon’s hobby. I’m easing back into the flock thing by dating Angie, and we’re going to see where that goes. I don’t anticipate feeding from anyone else.”

“What? We’re not feeding from Sean? Are you stupid?” Elizabeth lectured me on the many benefits we would reap from having sex with a male vampire, and I struggled to drown her out. I didn’t want to go down that road. The cost wasn’t worth the benefits.

“That’s understandable.” Sean nodded slowly as he studied us. “I’m not certain what your experience at Tara was because we resided there at different times. In the interest of being honest with each other, I also hated being there. I’ve tried to create a positive environment in my home. I want my flock to feel safe and cared for.”

“And you’ve done very well at that.” Evelyn smiled at Sean, and the expression was open and genuine.

The rest of the women seemed to echo the sentiment, and I admit, I was damn impressed. They were fascinating in their variety. Bailey was a curvy African American woman, probably pushing forty judging by her smile lines and light sprinkling of gray hair. Evelyn seemed like the matriarch of the group, exuding poise like a senior senator’s wife. Nathalie and Leila were late twenty-somethings with a vaguely hipster-ish style. Leila had a bronze cast to her skin that could be Latina, or possibly Native American. Guessing by the name, I assumed Aiko was of Japanese descent. I was momentarily distracted by the flash of her silver earrings, which were shaped like musical notes. Karolina was the epitome of a Russian prima ballerina, so much so that I expected Swan Lake to begin playing at any moment.

“I appreciate that you have always kept things polite and professional between us,” Sean said. “I would like that to continue.”

Polite and professional instead of hot and heavy. “Agreed.”

Sean quirked a brow. “Would you give Philippe Sanctuary, if he asked?”

I frowned and sat back as I had a silent discussion with Elizabeth before answering. “Philippe would have fed and cared for you had you gone to him,” she pointed out, “but we would not have been in control. He would have assumed dominion over us, like our Master.”

“And he would have forced himself on our survivors,” I said. “On Angie, even though she doesn’t like men.”

Elizabeth’s energy soured as if she was frowning at the idea. “True, and that would have been wrong.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I answered. “Philippe can’t be trusted.”

“Agreed,” Sean replied. “He is…unbalanced.”

“That’s one way to put it.” I squeezed Angie’s hand again. The contact was soothing, as though the warmth of her skin had a bonus calming effect. “I want to know more about you. Considering what an epic asshole our Master is, there has to be a story behind how you didn’t become a dick like Philippe. But for now, yes, I agree to grant you and yours Sanctuary in my home. Acceptable?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Sean smiled, probably amused by my colorful descriptions of our vampire family. The fact that he didn’t argue with me said volumes, and I had a feeling that we were going to get along just fine.

“Good. Now, if you’re all packed, let’s start loading up the truck.”

The process was immediately slowed by the revelation that in addition to being a computer genius, Nathalie was also an extreme coupon diva. She had a stockpile of food and toiletries meant to last the household for years, most of which was extremely relevant to our post-apocalypse interests. We used my newly acquired moving boxes to pack the whole enchilada up and haul it into the van. Then came the suitcases. Nathalie’s computer equipment. A ton of toddler-related paraphernalia for Gavin. A variety of raw materials meant for art but that could be repurposed for life after the end of the world. And, of course, a coffin.

The coffin came last, as it was the most unwieldy thing to move. It was simple, dark wood—long enough to enclose Sean’s height, but built for one person. Our Master slept in the equivalent of a double-wide casket because he never slept alone.

Frowning, I motioned for the group to wait as I levitated high enough to see over the outer walls. I’d become increasingly uncomfortable over the past ten minutes of moving boxes—a spot between my shoulder blades itched and the hair on the back of my neck rose—but everything was quiet. Too quiet? No shambling corpses in the streets, but that made some sense in a residential area like this. The streets shouldn’t be as crowded here as they were outside my building.

“See anything?” Sean asked.

I shook my head, but the uneasy feeling stayed, like a heavy lump of ice in my gut. Sean and Angie paused in their struggle to haul the coffin down the stairs and up the ramp into the truck.

“No. Can you fly?” I asked.

“No.”

A car alarm shrieked to life on the street, and the sudden noise scared me enough that I fell a few feet.

“What the hell?” I sputtered.

Nothing had moved, definitely nothing big enough to trigger a car alarm. A second alarm joined the first, and this time I spotted the rock that bounced off the sedan’s hood. I flew higher, looking for the rock-throwing culprit. The snow shifted as zombies rose from where they had been buried beneath it, popping up like evil daffodils.

“Everybody in the cars! We need to go now.” I pointed to the coffin. “I’ll move that.”

Everyone scrambled for the cruiser. I picked the coffin up with my magic to fly it over to the truck, but I dropped it when something tackled me like a linebacker flattening the Bears’ quarterback. The world tilted and spun as I tumbled head over feet. Gravity is a cruel mistress, and I crash-landed in the middle of the street, on the wrong side of the gate from the mansion. Everything righted itself just as the sharp slice of fangs pierced my throat.

Philippe. Had to be. A flash-fire of lust and desire scorched my veins, and I groaned as my inner demon purred. Philippe probably thought that after one bite Elizabeth would follow him anywhere, and he’d be right. But Elizabeth wasn’t the boss of me anymore, and I wasn’t about to go quietly.

My claws sprang free and I reached behind me and dug them into my attacker’s thighs. He snarled and shoved me away, tearing my throat in the process. Clapping a hand over the wound, I stumbled to my feet and whirled on him.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” I snapped.

“You attacked me.” Philippe’s black gaze held no expression—demon eyes are dull and empty as a shark’s—but his tone was shocked.

“You bit me!”

“Of course I did. It is time you stopped this foolish fast of yours. I am simply trying to awaken your demon.”

Zombies roused by the noise advanced on us. I popped the heads off two that were too close for comfort, but I couldn’t fight them and Philippe. He pounced again and we went down in a tangle of fangs and claws. We rolled and slammed into a parked car, and a mob grabbed my leg and pulled. I turned toward it, and the corpse jerked as three bullets hit it in quick succession. The good news was that the zombie’s squishy skull exploded. The bad news was that turning my head bared my throat, and Philippe bit me again.

A red haze rolled over my vision like a cloud of bloody fog. I whimpered low in my throat as Philippe cradled me close and fed. Our demons surged, strengthened by the contact, but Elizabeth hesitated. I sensed her frown, like wings drooping in disappointment. “This is wrong.”

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Angie atop the mansion’s high brick fence, gun wavering as she hesitated.

“Shoot. Him.” I wanted to scream the words, but I spoke loud enough for her to hear me. Angie emptied her clip into Philippe, and Philippe jerked and twitched as the bullets struck him. Two of the bullets missed and hit me—one in the leg and one in the side—but it was a small price to pay. He dropped me and I scrambled away.

Philippe held up his hands as though attempting to placate me. “Sean isn’t strong enough to take care of you. It’s best that you let him go, and come home with me.”

“Let him go?” I repeated, incredulous. “He’s our brother, not a bad habit.”

“Now, Elizabeth—” Philippe began.

“Don’t call me Elizabeth.” I hurled a ball of hellfire and Philippe went up in flames. Angie reloaded and started shooting again. With a shriek, Philippe retreated. Prick.

I stumbled over to Angie’s perch on the wall. She grabbed my hands and helped me up and over, because I was bleeding from too many places to fly. Unfortunately the mobs in the street saw us and figured out that there was something good to eat behind the mansion’s high walls, and they started banging at the gates.

“Need a refill?” Angie asked.

“Yes, but not from you. You can’t donate again so soon. You’ll get sick,” I explained.

“I can handle it.”

“No. Organ failure is no joke.”

Sean hurried up to us and I pointed at him. “Did you get the coffin in the truck?”

“No. It shattered.” He grimaced, but then patted his coat pocket. “But I have what we need.”

“Good.” The casket we could replace, but Irish soil, not so much. “May I borrow Nathalie, please?”

A squeal of protesting metal shuddered from the gates, and we all flinched. Sean nodded and darted to the cruiser where his flock waited inside.

“Are you sure?” Angie asked as we limped after him.

“Yeah. You shot me again. You can kiss it and make it better later, but I need blood now.”

“Right.” She kissed me for good measure, and then Nathalie rushed up to us.

“Wrist, please,” I ordered. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s fine. No worries.” Nathalie tugged her sleeve up and shoved her wrist toward me, eyes wide.

There was no foreplay with this bite, much to Elizabeth’s disappointment, but the rush of power revved my magical engines. My wounds healed, and two mangled bullets were evicted from my body like giant metal splinters and disappeared into the snow at my feet. Nathalie’s knees buckled as she moaned, and Sean caught her before she swooned. She was flushed and panting by the time I drew away and licked the wound closed, but the gate was breached before I could comment. Mobs trickled into the yard and I grabbed everything—cars, people, casket debris—and zipped them into the air. Sean yelped and clutched Nathalie tight as I maneuvered him and Angie close to me.

“What? Haven’t you flown before?” I asked.

“No.”

“Really? The Master never took you up just to drop you?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Huh. He did that to me all the time. You must not be a good screamer.”

I dumped the debris into the back of the truck, shut the door and we were on our way. I chuckled at Sean’s strangled gasp. Maybe my Master instilled a bit of sadist in me after all.

Our flight home was quiet and attack-free, and I turned to Sean after we landed on the roof. His flock was traumatized but alive, and I was grateful for that.

“What’d you do to Philippe to piss in his Cheerios?” I asked.

Sean looked away as he set Nathalie on her feet. “Nothing.”

“He was going to leave you for dead. That’s pretty assholic even for him,” I said. There was something personal here that I was missing. My brothers competed for our Master’s favor, but they didn’t openly fight each other. We saved our malice for the other vampire bloodlines—I’d killed several trespassing vampires over the years. Not that I was particularly interested in preserving my Master’s empire, but defending the area was in my own best interest.

Angie frowned as she checked me over. “You’re hurt.”

“I am? Still?” I touched my throat and flinched in pain. In my hurry to heal the bullet wounds I’d forgotten about the hole Philippe had torn in my throat. It should have healed like any other injury, but instead it throbbed and oozed blood. A vampire’s bite was usually closed by saliva. “Oh shit…normally I use the term lick me as an expletive and not a request, but can you help with this?”

“Of course,” Sean said.

“It’s a one-time-only offer.” I bared my throat to him, and he quickly and efficiently closed the wound. It was also a little weird and awkward, considering how damn tall he was.

“Let’s go. I’ll give you the dime tour.”

We spent the rest of the night unloading the truck and rearranging my lair. I was going to have to let people into my bedroom during the day, but Sean’s flock would look after us. A flock’s main job was to provide food, but they were also security, meant to watch over a vampire while he or she was vulnerable during the day. The ladies would cut Father Sanchez if he tried to stake us. When things settled, we held a state of the union meeting in the library while the kids watched TV.

“Okay, so we have a new problem: Philippe,” I said.

“This is your other vampire brother?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah. He’s a douchecanoe.” It was one of my favorite insults. Sean made a choking noise as though he’d swallowed a bug. “Philippe is a self-centered, controlling, power-hungry prick who has clearly lost what little mind he had. He fully intended to leave you all to die, but he didn’t expect me to fight back.”

“How did he know you’d be there?” Suzanne asked.

“He overheard us talking over the radio,” Angie said. “It’s not secure. Anyone in the city could have heard it.”

I nodded. “That’s why I didn’t ask for your address. Not that I needed to.”

“Neither did Philippe.” Sean grimaced. “What’s our next step?”

“It’ll take him a few days to recover from those burns because hellfire leaves a mark. That buys us time. How are you at combat? Any fighting skills?” I asked.

“No.”

“No? The Master didn’t teach you how to fly or how to duel?” I asked, and he shook his head. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from asking what he had learned at Tara, because I assumed he hated talking about it as much as I did. “Okay. I’ll teach you.” I turned to Angie and Mike. “Guess we’re an army of three. That’s not enough to clear out the upper floors.”

“You did it once by yourself. Right?” Angie asked.

“I did, and that was stupid of me. There’s not enough room to fly safely. If I’d been overwhelmed, they would’ve torn me apart like a piñata.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Plus we don’t have the manpower to defend the upper floors. We need more troops. Especially if Philippe comes calling.”

“If?” Sean asked.

“When,” I corrected grimly. “He won’t let this alone.”

“Can he get in here?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes. He could pull off the elevator doors, fly down the shaft and kill everyone in the living room before I knew something was wrong.”

“Why did he attack you?” Suzanne asked. I admired the fact that she wasn’t afraid to ask me the hard questions.

The priest muttered something that sounded like “because he’s a demon”.

“Actually, you’re right, Padre. To be honest, I don’t think Philippe was human to begin with. I’m all about restraining my inner demon, and he’s best friends with his,” I explained. “The more a vampire feeds his demon, the stronger he becomes. Our Master is one scary motherfucker.”

Father Sanchez turned to Sean. “And you?”

“I believe in balance, and using my time to make the world a better place,” Sean said. “I don’t force myself on others to feed. I believe that my humanity is a strength, not a weakness.”

Good answer.

“But why did Philippe come after you, specifically?” Suzanne pressed me. “Do you have history together?”

I barked a bitter laugh. Boy, was that an understatement. “Yes. It’s kind of…complicated.”

“We have a right to know if you’ve put us in danger,” Father Sanchez said.

“You would have preferred that I left you to die in the street?” I countered.

Suzanne glared at him. “Lizzy has done everything within her power to help us. I’m grateful for that. You should be too.”

“And if we die at the hands of a crazed vampire we’ll be just as dead as we would have been if we had been killed in the street by zombies,” the priest said.

“Everybody dies. Life’s about the journey, not the destination,” I said dryly. “But fine, since you asked. Philippe’s inner demon has an epic, supernatural hard-on for my inner demon. It’s a vampire thing, and it also has a lot to do with our politics. Yes, it is important enough to him to kill over, but I don’t think he would kill the people here. He’d be more likely to abduct people and force them into his flock.”

“Werewolves,” Nathalie blurted.

“What?” I said.

Nathalie set her cup of orange-flavored beverage down—she was dining on sugar cookies shaped like snowmen and orange drink after her impromptu blood donation. “We need ground troops to stop Philippe from grabbing us. You’re on good terms with their pack leader, aren’t you? You donate to his community center.”

“I…yes, actually. How did you know that?” I asked, stunned.

“Google,” she replied. “Mr. Blake has to declare all of that stuff in his financial reports, because it’s a charity.”

I glanced at Sean. “I assume you’re on speaking terms with Omar then if she knows about werewolves?”

“I taught art classes at his community center,” Bailey said. My brow furrowed—sure, I was on decent terms with the werewolves, but it seemed like a violation of the laws of paranormal society to have a member of a vampire’s flock working for a werewolf-owned organization.

“Werewolves are real?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, Padre, they’re not demons. They’re cursed, but not evil.”

“What kind of curse?” Mike asked.

“As I understand it, it’s a lot like the old-school idea of werewolves,” I said. “They can shift into an angry half-human, half-wolf form with superhuman strength and speed. I’ve seen them do it regardless of phase of the moon. It’s pretty badass.”

Mike scratched his salt-and-pepper stubble and eyed me with a speculative cop expression. “Why haven’t you contacted them sooner?”

“Because vampires and werewolves usually fight to the death. The werewolves might have no physical problem guarding the building, but I’m not sure how they’ll feel about the offer. I mean, I like Omar, but I’m not one hundred percent confident that he won’t take this opportunity to win a battle in the werewolf-versus-vampire war. He might be thinking the same thing about me.”

“The Blakes like you,” Bailey said. “They like Sean. I think they would work with us.”

I nodded. “Assuming they’re still in charge. If there’s a new pack leader all bets might be off.”

“Philippe will attack them, if he hasn’t already,” Sean said. “He will see it as consolidating his power. He likely considered kidnapping you as consolidating his power as well. Father…” Sean paused and cleared his throat. “Philippe would be handsomely rewarded if he returned you to Tara.”

I grimaced. “That’s terrifying. Anyway, if the werewolves are alive they’ll be gathered at the center. I’ll visit them tomorrow.”

“We,” Angela corrected.

“Not unless you’ve got a stash of silver bullets hidden somewhere,” I replied.

“I can make them, if you have the silver.”

“I would like to go as well,” Sean said.

“No. You’re on guard duty.” I trusted Sean enough to look after his flock while I was gone, but not enough to take him with me to watch my back. I rose and shrugged. “Guess that means class dismissed. Come on, Angie. Let’s find you some silver.”