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"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.
