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“Ah, Joshua,” Mallory said. “Such a charmer.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“I actually wanted to see if you’d eaten, wanted to grab a bite.”
Ethan gestured to the cart. “Margot brought in a tray, and I believe she included bread, meats for sandwiches.”
“That actually sounds great,” Mallory said. “I didn’t go into the cafeteria; I wasn’t really sure how everyone would handle me being there, and I’m starving.”
“I told her to go anyway,” Catcher said. “She didn’t listen.”
“I rarely do,” Mallory said, moving toward the cart. “Can I help myself?”
“Please,” Ethan said. Mallory walked over and removed a dome from a tray, revealing a spread of cheeses and meats.
Most were standard, with a few odd bits thrown in. One of the meats was pinkish purple and looked as though it had been jabbed through with olives; there was also a blue cheese so heavy on the blue that it leaned toward indigo.
c made a juvenile face, Ethan’s phone rang, and he pulled it out. We all stiffened a bit, awaiting more news. Ethan scanned the screen, put it away again.
“Morgan?” Catcher asked.
“Reporters,” Ethan said. “Undoubtedly calling to discuss Balthasar’s antics. We likely were not the only ones on the street with cameras, and I’m sure a dozen people have already spread it around the Internet.”
“Sixteen,” Luc said, scanning the screen on his phone. “As of right now.”
“Just so,” Ethan said, tapping fingers against the arm of the couch. “So a conversation with reporters is not likely to make me feel any better about our current situation.”
“No,” Malik agreed, “but that doesn’t mean you should ignore them. We’ll need to get ahead of this. If we don’t, public opinion will begin the pendulum swing again. And where they go, Kowalcyzk will follow. Talk to Nick if you prefer, but talk to someone.”
Nick was Nicholas Breckenridge, an award-winning reporter in a family of shape-shifters and members of the same pack as Jeff, the NAC. They were very wealthy and friends of my father’s, and lived on an estate outside Chicago.
“What you need,” Luc said, “is a plan to deal with this asshole.”
“That is accurate,” Ethan said, crossing one leg over the other. “And back to my earlier request: I’m entertaining options for getting rid of him.” He checked his watch. “It’s two hours until dawn. I want ideas at sunset tomorrow. Specific ideas from each of you about how, precisely, we should do that.”
Catcher lifted a hand. “I’m not your employee.”
“Much to my ever-present relief,” Ethan said. “You’re excused from the exercise.”
Luc looked at me. “I’m guessing you’re going to be busy with Navarre House tomorrow, but do remember us, withering away in the basement of Cadogan House.”
I hitched a thumb at Ethan. “I go where he tells me to go.”
“You need the training.”
I’d known that was coming and had a response in the chamber. “I bested the captain of the Navarre House guards with a dagger, while wearing stilettos and a gown, in front of an audience. I have all the training.”
“I’m taking credit for this one,” Catcher said to the room, hand in the air. “Just FYI.”
“I like to think it was a group effort,” Ethan said. “All of us working together to shape our lump of girl into a Sentinel.”
“I like to think I’m more than the sum of my training.”
“You are,” Luc said. “There’s at least some hot beef or deep dish in there.”
“I am also more than Chicago foodstuffs.”
Ethan grinned at Luc. “Pumas? Diet Coke? Smart-assery?”
