Ethan let the glamour slowly dissolve and flutter away. I rolled my shoulders with relief. The magic might not have had mass, but it still weighed heavily on my psyche.
I felt the vampire move closer, and I slipped a hand to my katana. The feel of the corded handle beneath my fingers was comforting.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said, gesturing to the vampire behind us. “She’s very good with that steel.”
There were many ways to bluff. You could preen and exaggerate your strengths, or you could let others believe you were less than you were. I opted for the latter, and managed to stir up a worried glance as I looked at the vampire over my shoulder.
She unsheathed her katana and smiled at me, lifting her chin defiantly. The steel of her sword was smeared and cloudy. She hadn’t cleaned it recently. Catcher, who’d given me the sword I carried, would have my ass in a sling for that.
I swallowed heavily, playing up my fear, then looked back at the man again. He looked very pleased.
“I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage,” Ethan said, understanding exactly the game to be played. “I take it you’re Cyrius?”
“Cyrius Lore. I manage this club.”
“For who?”
“For whoever the fuck I want. It’s no business of yours. The fact is, you came into my club with an old password. I don’t like interlopers in my club.”
“Surprising, since you’ll allow virtually anything else.”
Ethan’s words were slow and dangerous, but Cyrius snorted. “You think I’m intimidated by you because you’re head of some vamp house? No. I manage a club; you manage a club. That makes us equals, far as I’m concerned.”
“I don’t allow my vampires to harm innocents in my ‘club.’”
Cyrius held up his hands defensively. “What happens among consenting adults is their business, not mine. I don’t police what happens here.”
I didn’t buy that everyone here was consenting, or that Cyrius didn’t know exactly what went on in his club.
But that was irrelevant, because he’d just shown us the only bit of business that mattered. On the inside of his right forearm was a forest green tattoo—an ouroboros, an old and circular symbol made up of a snake eating its tail.
It was the symbol of the Circle . . . and therefore of Adrien Reed.
Son of a bitch. Cyrius’s ink, I said to Ethan, and watched his gaze slip discreetly from Cyrius’s face to the symbol on his arm.
Cyrius Lore managed La Douleur, and the Circle managed Cyrius Lore. If we were right about the alchemical symbols, this was part of the sorcerer’s territory. We had a link between Adrian Reed and the sorcerer, the alchemy. Reed’s sorcerer and the alchemy sorcerer weren’t two different people. They were one and the same, part of his criminal organization. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
And once again, it raised questions about Caleb Franklin. Had he known about the Circle? About Reed?
Probably sensing our magic, Cyrius nodded and the vamp stepped closer, unsheathed her katana with a dull whistle of sound. I’d bet the edge was dull, too. She really needed to take better care of her blade.
She stepped forward, put the blade against my neck.
Maybe it was the place, maybe it was Reed. Maybe it was the residual effect of Ethan’s magic. Whatever the reason, my blood began to hum beneath the cold steel, aching to fight. Ethan tensed with concern, but my adrenaline was already flowing.
Focus on him, I said silently. She’s mine.
“Now,” Cyrius said. “Why don’t you tell me why the fuck you’re in my place when you weren’t invited?”
“We want information about Caleb Franklin.”
Cyrius frowned, which didn’t do his mug any favors. “The fuck is Caleb Franklin?”
“A shifter under the protection of Gabriel Keene,” Ethan said. Not entirely the truth, given the defection, but true enough for our purposes. “He’s dead.”
“I don’t know shit about him or who killed him.”
“He lived nearby,” Ethan said.