“It’s the second Key,” I added, enjoying the surprised expression on Catcher’s face. “I am capable of learning.”
“Color me surprised,” he snarked, then moved to his knees, resheathed the blade, and placed the sword in front of him on the floor. Solemnly, he bowed to it, then rewrapped it in the silk. “Next time, I’ll let you hold her.”
“Next time? What about your job? My grandfather?”
“Chuck doesn’t mind that I’m ensuring your safety.” When the scabbard was covered again, he rose, cradling it in his arms, and surveyed us all. “Who wants eggs?”
CHAPTER 7
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
“Eggs,” it turned out, meant a deliciously greasy breakfast. After I’d showered and changed back into my street clothes, Mallory and I followed Catcher and Jeff to a tiny aluminum diner situated in the shadow of the El in a commercial neighborhood that had seen better days. An electric blue neon sign blinked “Molly’s” in one of the round windows.
Once inside, we piled into a booth and surveyed the breakfast-only menu. After a gingham-clad waitress took our orders—eggs, sausage, and toast all around—we lapsed into a companionable silence, marred only by the intense stares that Mallory and Catcher couldn’t seem to help but exchange.
When the plates arrived minutes later, laden with greasy breakfast necessities, I tore into the sausage. I sucked down three links immediately and made doe eyes at Mallory, who handed me a fourth.
Catcher chuckled. “You’re craving protein.”
“Like a shifter,” Jeff put in, grinning wolfishly. And that made me wonder something.
I nibbled the edge of my toast. “Jeff, what kind of animal do you change into?”
He and Catcher exchanged a glance, wary enough that I guessed that I’d made another supernatural faux pas. I mentally reiterated my interest in getting a guidebook. Hell—writing one, if that was what it came down to.
“Did I ask the wrong question again?” I asked, taking another bite, social clumsiness clearly not affecting my appetite.
“Asking about someone’s animal is the shifter equivalent of pulling a ruler and asking a guy to whip it out,” Catcher said.
And down went toast into my trachea. I choked, had to swallow half my glass of OJ to get my breath back. “I’m okay,” I said, waving Mallory off. “I’m fine.” I gave Jeff a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
He beamed at me. “Oh, I’m not offended. I could show you. I think you’d be pretty pleased.”
I held up a hand. “No.”
Jeff shrugged and chewed a mouthful of eggs, apparently unruffled.
Catcher took a sip of his coffee, then dunked a corner of toast in the remnant of gooey egg yolk on his plate. “There’s an easy way for you to remedy your ignorance, you know.”
“What’s that?” I asked him, pushing back my plate. I’d finished off five links of sausage—three of my own, two pilfered—three eggs and four triangles of toast, and I’d just taken the edge off the hunger. But two thousand calories or so of grease, carbs, and protein was my limit at one sitting. I’d catch a snack later, and wondered how late Giordano’s was open. Or how late Superdawg stayed open. A hot dog and fries—how good did that sound?
“Read the Canon,” Catcher answered, interrupting my meat reverie. “It’s your best source for information on sups, including all the shit you’re already supposed to know about vampires. There’s a reason they give those out, you know.”
I drummed fingers on the table—well on my mental way through a Hackneyburger with bleu cheese—and made a face. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy—getting death threats, kicking my Master’s ass, getting training.”
“You finally have an excuse to buy that BlackBerry,” Mallory pointed out, sipping at her diamond-patterned plastic tumbler of orange juice. I scowled at her, then batted my eyelashes at Catcher. “So, what’s the story with Mallory?”
Mallory growled. Catcher ignored her. “Now that she’s been identified, the Order will contact her. She’ll get her training, be assigned a mentor—not me,” he clarified, giving her a look, “and will be asked to swear never to use her magic for the forces of evil”—he crossed a hand over his heart—“but only for good.”
“Is that what you did?” I asked him. “Used magic for evil instead of good?”
“Nope,” was all he said, tossing his napkin onto his plate.
“Why now?” Mallory asked. “If I’m so powerful, why the interest only now? Why wasn’t I identified before?”
“Puberty,” Catcher said, relaxing back into the booth. “You’ve just come into your powers.”
I snorted out a laugh. “And you thought the weird body hair and pimples were the end of it.”
Mallory elbowed me in the gut. “What powers? It’s not like I’m out there waving a magic wand or something.”
“A sorcerer’s power doesn’t work like that. We’re not spell casters—no charms, no recipes, no cauldrons. We don’t have to invoke it or ask for it. We don’t draw it through a wand or the combination of words and ingredients. We pull it through our bodies, merely by the strength of our own will.” Catcher crooked a thumb at me. “She’s a predator, a genetically altered human, tempered by magic. Her magic is accidental; vamps notice it more than humans, have a greater awareness of it than humans, but can’t control it. We are vessels of magic. We keep it. Channel it. Protect it.”
At Mallory’s blank expression, Catcher said, “Look, have you recently decided that you wanted something, and then got it? Something unexpected?”
Mallory frowned and nibbled on the end of a sausage link, a move I noted was watched with avidity by Jeff.
“Not that I can think of.” She looked at me. “Something I wanted and got?”
That was when it hit me. “Your job,” I answered. “You told Alec you wanted the job—next day, you had it.”
Mallory paled, and turned to Catcher. “Is that right?” There was sadness in her expression, probably dismay at the possibility that she hadn’t gotten the job at McGettrick because of her qualifications or creativity, but because she’d made it happen, the result of some supernatural force she could flick on like a light switch.
“Maybe,” Catcher said. “What else?”
We frowned, considered. “Helen,” Mallory said. “I wanted her out of the House—virulently. I opened the door, told her to get out, and poof, she’s on the stoop.” She gazed up at Catcher. “I thought if you revoked a vampire’s invitation they got sucked out?”
Catcher shook his head, his expression radiating quiet concern. They’d be good for each other, I decided. Her energy, expressiveness, impulsiveness, creativity, matched against his smart-ass solidity.
“They leave by rule, by paradigm. Not by magic. That was your doing.”
Mallory nodded and let the sausage fall back to her plate.
“You can try it, if you want. Right now, while I’m here.” Catcher’s voice was soft, thoughtful. Mallory’s gaze on the table, she wet her lips. Finally, after a long silence, she looked up.
“What do I do?”
Catcher nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching back into his jeans pocket. He pulled out a beaten black leather wallet, then slipped cash from the center fold and laid it on the table. After he’d leaned forward to push the wallet back in, he rose from the booth and held his hand out to Mallory. She paused, looked at it, but let him help her up and out. They headed for the door.
Jeff swallowed the remaining inch of his orange juice, then put the empty tumbler back on the table, and we both followed.
Outside, the rain had finally stopped. Catcher led Mallory, her hand still in his, around the restaurant. Jeff and I exchanged a glance, but hurried to keep up.
Catcher walked a block or so until he and Mallory stood directly beneath the El, then positioned her body so they stood facing each other. Jeff stopped five yards from them and put a hand on my arm to stop me, too.
“Close enough,” he whispered. “Give them room.”