The gate was miles from Black’s house. Cadogan House was closer, and no one had mentioned feeling magic. Was it an indication of his power? Or sensitivity to it?

“What do you know about demons?”

That drained the rest of the color from his face. “That’s not what I expected you to ask.”

“Then how about this: In 1872, a demon was kicked out of Chicago, and magical protections were supposedly erected to keep it out.”

He went very still.

“You’ve heard this story before,” I surmised.

He ran a hand through this hair. “I want a drink,” he said, voice now irritable. “You want a drink?”

“No.” But I followed him into the kitchen, which gleamed with marble and glass and cabinets that stretched to the ceiling. A round iron bistro table with a glass top and two Parisian-style rattan chairs sat against the opposite wall. I took a seat, had a nearly tangible memory of time spent at French cafés. But those nights were behind me.

“You cook,” I said, noting the professional-quality gas stove as he pulled an ornate bottle and glass from a cabinet, poured a finger of something dark green.

“I find it relaxing.” Jonathan downed the liquid, poured another one.

“Is that absinthe?”

“It is,” he said. He held out the glass. “Want?” he asked again.

“No. Tell me what you know about demons and wards. And don’t bullshit me,” I added when I could all but read a “my clients” excuse in his eyes.

He put the empty glass on the countertop, and crystal rang against stone. Then he moved to a cabinet, opened a container of thin sesame breadsticks, offered one. I took it, crunched off the end.

He took one himself, sat at the table across from me. “I don’t know much. I’ve heard rumors the city has a certain defense system against supernaturals. But that’s all I know.”

He watched me carefully for a moment, trying to gauge if that presumption was correct. But I was Ethan Sullivan’s daughter. I’d long ago perfected the vampire poker face.

“And?” I prompted.

“And that’s it. You’re saying it was a demon.”

“I’m saying a demon supposedly tried to get into Chicago. The magic you felt was an attempt to keep it out.”

He frowned. “Is this about what happened by South Gate? The Tribune said the damage was due to a fight between supernaturals.”

I hadn’t read the story but wasn’t surprised to learn the details released by the mayor’s office had been vague. That would be much easier for the public to swallow than antique magical fence fails; demon loose in city.

“It’s related,” I said. “Who told you the protections existed?”

His smile was thin. “You know what I’m going to say. My clients.”

“What services do you provide to your clients?”

“Confidential ones.”

“Were any of your clients in Chicago when the protections were put into place?” I was asking questions quickly, trying to keep him off balance. Theo had taught me that one.