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“Mmm-hmm. So, as we discussed yesterday, Jonah texted. He’s got an idea about sourcing the sword. He’s going to pick me up in a few minutes.”
“I believe I’ll let you handle that particular assignment. But I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Be careful out there, Merit,” Malik said.
“I’m going to try my best. Good job with those numbers.”
Malik winked in response.
The hallway was busy, well-suited Cadogan Novitiates hustling to the cafeteria or the front door and the jobs that awaited them outside the House. They smiled at Ethan, called him “Liege” as they passed, making note of their equally well-suited Master.
We stopped in the foyer, and I waited a moment, expecting Ethan to kiss me good-bye. Instead, he launched into instructions.
“Find out if they have any information about Darius. I still don’t think he sent the driver, and if he didn’t, then he’s not responded to my challenge. Perhaps they’ve heard more than we have—a plan. A response. When we might expect the bomb to be dropped.”
“And here I thought you were going to kiss me good-bye. Can I remind you that you objected to my membership in the RG?”
“I use the tools in my arsenal,” he said. “And the RG, as we know, is a valuable source of information. Be safe,” he said, pressing his mouth to mine. The kiss was hot and insistent. Brief as it was, by the time he released me, I thought my body might burn from the inside out.
“I will,” I said, when I could manage words, and tapped my katana. “I’m armed. I’m sure Jonah will be, too. Don’t leave the House without a guard.”
“I won’t,” he said, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him. Ethan Sullivan would do whatever he damn well pleased, because he was Master of his House and wanted to be the Master of all of them.
But I’d known that from the beginning and signed up anyway.
We said our final good-byes, and I walked outside and trotted down the front stairs. Jonah’s car sat in front of the gate, where two humans, a man and a woman, stood guard.
I had a twinge of regret and guilt as I passed through them, thinking of Angelo and Louie, the human guards who’d been struck down to keep us safe.
“Ma’am,” said the woman, standing at attention as I walked past.
“Have a good night,” I told them. “And a safe one.”
“That’s our job,” she said with unerring confidence.
I appreciated the enthusiasm and hoped their luck held out.
* * *
Jonah, who knew me much too well, had a bottle of blood and a candy bar ready when I climbed into the sedan.
“I ate breakfast. And even if I hadn’t, I don’t need to be fed.”
He checked the mirrors, pulled into traffic. “Since you’ve already opened that candy bar, I presume said breakfast didn’t do much for you.”
I considered offering him a bite but decided he didn’t deserve it.
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“To a place with abundant weapons and folks interested in them. We’re going to use the tsubas as fingerprints and track down the fingers from whence they came.”
“That is a very weird metaphor.”
“I buy you a candy bar, and you insult me. Well, the joke’s on you. It was loaded with protein and vitamins.”
“Spoilsport.”
“I’m your partner, not your boyfriend.”
Since Ethan usually tried to ply me with protein and vegetables, rather than foods of the overprocessed, candy-coated, and deep-fried varieties, I didn’t think the distinction held much water. But Jonah had fed me, so I didn’t argue the point.
“Just drive the car,” I grumbled.
* * *
The drive took thirty minutes through stop-and-go traffic, and that only got us to the exit. Cars were lined up on the off-ramp, a circle that dumped nearly into the main entrance of the Chicago Mid-City Convention Hall.
A purple-and-gold SpringCon banner hung across the road, and men, women, and children in superhero T-shirts and costumes walked toward the convention center beneath the glowing streetlights.
“Preview night,” Jonah said, as we parked the car in a lot a couple of blocks away. “Have you ever been to a big con?”
“I have not. I’ve been conned. But I don’t think that’s what you meant.”
He clucked his tongue. “You’re going to need better lines than that if you want to survive this gauntlet.”
I began to unbelt my katana, but Jonah shook his head. “No need,” he said, belting on his own weapon. “They’ll think it’s part of your costume.”
I looked up at him. “What costume?”
He grinned knowingly. “This is going to be even more fun than I thought.”
Belted and ready, we slipped into the throng of orcs, browncoats, robots, superheroes, and elves heading toward the front doors.
I didn’t think we’d make much headway; the line to get into the convention center extended nearly the entire sidewalk to the parking area. But when we reached the end of the line, Jonah kept walking.
Nerves and excitement spilled off the line of humans—and the occasional pop of magic sprang from a supernatural. They spanned all shapes, sizes, colors, genres. From anime baby dolls to hairy cryptomonsters, the line had it all.
I followed Jonah into the ticket area of the convention center, weaving through and toward a small booth with a VIP sign. I straightened my shoulders, excitement building, and leaned toward him.
“Are we VIPs?”
“Not yet. Friend owes me a favor.”
The friend had bulging triceps, a gleaming dome, and dark sideburns cut into neat lightning bolts. His eyes were brown, and he wore a well-loved Hulk T-shirt.
“Jonah,” he said, half rising from his perch on a stool for a complicated hand-to-wrist-to-biceps handshake.
“Tyler,” Jonah said. “My friend Merit.”
I offered a wave.
“Good costume,” he said, and when I opened my mouth to object, I caught Jonah’s warning glance and shut it again.
“Thanks, I think.”
“Tyler’s a comics artist,” Jonah said, as Tyler flipped through a small metal cash box on the counter of his booth.
I nodded encouragingly and smiled as Tyler pulled out two laminated cards attached to woven lanyards. “Your passes, my friend.”
“Appreciate it,” Jonah said, taking one, draping it around his neck, and handing the other to me. It was an eye-searing shade of yellow and featured the SpringCon logo—flowers entwined in a hazardous-materials logo.
