There, in a faded black-and-white print that had seen better days, stood the four of us. I walked to him to get a closer look.

“You are a constant surprise,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked over the image.

I wore a sleeveless dress that hit my knees, covered in fringe that shimmied and shook whenever I sauntered in it, which I did with aplomb. The string of pearls, long enough to graze my abdomen, had been a gift from a particularly generous gangster. My hair was short and carefully curled into perfect finger waves that framed my face.

A trio of women stood with me. These were the flower girls: Daisy, Iris, and Violet. Our arms were around one another’s waists, our gartered right legs canted for the camera, Mary Jane heels on our feet.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, glancing back at her.

She flushed, just a little. “It was in a box of stuff I got from Mom—old family photos.”

“It’s definitely old,” I said. “It was a long time ago. And we should hurry.”

She nodded, then picked up a duffel bag and began filling it with clothes from the bureau. I watched her dutifully, but could feel Luc’s eyes on me. He was curious—about my past, and what I hadn’t yet told him.

But there was nearly too much to tell.

Rachel closed the bureau drawers and walked to a door I assumed was a closet. “Couple pairs of shoes,” she said, “and I think I’m ready.”

She turned the knob, and I heard the click.

My heart stopped.

“Rachel!” I yelled, leaping toward her and pushing her to the floor, covering her body with mine just as she pulled the door open—and the trigger snapped.

She screamed as a shot rang through the room, the bullet whizzing over our heads and ripping through a framed poster on the opposite wall.

Their sudden fear clawed at me, and I worked to keep my breathing under control. I am a professional, I reminded myself. But that didn’t stop the painful thudding of my heart. I looked up, saw the mechanism in the closet. It was a spring gun, an old-fashioned booby trap designed to injure—or kill—an intruder.

“Jesus!” Luc exclaimed, looking up from his crouch. “What the hell was that?”

“Spring gun,” I said, and his gaze flashed to mine, his question obvious: How did Lindsey know what it was, and that it would go off?

I stood up and glimpsed a hint of gold on the closet floor. Carefully, I moved closer. Beneath the spring gun, in front of a tidy collection of shoes, was a gold coin. I picked it up and smoothed my finger over the embossed image I knew would be there—the outline of a shamrock and the logo of the Green Clare.

I slipped it into my pocket.

“What did you find?”

“A calling card,” I said, standing up and helping Rachel to her feet.

Luc walked toward the closet to inspect the mechanism. “It triggered when she opened the door.” He looked back at me. “You heard it?”

I nodded. “I got lucky,” I said, but we both knew I was lying.

Rachel looked back at me, her eyes wide. Tears were gathering at the corners of her lashes, and her fear and shock permeated the room.

She was in danger because of me—had nearly been killed because of me. She shouldn’t have been part of this. Wouldn’t have been part of this, if the culprits had any sense of honor. You didn’t take your grudges out on innocents.

“Aunt Linds?”

“You’re okay,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.

“They tried to kill me,” she said. “They tried to kill me.” I could hear the shock seeping in.

“And the magazine would have been here for you to find,” Luc said, meeting my gaze over Rachel’s head. “Calling you back to New York.”

I pulled back, just enough to see Rachel’s face. My heart ached, and I pushed the ache down, focusing instead on the task ahead and the journey I was going to have to make. They were calling me back to New York, and I was going to answer.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I assured her, “and everything is going to be fine.”

One way or the other, everything would be fine.

—

We drove back in silence, Rachel in the backseat. I checked her constantly in the rearview mirror, as if she could be snatched away. But she stared blankly out the window, the duffel clutched in her hands as if it were her last possession on earth.

Luc decided to call Chuck, Merit’s grandfather and the city’s former head of supernatural affairs. He agreed to talk to his Chicago Police Department contacts, have them clear out the house and find a safe location for the rest of the girls until we addressed the matter.

We parked and entered the House, and Helen met us in the lobby. She had the look of a futuristic military leader. Smart suit. Silver bob, not a single hair out of place. Her hands were crossed in front of her, her heels perfectly shined. I found her creepy.

“You must be Rachel,” she said with an efficient smile. “We’ve prepared the guest suite on the third floor. You must be tired. I can take you upstairs if you’d like to get settled in.”

“Sure,” Rachel said, but cast a glance back at me.

“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “It’s a really nice suite. Better than any of our rooms, actually. You’ll be living the high life.”

Rachel smiled, just a little, which was probably the best I could hope for, considering she’d nearly been shot by an enemy of mine.

“Thank you, Helen,” I said, as she guided Rachel to the stairs.

I let them get a head start—giving Rachel a bit of distance—then started up after them.

“What’s next?” Luc asked, falling into step beside me.

“I have to go to New York. If I don’t, this will never be over. I go there and I face this, or Rachel has to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life.”

“You haven’t told me everything,” he said in a tone that allowed no argument, no possibility he was wrong. “Tell me the rest. And no skipping the good parts.”

I waited until we were back in my room, and then I closed the door and locked it.

I moved toward the closet and grabbed a duffel bag from the floor, which I put on the bed and unzipped. On my way back to the closet, Luc took my hand, stopping me.

“Hey,” he said softly when I resisted. “Talk to me, Linds.”

Making eye contact with him felt too intimate. The call at Rachel’s house had been too close, and I was walking a high wire of fear. One wrong move, and I might not be able to keep myself together.

“She’s my last relative,” I said. “The only daughter of an only daughter of an only daughter. I have to protect her.”

“Protect her from what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lindsey,” he began, but I shook my head, finally looking at him. There was concern and fear in his eyes, and it scared me. Those emotions were heavy, and they weighed on me more than any others. More than happiness, more than joy. I didn’t want the weight of his fear; I couldn’t bear it.

“It’s the feud, I think. With the girls.”

He nodded, crossing his arms. “Okay.”

“Violet—she was the youngest when she was turned. Only nineteen. She fell in love with a human gangster named Tommy DiLucca. He ran booze throughout the city, and he owned the Sapphire. He was in a feud with another gang over territory, over the liquor supply. That group was led by a guy named Danny O’Hare. He was a vampire, and a brute. Violent. Casually so. Tommy torched a truckload of booze from Danny, and Danny got even.”

“He killed them all?”

I nodded. “Humans and vampires both. We—the girls, I mean—were all at the bar. O’Hare kicked open the door, started shooting. Danny was angry. He was offended. He kept shooting until bodies were hardly recognizable. Until the girls couldn’t regenerate.”

“How’d you get out?” Luc’s voice was quiet now.

“The speakeasy had a priest hole, accessible through a trapdoor. That’s how I knew about the spring gun; they were illegal, but the crews used them for protection, to keep the booze safe. There were bottles down there—the old stuff. The good stuff. The pre-Prohibition stuff. I was nicking one when Danny and his men came in the door. I looked out—just enough for a peek—but stayed there until the shooting was done. I knew there was nothing I could do.”

“Of course there wasn’t,” Luc said, and his tone changed. “You think Danny saw the magazine, found out you’re alive, and wants to settle an old score?”

I pulled the coin from my pocket and held it out for Luc’s inspection. He looked it over.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a coin from the Green Clare, Danny’s pub. He gave them out to people he liked. Like a chit they could redeem for a favor. I found it in the bottom of the closet. I think he wants to finish what he started. That’s the only explanation. He thought I was dead, but realized I wasn’t when he saw this.”

“But the magazine came out months ago,” Luc said.

“And it would have taken time for him to figure out how to hurt me. And to find Rachel.”

Luc nodded, pressed a soft kiss to my lips, and released me. “What should I bring with me?”

I didn’t understand the question. “What?”

“What I should pack?”

“You aren’t going. I’m going alone.”

I felt his jarring concern. “What do you mean, you’re going alone? You need backup.”

I didn’t want to talk about backup. I didn’t want to talk about anything, so I didn’t.

I walked to my closet and grabbed clothes from hangers, which I stuffed blindly into the duffel. It didn’t really matter what I packed. It just mattered that I was going, and going alone. There was only one goal: keeping Rachel safe.

“This is my battle. I’ll fight it alone.”

But his emotions only spiked further, driving the headache deeper into my brain.