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Sorcha had worked her magic over the city in a very specific pattern of alchemical hot spots intended to form a kind of web around the city. Tonight’s freezing temps coincided with that web almost exactly, with the coldest point centered over the Towerline building.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Luc said.
“Either Sorcha really likes returning to the scene of the crime,” I said, “or she’s making use of what she did before.”
“Maybe she’s taking advantage of something left behind,” Ethan said. “Capitalizing on the magic she spilled into the alchemical web during her last trip?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Catcher thinks that’s what’s causing the delusions, after all.”
“It would take a lot of energy to freeze the river,” Ethan murmured as he peered at the charts.
I wrapped my hands around the mug Margot had filled for me, let my fingers draw warmth from the slick ceramic . . . and realized what was happening.
“Oh,” I said.
Ethan turned to me. “Oh?”
I took his hand, pressed it against the mug. “Warm?”
“Yes?”
“Because your fingers are absorbing the heat?”
“Yes—oh.” He cocked his head at the map. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Luc said, gaze darting from mug to map. “Very good, Sentinel.”
“The cloud formation is some kind of heat sink,” I said. “It’s pulling heat from the atmosphere. That’s why it’s colder the closer you get to Towerline and the formation.”
“She’s pulling the heat out of Chicago,” Luc said. “She’s going to freeze the city?”
“Possibly,” Ethan said quietly. “Although, as Catcher pointed out, that’s not much of a threat in Chicago. We’ve dealt with blizzards before.”
“Maybe she hopes to ring in another ice age,” Juliet suggested.
“Maybe,” Ethan said, but still didn’t sound entirely convinced. “In case that’s the plan, ready the House. Check our supplies, the emergency tunnels, the generators.”
“On that,” Luc said, pointing a finger at Juliet. She nodded, turned back to her computer, began making preparations. As she did that, I sent a message to Jeff and Catcher about the weather.
“The delusions and the weather have Towerline in common,” I said, and explained to Luc what we’d learned from Jeff about two of the humans’ connections to the building.
“But there’s no obvious connection between the delusions and the weather,” Luc said.
“Not that we can tell so far,” Ethan said, and lifted his gaze to the map again. “But Towerline is clearly the key. Perhaps Mr. Stiles can give us some insight about the delusions, and that will give us insight into the rest of it.” He pushed back his chair, a signal that it was time to leave. “We’ll see what he has to say.”
“Before you go,” Luc said, rising to meet us, “Linds and I got something for you. She’s on patrol but wanted me to give it to you.”
“You didn’t need to—,” Ethan began, but Luc shook his head.
“We wanted to.” He rose and walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a tub of cashews.
“Oooh,” I said, but Luc shook his head.
“Not for you, Sentinel. This one’s for both of you.” He pulled out a small box wrapped in gleaming foil paper, a silver bow on top.
“Our congratulations,” Luc said, and offered the box over his arm like he was presenting a gift to his king. Which I guess wasn’t far from the truth.
I put a hand at Ethan’s back as he pulled off the paper, revealing a pretty blue box the color of a robin’s egg. He opened it, pulled back delicate white tissue paper. His smile blossoming, he showed it to me. Nestled inside the box was a small silver rectangle with SULLIVAN / MERIT etched in elegant capital letters.
