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Her eyes widened. "And I thought we'd start with some awkward 'How's your family' type stuff." She paused, looked down at the table, then up at me again. "You're living together?"
I nodded, waiting while she processed the information and reached a conclusion. Honestly, her deliberation made me nervous. She'd been there from the beginning; she had been in the room the first time I'd confronted Ethan. She knew our potential - and limitations - as well as anyone else.
After a moment, she linked her fingers together and gazed at me with motherly concern. "You don't think you're moving too quickly with him?"
"I've moved one flight of stairs."
"Yeah, into the Master's suite. That's the vampire version of a penthouse."
"It's also approximately ten times larger and more luxe than my former room," I reminded her. "Relationship or not, you shouldn't deny me fine linens and turndown service."
Mallory narrowed her eyes. "Darth Sullivan does not get turndown service."
"He does," I said. "With drinks and truffles."
"How very . . . Sullivan," she said with an amused smile. "Don't get me wrong. I like Sullivan. I think he's good for you in his way. And you two certainly have a vibe. A strong one."
"Strong enough that it could have become hatred as easily as love," I agreed.
"I think you did hate him for a time," Mallory said. "And love and hate are both strong emotions. Flip sides of the same coin. The thing is, he's just so . . ."
"Stodgy?" I offered, thinking of my earlier accusation.
"Old," she said. "Four hundred years old, or something? I just don't want you to rush anything."
"We aren't," I assured her. "For once, we're actually both on the same page about our relationship. What about you? How are things with Catcher?"
Catcher, Mallory's boyfriend, had moved into her town house right before I moved into Cadogan House, but they'd been off and on since her recent escapades. Understandably, he hadn't taken her magical betrayal lightly.
"They're developing," she shyly said, picking at a thread on one of her sleeves. Her hands still bore the faint scars of her attempt to unleash powerful black magic on the world.
A few weeks ago I wouldn't have pushed her to elaborate, mostly because I didn't want to raise uncomfortable subjects. But if we were going to root ourselves in friend territory once again, we were going to have to stop dancing around the tough issues.
"I'm going to need more information than that," I said.
She shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes. "We're seeing each other. I wouldn't say we're back to where we were - he still doesn't trust me, and I understand that - but I think we're better."
My protective instincts kicked in. Mallory undoubtedly had her issues, but she was still my girl. "He's not being obnoxious, is he?"
Mallory gave me a flat look. "We're talking about Catcher. He's always obnoxious. But not the way you mean. He's moved into overly protective. Lots of checking in on me, lots of making sure I'm eating and sleeping well."
"He's worried about you," I said.
"And," she said, drawing out the word, "he's feeling guilty that he didn't intervene the first time around. He's such a hands-off person. I mean, not romantically. He's very hands-on, if you get my drift."
"I have no interest in your drift," I said, gesturing her to keep going.
"The thing is, I think he hates himself a little bit because he didn't see what I was doing."
In fairness, he had missed a lot. Mallory was working her bad mojo while she'd ostensibly been studying to become an official member of U-ASS, the sorcerers' union. She'd done a lot of the mayhem-making in the basement of the town house they shared, right under his nose.
"It still surprises me," I said honestly. "I'm not really sure how he missed it, either."
"Yeah," she said guiltily, "but then, why would you assume your girlfriend was attempting to destroy Chicago?"
You might assume it when Chicago was beginning to literally crumble around you, but hindsight was twenty-twenty.
"Okay," I said. "So he's being motherly. Have you talked to him about it?"
Saul marched in, wearing a giant oven mitt and holding a round pan that smelled - you guessed it - of cream cheese and bacon. He put the pizza on a trivet in the middle of the table, and as was his style, served up a piece for each of us.
My mouth watered immediately.
"Thank you, Saul," Mallory said, glancing at me with amusement. "You're fanging out."
I covered my mouth with a hand, glancing around to ensure no one else had seen it. There was no point in drawing any extra attention to my biology.
"Thanks," I said, digging into my slice when I was certain my body was under control and I wouldn't ravish the pizza in full view of the room. The taste was absolutely sublime. I'd had take-out from Saul's since becoming a vampire, but that was nothing like eating deep-dish fresh from the oven.
"I'm in the process of talking to Catcher about it," Mallory continued. "I have to tread carefully because, you know, I almost managed to destroy Chicago. And I don't mean to make light. I know what I did, and now I'm trying to live with it. To turn myself around so that I can actually use this gift for something more than utter selfishness."
Now that was more like it. "I like the sound of that. What about Gabe and the others?"
Gabriel Keene was the head of the North American Central Pack and Mallory's magical rehab sponsor.
"Gabe's good. He's spending a lot of time with Tanya and Connor - doesn't want to miss out on Connor's milestones. Berna's still playing mother." Berna was one of Gabe's relatives and the bartender at Little Red, the Ukrainian Village watering hole where the Pack hung out in Chicago.
"How long are you going to stay with them?"
"I'm not sure. They're building up their catering business, and they need help to get it rolling. Frankly, I'm not sure they've really thought about me long term." She cleared her throat. "And that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."
"What's that?" I asked, cutting a chunk of pizza with the side of my fork.
"What I'm going to do when I'm cleared to use my magic again," she clarified. "I need a productive job. A mission of some kind. And I thought, maybe, I could help you guys."
I paused, fork midway to my mouth. "Help us?"
"Help Cadogan House. I need to do something good, Merit," she explained before I could respond. Which was good, because I had no idea how to respond. "I need to help people. I need to make good for what I did. And, frankly, you guys need a lot of help."
