“Thanks, Mallory. Have a good day.”
“I will. You sleep good.”
Maybe unsurprisingly, I didn’t.
CHAPTER 6
IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED, FALL DOWN, DOWN AGAIN.
It was raining when I woke the next evening, the fourth day of my new life, tucked beneath the ancient quilt that covered my bed. I stretched and rose and walked to the window, flipping back the black leather curtain that kept sunlight off my body while I slept. The evening was gray, the window cold against the flat of my palm. Heavy drops of spring rain patted against the glass. It was seven thirtyish, and the evening stretched before me. I had only one thing planned—training with Catcher, as arranged the night before.
I made myself stop obsessing about the kiss. After all, I should have been thrilled to death that I hadn’t been weak enough to say yes to Ethan’s offer. I was still Merit, still Mallory’s friend and still my grandfather’s granddaughter. So when I rose, I put it behind me and focused on the night ahead.
I wasn’t sure of the appropriate dress code for my first night of training as Cadogan House Initiate, especially given the weather, so I opted for black yoga capris, a T-shirt, running shoes, and a fleece jacket to ward off the chill. When we met in the living room, Mallory was out of her business suit and tucked into jeans and a T-shirt. She linked her arm in mine as we stepped onto the stoop, nodding to the guards at the door before darting to the garage.
Mallory flipped open the garage door and we walked inside. “You ready for your big vampire adventure?”
“You ready to find out who you are?” I countered.
“Honestly, I’m not yet sure if knowing is better than not.”
I made a sound of agreement, unlocked the car, and slid inside. Mallory joined me after I reached over to pop the lock. The car started on the first try—not always a guarantee with a car nearly older than I was—and I backed her carefully out of the garage and onto the street.
“Can you believe we’re wrapped up in this?” she asked. “Not even a month ago, no one knew vampires existed. Now we’re in the middle of it, as deep as you can get. And this Catcher. He’s what?”
“He said he was a fourth-grade sorcerer until he was kicked out of the Order. I don’t know what that—”
“It’s the governing body for sorcerers,” Mallory interjected.
I slid her a quick glance. “And you’d know that because?”
“I’ve done some homework. I made some calls.”
“I see. And a fourth-grade sorcerer? That would be what, exactly?”
“Top of the line.”
Not really surprising given the fireworks display. A little scary, but not surprising. “Gotcha.”
When we reached the warehouse district, we found parking in front of the brick building bearing the address Catcher had provided. The building was four squat stories tall and ringed at the top with equally spaced square windows, like a coronet of glass. A substantial red door sat in the middle of the facade. We dodged raindrops to reach it, then pushed it open, revealing an impressive atrium that stretched the full height of the building. The room itself was shaped like an inverted T, with a long hallway punched through the middle. An empty demilune reception desk stood in the juncture.
Having gotten no instructions beyond the time and address, I gave Mallory a shrug, and we ventured toward the hallway. Doors marked both walls, but there was no sign of our sorcerer or a gym. Rather than testing each door, which felt a little too Alice in Wonderland, we decided to wait and hope that someone would eventually come looking for us. We debated whether they’d come from the right or the left.
“Left side?” I offered.
Mallory shook her head. “Right. Loser buys dinner.”
“Done,” I agreed, seconds too early. Mallory nailed it—a door opened on the right, and Jeff’s head popped out of the doorway. He grinned at me, waved, and widened his eyes when he saw Mallory.
“You brought magic,” he said, his voice a little dreamy, and beckoned us in. Mallory grumbled a few choice words about “magic,” but we followed obediently.
The room was enormous. The walls were concrete, the floor dominated by blue gymnastics mats. A gauntlet of punching and speed bags hung in one corner. The contrast between this room—sterile, equipped for precision training—and the Cadogan sparring room—ceremonial, equipped for flashy moves—was easily apparent. This place lacked the gravitas, but it also lacked the ego. There, you showed off. Here, you worked out. You prepared. The music, though, was weirdly mellow—John Lee Hooker’s “You Talk Too Much” flowed through the space.
“I’m Jeff,” he said, sticking out a hand toward Mallory. She shook it.
“Mallory Carmichael.”
“I’m a shifter,” he said. “And you’re magic.”
“That’s what I hear,” she flatly said.
“Have you joined the Order yet?”
Mallory shook her head.
Jeff nodded. “Talk to Catcher. But don’t let him blind you to the benefits of being unionized.”
As if on cue, a door on the far side of the room opened with a metallic scrape. Catcher emerged, stalking toward us in bare feet, jeans, and a T-shirt that read Real Men Use Keys. It was a good look for him—sexy, rough, a little dangerous. It was the look of a man who’d just crawled out of bed, leaving a very satisfied woman beneath the sheets.
I watched his eyes survey the room, saw his gaze move from Jeff, to me, to Mallory. And that was when I saw the blink, the tiny hitch in his composure when he took in the petite frame, the blue hair, the gorgeous face. I turned, saw the same awestruck expression on her face, and watched them stare at each other. The force of the attraction seemed to warm the air. I grinned.
“You’re late,” Catcher said when he reached us, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jeff, the sweetheart, defended my honor. “She was here on time. I found ’em standing in the hallway, staring at the architecture.”
“It’s a great building,” I said.
“Thanks,” Catcher replied, his gaze on Mallory. “I don’t have time to deal with you tonight.” I guessed introductions were unnecessary.
Mallory huffed. “I don’t recall asking you for help.”
The air seemed to prickle around us, drawing goose bumps along my arms. Jeff took a couple of steps backward. Since he undoubtedly knew more than I did, I followed suit.
“You don’t have to ask,” Catcher said. “You’re practically drenched in power, and you obviously have no clue what to do with it.”
Mallory rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you’re a fourth-grade,” Catcher said, gazing at her through half-lidded eyes. “And I know you know what that means. I know you put in a call. But Merit doesn’t have magic, and I need to make sure, first and foremost, that she can handle what’s coming. So not now, okay?”
Mal’s eyes flared, blazed. But after a moment, she nodded.
Catcher inclined his head, then looked me over. He pinched the sleeve of my fleece jacket. “This won’t work. You’re wearing too many clothes. You need to watch your body move, learn how your muscles work.” He crooked a thumb toward the door in the back of the room. “Head back. There’re clothes in the locker room. And lose the shoes.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Do you want a speech, too?”