No argument there. The question was—which someone had needed Winston to listen?
• • •
Before we walked back to the guard, I stopped Ethan with a hand on his arm.
“There’s someone else we could talk to. Someone who might have an idea what’s happening.”
Ethan considered for a moment. “You’re thinking about Tate.”
Former mayor Seth Tate was the “good” of the magical twin beings created millennia ago, compressed together by magic, and split again due to Mallory’s dark magic. He’d confessed to a crime he hadn’t committed in order to atone for those he had, and to stay close to Regan, his magically enhanced niece, in order to help in her rehabilitation in prison.
We’d known each other for a very long time, and I think we’d come out as friends. Or some supernatural version of friends.
“Other than talking to Claudia, he’s our best—and oldest—source for information about magic.”
Claudia was the queen of the fairies. She’d been separated from her homeland in Britain, and had been living in a tower in Chicago for hundreds of years. She led the fairies who’d guarded Cadogan House before they betrayed us. She—and the rest of them—were dangerous.
Ethan considered for a moment. “Okay. And it might be good to show him the ring. Remind him that you’re taken.”
“Seth isn’t interested in me,” I said. “Not like that.” I’d known him since I was a child; my father had supported his campaigns since he’d been a young alderman.
“Just so,” Ethan said, taking my hand. “I’ve no qualms about a reminder.”
I looked back at him, this man with broad shoulders and golden hair, a brilliant mind and rapier wit, and green eyes that were focused on me. No one had ever looked at me the way he did—as if he could see who I was and what I might be simultaneously. And I knew he didn’t want to give the reminder because he feared I’d stray or others might have an interest, but because of who and what I was to him.
Because just as he was mine, I was his.
• • •
We waited ten minutes while inquiries were made, while our request to talk to Tate was considered by the appropriate parties.
“This way,” the guard said. He led the way back to the front row of cubes, where Seth’s box was positioned.
Seth Tate might have been an angel, but he had the look of the fallen variety. Hair as dark as midnight around bright blue eyes, generous lips, and a square jaw. He wore a floor-length black cassock, even if there was little that was angelic about his past.
Where Winston’s cube had been fronted by bars, Seth’s was fronted by a long sheet of glass. There’d be no contact between us.
“Merit,” Seth said, rising from his seat at a small table, his robe swirling around his feet as he moved. “Ethan. It’s good to see you. Congratulations on your wedding. Although I’m sorry it took a turn for the worse.” He gestured to the newspaper spread on the table. “I was reading about the attack.”
“That’s why we’re here,” I said. “Something’s happening, Seth.”
Seth moved a step closer. “What kind of something?”
“You don’t feel anything?” Ethan asked.
“In here?” Seth crossed his arms, looked up at the ceiling of his box. “No. But then again, I spend every day in this very warded building. And there have been many of those days.” He looked down again. “I’ve been blocked from magic for many months. Long enough that my ability to sense it has faded, too.”
“The humans who attacked us last night are having delusions,” I said. “As was the vampire who attacked me two nights ago.”
“The Tribune suggested it was an illness.” Tate’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “We don’t think it’s a sickness, or anything else contagious, or at least not in the traditional way. We think it’s caused by some kind of unfamiliar magic that carries a chemical smell. Does that mean anything to you?”
Seth lifted his brows. “Technically, everything in the world is a chemical.”
“Industrial, then,” Ethan said.
Seth frowned, linked his hands in front of him. “Not offhand. Each kind of magic, each methodology, has its own characteristics. An industrial smell,” he said, looking down again as he considered. “What else does it do?”
“The affected hear a voice screaming at them, over and over again,” I said.
“What does it scream?”
“Simple phrases,” I said. “‘Hello. Help. I’m here.’”
His brows lifted. “They’re hearing something, or someone, that needs help? Something that’s attempting to contact them?”
“Are those questions or theories?” Ethan asked.
“Yes,” Seth said. He turned, walked to one end of the cell, then turned back. “If you believed it was Sorcha, you wouldn’t be here, asking.”
“Correct,” Ethan said. “The city’s warded, and the wards weren’t breached until the snow.”
Seth nodded. “Do the affected have anything in common?”
“At least two of them, and possibly more than that, were near Towerline when Sorcha made her magic the first time. The delusions didn’t cause the wards to sound, although the snow did.”
“Some sort of latent effect?”
“That’s what we’re thinking,” I said. “What is this, Seth? Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps your first step should be to find out who, or what, needs the help they’re asking for.”
“I don’t suppose you know how I could go about doing that?” I asked with a half smile.
“I don’t,” he said. “And listening isn’t always the easiest thing to do.”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked back to the table and took a seat, then ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he needed help . . . or at least someone to listen.
“Ethan, could you give us a minute?”
Ethan didn’t look thrilled by the idea. But even if he didn’t entirely trust Tate, he trusted me.
I’ll be at the door. Be careful.
I will.
I watched him walk back to where the guard waited, then looked back at Seth. “Are you okay?” I quietly asked.
It took a moment for him to answer. “A conscience is a heavy thing to bear.” He smiled, brushed away a spot of lint from his right knee. “I’m neither saint nor priest, and I know the scales can never really be balanced. But I do believe everyone is redeemable.”
“And how is Regan?” I asked.
“She’s still so angry. It’s like a fire in her core, even here, where the magic is dampened. I’m not sure if she can lose that anger completely.”
“She may not,” I said. I knew something of anger and resentment, as I’d been angry at Ethan for a very long time, however unjustified that turned out to be. “But can she learn to manage it? To channel it?”
“I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, a signal of frustration. “She doesn’t like to talk to me about it. I would be more to her—a father to her—if I could. But she does not want that.”
Seth had been a playboy in his pre-Dominic days. Power was alluring to many, especially in a city like Chicago, which had been built on handshakes, backroom deals, and graft. I’d never known him to be a family man, but I guess given the opportunity, he’d discovered he wanted it. And then had been denied.
Seth rose and walked to me, hands gathered in front of him. “I appreciate your asking and listening. But you don’t need to bear the weight of my fears, too. You can’t save everyone.” A sad smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Much as you might try.”
I thought of Gabriel again, of the future that now seemed precarious, of the child he couldn’t guarantee, and I lifted my gaze to Seth. “I’ll try anyway. I’ll keep trying, because that’s what I have to do.”
The same smile again, edged with sadness. “Go find your magic maker, Merit. And be careful out there.”