Dark Debt
Morgan eliminated a few numbers, leaving four on-screen.
“Those are burn phones’ prefixes,” Jeff said, gaze scanning the screen. “All different numbers. No apparent connection between them, and the calls all pinged different towers.”
“They’re very careful,” Jacobs said.
My grandfather nodded. “That’s how they’ve stayed in business so long. They are a remarkably careful group.”
“So the number you have will probably be another burner phone,” Jeff said. “When they’ve called you, how long does each call last?”
“They’re short. A minute, maybe?”
Jeff nodded. “Probably too short to trace, but we can at least determine which tower they’re using. So, when everybody’s ready, you’ll place a call to the number you’ve got, and I’ll do what I can to nail it down.”
“How do I play this?” Morgan asked, looking around the table.
“We’ve got two goals,” Jacobs said. “Addressing the situation with your House and, if possible, acquiring enough information to identify the Circle’s key players and shut them down.”
“The latter being the only real way to ensure that the former happens.”
“Frankly, yes.”
“When they call back, you’ll be matter-of-fact, but polite. In their minds, Navarre owes them a substantial debt, and they want to collect. They’ll have a demand, and you want to know what it is. You don’t have to negotiate with them, argue with them. You just need to know what they want. There’s a chance they won’t want to make that demand on the phone. That’s fine, and we can cross that bridge when we come to it. The key is to engage them in communication so we can move forward.”
Jeff looked at Luc. “Can we use your earbuds? I can dial them in so we can all hear the call.”
Luc nodded, pulled the box of earbuds from a locked desk drawer, lest his vampires should steal the tiny plastic nubbins.
Juliet beat me to the teasing. “You afraid we’re going to borrow those without asking, Dad?”
“You take my car, you stay out after curfew, you don’t call your mother regular,” Luc said in his best Chicago accent. “Bet your ass I’m locking up the silver.”
Luc passed the box around the room, and we took earbuds, slipped them in.
“We work long hours,” Luc said to Morgan. “Many of them are hard. We try to keep the tone light—but that’s no reflection on the work quality.”
Morgan nodded, but there was weariness in his gaze. Too many nights spent worrying, instead of commiserating with his vampires, his Novitiates and staff. And now those vampires were spread across the city like cottonwood seeds in the wind.
“We’re ready if you are, Morgan.”
He nodded, pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, tapped in the numbers, lifted the phone to his ear.
The room went silent.
“Gold star,” Morgan said after a moment, and then hung up the phone again.
“Gold star?” Ethan asked.
“That’s the code for our account.”
“How long will it take them to respond?” Ethan asked.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said, and we all prepared to wait.
* * *
It took less than five minutes.
Morgan’s phone rang, the ring tone a soft, alternative song I recognized, the vocalist mourning the end of a relationship. My chest squeezed sympathetically, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Morgan wouldn’t have appreciated the sympathy, especially not from me.
“Give me three . . . two . . . and one,” Jeff said, then pointed at Morgan. “You’re a go.”
Morgan blew out a breath, lifted the phone to his ear. “Navarre.”
The answering voice—deep and slowly and clearly affected by a voice modulator—echoed in my ear. “You were not instructed to call.”
“And you were instructed in the beginning not to touch my people. You did it anyway.”
“You first refused your assignment, and then botched it.”
“You came to my House, assaulted one of my vampires. They are not on the table.”
Merit, Ethan said silently, and I nodded my understanding, did my part.
Morgan, I said silently, activating the unusual telepathic link between us. Calm down. Remember what this call is about.
He still looked furious, but rolled his shoulders in an apparent effort to calm himself.
“We’re not especially concerned about your preferences,” said the voice. “Your loan is in default.” There was a moment of silence. “We will afford you the opportunity to negotiate.”
Morgan pursed his lips, blew out a relieved breath. “That’s acceptable.”
“One hour. Michigan Avenue helipad. The copter will be waiting.”
“Helicopter?” Morgan said. “Why do we need a helicopter?”
“We select the location, Navarre.”
Morgan looked around the table, settled on me. “You want to deal, I want a guest. Merit, of Cadogan House.”
Ethan’s magic bloomed hot and bright beside me, and I covered a hand with his. His wasn’t the only irritation. My grandfather, Jeff, and Luc looked pissed on my behalf.
But their reactions, while appreciated, were irrelevant. We couldn’t let Morgan go alone, and I was as reasonable a choice as any. Certainly more reasonable than having another Master go with him, handing them both over to the Circle.