Free Wild Things: A Chicagolands Vampire Novel (Chicagoland Vampires) by Chloe Neill Page A

were summoned an hour later, still filthy and scarred from the battle. A man in a trim suit sent us to Papa Breck’s study, which had been one of my favorite rooms in the house as a child. Nick and I had stolen several summer days there, poring over antique books, inspecting mementos of Papa Breck’s travels, and nabbing lemon drops from a crystal dish he kept on his desk.
    Tonight, the room was dark, cigar smoke swirling in the air. Gabe sat in a leather armchair, the Keene and Breck brothers surrounding him like men at arms. Papa Breck, silver haired and barrel-chested, sat behind his desk, a cigar between his teeth.
    “Three dead,” Papa Breck said, ashing his cigar and beginning the inquest. “Three dead. Two missing. Fourteen injured.”
    Ethan clasped his hands in front of him, met Gabe’s eyes. “We’re sorry for your losses.”
    Michael sniffed. “I notice you aren’t injured.”
    Ethan slid his gaze to Michael but didn’t alter his tone. “We incurred our share of injuries, but we heal. We fought alongside you, and as you may recall, Catcher and Mallory destroyed what remained of the harpies.” He glanced at Gabriel. “We also took care of your queen.”
    “You showed up at our house,” Papa Breck said, “and all hell broke loose.”
    “Again, we are sorry about tonight’s tragedy. But you should look elsewhere for the blame, as we had nothing to do with it. Merit and I are your guests because of circumstances in Chicago. Mallory and Catcher are your guests because she is a student of Gabriel’s. We fought with you against the harpies. We did not create them, nor did we lure them here.”
    Papa Breck shook his head, looked away. He’d already decided we were guilty, and rational arguments weren’t going to sway him now.
    Ethan looked at Gabriel. “I’ll ask the obvious question: Has the Pack made any new enemies lately? Or incited any old ones?”
    “We always have enemies,” Gabe said. “And I don’t know of any new ones.”
    “Then what about old ones?” Michael asked, looking at Mallory. “How did you know to use magic?”
    I didn’t think sorcerers and shifters had been enemies, but Michael didn’t seem the type to be concerned with fact.
    Still, Mallory stepped forward, shoulders squared against the doubt in their eyes and the fear in the room. I liked this Mallory.
    “Their magic was too uniform,” she said. “Not even a hint of personality or distinctiveness. And their eyes were blank. Empty. We guessed—correctly as it turned out—that someone wound the magic to create them. Layered magic to create the harpies,” she said, when the shifters looked confused. “We unwound it. That’s what blew them apart.”
    Gabriel bobbed his head, considering. “That was good work.”
    But Michael snorted. “If they knew how to stop it, why didn’t they stop it earlier?”
    “Are you kidding?” All eyes turned to Catcher, whose loathing was barely masked. “Are you seriously suggesting we knew what was going on and just let it continue?”
    “Does it matter?” Michael asked, pleading with Gabe. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see him drop to his knees in supplication. “This was magic, and they have magic.”
    “So what?” Gabriel challenged, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “What, precisely, would you have me do, Michael? String them up for coincidentally having magic? And even if they didn’t stop it soon enough, would you have me kill them for that? As far as I’m aware, you didn’t fight at all.”
    Michael paled. “I was protecting the house.”
    “You were protecting your own ass,” Gabe said, giving him a dismissive look and his father a warning one. “The two who are missing—who are they?”
    Papa Breck’s eyes fairly bulged with shock. “You can’t possibly think they were involved.”
    “What I think is irrelevant. What matters is the truth. Who’s missing?”
    “Rowan and Aline,” Nick said.
    Ethan’s eyebrows perked with interest.