Tate, unfortunately, fel into the latter category.
He'd been swiftly climbing the political ladder, his brooding good looks helping him woo Chicago voters. But he hadn't been satisfied with a meteoric political career.
He'd traded it al in for the chance to control the city's vampires, and he'd wound up in an orange jumpsuit that wasn't nearly as flattering as his Armani had been.
But for al that, Seth Tate stil looked good.
He sat at an aluminum table, one leg crossed over the other, one elbow back on the chair, his eyes alert and scanning the room . . . and me when I walked in.
He looked a bit leaner than he had when I'd last seen him, his cheekbones a bit more hewn. But his hair was stil dark and perfectly arranged, his eyes stil piercingly blue, his body stil lean and mean. Seth Tate was the kind of handsome that packed a punch, and it was a shame al that pretty was going to waste in a lonely part of town.
Except for the part about him being a murderous bastard.
There was also a faint scent of lemon and sugar in [andt was the air, which always seemed to be the case around Tate. It wasn't unpleasant - quite the contrary. It just wasn't the kind of scent you expected from a man as cold-blooded as Tate.
The prickle of magic in the air, however, seemed very appropriate. This was only the second time I'd been able to detect Tate's magic; he'd done a bang-up job of hiding it before. I hated the feel of it: oily, heavy, and old, like the incense you'd find in the sanctuary of a Gothic church.
"Bal erina," Tate said.
I'd danced when I was younger, and Tate had seen me in toe shoes and tutus. He'd decided on "Bal erina" as a nickname. Of course, since he was the man responsible for the death of my lover and Master, I wasn't keen on his use of the familiar.
"I prefer Merit," I said, taking the seat across from him.
The aluminum chair was cold, and I crossed my arms over my chest, as much from the chil as protection against the magic in the air.
As I took a seat, the room's steel door closed with a resounding thunk that shook the room a bit. My stomach jumped with nerves.
We sat quietly for a moment, Tate gazing at me with concentration.
The pressure in the room suddenly thickened, and the smel became stronger, both cloyingly sweet and sour enough to make my mouth water. The room seemed to sway back and forth. It wasn't like any other magic I'd felt.
This was magic of a different caliber. Of a different age, maybe. Like magic that had been born in a different time. In an ancient era.
I put one hand on the chair beneath me to keep from fal ing over and another on the bit of worry wood in my pocket. I kept my gaze trained on Tate, like a bal erina spotting during a pirouette to keep from getting dizzy, and squeezed the wood so hard I feared it would splinter beneath my fingers.
After a few seconds, the swaying stopped and the room stil ed again.
Tate sat heavily back in his chair again and frowned at me. That's when I realized what he'd been trying to do. "Did you just try to glamour me?"
"Ineffectively, it seems. Worry wood?"
I smiled demurely and focused on keeping my cool. I wasn't sure if it was the wood or my natural resistance to glamour, but I wasn't about to give that away to him. I slid my hand from my pocket again. "A lady never reveals her secrets."
"Hmph," he said, shuffling in his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at me, head tilted, studying me. Each time he moved, a bit of magic sifted through the air. However he'd hidden it before, he didn't seem to be bothering now. I wasn't sure if that made me feel better or worse.
"I wondered when you'd pay me a visit."
"I'm sure you did. But to be honest, I've had a difficult time deciding what to do with you." I leaned forward and crossed my hands on the table. "Should I start by blaming you for Ethan's death? Or for your blaming Ethan's death on me and tel ing the GP I was aiming to become head of Cadogan House? Or maybe for lying to me about my father? You told me he paid Ethan to make me a vampire."
"I had that on very good authority."
I lifted my brows in question.
"Granted," he al owed, "she was under the influence at the time . . ."
"Celina was hardly a source of reliable information.
Especial y when you were manipulating her with magic."
Tate rol ed his eyes. "Did we have to jump into this? How about asking how I've been? Or what life is like on the inside? Are we so common we don't bother with the polite formalities?"
"You manufactured drugs, hooked vamps on them, and facilitated the deaths of two vampires. Not to mention blaming me for al the above. Why should I be polite to you?"
"That was a very bad week," was al he said.
The remark was cal ous, but the tone was sincere. I had a sense he wasn't kidding. Maybe he had magical drama of his own.
"You told the GP I orchestrated Celina's and Ethan's deaths so I could take over the House," I said. "They're looking for an excuse to kick me out, and you're giving them the ammunition."
"Haven't you ever wondered what Cadogan House might be like if you were in charge? And I didn't say you orchestrated their deaths," Tate matter-of-factly said. "I said you were responsible for them. And you were. If Celina hadn't hated you, she wouldn't have thrown the stake. If Ethan hadn't tried to save you, he'd stil be alive. And if you hadn't thrown the stake, Celina would stil be alive. Ergo, you are responsible for their deaths."
His voice was so matter-of-fact, it was difficult to tel if he believed what he was saying or was trying to bait me to anger. But I forced myself to stay calm.
"That analysis ignores your role, of course. If it hadn't been for your machinations, none of it would have happened."
He lifted a shoulder. "You have your truth; I have mine."
"There's only one truth."
"That's na?ve, isn't it? Merit, there's no harm to me in insinuating you were involved in their deaths. And if it creates reasonable doubt supporting my release, so be it."
Tate leaned forward. "The real question, of course, is why you're here. Because I can't imagine you traveled to this part of town in the middle of the night just to vent in my general direction or complain that I'd tattletaled."
He had a point. It wasn't as if I could convince him to cal the GP and recant his story; he wouldn't do it, and they wouldn't believe him anyway. So why was I here? What had I hoped to accomplish? Did I want to confront him about that night?
Maybe this had nothing to do with the GP. Maybe this was about me. Maybe I feared Tate was right, that the blame for their deaths hadn't al been attributable to him.