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?