“Sorcerers who weren’t known to the Order,” Connor offered.

“Or,” Dad added, “other supernaturals who can do magic but aren’t considered sorcerers—they don’t have that range of magic. Necromancers, for example.”

“That would explain the ghosts.” I looked at Uncle Malik. “I don’t suppose you knew any necromancers back then?”

“I didn’t, nor of any big magic they were working. There was still magic in Chicago; you could feel it, just as you can now. But I don’t recall feeling anything of the scale you’re describing.” He frowned, looked up and away, and his gaze became unfocused, as if watching memories replay.

“The mood in Chicago after the fire was . . . grim,” he said after a moment. “So many lost in the blaze. So many homeless, businesses destroyed. I remember sadness. I remember the hard work of rebuilding. I remember the chaos of that time.” He looked at my dad, gaze focusing again. “And I remember when a vampire brought his people to Chicago and asked me to join them.”

“One of the best decisions I’ve ever made,” Dad said with a smile.

“Perhaps second to your Sentinel,” Uncle Malik said, then looked at me. “I’m not sure if this helps you.”

“It helps,” I assured him. “We’ve ruled out sorcery, which narrows the playing field.”

We just had to figure out what remained.

FIVE

We declined several more offers of food and drink, made apologies, and left to pursue the ghost angle. Mom agreed to call Mallory and see if she or Lulu’s father, Catcher, had heard anything about post-fire magical shenanigans, and my father headed to the House library to get the Librarian and his wife, Paige (a sorceress in her own right and former Order archivist), on the research as well.

“A lot of people on the hunt,” Connor said.

“We need all the help we can get.” I gestured back to the House. “So, based on that conversation, whatever magic was worked in 1872 probably wasn’t worked by a sorceress. It had to be someone else. A specialist, like a necromancer. But we don’t have any idea why. Maybe Ariel can help with that.”

He stopped when we reached the SUV. “I’m not sure what to call him.”

“Who?”

“Your dad.”

I looked at Connor and was shocked to see uncertainty on his face. Shifters were rarely uncertain, and that was especially true for the prince. I narrowed my gaze at him. “Tell me what you talked about when you two had that little chat a few weeks ago.”

“No,” he said with a crooked smile. “That was none of your business.”

“Then what you call him is none of mine,” I said with a grin. “What did you call him when you were a teenage punk? Ice Man, right?”

“Not to his face.”

“Good decision,” I said as we climbed into the vehicle. “Follow that instinct.”

* * *

We drove to Schaumburg, a suburb on the city’s West Side, where Ariel’s apartment complex was located. It was along the expressway in an area mostly populated by hotels, business parks, and restaurants for the lunching and traveling business crowd. Along the way, I sent a quick summary to the team of what we’d learned at Cadogan House.