“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?