Friday Night Bites
Chapter Six

THE RETURN OF THE PRINCE
I woke bright and early - or maybe more accurately, dark and late - the next night. It was my turn on guard duty, patrolling the blocks-wide grounds around Cadogan House, keeping an eye out for breaches of the ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence that kept intruders out and vampires in.
In a city of supernatural weirdos, one had to stay alert.
I got up and showered in the tiny bathroom, completed the few girly tasks in my repertoire, then climbed into my Cadogan suit, complete with belted katana and my own Cadogan medal, given to me by Ethan during my Commendation into the House. I brushed my long, dark hair until it shone, pulled it into a high ponytail and combed through my bangs. Vampirism added a new glow to my complexion, so I added only a little blush and lip gloss for shine.
Once I was prettied up and well armed, I headed for my door, then glanced down as colors caught my eye.
Mail lay in a pile in front of the door. Figuring it had been delivered while I was in the shower, I leaned down to pick up a J.Crew catalog forwarded from Mallory's and an envelope of thick linen paper. The stock was heavy and nubby, and undoubtedly expensive. I slipped open the flap and peeked inside. It was the promised invite to the Brecks', probably messengered by my mom while the sun was still above the horizon.
I guessed the Breckenridge gala was a done deal, unfortunately. I dropped the catalog on the bed, pocketed the invite, and was about to head downstairs when my cell phone rang. I slipped it from my pocket, then glanced at the screen. Morgan.
"Good evening," he said, when I flipped open the phone.
Cell at my ear, I headed into the hallway, then closed the door behind me. "Good evening back," I replied. "What's new in Navarre House?"
"In Navarre, not much yet. Still early. We try not to start the dramatics until closer to midnight."
"I see," I said with a chuckle, as I took the hallway to the main stairs.
"The thing is, I'm not actually at Navarre House. I took a field trip south. I'm actually a little more in the vicinity of Cadogan House."
I stopped at the staircase, hand on the railing. "How much in the vicinity of Cadogan House?"
"Come outside," he said, voice playful. Invitational. Curiosity piqued, I closed the phone and slipped it into my pocket, then took the stairs at a trot. The first floor was still quiet, vamps not quite up from their midday naps. I headed for the front door, then opened it and stepped outside onto the small stone portico.
He stood on the sidewalk, halfway between the front door and the gate. He was dressed in his typical style - runway rebel. Designer jeans, square-toed shoes, a short-sleeved T-shirt that hugged his lean form, and a wide leather watch on his left wrist.
I always seemed to forget the soul-stealing grin and those baleful bedroom eyes when I was away from Morgan, my mind usually preoccupied with other vampire antics. My heart tripped at the remembrance of exactly how pretty he was.
And in his hand, a vase of flowers. The vase was slender, a milky-colored glass. The flowers were puffs of color, peonies or ranunculus or some other explosion of petals on slender green stems. They were beautiful. And a little unexpected.
"Hi," he said when I went to him, smiling slyly. "I'm not sure I've seen you in your Cadogan black." He tugged at the lapel of my coat, then wet his lips in obvious appreciation. "You look very... official."
I rolled my eyes at the flirtation, but could feel the heat rise on my cheeks. "Thank you,"
I said, then bobbed my head toward the flowers. "I assume those aren't for Ethan?"
"You would be correct. I know I didn't call, and I have to get going - I've got a meeting - but wanted to bring you something." He looked down at them, his grin a bit sheepish. A little goofy. A little heartrending. "I decided you needed a housewarming gift."
I grinned back at him. "You mean other than the life-sized poster of you that you already gave me?"
"Well, not that that wasn't a fantastic present, but I had something a little more...feminine in mind." With that, he handed over the vase, then leaned in and pressed his lips to my cheek. "Welcome to the life of vampires, Merit." When he leaned back again, the smile on his face made it clear he meant the welcome sincerely. Morgan was a vampire's vampire, a believer. By moving into the House, I'd made a new commitment to the fraternal order of vampires, and that obviously meant something to him.
"Thank you," I said, the vase warm beneath my fingers, the heat of his touch - and the slightest tingle of magic - still lingering there.
He gazed at me for a moment, heartfelt emotion in his eyes, then shook it off as his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his jeans pocket, then glanced at the screen. "Gotta take this," he said, "and gotta run." He leaned forward and - ever so softly - pressed his lips to mine. "Goodbye, Merit," he said, then turned and trotted back down the sidewalk and disappeared through the gate.
I stood there for a moment, playing emotional catch-up. He drove down from Navarre House just to surprise me with flowers. Flowers. And not, It's-Valentine's-Day-and-I-feel-obligated flowers. These were just-because flowers.
I had to give him props - the boy was good.
Interestingly, as Morgan walked out, Kelley walked in in full Cadogan attire, katana in one hand, a slender clutch purse in the other. It was interesting because Kelley, like the rest of the guards, lived in Cadogan House. Since the sun had fallen beneath the horizon only an hour ago, I had to wonder where - or with whom - she'd spent the daylight hours.
"Nice flowers," she said as she reached me on the sidewalk. "A gift from the new Master of Navarre?"
"Apparently so," I said, turning to follow her into the House.
Those few words were all I got, as she immediately pulled out her own cell phone and slid open the keyboard, keys clicking as she walked. Kelley wasn't much for chatting.
"Good day?" I asked her, as we took the stairs to the basement.
She paused as we reached the landing between the floors and tilted her head thoughtfully, inky dark hair falling over her shoulder as she moved. "You'd be amazed,"
she said throatily, then continued her trot to the basement.
I stood on the stairs for a moment, watching her descend, curiosity killing my cat, then made myself get to work. Even though it was only just past dawn, the Ops Room was already abuzz with activity. Lindsey and Juliet were already at their respective stations, Juliet perusing the Web, probably doing research. Lindsey was on environs duty, staring intently at a bank of closed-circuit monitors while speaking quietly but steadily into the earpiece-and-microphone duo that curled around her ear.
I put the flowers on the conference table, then went to the hanging wall of folders that held instructions, announcements, dossiers, and anything else Luc felt we needed to know. Inside was a single sheet of daffodil-colored paper. It bore two simple, ominous sentences: "Celina Desaulniers released. Expect Chicago infiltration."
I glanced at the rest of the folders; each held the same yellow sheet. Ethan must have spread the news. The word was out, and so was the warning. Celina was probably on her way... if she wasn't here already.
With that motivation in mind, I decided it was time to do my Sentinel duty. I started with my homework, handing the Breck invitation to Luc. "For Ethan," I told him. "Friday night with the Breckenridges."
He peeked inside the envelope, then nodded. "Fast work, Sentinel."
"I'm a goddess among vampires, Boss." That bit done, I grabbed a slim earpiece-and-microphone set from a rack, slipped it over my ponytail, and walked to Lindsey's monitor.
"Hot shit on duty," Lindsey said, and my earpiece crackled to life.
"Sentinel," acknowledged a gravelly voice from the earpiece. That gravelly voice belonged to one of the RDI fairies at the Cadogan gate. They kept watch on the grounds while we slept (or not, in Kelley's case) and stood point at the gate twenty-four/seven. The earpieces kept us all in contact in the event of a supernatural catastrophe. As I'd once told Mallory, you never knew when giant winged nasties were going to swoop down from the sky and snatch up a vampire.
Did I have a great job, or what?
Sucking in a breath, I adjusted my earpiece, tweaked Lindsey's blond ponytail, and headed for the door. "I'm on my way up," I said into the tiny jaw mic. "Be there in two."
"Pack your lipstick," Luc threw out.
Like Lindsey, Juliet, and Kelley, I looked back at him. "Lipstick?"
"Paparazzi," he said. "RDI herded them together, but they're standing at the corner." He half smiled. "And they've got cameras."
Kelley glanced back from her computer monitor. "I saw them on the way in. Maybe a dozen." She turned back to her computer. "All eager for images of Chicago's new favorites," she grumbled.
I stood in the doorway for a minute, hoping for a little more direction from Luc - what the hell was I supposed to do with paparazzi? - but got nothing until he shooed me toward the door.
"You've read your talking points, I hope," he said. "Go forth and... Sentinelize." It wasn't until I was out of the room and on my way toward the stairs, when I heard words yelled behind me. "And no ass pictures, Sentinel!"
That, I could do.
Although the House had been all but empty a few minutes ago, the first floor was now sprinkled with vampires in Cadogan black, some with gadgets in their hands, all looking busy and supernaturally attractive, preparing for evenings among the humans or, like me, evenings in service to the House and its Master.
Some looked up as I passed, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright disdain. I hadn't made the best impression on my fellow Novitiates, having challenged Ethan only a few days after my change. The near havoc I wreaked at their Commendation ceremony, in which I'd accidentally ignored Ethan's orders, didn't help.
Ethan made me Sentinel at Commendation, giving me the historic duty of defending Cadogan House. But Lindsey was right - the position set me apart from the other vampires. My fellow guards had been supportive, but I knew the rest of the House still wondered - Was she loyal? Was she strong? Was she sleeping with Ethan?
(I know. That last one was disturbing to me, too. Seriously.) I exited the gigantic stone-clad House through the front door, then took the sidewalk to the front gate, nodding at the two black-clad fairies who stood point. They were tall and lean, with long, straight hair pulled back tightly from their handsome, if angular, faces.
Their uniforms were black shirts, cargo pants tucked neatly into black boots, and black-scabbarded swords. They had fraternally similar faces, so much so that I couldn't tell them apart. I didn't know if they were brothers, or twins, or even related. I didn't even know their names, and my polling the other Cadogan guards for information hadn't been successful. It seemed the RDI staff preferred to interact with vampires on a purely professional basis, if at all.
Lindsey had taken to calling the guards the "Twins." I'd settled on Rob and Steve. I wasn't entirely sure which Rob and Steve were guarding the House tonight, but they nodded back at me, and I found the act, if cold, comfortingly familiar. The little I'd learned about the supernatural in the last two months made me glad these sword-wearing warriors were on our side... at least as long as we paid them to be.
"Press?" I asked them. One of them looked down at me, an angular eyebrow raised from his six feet plus. Even at five foot nine, I suddenly felt very, very short.
"Corner," he said, then turned his gaze back to the street before him. Having apparently lost his attention, I glanced down the street.
Sure enough, there they were. Given the size of the knot of them, I guessed a baker's dozen. Since paparazzi weren't rumored to be the most manageable of critters, the guards had done an impressive job of rounding them up. On the other hand, who wouldn't obey more than twelve collective feet of sullen, sword-bearing sups?
I headed down the sidewalk in their direction, planning to make a survey of the perimeter before moving back in for a sweep of the grounds. I wasn't sure I had the innate moxie to stare down a group of paparazzi, but I figured now was as good a time as any to test the confidence Ethan expected me to show Friday night. I kept my smile vaguely pleasant as I sauntered toward them, gazing at them beneath my long, straight bangs.
As I moved closer, the confidence got a little easier to fake. Although they wore the expressions of men hell-bent on getting the Next Great Shot, the smell of fear tingled the air. Maybe their proximity to the RDI guards, maybe their proximity to vampires.
Ironic, wasn't it, that they were afraid of the people (ahem) that they were obsessively trying to capture on film?
When I was younger, and still well integrated into the Merit clan, I'd been photographed with my family at charity gatherings, sporting events, the razing or raising of important Chicago buildings. But the reporters were different this time around, and so was my role. I was the main dish, not just the cute kid being dragged around Chicago by social-climbing parents. As I neared them, they began calling my name, clamoring for my attention, for the perfect head shot.
Flashbulbs popped, the afterimages blinding to my noctur nally adjusted eyes. Calling up some of my newfound fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude, I tapped the fingers of my left hand against the handle of my sword, and reveled in the way their eyes tightened at the corners.
Like prey.
I nibbled the edge of my lip provocatively.
"Good evening, gentlemen."
The questions came so fast I could hardly differentiate them. "Merit, show us the sword!"
"Merit, Merit, over here!"
"Merit, how are things in Cadogan House tonight?"
"It's a beautiful spring night in Chicago," I said, smiling can nily, "and we're proud to be in the Windy City."
They asked questions. I kept to the talking points Luc had provided us last night; thank God I'd taken the time to look them over. Not that there was much to them - mostly blurbs about our love of Chicago and our desire to assimilate, to be part of the neighborhoods around us. Fortunately, those were the subjects of their questions. At least at first.
"Were you surprised to learn that the perpetrator of the park killings was a vampire?" a voice barked out. "Were you satisfied by the extradition of Celina Desaulniers ?"
My smile flattened, and my heart thudded in my chest. That sounded like the kind of question Ethan and Luc feared. The kind Jamie was supposed to ask.
"No response?" the reporter asked, stepping to the front of the pack.
This time my heart nearly stopped altogether. It was a Breckenridge, but not the one I'd have expected to see. I guess everybody, vampires and humans alike, came back to Chicago eventually. "Nicholas?"
He looked the same, but older. More grave, somehow. Caesar-cut brown hair, blue eyes. The boy was gorgeous in a stoic kind of way. That lean, stoic form was currently wrapped in jeans, Dr. Martens, and a fitted gray T-shirt. He also wore a blank expression - no indication in his eyes that he knew me or that he was willing to acknowledge our shared history.
I'd often wondered what it would be like to see Nick again, if there'd be camaraderie or something more detached. The latter, apparently, given his businesslike posture, his opening volleys.
So much for the warm reunion.
Apparently undeterred, Nick kept going. "Was the extradition of Celina Desaulniers sufficient punishment given the heinous crimes she helped commit in Chicago? For the deaths of Jennifer Porter and Patricia Long?"
Since we were apparently playing dumb about our relationship, I gave back the same all-business, vaguely condescending stare. "Celina Desaulniers committed a terrible crime against Ms. Long and Ms. Porter," I said. I had been graciously allowed to keep my own attack secret. The fact that a Merit had become a vampire was common knowledge; the manner of my making was not, at least among humans.
"As a result of her role in their murders, she was punished. She gave up her life in the United States and her freedom for having taken part in those crimes."
My stomach curled at the omission, at the fact that I hadn't mentioned that Celina had been released and was, in fact, no longer serving out her sentence of imprisonment. But that little admission would invite a shit storm of panic that I'd prefer to leave to Ethan and the other Masters.
I put on my most professional face. "If you have questions about the Houses' reactions to that punishment," I added, "I can direct you to our public relations staff."
Take that, Breckenridge.
He did, arching back an arrogant brow. "Is this what the citizens of Chicago have to expect from vampires living among us? Murder? Mayhem?"
"Vampires have been in Chicago for many years, Nick." Calling him by name was enough to invite curious stares among the other photographers. Some lowered their cameras, glanced between us, probably wondering at the dialogue. "And we've lived peacefully together for a very long time."
"So you say," Nick said. "But how do we know that all of the city's unsolved murders weren't perpetrated by vamps?"
"Judging all vampires based on the actions of a single bad apple? That's classy, Nick."
"You're all fanged."
"So that justifies the prejudice?"
He shrugged again. "If the shoe fits."
There was no mistaking the animosity in his voice. But what confused me was its source. Nick and I had broken off our high school relationship when we departed for our respective colleges - Yale's journalism program for Nicholas, NYU's English program for me. Our breakup hadn't been very dramatic, both of us having reached the conclusion that we made better friends than partners. Occasional telephone calls and e-mails kept us in contact, and we'd gone our separate directions with no bad blood between us. Or so I'd thought.
That wasn't the only strange thing. If vampires were taking hits from the Breckenridge corner, why was it Nick, not Jamie, throwing the punches? Something very odd was going on.
"Merit, Merit!"
I dragged my gaze away from Nicholas, from the bitterness in his eyes.
"Merit, any truth to the rumor that you're seeing Morgan Greer?"
Okay, now we were back on track. Justice be damned if there was sex to discuss.
"As Cadogan House Sentinel, I see Mr. Greer quite a bit. He's one of Chicago's Masters, as you all know."
They chuckled at the diversion, but pushed forward.
"How about a little romance, Merit? Are you two a hot item? That's what our sources say."
I smiled brightly at the reporter, a thin man with thick blond hair and a week's worth of stubble. "You tell me who your sources are," I said, "and I'll answer that question."
"Sorry, Merit. Can't reveal a source. But they're reliable. My word on it."
The gaggle of reporters chuckled at the exchange.
I grinned back. "Hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not paid to take your word on things."
The pocket of my suit coat vibrated - my cell phone. I wasn't thrilled to leave a mysteriously angry Breckenridge at my corner, especially among curious humans with notebooks and cameras, but neither did I want to talk to whoever might be calling me in front of those curious humans. Besides, I needed to move along to other parts of the grounds. There were blocks of Cadogan House fence yet to walk. The ringing phone offered me a handy excuse to step aside.
"Good night, gentlemen," I offered, and left them behind, still calling my name.
Slipping the buzzing cell phone from my pocket, I made a note to update Luc and Ethan on this latest Breckenridge development - right after I figured out what the hell was going on. Either we had an ignorant source who didn't know the difference between Brecks, or we had a bad source who didn't much care and was trying to lead us astray. I wasn't sure which was the worse possibility.
As I moved down the block, camera strobes still flashing behind me, I lifted the phone to my ear. The shouting began almost immediately.
I pressed a hand to my other ear. "Mallory? What's wrong?"
I managed to catch only a few words of her first volley - "Order," "Catcher," "magic,"
"Detroit," and what I guessed was the impetus for the phone call, the phrase "three months."
"Hon, I need you to slow down. I can't understand what you're saying."
The diatribe slowed, but she switched to a bevy of four-letter words that blistered even my jaded vampire ears.
" - and if that asshole thinks I'm going to spend three months in Detroit at some kind of internship, he is seriously mistaken. Seriously! I swear to God, Merit, I'm going postal on the next person who so much as mutters the word 'magic.' "
That Catcher was the "asshole" was easy enough to guess, but the rest of it was a morass. "I'm playing catch-up here, Mal - Catcher wants to send you to Michigan for three months?"
I heard rhythmic breathing, like she was practicing La maze during a long contraction.
"He talked to someone from the Order. Apparently, union or not, the Order doesn't have a local in Chicago, notwithstanding the fact that we're the third-freaking-biggest city in the country. Anyhoo, not your problem, that's some kind of historical crap, and it's part of the reason he got kicked out, so they want to send me to Detroit so I can train with some official sorcerer-type to avoid the temptation of publicly using the magic I don't know how to use in the first place. It's ridiculous, Merit! Ridiculous!"
I kept walking, trying to pay some attention to my surroundings as she continued the rant. Handling stuff like this would be so much easier if I didn't have to worry about whether trolls or orcs were going to jump out from behind every lamppost. Ooh - that made me pause. Were there orcs in Chicago?
"I have to leave in two days!" she said. "And this is the real punch in the junk - no return trips to Chicago, no trips out of Detroit at all - until the internship is done."
"I'm not sure girls technically have 'junk,' " I observed, "but I take your point. Catcher has a history with the Order. Can't he arrange something?"
Mallory snorted. "I wish. Long story short, Catcher lost his seniority - and everything else - when he opted to stay in Chicago. That's apparently why they kicked him out - because he wanted to stay here, and they didn't buy that the Order needed a sorcerer, much less a local, in Chicago. He's a little low on pull at the moment. You know, it's a bitch there's no part-time sorcerer school," Mallory said. "Magic vo -tech or something.
Anything like that, hon ?"
I smiled at the pause in the conversation, the intermittent mumbling that indicated he'd been standing there while she referred to him as an asshole. Given the workouts he'd been putting me through lately, I was happy to know he was taking some heat of his own. I mean, I understood the need to prepare me for the worst, especially since Celina had been released, but there's only so many times that a girl needs to squeak past the whistling blade of an antique samurai sword.
"Nope," she finally said.
"Huh," I said, half of my brain wondering about those details - the man was ornery and evasive whenever the Order came up - while the other half surveyed what looked like a gap in the hedge that lined the wrought-iron fence. I walked closer and picked at a couple of leaves that were barely visible in the beam of the overhead streetlight.
Fortunately, upon my expert inspection, it looked like a browning spot in the greenery, not the work of a saboteur or would-be burglar. I made a note to tell... well, I had no idea whom to tell, but I bet we had some kind of gardener.
"Are you paying attention to me? I'm pretty much having a huge crisis here, Mer."
"Sorry, Mal. I'm on duty, making my rounds outside." I kept walking, surveying the dark, empty street. Not too much going on once you got past the dozen paparazzi. "The Order's like a union, right? So can't you file a grievance or something about this Detroit trip?"
"Hmm. Good question. Catch, can we grieve this?"
I heard mumbled conversation.
"Can't grieve this," Mallory finally reported back. "But I'm supposed to leave in two days!
You need to get that cute butt back over here and comfort me. I mean, Detroit, Merit.
Who spends three months in Detroit?"
"The million or so citizens of Detroit would be a prelim guess. And I can't come by right now. I'm working. Can I get a rain check until after shift?"
"I guess. And FYI, Darth Sullivan is putting a crimp in our friendship. I know you're living over there now, but you should still be at my beck and call."
I snorted. "Darth Sullivan would disagree, but I'll do what I can."
"I'm heading for the Chunky Monkey," Mal said. "Ben and Jerry will hold me until you get here." She hung up before I could say goodbye, probably already two spoonfuls into a carton of ice cream. She'd be fine, I decided. At least until I could make it over there.
The rest of my shift passed by, thankfully, with no drama. While I was learning what I could, training when scheduled, and performing what felt like perfunctory guard duties, I had no illusions about my ability to handle the nasties that might come creeping out of the dark. Sure, I'd managed to stake Celina in the shoulder when she made her final stand against Ethan - but I'd been aiming for her heart. If something, or somethings, gathered the strength and bravado to attack Cadogan House, me and my sword were hardly going to scare them off. I considered myself more of a first-warning unit. I might not be able to fend off any bad guys, but I could at least alert the rest of the crew - the vastly more experienced crew - to the problem.
And speaking of problems, although I knew I needed to report the latest Breckenridge developments - the fact that Nick was back in Chicago and that he'd camped out with the paparazzi at our gate - I'd spent enough time with Ethan and Luc discussing supernatural drama over the last couple of days. Besides, I had some questions for Nick, questions I couldn't ask in front of a bevy of reporters. Questions about Nick's newfound hostility. Ethan and I would be at the Breckenridge estate tomorrow night. If Nick was there, I'd have time to do a little investigating of my own.
It sounded like a good plan, a solid course of action for a newbie Sentinel. Either that or a pretty detailed way to continue avoiding Ethan.
"Win-win," I murmured with a smile.
To add a little more space between Darth Sullivan and me - and to repay Mallory for taking care of me during my own awkward supernatural transition - I got into my Volvo and drove back to Wicker Park to provide a little postshift BFF solace.
The brownstone was well lit as I drove up, even in the early hours of the morning. I didn't bother ringing the doorbell, but walked right in and headed for the kitchen. Which smelled delicious.
"Chicken and rice," Mallory announced from her spot in front of the stove, where she was spooning rice and sauce onto a plate. She heaped a piece of roasted chicken on top of the combo, then smiled at me. "I knew you'd want food."
"You're a goddess among women, Mallory Carmichael." I took the plate to a stool at the kitchen island and tucked into the food. The wicked fast vampire metabolism was great for the waistline but awful for the appetite. It was a rare hour that didn't involve my dreaming about grilled, roasted, or fried beast. Sure, I needed blood to survive - I was a vampire, after all - but like Mal had once said, blood was like another vitamin. It was fulfilling in a very important way. Comforting - like chicken soup for vampires. That it came from plastic bags and was delivered to our door by a company uncreatively named Blood4You didn't diminish the comfort, although it wasn't much in the way of chic.
The chicken and rice, on the other hand, was a hunger spot-hitter. It was a delicious recipe, and one of the first meals that Mallory had cooked for us when we'd become roommates three years ago. It was also better, or so I guessed, than anything I could get in the Cadogan House cafeteria.
Catcher padded into the kitchen, barefoot and jeaned and pulling on a T-shirt. The hem came down just in time to hide the circular tattoo that I knew marked his abdomen. It was a circle cut into quadrants, a graphical representation of the organization of magic into the four Keys.
"Merit," he said, heading for the refrigerator. "I see you managed to stay away for, what, all of twenty-four hours?"
I chewed a mouthful of chicken and rice, swallowed. "I'm investigating disorderly sorcerers."
He humphed and grabbed a carton of milk, then chugged directly from the cardboard spout. Mallory and I watched him, the same grimace on both our faces. Sure, I did the same thing with OJ, but he was a boy, and it was milk. That was just gross.
I glanced over at her, and she met my gaze, rolled her eyes. "At least he's putting the toilet paper on the roll now. That's a big step. Love you, Catch."
Catcher grunted, but he was smirking as he did it. After closing the refrigerator door, he joined us, standing next to Mallory on her side of the kitchen island. "I assume Sullivan filled you in about Celina?"
"That she's probably on her way back to Chicago to take care of me? Yeah, he mentioned that."
"Celina's been released?" Mallory asked, casting a worried glance in Catcher's direction. "Seriously?"
He bobbed his head. "We're not issuing a press release or anything, but yes." Then he turned his gaze on me and scoured me with a look. "One wonders if vampires enjoy drama, since they just keep making more of it."
"Celina keeps making more of it," I clarified, pointing at him with my fork. "I was more than happy to keep her locked away in a damp British dungeon." I took another bite of chicken, my hunger apparently undiminished by the possibility that a narcissistic vampire was crossing the Atlantic to get me. On the other hand, might as well enjoy food while I still could.
"Now that we've covered that," I said, changing the subject, "someone wanna fill me in on the sorcery drama?"
"They're going to take me away," Mallory said.
"To Schaumburg," Catcher said dryly. "I'm taking her to Schaumburg."
"So not to Detroit, then?" I asked, glancing back and forth between them. It was a pretty big difference, Schaumburg being a suburb northwest of the city. It was thirty miles and an entire Great Lake closer to Chicago - and me - than Detroit.
Mallory crooked a thumb at Catcher. "This one made a phone call. Apparently, he hasn't lost all of his pull with the Order."
As if on cue, Catcher's expression clouded. "Given that it was phone calls, plural, before they'd even let Baumgartner near the phone, saying that I have pull vastly overstates my influence. Let's just say they've softened their position on keeping a resident sorcerer in the Chicago metro."
"Who's Baumgartner?" I asked.
"President of the 155." At my blank stare, Catcher clarified, "My former union, Local 155 of the Union of Amalgamated Sorcerers and Spellcasters."
I nearly choked on chicken, and when I was done with the coughing fit, asked, "The acronym for the Order of sorcerers is 'U-ASS'?"
"A, seriously appropriate," Mallory commented, giving Catcher a sideways grin. "B, explains why they call it 'the Order.' "
I nodded my agreement on both points.
"So, they're good with the benefits, shitty with the marketing," Catcher said. "The point is, she won't be spending three months in Detroit."
"Not that it isn't a lovely city," Mallory put in.
"Lovely city," I agreed, but just for form, as I'd never been there. "So this training is, what, magical classes and whatnot?"
"Whatnot," Catcher said. "No classes - just on-the-job training. She'll begin to utilize and manipulate the Keys, major and minor, so that she can understand her duties and obligations to the rest of the Order and, if they have a few spare minutes" - his voice went dry as toast - "how to harness and redistribute the power that is beginning to funnel its way through her body."
I looked at her, blinking, trying to imagine exactly how my blue-haired, blue-eyed, ad exec of a best friend - currently in a MISS BEHAVIN' T-shirt and skinny jeans - was going to manage to do that.
"Huh," was all I said.
"She'll live and breathe the power of it, learn to exercise the control." He paused contemplatively, staring off into space until Mallory touched his hand with the tips of her fingers. He turned and looked at her. "Sorcerers learn by practice, by actually funneling the power. No books, no classrooms, just doing it. She'll be put into a situation in Schaumburg, and she'll handle it. The hard way - on her own, no nets."
I guessed "the way I had to do it" was coming next. The speech had the ring of old-school practitioner complaining about the way things had changed since his time, when he had to walk uphill both ways to get to school, etc., etc. Of course, I bet learning to funnel magic through Mal's slender frame took considerably more effort than hauling a couple of arithmetic books up a hill.
"Damn," I said, giving her a sympathetic look. "At least vampires get a desk reference."
On the other hand, that's about all we got. Although Luc valued training, and I appreciated the effort, he and Ethan had had decades to gain experience before assuming their House positions. To play the part of Sentinel, I got two weeks, a sorcerer with an attitude, and a katana.
"So'sI'm going to Schaumburg," Mal said, "where I'll get a little less practical experience than if I'd summered full-time in Detroit, but hopefully enough that I learn not to turn bad guys into piles of glitter because I inadvertently snapped my fingers."
As if to illustrate her point, she snapped them, a tiny blue spark jumping from her fingertips, the air suddenly stirring with the electricity of magic. Catcher closed his fingers around the spark, and when he opened them again, a glowing blue orb was centered in his palm. He lifted his hand, pursed his lips, and blew the orb away. It shattered into a crystalline glitter that peppered the air with sparkling magic before it dispersed and faded.
Then he turned to Mallory with a lurid look that made me happy, super happy, to be living in Cadogan House. "She's a nice funnel."
Oh, dear, sweet God, did I not need to hear about Mallory being a funnel. "So you're going to Schaumburg," I repeated, refocusing the conversation and taking another bite before I lost my appetite completely. "And you'll do your internship there. How long do you have to stay? How long will it take? Give me the deets."
"It'll be nightlies," Catcher said. "She'll spend most of her evenings in Schaumburg for a while. Since she's getting an exemption, we're not sure how long her practice will last.
Special case, special rules. She'll stay, I assume, until she proves her worth."
Mallory and I shared a snarky glance about that one. "Sad thing is," she said, "he's serious."
Something occurred to me. "Oh, shit, Mal, what are you going to do about your job?"
Mallory's expression went uncharacteristically wan. She stretched up from the stool and grabbed a white envelope from atop a pile of mail that sat at one end of the island. She held it in front of me so I could read the addressee - McGettrickCombs.
"Resignation letter?" I asked. She nodded, then returned the envelope to the pile.
Catcher put his hand at the back of her neck, rubbed it. "We talked about this."
"I know," she said, nodding her head. "It's just a change." When she looked up at me, her eyes were bright with tears. Notwithstanding the discomfort of being witness to their more amorous adventures, I was glad Catcher was here for her, that she had someone who'd been through similar experiences, who could guide her through the process or just be there when she needed comforting.
"I'm sorry, Mallory," was all I could think to say, knowing how much she'd loved her job, how well suited for it she'd been, how much pride she'd taken when a commercial or print ad she'd conceptualized appeared in the Trib or on ABC-7.
She sniffed, nodded, and knuckled away the tears that had slipped beneath her lashes, before chuckling. "Hey, I'll get my union card, and think of all the doors that will open for me then."
"Absolutely, kiddo," Catcher said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple.
"Absolutely."
"I don't want to bust the pro-union party here," I said, "but will those doors open into any bank vaults or some kind of salary?"
Catcher nodded. "Once she's completed her on-the-job, since the Order has finally realized they need someone on the ground in Chicago, she'll be on call." The middle part of that sentence had been spoken gruffly and with obvious bitterness. Typical Catcher, in other words.
"On call?" I asked, turning my gaze to Mallory, who smiled slyly.
"I'll be doing my own dispute handling, investigating, that kind of thing." She shrugged.
"It's a job. I mean, it's not Cadogan-Hyde Park kind of money, but I'll manage. Speaking of Cadogan money, what's up on your end of things? How's life under the tutelage of Darth Sullivan?"
"Well," I began, "I've been roped into shenanigans."
Without preface, Catcher muttered a curse, then leaned over, slipped his wallet from his jeans, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, which he handed to Mallory.
She grinned down at it, then carefully folded it and tucked it into her shirt. "On behalf of Carmichael Savings and Loan, we appreciate your business."
At my arched eyebrows, she bobbed her head toward Catcher. "I voted shenanigans within the first twenty-four hours. Mr. Bell over here thought Darth Sullivan would let you get 'settled.' " She used air quotes for that last part.
"Damn. I wish I could have taken that bet," I said. I debated how much I could tell them about said ensuing shenanigans, but since Ethan would probably tell Catcher his plans, and Catcher would undoubtedly tell Mallory, I didn't think I was risking much.
"We'll be doing some reconnaissance work. Long story short, I'm going home."
Mallory arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean, going home?"
"I'll be hanging out with the Merit clan."
"Seriously?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm going to try to get close to an old friend. According to Ethan, at least the part he's telling me, we're trying to keep prying human eyes away from some questionable vamp activities. God only knows what other secret motivations he's got."
"Does getting into your pants count as a secret motivation these days?"
I screwed up my face. " Ew."
Mal rolled her eyes, apparently not buying my disgust. "Whatever. You'd totally hit that if he weren't such an ass."
"And that's exactly his problem," I muttered.
"And speaking of hitting that," Mal added, perking up, "any word from Morgan? You guys have anything planned for the weekend?"
"Not really," I vaguely said, and left it at that. It was true that there wasn't much to report, but I also wasn't up for talking about it; being conflicted about the guy I was pseudo-dating wasn't helped by analyzing it to death.
I checked my watch. It was two hours until sunup. That gave me time to sneak back to Cadogan House, grab an obscenely long shower, and chillax a little before bed.
"I should go," I told them. I took my empty plate to the sink, deposited it and then glanced back. "When does the training start?"
"Sunday," Mallory said, rising from her stool. That gave her two full days to wreak pre-internship havoc, or at least enjoy some rowdy pre-internship rounds with Catcher.
"I'll walk you out," she said. Catcher followed us, a hand at Mallory's back. We reached the living room and, without another word, he sat down on the couch, crossed his ankles on the coffee table and slouched back, remote control in his hand. He flicked on the television and tuned it immediately to the Lifetime Channel.
Mallory and I stood there, heads cocked, watching this incredibly sexy, incredibly masculine man, whose eyes were glued to a made-for-TV movie. He slid us an annoyed glance, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the television.
"You know I love this shit," he said, then made a vague gesture at Mallory, "and she lives with me." That apparently being defense enough, he sniffed, settled the remote control in the crux between his legs, and crossed his arms behind his head.
"My life," Mallory said. "My love. The keeper of my heart."
"The keeper of your remote," I pointed out, then enveloped her in a hug. "I love you. Call me if you need to."
"I love you, too," she said, and when we'd released each other, nodded her head in Catcher's direction. "He's making dinner Saturday night, kind of a pre-training deal. I don't really need a going-away party anymore, but far be it from me to complain when someone tries to make dinner in my honor. We'll call it a not-going-that-far-away party.
Come over, maybe bring Morgan?"
I offered back a sardonic look. "A not-going-that-far-away party?"
"Jeez," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're as stubborn as he is. Call it a kickoff party if that makes you feel better. I am a burgeoning sorceress. We haven't celebrated that yet, and I figure I'm due."
With that, we made our final goodbyes, and I headed back to my car. When I arrived back in Hyde Park, I parked outside the Cadogan gate, then moved through the House and back to my second-floor room.
I dropped off my keys and unbelted my sword, then glanced around. I'd planned on a long shower and a little reading in my pajamas before the sun hit the horizon. But since I'd been here nearly forty-eight hours and had hardly seen the other ninety-seven resident Cadogan vampires, I decided to opt for something considerably less geeky, and a lot more social. I flipped off the light in my room and headed for the stairs.
Noise leaked from Lindsey's room on the third floor, a cacophony of voices and television sounds. I knocked, and at Lindsey's invitation ("Get your ass in here, Sentinel"), pulled it open.
The tiny room, already crowded with furniture and Lindsey's expressive decor, was stuffed with vampires. I counted six, including Lindsey and Malik, who were reclining on her bed. Kelley and newbie vampire (and Lindsey's current paramour) Connor sat on the floor beside two vampires I didn't know. All six of them faced a small round television that sat atop Lindsey's bookshelf. On TV, thin people with strong accents berated the fashion choices of a large, flustered woman who wore a dress of eye-bruising colors but who was giving back as good as she was getting.
"Door," Kelley said without looking at me. I obeyed and closed it.
"Cop a squat, Sentinel," Lindsey directed, patting the bed beside her and shuffling farther from Malik, giving me room to sit between them. I stepped carefully among vampires and over a half-eaten box of pizza that made my stomach grumble in a way blood didn't, and climbed onto the bed. I had to go in headfirst, then carefully turn around, apologizing to Malik and Linds for kicks and pokes along the way. I heard grunts and moans, but assumed they were related to the show, which seemed to be heading for some kind of bitchfest climax.
"This is Margot and Katherine," Lindsey said, pointing at the unfamiliar vampires on the floor in turn. Margot, a strikingly gorgeous brunette with an angular crop of dark hair and bangs that curved into a point between amber-colored eyes, turned and offered a finger wave. Katherine, her light brown hair piled into a high knot, turned back and smiled.
"Merit," I said, waving back.
"They know who you are, hot shit. And you obviously know Connor and Kelley," Lindsey added when I'd settled myself, a pillow between my back and the wall, legs crossed at the ankles, tiny, glowing reality television show half a dozen feet away.
Connor glanced back and grinned. "Thank God you're here. I was the youngest person in the room by at least fifty years."
"Hate to break it to you, Sweet Tits," Lindsey said, "but you aren't a person anymore."
She called for a piece of pizza, and the box was passed up. Eyes on the television, she grabbed a slice, then handed over the box. I settled it on my lap and tucked into a piece, pausing only long enough to make sure it was covered in meat. Bingo. While it was barely warm, and consisted of an offensive New York hybrid crust that could have used two more inches of dough and sauce and cheese, it was better than a kick in the face.
Malik leaned toward me. "You heard she's been released?"
In the two months that I'd been a Cadogan vampire, this was the first solo conversation I'd had with Malik. And while we were on the subject, it was also the first time I'd seen him in jeans and a polo shirt.
I swallowed a mouthful of Canadian bacon, cheese, and crust. "Yes," I whispered back.
"Ethan told me yesterday."
He nodded, his expression inscrutable, then turned back to the television.
As first conversations went, it wasn't much. But I took it for concern, and decided I was satisfied with it.
A commercial came on and the room erupted in sound, Margot, Lindsey, Connor, Katherine, and Kelley rehashing what they'd seen, who was "winning," and who'd cry first when the results came in. I wasn't entirely sure what the contest was, much less the prize, but since vampires apparently delighted in human drama, I settled in and tried to catch up.
"We're rooting for the bitchy one," Lindsey explained, nibbling the crust on her pizza slice.
"I thought they were all bitchy," I noted.
After a few minutes of commercials, Malik began the process of getting off the bed.
"Is it me?" I asked lightly. "I can shower."
He chuckled as he took to his feet, the glow of the television glinting off the medal around his neck, and something else - a thin silver crucifix that dangled from a thin silver chain. So much for that myth.
"It's not you," Malik said. "I need to get back." He began to step between the vampires, who were completely unmoved by his effort not to step on them.
"Down in front!"
"Out of the way, vampire," Margot said, tossing a handful of popcorn in his direction.
"Let's move it."
He waved them off good-naturedly, then disappeared out the door.
"What did he have to get back to?" I asked Lindsey.
"Hmm?" she absently asked, gaze on the television.
"Malik. He said he had to get back. What did he have to get back to?"
"Oh," Lindsey said. "His wife. She lives here with him. They've got a suite on your floor."
I blinked. "Malik's married?" It wasn't the "Malik" part that surprised me, but the
"married" part. That a vampire was married seemed kind of odd. I mean, from what I'd seen so far, the vampire lifestyle was pretty comparable to dorm life. Living in a would-be vampire frat house didn't seem conducive to a long-term relationship.
"He's always been married," Lindsey said. "They were turned together." She glanced over at me. "You live down the hall from them. It's not real neighborly of you not to say hello."
"I'm not real neighborly," I admitted, recognizing that Malik was the only other vampire that I knew had a room on the second floor, and I'd only learned that four seconds ago.
"We need a mixer," I decided.
Lindsey huffed. "What are we, sophomores? Mixers are excuses to get drunk and make out with people you hardly know." She slowly lowered her gaze to the back of Connor's head and smiled lasciviously. "On the other hand..."
"On the other hand, you'd break Luc's heart. Maybe let's skip the mixer for now."
"You're such a mommy."
I snorted. "Can I ground you?"
"Unlikely," she said, drawing out the word. "Now shut up and watch the bitchy humans."
I stayed until the show was done, until the pizza was done, until the vampires on the floor stood and stretched and said their goodbyes. I was glad I'd made the trip, glad I'd been able to spend time in the company of a Cadogan vampire other than the House's 394-year-old Master. I'd missed out on a lot of college socializing, more focused on reading and studying than was probably healthy, always assuming there'd be time for making friends later. And then graduation arrived, and I didn't know my classmates as well as I might have. I had a chance to do that over now - to invest in the people around me instead of losing myself in the intellectual details.
I rounded a corner to head for the stairs, so lost in my thoughts that I nearly forgot that Ethan, too, was a resident of the third floor.
But there he was.
He stood in the doorway of the apartment that had once been Amber's - his former Consort and the woman who'd betrayed him for Celina. He glanced up as I neared, but two burly men carrying a sizable chest of drawers stepped between us and broke the eye contact.
"Couple more loads," one said to Ethan in a thick Chicagoland accent as they hobbled down the hallway. "Then we're done."
"Thank you," he replied, half turning to watch them struggle under the weight of the furniture.
I wondered at the arrangements. Vampires could have managed the bulk much easier than the humans, and wouldn't have required Ethan's supervision at five o'clock in the morning. Humans or not, Ethan didn't look thrilled to be supervising them, and I also wondered why he hadn't let Helen coordinate.
Maybe, I realized, he needed this. Maybe this was his catharsis, his chance to clean the room, clear the air, and prepare for a changing of the lascivious guards.
I wanted to say something, to acknowledge the pain he probably felt, but had no idea how to say it, how to form words he wouldn't find insulting. Words he'd find too emotional. Too sentimental. Too human. I caught his gaze again, grudging resignation in it, before he looked away and slipped back inside the room.
I stood there for a moment, torn between following him and trying to offer comfort, and letting it go, giving him back the same silence he'd given me, assuming the silence was what he needed. I pushed on toward the stairs, decision made, and dropped headfirst into bed just before Homer's "rosy-fingered Dawn" appeared, just as the horizon began to pinken. It was a little less rosy, I thought, when that dawn could fry you to ashes.