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“Sorcha didn’t use Simpson,” Mallory said. “She bested her.”
“I believe that’s a detail they aren’t currently interested in. Their job is to bring down the dragon, and they’re going to do it the way they know how.”
“They haven’t fired yet,” Ethan said.
“They’re negotiating with Sorcha. They don’t want to start destroying property, and the rounds in that tank will bring down buildings.”
Catcher shook his head. “It won’t work. It’s too much weapon for downtown Chicago. If they’re hoping she has a conscience, or will be moved by that weapon, they’re doomed for disappointment.”
“They have to try,” my grandfather said. “That’s the paradigm—”
His next words were drowned out by the loudest noise I’d ever heard, a boom that echoed all the way down Michigan Avenue and had my heart hammering inside my chest like it was trying to beat its way out.
; “She learned nothing,” Catcher said, words tight with anger. “She tried to apply human strategy to a supernatural situation, and it failed. She was bamboozled by the Order, and they failed. All due respect to our men and women in uniform, but what is the Guard going to do? They can’t use jets. The dragon can fly and walk. It can evade anything they send at it. They put a plane in the air, and she’ll blow it out of the sky, and kill everyone unlucky enough to be standing beneath it. They’ll end up setting missiles on the city, and destroying it in the process.”
“They’ll use armored vehicles, I suspect,” my grandfather said. “Try to get it on the ground in order to contain the collateral damage, at least as much as they can.”
“So they’ll roll tanks down Michigan Avenue? Shoot mortars at Willis Tower? She’ll destroy more of the city that way, too, and for what? That’s not going to take down the dragon. They need pinpointed magic.”
“She’ll have decided—or the polls will have decided for her—that a joint human-supernatural approach wasn’t effective. That last night was a failure because we were involved.”
“Last night was a failure because she involved the wrong people.”
“She had a magical problem, and she sought a magical solution,” my grandfather said. “The problem has only gotten bigger—”
“And scalier,” Jeff put in.
My grandfather nodded. “So it was a failure, and she’s going in the other direction.”
“We stay home,” I said, “and she gives the city to the men and women with guns.”
“That’s about the way of it,” my grandfather said. He rose, water bottle still in hand. “I suppose we should be going.”
“Going?” Jeff asked. He looked crestfallen, bummed we wouldn’t be joining the fight.
My grandfather’s smile was grim, but determined. “If we’re going to step in and try to fix this nonsense, we’d better hit the road before the CPD comes.” He looked at me, Mallory. “She’ll do as much damage as she can as quickly as she can, because she’ll want your attention. Give it to her, and take her down.”
He walked to the door, leaving all of us staring after him.
“And that’s where your wife gets her moxie,” Catcher said, rising.
“Apparently so,” Ethan said, and glanced down at me. “Sentinel, is your sword ready?”
“And eager,” I said. “Let’s go.”
• • •
Luc, Lindsey, and the rest would stay at the House in case Sorcha tried a direct attack. My grandfather would take Catcher downtown in the van. They were official, so the odds they’d be stopped by the CPD were low.
And as for us . . . we had speed. Ethan, Mallory, and I squeezed into the Audi R8 I was still pretty sure Ethan had purchased because he idolized Iron Man. Whatever the reason, she was beautiful, and she was fast. The odds the CPD would attempt to stop us were high. The odds we’d be caught? A little less.
We wanted Mallory—and her magical know-how—on the ground with us, so Jeff volunteered to stay at Cadogan, futz with the foldouts. Mallory had pretranslated the pages, so he was tasked with rearranging them like puzzle pieces until the magic clicked into place. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best option we had.
With the snow’s melting, the city was humid, but the streets were dry, the night clear. It was a perfect night for a sports car with six hundred horses under the hood. People were wary enough of the dragon that the streets were relatively clear (for Chicago), and we made it downtown in a reasonable amount of time (for Chicago). Still, we avoided main roads and opted for backstreets, and didn’t see a single officer or soldier.
We found them downtown, creating a barrier around Michigan Avenue north of the river, so we parked a few blocks away, met my grandfather in front of the Carbide & Carbon Building, with its dark granite and gold touches that gleamed beneath the streetlights.
“Keep your weapons sheathed,” he said, “and let me do the talking.”
