I shook my head. “Not much above normal, unless I get angry.”
Catcher seemed to consider that, tilting his head to regard me. “That’s . . . interesting. Could be those powers aren’t online yet.”
A motorcycle raced down the dark street, and we were quiet until it disappeared around the block.
“If you want to harness your power,” Catcher continued, “whatever that power may be, you’ll need training. Vamps have their own traditions of sword work—offensive moves, defensive patterns. You need to learn them.”
Having depleted the dandelion of its seeds, I dropped the empty stem to the ground. “If I’m stronger, why do I need training?”
“You’re going to be a power, Merit, but there’s always someone stronger. Well, unless you’re Amit Patel, but that’s not the point. Trust me—there’s going to be lots of vampire kiddies who want to take you for a spin. You’ll invite challenges from good guys and bad guys alike. To stay healthy, merely being stronger or faster won’t be enough. You need moves.” He paused, nodded. “And until the CPD brings this murderer in, it’d help if you could handle yourself. It’d make Chuck feel better, and if Chuck feels better, I feel better.”
I smiled collegially, appreciative that my grandfather had Catcher at his back. “Can Jeff handle himself?”
Catcher made a sarcastic sound. “Jeff’s a fucking shifter. He doesn’t need martial arts to get around in the world.”
“And you? Do you need martial arts?”
In lieu of answering, he flicked his hand in my direction. A burst of blue light flew from his open fingers, aiming straight for my head. Immediately, I dropped into a crouch again, then angled to the side as he shot a second burst. With an electric sizzle, the bursts exploded a shower of sparks.
I snapped my gaze back to the low-slung man on the bench, muttering a string of curses that would have turned even my grandfather’s ears red. “What the hell are you?”
Catcher stood and extended a hand to help me up. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. “Not people.”
“A witch?”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “What did you just call me?”
I’d obviously offended him, so I backtracked. “Um . . . Sorry. I’m a little unclear on all the . . . right labels.”
He watched me for a moment, then nodded. “Accepted. That’s a pretty big insult for someone like me.”
I didn’t tell him that the vamps threw the word around with casual ease. “And what is that, exactly?”
“I am—was—a fourth-class sorcerer, proficient in the minor and major, greater and lesser Keys.”
“Keys?”
“The divisions of power. Of magic,” he added at my blank stare. “But because I made the Order’s shit list”—he pointed down at the words on his T-shirt—“I’ve been excommunicated.”
“The Order? Is that a church?”
“More like a union. I was a member.”
Although I understood the words he used, I had no context in which to place anything he’d said, so none of it made sense. (I needed a guidebook. A big, thick, illustrated, tabbed, and indexed guidebook to the sups of Chicago. Did they make those?) But the part about his being excommunicated was clear enough, so I focused there. “You’re a magical rogue?”
He shrugged. “Close enough. Back to you. I’ll train you.”
“Why?” I looked back at the building, then flicked him a suspicious glance. “You can shoot blue lightning from your hands, but you’re working in a run-down building on the South Side with my grandfather. Training me will take time away from your work”—I pointed at his T-shirt—“and whatever other supernatural business you’ve got going on. Besides, isn’t that the vamps’ job?”
“Sullivan will clear it.”
“Why?”
“Because he will, Nosy. Weapons, objects of power, are the second Key. That’s my bag, my specialty, and Sullivan knows it.”
“And why do you care who trains me?”
Catcher looked at me for a long time, long enough that crickets began to chirp around us. “Partly because Chuck asked me to. And partly because you have something of mine. And the time will come when it’s up to you to protect it. I need to know you’ll be ready for that.”
I took my own pause. “Are you serious?”
“Very.”
I stuffed my hands into my pockets, tilted my head at him. “What am I protecting?”
Catcher just shook his head. “Not the time for that.”
It was “not time” for all the good stuff, I thought as my cab turned onto the block and stopped at the curb before us.
“Tomorrow at eight thirty,” Catcher said, then gave me an address I guessed was in River North. I walked toward the waiting cab and opened the back door.
“Merit.”
I glanced back.
“She needs training, and a lot of it. The last thing I need is another misguided neophyte screwing around with the lesser Keys.”
Sullivan had definitely made a call about Mallory. “How do you know that?” I asked him.
Catcher snorted. “Knowing things is what I do.”
“Well, then, you know she’s not taking the news well. Maybe you should give her a call. What with the fangs and serial killer, I’m full up on supernatural drama at the moment.”
He grinned at me, white teeth flashing. “Babe, you’re a vampire. Deal with it.”
Mallory was asleep when I got home, tucked safely into bed. And why wouldn’t she be safe with a pair of armed guards outside? I headed straight for the fridge. The bags of blood still held no appeal, so I grabbed an apple and munched at the kitchen counter, flipping through the day’s paper. The front page featured a picture of Mayor Tate, tall and darkly handsome, under the headline Mayor Announces New Anticrime Measures.
I snorted, wondering what the readership would think if they understood the anticrime measures being employed in a small brick building on the South Side.
After flipping through the paper, I checked the clock. It was two a.m., hours before sleep would pull me under. I was debating a hot bath when a knock sounded at the door. I headed to the living room, chucking the apple core on the way, and checked the peephole. The nose and hair were distorted by the angle, but there was no mistaking a blond, pissed-off vampire in black Armani. I flipped the locks and pulled the door open.
“Good evening, Ethan.”
His gaze immediately dropped to the ninja print across my chest. I got an arched brow for the fashion choice—at least, that was how I chose to interpret the disdain—before he raised flame green eyes to mine.
“You think to bring down my House by spying on us?”