Friday Night Bites
Chapter Thirteen

THEY'LL EAT YOU ALIVE
Ethan, in black pants and a snug, long-sleeved black shirt, stood at the threshold of Mallory's kitchen, hands in his pockets. His hair was tied back, the casualness of the ensemble indicating he had plans that didn't involve negotiations or diplomacy. Mallory and Catcher stood just behind him.
Morgan's eyes snapped open, emotion tightening his features and, for a fraction of a second, silvering his eyes.
I was just kind of dumbfounded. Why was Ethan here?
"If you want me to court her properly, Sullivan, you're going to need to give us some time alone." The words and tone were for Ethan, but his gaze was on me.
"My apologies for the... interruption," he said, but he couldn't have sounded more sarcastic. In fact, he sounded plenty happy to interrupt.
It was a long, quiet, awkward moment before Morgan finally looked over at him. They exchanged manly nods, these two Masters, the two men who together controlled the fates of two-thirds of the vampires in Chicago. Two men who claimed a little too much authority over my time.
"I'm sorry to steal her away," Ethan said, "but we have Cadogan House business."
"Of course." Morgan turned back to me, and in full view of God and the assorted houseguests, kissed me softly. "At least we got dinner."
I looked up into baleful eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Sure."
Uncomfortable silence fell again until Morgan offered, "I guess I should get going and leave you two to your... business." His tone was petulant, as if he wasn't entirely convinced Ethan was here for Cadogan-related reasons. God only knew why Ethan had decided to darken Mallory's door. If he needed me, why hadn't he just paged me?
"I'll walk you out," I said.
Ethan, Catcher, and Mallory turned to their sides in the hallway, allowing us egress from the kitchen. Morgan walked out, me behind, both of us ignoring Ethan as we passed him.
I walked him to the door and resumed my position on the stoop.
"It's not your fault," Morgan said, his eyes on the house. There was no doubt about that - it's not like I invited Ethan over - but I wondered if he really thought me truly blameless. I'm sure he mostly blamed Ethan, but Morgan had raised questions before about my relationship with my Master. This probably wasn't helping.
Whatever his thoughts, he shrugged off the gloom and gave me a cheery smile, then bobbed his head toward the brownstone. "I suppose being an omnipotent Master has its advantages: having people at your beck and call."
"Don't you have people at your beck and call?" I asked, reminding him that he was one of the Masters he'd been referring to.
"Well, I do have them, but I don't think I've officially becked or called them yet. And I suppose this is the price of dating the hot shit Cadogan Sentinel."
"I'm not sure about hot shit, but the Sentinel part is true enough." I cast my own dark glance at the doorway; Ethan and Catcher communed in the hall. "Although I have no idea what this is about."
"I'd like to know."
I looked back at him, hoping he wasn't about to pump me for information. That concern must have shown on my face; he shook his head. "I'm not going to ask, I'd just like to know." Then his tone went flat - Master vampire flat. He must have been practicing. "I hope that if it's something that affects us all, he'll fill us in."
Don't bet on that, I thought.
After we said our goodbyes, I shut the door behind me and found everyone still standing in the hallway. Catcher and Ethan were in identical poses - chests back, arms crossed, chins dropped. Warriors in concentration. This was serious, then, and not just a means for Ethan to further irritate me.
When I joined them, they expanded their semicircle to let me in.
"I've learned," Ethan began, "that a rave was held earlier tonight. We need to check it out. We also need to hope that we're the only ones who've heard about it."
How Ethan had learned about the rave, given that his usual source for such things was standing beside him, was an interesting question.
Catcher and I were apparently on the same wavelength. "How'd you find out?" he asked.
"Peter," Ethan said. "He received a tip." That made sense, I thought, since Peter was known for his contacts. "A friend of his, a bartender at a club in Naperville, heard two vampires discussing the fact that they'd received the text message announcing the rave."
"Alcohol loosens the lips of the fanged?" Catcher sardonically asked.
"Apparently so," Ethan agreed. "The bartender didn't recognize the vampires - they were likely drifter Rogues. By the time Peter heard from his source and contacted Luc, the rave was long since over."
"So we can't stop it?" I asked.
Ethan shook his head. "But we have an opportunity to investigate with significantly less political maneuvering than might be required if we were crashing the party." Ethan looked at Catcher. "And speaking of political maneuvering, can you join us?"
Catcher gave a single nod, then looked at me. "Is your sword in the car?"
I nodded. "Will I need it?"
"We'll know when we get there. I've got some gear stashed here, flashlights and whatnot." He glanced at Ethan. "Did you bring your sword?"
"No," he said. "I was out."
We all stood silently, waiting for Ethan to elaborate, but got nothing.
"Then I suppose I'll play vamp outfitter. And I need to call Chuck," he said, then whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. "We're supposed to be a diplomatic corps," he muttered, "not the Hardy Boys. And you can see how well that's working out for us."
Mallory rolled her eyes at the mini-tirade. I figured it wasn't the first time she'd heard it.
"I'll get dinner cleaned up," she offered.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Catcher said, stopping her escape with a hand on her arm. "Sorry, kid, but you're coming with us."
"With us?" I repeated, Mallory and I sharing the same deer-in-the-headlights look. I knew he wanted to foster her learning, but I wasn't sure this was the time for that.
"She needs the experience," Catcher answered, his eyes on Mallory. "And I want you there with me. You're my partner, my asset. You can do it."
There was a tightness around her eyes, but she nodded.
"That's my girl," he murmured, and pressed his lips to her temple. Then he released her, put the cell up to his ear, and trotted down the hallway toward the back of the house.
"Sullivan," he called out, "you owe me one big fuck of a favor. And Merit, you might want to change your shoes."
"Noted," Ethan replied. "On both counts."
Mallory and I looked down at my pretty ballet flats. Red or not, I probably didn't want to wear them to investigate a bloodletting.
"I'll grab a pair of boots or something," she said. "I know you left some here." Although I undoubtedly had a better sense of where my remaining clothes were, Mal walked away, leaving me to babysit Ethan. Not that I could blame her for taking the out.
We stood there silently for a moment, both of us making every effort to avoid looking at each other. Ethan's gaze lifted to the photographs along the hallway wall, the same wall I'd been pressed up against a couple of hours ago.
"Why me?" I asked him.
He turned back to me, brow arched. "Excuse me?" His voice was frosty. Apparently, he was fully in Master and Commander mode. Lucky me.
"Why are you here? You knew that I had plans tonight; you saw me leave. Luc was at the House when I left, as were the rest of the guards. They're all more experienced than I am. You could have called one of them. Asked for their help." And given me a break, I silently added. Given me a chance to get over the training session, to have a break from Celina and my father and vampire drama. To just be me.
"Luc is busy protecting our vampires."
"Luc is your bodyguard. He swore an oath to protect you."
An irritated shake of his head. "You're in this already."
"Luc was there when you explained the raves, helped you plan for my involvement, and I'm sure you've brought him up to speed about what we learned so far. He knows everything that I know."
"Luc was busy."
"I was busy."
"Luc isn't you."
The words were quick, clipped, and completely dumbfounding. That was twice that he'd surprised me in the span of a few minutes.
Catcher was lumbering down the hall again before I could fathom a response, the mesh strap of a black canvas duffel bag in one hand, the black lacquer sheath of his katana in the other. "Your grandfather is now in the know," he said when he reached us, then glanced at Ethan. "If I'm going, that means we're doing this official-like. I'm looking into this on behalf of the Ombud's office and, therefore, on behalf of the city."
"So there will be no need to contact additional authorities," Ethan concluded, and they shared a knowing nod.
I heard Mallory's footsteps on the stairs. She appeared with an old pair of knee-high leather boots in her hands.
"In case there's, you know, fluids," she said, handing me the shoes, "I figured the taller the better."
"Good call."
My shoes in hand, I looked at Mallory, who then turned to look at Catcher, her brows lifted. There was stubbornness in the set of her jaw; clearly, she wasn't going to give in as easily as he might have wished.
"It will be good practice," he told her.
"I have weeks of training to accomplish practice, Catcher. I'm an ad exec - or was, anyway. I have no business running around Chicago in the middle of the night" - she flailed an arm nervously in the air - "cleaning up after vampires. No offense, Merit," she said, with a quick apologetic glance. I shrugged, knowing better than to argue.
Catcher rubbed his lips together, irritation obviously rising. That irritation was clear in the twitch in his jaw, and the tingle of magic that was beginning to rise, unseen but tangible, in the air. "I need a partner," he said. "A second opinion."
"Call Jeff."
In the years I'd known Mallory, I'm not sure I'd ever seen her this stubborn. Either she wasn't eager to visit the rave site, or she wasn't thrilled about the idea of testing whatever powers Catcher was expecting her to practice. I could sympathize on both counts.
Catcher rubbed his lips together, then dropped the bag on the floor. "Give us a minute?"
I nodded. "Come on," I said to Ethan, taking his hand and ignoring the small spark of contact that tingled my palm as I pulled him toward the front door.
He followed without comment and kept his hand in mine until we reached the front door, until I unlaced our fingers to grab my keys from the table.
The evening was cool when we stepped outside, the fresh air a relief. I sat down on the top step of the stoop and exchanged date shoes for work shoes, then walked to the car, grabbed my sword, and dropped off the flats. When I turned around again, Mallory and Catcher were on the stoop, locking the door behind them. She came down the sidewalk first and stopped when she got to me.
"You good?" I asked her.
When she rolled her eyes in irritation, I knew she'd be okay. "I love him, Merit, I swear to God I do, but he is seriously, seriously, an ass."
I looked around her at Catcher, who gave me a sly smile. He may have been an ass, but he knew how to work our girl out of her fear.
"He has his moments," I reminded her.
Ethan's car was too small for the four of us. Mine, being bright orange, wasn't exactly suitable for recon work, so we settled into Catcher's sedan, boys in the front, girls in the back, the katanas across my and Mallory's laps. Catcher drove south and east, and the car was silent until I spoke up.
"So, what should we expect?"
"Blood," Catcher and Ethan simultaneously answered. "Worst case," Catcher added, "the bodies that accompany it." He glanced over at Ethan. "If things are that bad, you know I'll have to call someone," Catcher said. "We can blur the jurisdictional boundaries, but I'll be obligated to report that."
"Understood," Ethan said quietly, probably imagining worst-case scenarios.
"Lovely," Mallory muttered, rubbing a hand nervously across her forehead. "That's lovely."
"No one should be there," Ethan said, a softness in his voice. "And given that vampires rarely drink their humans to death - "
"Present company excluded," I muttered, raising a hand to my neck.
" - it's unlikely we'll find bodies."
"Unlikely," Catcher said, "but not impossible. It's not like these particular vamps are big on following the rules. Let's just be prepared for the worst, hope for the best."
"And what am I truly capable of contributing to this mission?" Mallory asked. As if in answer, she closed her eyes, her angelic face calm, lips moving to the cadence of a mantra I couldn't hear. When she opened them again, she looked down at her palm.
I followed her gaze. A glowing orb of yellow light floated just above her hand, a soft, almost-matte ball of light that illuminated the backseat of the car.
"Nicely done," Catcher said, eyes flicking back to us in the rearview mirror. Ethan half turned in his seat, his own eyes widening at the sight of the orb in her hand.
"What is it?" I whispered to her, as if greater volume would dissipate the glow.
"It's..." Her hand shook, and the orb wavered. "It's the condensation of magic. The First Key. Power." Her fingers contracted, and the orb flattened into a plane of light and disappeared. Her hand still extended, she glanced over at me, this girl who could single-handedly channel magic into light, and I understood perfectly the expression on her face: Who am I?
"That's not all you are," Catcher quietly said, as if reading her thoughts. "And that's not why I brought you. You know better than that. And the First Key isn't only about channeling power into light. You know that, too."
She shrugged and looked out the side window.
It was funny, I thought, that we'd had similar conversations with our respective bosses as we adjusted to our powers. I wasn't sure if she was fortunate or not to be sleeping with the man who critiqued her.
"Boys," I muttered.
She glanced over at me, total agreement in her eyes.
We drove through residential neighborhoods, passing one span of houses or townhouses or townhouses-being-rehabbed after another. As was the way in Chicago, the tenor of the street changed every few blocks, from tidy condos with neatly trimmed hedges to run-down apartment buildings with rusting, half-hung gates.
We stopped in an industrial neighborhood near the Lake in front of a house - the single remaining residential building on the block - that had definitely seen better days.
It was the final remnant of what had likely once been a prosperous neighborhood, a remnant now surrounded by lots empty of everything but trash, scraggly brush, and industrial debris. The Queen Anne-style home, illuminated by the orange glow of a single overhead streetlamp, had probably been a princess in its time - a once-inviting porch flanked by fluted columns; a second-floor balcony; gingerbread brackets now rotting and hanging from their corners. Paint peeled in wide strips from the wood shingles, and random sprouts of grass pushed for life amidst a front yard tangled with discarded plastic.
Catcher's duffel bag rested on the seat between Mallory and me, and I handed it to him through the gap in the front seats. He unzipped it and pulled out four flashlights, then rezipped the bag and placed it between him and Ethan. He passed out the flashlights to the rest of us. "Let's go."
Katana in hand, I opened my door.
The scent hit when we stepped outside the car, flashlights and swords in hand. Blood - the iron tang of it. I took a sudden breath, the urge to drink in the scent nearly overwhelming. And even more problematic, because she stirred. Ethan stopped and turned to me, an eyebrow raised in question.
I swallowed down the craving and pushed down the vampire, glad I'd had blood earlier.
I nodded at him. "I'm fine." The dilapidation and lingering odor of decay helped staunch the need. "I'm okay."
"What's wrong?" Mallory asked.
"Blood," Ethan somberly said, eyes on the house. "The smell of it remains."
Mallory handed Catcher's belted sword to Ethan, and we buckled our katanas around our waists.
The neighborhood was silent but for the breeze-blown crackle of a floating plastic bag and the faraway thunder of a freight train. Without comment, Catcher took the lead. He flipped on his flashlight, the circle of light bobbing before him as he crossed the street and walked toward the house. Ethan followed, then Mallory, then me.
We stood at the curb, the four of us in line. Stalling.
"Is anyone still in there?" Mallory asked, trepidation in her voice.
"No," Ethan and I answered simultaneously. The lack of sound - and thank God for predatory improvements in hearing - made that clear.
Catcher took another step forward, fisted hands on his hips, and scanned the house.
"I'm in first," he said, exercising his Ombud authority, "then Ethan, Mallory, Merit. Be prepared to draw." He looked at Mallory. "Don't go in too far. Just keep your mind open like we talked about."
Mal nodded, seemed to firm her courage. I'd have squeezed her hand if I'd had any courage to offer. As it was, my right hand was sweating around the nubby barrel of the flashlight, the fingers of my left nervously tapping the handle of my sword.
Catcher started forward, and we followed in the order he'd set, Ethan and me with katanas at our sides. This time the sound of Ethan's voice in my head didn't surprise me.
You can control the craving?
I assured him I could, and asked, What am I looking for?
Evidence. An indication of House involvement. How many? Was there a struggle?
Our line of amateur investigators picked our way up the sidewalk over broken concrete, brown glass, and plastic soda bottles. The small porch at the front of the house creaked ominously when Catcher stepped onto it. After waiting to be sure it wouldn't collapse beneath him, we followed. I risked a glance through a slender, dirt-smeared window.
The room was empty but for the skeletal remains of a massive chandelier, all but a handful of its crystals gone. It seemed an oddly appropriate symbol of the house's current condition.
Catcher pushed open the ancient door. The smell of dampness, decay, and blood spilled onto the sidewalk. I breathed through my mouth to avoid the temptation, however minimal, of the blood.
We trundled into what had once been a foyer and spun our flashlights around. There was rotting mahogany beneath our feet and flocked velvet wallpaper around us, marred by ripping peels, water stains, and slinking trickles of water. At the other end of the room, a gigantic stairway curved up to the second floor. Piles of wood and congealed paint cans were stashed in a corner, the rooms dotted here and there with threadbare pieces of heavy furniture. The building had been stripped of mold ings, light fixtures gone, probably to be sold off. I didn't see any blood, although the smell of it hung in the air.
"Choose your adventure, vampires," Catcher advised in a whisper. "East or west?"
Ethan looked toward the rooms on the east side of the house, then toward the stairway in front of us. His head lifted as his gaze followed the rising staircase to the second floor.
"Up," he decided. "Merit, with me. Catcher, first floor."
"Done," Catcher responded. He turned to Mallory and tapped a finger against his right temple, then his chest, then his temple again.
Mallory nodded. Must have been some kind of secret sorcerer code. She squeezed my hand, then followed him to the left.
The two of us alone in the foyer, Ethan glanced at me. "Sentinel, what do you know?"
I lifted my own gaze to the stairway and closed my eyes. Vision gone, I let the sounds and scents surround me.
I'd felt the stirrings of magic before - when Celina had tested me, when Mallory and Catcher fought and at my Commendation, when I'd basked in the flow of it, the air thick with the lambent magic of dozens of vampires.
Here, there were no currents. If any magic remained in the house, it was minimal.
Maybe a tingle here and there, but nothing strong enough for me to separate, identify.
The house was equally silent of living things, but for the downstairs movements of Mallory and Catcher, the steady sound of Ethan's heartbeat, and the disturbing scurry of tiny slithering things beneath our feet and in the walls.
I shivered, squeezing my eyes closed and forcing myself to ignore the ambient sound.
I focused on scent, imagined myself a predator, primed for the hunt (full though I may have been of salmon and asparagus). The tang of blood was obvious, in such quantity that it floated like a cloud of invisible smoke, flowing down the stairs and through the room, overlying the smells of mildew and standing water. I stood quietly for a moment, ensuring that I had control of myself to continue to investigate, ensuring that she was sufficiently locked down to preclude her mad rush to the second floor, to the blood.
In the silence, the quietness, I caught something else. Something above the mustiness and dust and blood.
Something animal.
I tilted my head, instincts piqued. Was it prey? Predator?
It was faint, but it was there - a trace of fur and musk. I opened my eyes, found Ethan eyeing me curiously. "Animals?"
He nodded. "Maybe animals. Maybe shifters who aren't skilled at masking their forms.
Good catch."
He beckoned me with a hand and headed for the stairs. Fear and adrenaline making me unusually compliant, I followed without comment, but switched our positions at the landing. In appropriate Sentinel manner, I took point, keeping my body between his and whatever nasties hid in the dark. He stayed close behind as I used my flashlight to guide our way across the glass-strewn floor. Moonlight streamed through dirty windows, so we probably could have managed the exploration without the flashlights. But the tool in my hand was comforting. And since I was in the lead, I wasn't about to turn it off.
Typical of an older home, the upper floor contained a maze of small bedrooms. The smell of blood grew stronger as we passed through the rooms on the right side, the wooden floors creaking as we progressed, the beam of our flashlights occasionally illuminating an abandoned piece of furniture or a puddle of dirty liquid being fed from a rust-colored stain in the ceiling.
The faint smell of animal lingered, but it lay beneath the other scents in the room. If a shifter had been here, it was in passing. He, or she, hadn't been a key player.
We kept moving through the tiny bedrooms to the back of the house until we reached the room at the end of the line. I paused before entering it, the smell of blood suddenly blossoming into the hallway. Adrenaline pumping, I locked down my vampire and circled the beam of light around the room. Then froze.
"Ethan."
"I know," he said, stepping beside me. "I see it."
This was where they'd congregated. The floor was littered with random trash, soda cans, and candy wrappers. A mirrored bureau stood along one wall, our reflection warped by the effect of time on the mirror's silver backing.
Most importantly, three dirty, stained mattresses lay in various spots around the room.
The blue-and-white ticking that covered them bore obvious bloodstains. Large bloodstains.
Ethan stepped around me and used the beam of his flashlight to survey the room, wall to wall, corner to corner. "Probably three humans," he concluded, "one for each mattress, one for each spill of blood. Maybe six vampires, two per person, one at a wrist, the other at the neck. No bodies, and no signs of struggle. Blood, yes, but not obscene quantities. They appear to have stopped themselves." There was relief in his voice. "No murders, but nor did the humans receive whatever benefits they imagined they'd get." His voice had turned dryer at the end; clearly not much of a fan of the would-be fanged.
"Benefits," I repeated, swinging the beam to where Ethan stood, free hand on his hip, gaze shifting between the two mattresses that lay closest together. "When we were in your office, you mentioned something about becoming a Renfield ?"
"A human servant," he said. "Offering protection to a vampire during daylight hours, perhaps interacting with humans on the vampire's behalf. But we haven't had Renfields for centuries. A human might also imagine they would be given the gift of immortality.
But if a vampire was to make another" - he paused and kneeled down to inspect the middle mattress - "this is not the manner in which such act would occur."
I checked out the other mattress, the circle of blood upon it. "Ethan?"
"Yes, Merit?"
"If drinking is so problematic, so risky to humans, why allow it? Why not remove the risk and outlaw drinking altogether? Make everyone use the bagged stuff? Then there's no politics to allowing the raves. You could outright ban them."
Ethan was quiet long enough that I turned back to him, and found him staring at me with eyes of pure, melting quicksilver.
My lips parted, the breath stuttering out of me.
"Because, whatever the politics of it, we are vampires." Ethan parted his lips, showed me the needle-sharp tips of his fangs.
I was shocked to the core that he let me see him in full hunger, shocked and aroused by it, and when he tipped his head down, silvered eyes boring into me, I swallowed down a rise of lust so thick and swift it tripped my heart.
The sound of my heartbeat, the hollow thud of it, pounded in my ears.
Ethan held out a hand, palm up, an invitation.
Offer yourself, he whispered, his voice in my mind.
I gripped the handle of my katana. I knew what I wanted to do - step forward, arch my neck, and offer him access.
For a second, maybe two, I considered it. I let myself wonder what it might be like to let him bite. But my control, already weakened by the smell of blood, threatened to tip. If I let my fangs descend, if I let her take over, there was a good chance I'd end up sinking them into the long line of his neck, or letting him do the same to me.
And while I wasn't na?ve enough to deny that I was curious, intrigued by the possibility, this was neither the time nor the place. I didn't want my first real experience in sharing blood to be here in the midst of industrial squalor, in a house where the trust of humans had so recently been violated.
So I fought for control, shaking my head clear. "Point made," I told him.
Ethan arched a brow as he snatched back his hand, clenching his fist as he regained his own control. He retracted his fangs, and his eyes cleared, fading from silver to emerald green. When he looked at me again, his expression was clinical.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
It had all been a teaching point, then. Not about desire or bloodlust but an opportunity for Ethan to demonstrate his restraint. I felt ridiculously na?ve.
"Our reaction to blood," Ethan matter-of-factly began, "is predatory. Instinctual. While we may need to seclude our habits, assimilate into the larger population of humans, we are still vampires. Suppression favors none of us."
I looked around the room at the peeling paint, balled-up newspapers, spare mattresses, and crimson dots scattered across the splintered hardwood floor.
"Suppression leads to this," I said.
"Yes, Sentinel."
I was Sentinel again. Things were back to normal.
We searched the room but found no indication of Houses or anything else that might identify the drinking vamps. They'd avoided leaving obvious evidence behind, which wasn't all that surprising for folks who would travel to a deserted house in exchange for a few illicit sips.
"We know humans were here," Ethan said, "that blood was taken. But that's it. Even if we called someone in, without more evidence of what went on, the only thing to come from further investigation would be bad press for us."
I assumed Ethan meant he wasn't willing to involve the CPD in the rave investigation. I didn't disagree with him, especially since Catcher was here on behalf of the Ombud's office. On the other hand, if Ethan was really that comfortable suppressing information, he probably wouldn't have bothered justifying it to me.
"I guess that makes sense," I said.
"The locus," Ethan suddenly said, and I frowned in confusion, thinking I'd missed something. But he hadn't been talking to me - Catcher and Mallory stood in the doorway behind us. They both looked fine, neither showing any signs of having been accosted by a loitering raver. Catcher's expression was back to his normal one - slightly bored.
Mallory cast uncomfortable glances at the mattresses on the floor.
"Yeah," Catcher agreed, "it looks like the action went down here." He surveyed the room, then walked a loop around it, arms crossed over his chest, face pinched in concentration.
"Three humans?" he finally asked.
"That's what it looks like," Ethan confirmed. "Possibly six vampires, and who knows if there were observers. We found no evidence of Houses."
"Even if House vamps were involved," Catcher said, meeting Ethan in front of the center mattress, "it's unlikely they'd leave any noticeable evidence behind, especially since the Houses don't sanction this kind of conduct. Much less drinking, for most of them."
Ethan made a sound of agreement.
Silence fell as the men reviewed the dirty beds before them. They consulted quietly as they walked around, crouched before, and pointed over the mattresses. I looked back at Mallory, who shrugged in response, neither of us privy to their conversations.
Catcher finally stood again, then glanced back at Mallory. "Are you ready?" His voice was soft, careful.
She swallowed, then nodded.
I wasn't sure what she was going to do, but I felt for her, assuming Mal was about to dive headfirst into the supernatural pool. Having taken that dive as well, I knew the first step off the board was a little daunting.
She held out her right hand, palm up, and stared down at it.
"Look through it," Catcher whispered, but Mallory didn't waver.
The air in the room seemed to warm, to become thicker, an aftereffect of the magic that Mallory was funneling, of the magic that was beginning to warp the air above her hand.
"Breathe through it," Catcher said. I lifted my gaze from Mallory's hand to his eyes, and saw the sensuality there. Vampires could feel magic; we could sense its presence. But sorcerers' relationships with magic were something altogether different. Something altogether lustier, if the look in his eyes was any indication.
Mal's tongue darted out to wet her lips, but her blue eyes stayed focused on the shimmer above her hand.
"Blood red," she suddenly said, her voice barely audible, ee rily gravelly, "in the rise of the moon. And like the moon, they will rise and they will fall, these White City kings, and she will triumph. She will triumph, until he comes. Until he comes."
Silence. It was a prophecy of some kind, the same skill I'd seen Catcher perform in Cadogan House once before.
Ethan glanced over at Catcher. "Does that mean anything to you?"
Catcher shook his head ruefully. "I suppose we shouldn't deride the gift, but Nostradamus was easier to understand."
I glanced back at Mallory. Her eyes were still closed, sweat dampening her brow, her outstretched arm shaking with exertion.
"Guys," I said, "I think she's about had it."
They glanced back.
"Mallory," Catcher softly said.
She didn't respond.
"Mallory."
Her eyes snapped up, her biceps shaking.
"Let it go," he said.
She nodded, wet her lips, glanced down at her hand, and spread her fingers. The shimmer of air disappeared. After a second, Mal wiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist.
"Are you okay?"
She looked at me, nodded matter-of-factly. "Just hard work. Did I say anything helpful?"
I shrugged. "Not so much helpful as super-creepy."
"I think we've gotten everything we can get," Ethan said, "unless you've any other ideas?"
"Not much," Catcher answered. "Vague sense of fear, the suggestion of an animal." He looked between us. "I assume you got that?"
We both nodded.
"Nothing at all beyond that. Nothing else recognizable in the current, and I'm not sure the shifter was here when this happened. Maybe afterward. Either way, no sense that the media has discovered this place, at least not yet." Catcher looked around the room, hands on his hips. "Speaking of, should I call in a crew? Have the place stripped, cleaned?"
It hadn't occurred to me that the Ombud's office had the authority or manpower to erase the evidence. They referred to themselves as liaisons, go-betweens. I guess they were a little more proactive than that.
"You can do that?" I asked.
Catcher gave me a sardonic look. "You really don't talk to your grandfather very often."
"I talk to my grandfather plenty."
Catcher snorted and turned, led us from the room. "Not about the good stuff. The city of Chicago has been keeping the sups' existence under wraps since before the fire, Merit.
And that's not because incidents don't happen. It's because the incidents are taken care of."
"And the city is none the wiser?"
He nodded. "That's the way it works. People weren't prepared to know. Still aren't, for some of the shenanigans vamps get into."
We headed to the stairs in the same order we'd entered the house.
"If they were prepared now," Mallory said, "we wouldn't be here. I mean, I know you guys have pennants and bumper stickers and whatnot, but drinking in the dark in a dilapidated house doesn't exactly scream assimilation. And now there's that business with Tate."
That stopped both Ethan and me in the middle of the staircase.
"What business with Tate?" he asked.
Mallory gave Catcher a pointed look. "You didn't tell them?"
"Other business to attend to," Catcher responded, hitching a thumb at the second floor behind us. "One crisis at a time."
Catcher continued down the stairs. With no other choice, we followed, the silence thick enough to cut through. Ethan practically trotted down the staircase. When we reached the front door, then the porch, then the sidewalk, Ethan stopped, hands on his hips.
Mallory made a low whistle of warning. I prepared for Ethan's outburst, predicting quietly, "And the shit will hit the fan in four... three... two..."
"What business with Tate?" Ethan repeated, an edge of anger in his voice.
I bit back a smile, glad Catcher was the one Ethan was about to light into. That made a nice change.
Catcher stopped and turned back to Ethan. "Tate's staff has been calling the office," he said. "He's been asking questions about vampire leadership, about the Houses, about the Sentinel."
Since I was the only Sentinel in town, I perked up. "About me?"
Catcher nodded. "The General Assembly agreed to forgo vamp management legislation this year in lieu of investigation, to ensure that nothing too prejudicial was passed. But that wasn't too hard a choice, since greater Illinois doesn't have to deal with vampires in their midst - all the Houses are in Chicago. The City Council's getting antsy, though. I know you and Grey talked to your aldermen" - Ethan nodded at this - "but the rest of the council has concerns. There's talk about zoning, about curfews, regulations."
"And what's Tate's position on that stuff?" I asked.
Catcher shrugged. "Who the hell knows what Tate thinks?"
"And he still hasn't come to any of us," Ethan muttered, eyes on the ground, brow furrowed. "He hasn't talked to Scott or Morgan or me."
"He's probably not ready to talk to you in person," Catcher said. "Maybe doing his groundwork before he sets up that meeting?"
"Or he's keeping his distance on purpose," Ethan muttered. He shook his head in reprobation, then glanced at me. "What does he want to know about Merit?"
"Likes, dislikes, favorite flowers," Mallory put in.
"So not helping," I whispered.
"I'm not kidding. I think he's totally crushing you."
I snorted in disbelief. "Yeah. The mayor of Chicago is crushing on me. That's likely."
Unlike Ethan, I had met Tate, and though he'd seemed likable enough, there was no way he was crushing on me.
"He just wants information," Catcher said. "I think at this point it's a vague curiosity. And frankly, his interest could be related to her parentage, rather than her affiliation."
Ethan leaned toward me. "At least I know you aren't feeding Tate information, or you'd surely have ferreted that out."
I clenched my jaw at the insinuation, which he'd made before, that I was some kind of informational spigot between the House and Tate's office. I decided I'd been on the receiving end of one too many speeches and snarky comments today. I glanced at Catcher and asked the same favor he'd asked of us earlier. "Would you two give us a minute?"
Catcher looked between us, grinned cheekily. "Knock yourself out, kid. We'll be in the car."
I waited until the car doors were shut before I stepped forward, stopped within inches of Ethan's body. "Look. I know why you gave me that speech earlier today. I know you have an obligation to protect your vampires. But irrespective of the way that I was made, I have done everything that you've asked of me. I've taken training, I gave up my dissertation, I moved into the House, I got you in to see my father, I got you into the Breckenridge house, and I've dated the man you asked me to." I pointed at the house behind us. "And even though I was supposed to get a few hours free from the drama of Cadogan House tonight with said man, I followed you here because you requested it. At some point, Ethan, you might consider giving me a little credit."
I didn't wait for him to answer, but turned on my heel and went to the car. I opened the back door, climbed inside, and slammed it shut behind me.
Catcher caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. "Feel better?"
"Is he still standing there with that dumbstruck expression on his face?"
There was a pause while he checked, then a chuckle. "Yes, he is."
"Then, yes, I feel better."
The car was quiet on the ride north to Wicker Park, Ethan pissed at Catcher for not sharing information about Tate within his preferred time frame (i.e., immediately), Mallory napping in the backseat, apparently worn out by her magical exertions, and Catcher humming along with an ABBA marathon he'd found on an a.m. radio station.
We reached the brownstone and said our goodbyes. Catcher reminded me that I was scheduled to practice with him first thing tomorrow evening, and Mallory and I teared up at her transition to Apprentice Sorceress, at the fact that my time with her for the next six weeks would be largely limited to phone calls. But I trusted Catcher, and given that Celina was on the loose, I was glad Mal would be learning more about her gifts, her skills, her ability to wield magic. The more protection she had, the better I felt, and I was pretty sure Catcher felt the same.
Since we'd arrived separately, Ethan and I drove our respective cars back to Cadogan House - him in the sleek Mercedes, me in my boxy Volvo. I parked the Volvo on the street, glad I'd completed my round of obligations for the night so I could have at least a few hours to myself. But he met me in the foyer, cream-colored envelope in his hand. I adjusted my own armfuls of stuff - mail, shoes, sword - and took it from him.
"This was messengered to you," he said.
I opened it up. Inside was an invitation to a gala at my parents' house the next night. I made a face. Tonight had been long enough; it didn't look like tomorrow would afford much relief.
"Lovely," I said, then showed him the invite.
He read it over, then nodded. "I'll arrange for a dress. You have katana training with Catcher tomorrow?" At my nod, he nodded back. "Then we'll leave shortly after."
"What's on the agenda?"
Ethan turned and began walking back toward his office. I followed him, at least as far as the staircase.
"The agenda," he said when we paused, "is to continue our investigations. Your father is aware that we are interested in a threat involving the Breckenridges. Given what I know of him, it's likely he'll have done some checking of his own."
"You planned it," I said, thinking of the seeds he'd planted with my father. "Told him just enough about the Breckenridges, about the danger facing us, to make him want to ask questions." Although I wasn't thrilled about the thought of going home, I could appreciate a good strategy when I heard one. "That's not bad, Sullivan."
He gave me a dry look before turning toward his office. "I appreciate the vote of confidence. Until dusk," he said, and walked away.
Once in my room, I dumped my sword and my pile of mail, then kicked off my shoes. I'd left my cell phone in my room, since I'd planned to spend the evening with the only people likely to call me, but found a voice mail waiting.
It was from Morgan. He said he was checking in, ensuring that I'd gotten home safely.
But I could hear the questions in his voice - where I'd been, what I'd been doing, what had been important enough to motivate Ethan to pull in a few-months-old Sentinel for duty. I still wasn't sure I had an answer to the last one.
I checked the clock; it was nearly four in the morning. I guessed Morgan would still be awake, but after a moment of hesitation, I opted not to call him back. I didn't want to dance around issues, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with his less-than-veiled animosity toward Ethan. The night had been long enough, contentious enough, without that.
With dawn threatening, I stripped out of my date ensemble and got into pajamas, then washed my face, grabbed a Mole skine journal and a pen, and climbed into bed. I scribbled random notes as the sun rose - about vampires, the Houses, the philosophy of drinking - and fell asleep, pen in hand.