SEASON OF THE WITCH
I pulled into the restaurant's almost empty parking lot. The restaurant's windows glowed, only a handful of men and women visible through the glass.
I parked the Volvo and headed inside, glancing around until I found Mallory. She sat at a table in front of a laptop computer and a foot-high stack of books, her straight, ice blue hair tucked behind her ears. She frowned at the screen, a half-full tumbler of orange juice at her side.
She glanced up when I came in, and I noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes.
"Hi," she said, relief in her face.
I slid into the booth. "You look tired." No need to equivocate when your BFF was in pain, I figured.
"I am tired." She closed the laptop and slid it out of the way, then linked her hands on the table. "Practicum isn't all it's cracked up to be."
I crossed my legs on the bench. "Hard work?"
"Physically and emotionally exhausting." She frowned over at the pile of books. "This is like sorcery boot camp - learning stuff I should have studied ten years ago, cramming all that into a fewmonth period."
"Is it useful stuff?"
"Yeah. I mean, I've gone over it with my tutor so much it's kind of second nature now."
Before I had time to blink, the plastic salt and pepper shakers were sliding across the table in front of me.
I glanced up and found Mallory completely still, her expression bland. I'd seen Mallory move things before - furniture, the last time - but I hadn't seen her so lackadaisical about it.
"That's . . . impressive."
She shrugged, but there was something dark in her eyes. "I can do it almost without thinking about it."
"And how do you feel about that?"
That was when the tears began to well. She looked up and away, as if the gesture alone would keep the tears from falling. But they slipped down her cheeks anyway. And when she brushed away the tears, I realized her fingers were red and raw.
"Talk to me," I told her, then glanced around.
Our corner of the restaurant was empty; the only waitress in sight sat at a table on the other side of the room, rolling silverware into paper napkins.
"It's practically just me and you in here."
That unleashed a new flood of tears. My heart clenched at the thought that she'd done or seen things in the last couple of weeks that had brought her to tears - and that I probably couldn't have stopped it.
I got up and moved to her side of the table, waiting until she slid down before I took a seat beside her.
"Tell me," I said.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
I couldn't help it; I smiled. If there was ever a problem I could understand as a newbie vampire, that was it. I bumped my forehead against her shoulder.
"Keep going."
The floodgates opened. "I was this girl, right?
Doing my thing. Having blue hair, working my ad-exec mojo. And then you're a vampire, and Ethan Sullivan is touching my hair and telling me I have magic. And then there's Catcher and I'm a witch and I'm learning Keys and how to throw flaming balls of crap at targets so I'm ready when the vampire shit inevitably hits the fan."
She sucked in air, then started again. "I was supposed to be a partner at thirty, Merit. Have a condo on the lake. Have a Birkin bag and generally be satisfied with my very fancy lot.
And now I'm doing" - she looked around - "magic. And not just magic."
Another tear slid down her cheek.
"What do you mean, not just magic?"
Her voice dropped an octave. "You know about the four Keys, right?"
"Sure. Power, beings, weapons, text."
"Right. Those are the four major divisions of magic. Well, turns out it's not that simple - those aren't the only major divisions."
I frowned at her. "So what are the others?"
She leaned in toward me. "They're black magic, Merit. The bad stuff. There's an entire system of dark magic that overlays the four good Keys." She grabbed a napkin and uncapped a pen. "You've seen Catcher's tattoo, right?"
I nodded. It was across his abdomen, a circle divided into quadrants.
She sketched out the image I'd seen, then pointed at the four pielike segments. "So each quadrant is a Key, right? A division of magic."
She pulled another napkin from the holder and unfolded it, then drew another divided circle.
When she was done, she placed the second napkin on top of the first one.
"It's the same four divisions - but all black magic."
This time, my voice was softer. "Give me something to go on, here. What kind of black magic are we talking? Elphaba, Wicked Witch of the West - type stuff or Slytherin-type stuff?"
She shook her head. "I can't tell you."
"You can tell me anything."
She looked over at me, frustration clear in her face. "Not won't tell you, can't tell you. There's Order juju at work. I know things, but I can't get them out. I can summon up the phrases in my head, but can't actually give voice to the words."
I did not like the sound of that - the fact that the already-secretive Order was using magic to keep Mallory from talking about the things that worried her. Dark things.
Regrettable things?
"Is there anything I can do?"
She shook her head, eyes on her hands on the table.
"Is that why your hands are so chapped?"
She nodded. "I'm tired, Merit. I'm training, and I'm learning what I can, but this - I don't know - it uses you differently." She clenched her hands into fists and then released them again.
"It's a whole different kind of exhausting. Not just body. Not just mind. Soul, too, kind of." Her eyebrows knotted with worry.
"Have you talked to Catcher about any of this?"
She shook her head. "He's not in the Order. I can't tell him anything I can't tell you."
I suddenly had an understanding of why Catcher wasn't such a big fan of the Order - and why it mattered whether he was still a member or not.
"How can I help?"
She swallowed. "Could we just sit here for a little while?" She sighed haggardly. "I'm just tired. And I have exams coming up, and there's so much prep to do - so many expectations on me right now. I just don't want to go home. Not back to my life. I just want to sit in this crappy corporate restaurant for another couple of hours."
I put my arm around her shoulders. "As long as you want."
We sat in the booth for an hour, barely talking, Mallory sipping orange juice from her cup and staring out the window at the rare car that passed the restaurant.
When her tumbler was empty, I bumped her shoulder again. "He loves you, you know. Even if it feels like something you can't take to him, you can. I mean, I get that you can't give him the details, but you can tell him this is worrying you."
"You know that for sure?"
I caught the tiny thread of hope in her voice and tugged. "I know that for sure. It's Catcher, Mallory. Crazy stubborn? Sure. Gruff? Absolutely. But also totally in love with you."
She sniffed. "Keep going."
"Remember what you told me about Ethan?
That I deserved someone who wanted me from the beginning? Well, Catcher Bell is your somebody. He would snap anyone who came at you in half, and that's been obvious since the second he met you. There's not a doubt in my mind that he's all in, and there's nothing you can't tell him. Well," I added with a smile, "unless you become a vamp. That would probably be a deal breaker."
Mal made a half laugh, half cry and wiped her face again.
"I assume you're not making secret plans to become a vampire?"
"Not right at this moment."
"Good. I think one vamp in the family is plenty enough."
"Concur on that one. It's just . . ." She paused, then started again. "There are very few decisions in my life that I regret. Not grabbing that vintage Chanel we saw at that consignment store on Division. Not watching Buffy until the third season. Minor stuff, but you know what I mean."
She shook her head. "But this. Being ID'd as a sorcerer, agreeing to go along with this stuff, taking part in things - I don't know. Maybe I should have just ignored the whole thing. Kept on with the ad gig and ignored the vampires and the sorcery and Ethan touching my hair. I mean, who does that? Who touches someone's hair and pronounces they have magic?"
"Darth Sullivan."
"Darth goddamned Sullivan." She chuckled a little, then put her head on my shoulder. "Did you ever wish you could just walk away? Rewind your life back to the day before you became supernaturally inclined and catch an Amtrak out of town?"
I smiled a little, thinking of what Ethan had said. "The thought has occurred to me."
"All right," she said, putting her palms flat on the table and blowing out a breath. "It's time for a pep talk. Ready, set, go."
That was my cue to call adult swim at the pity pool and kick her out - and then offer up a little motivational magic of my own.
"Mallory Carmichael, you're a sorceress. You may not like it, but it's a fact. You have a gift, and you are not going to sit around a Goodwin's drinking fifty-nine-cent coffee because you've got concerns about your assignments. You're a sorceress - but you're not a robot. If you have concerns about your job, talk to someone about it. If you think something you're doing flunks the smell test, then stop doing it. Break the chain of command if that's what it takes. You have a conscience, and you know how to use it."
We sat quietly there for a moment, until her decisive nod.
"That's what I needed."
"That's why you love me."
"Well, that and we wear the same shoe size."
She swiveled in her seat and pulled up a knee.
Her foot, now propped on the seat, was snug inside a pair of lime green, limited-edition Pumas . . . one of the pair I'd left at Mal's house when I'd moved into Cadogan.
"Are those - "
"What they are is so comfy."
"Mallory Delancey Carmichael."
"Hey, Street Fest is this weekend," she suddenly said. "Maybe we could head down and nosh some meat on a stick."
Street Fest was Chicago's annual end-of summer food bash. Restaurants and caterers put up their white vinyl tents in Grant Park to hawk their wares and celebrate the end of August's roasting heat and steamy humidity. Normally, I was a pretty big fan. Sampling Chicago's finest grub while listening to live music wasn't exactly a bad way to spend an evening.
On the other hand, "Are you trying to distract me with roast beast?"
She batted her eyelashes.
"Seriously, Mallory. Those shoes are limited edition. Do you remember how long I tried to find them? We staked out the Web for, like, three weeks."
"Epistemological crisis here, Mer. Seriously.
One cannot tread lightly in cheap knockoff sneaks when one is enmeshed in a crisis."
I sighed, knowing I'd been beaten.
As it turned out, she didn't have two hours in her. She needed only twenty more minutes before she was ready to return to her life - to Keys and magic and Catcher. She decided to make an early night of practicum, and instead put in a call to Catcher that was sickly sweet enough that my blood sugar rose.
But however sickening, she was smiling by the end of the call, so I had to give props to Catcher.
We exchanged hugs in the parking lot, and I sent her home to Wicker Park and the waiting arms of a green-eyed sorcerer.
Whatever worked.
Ironic, I guess, that I was heading back to the House of a green-eyed vampire, although definitely not - to his chagrin - his waiting arms.
I was nearly back in that vampire's territory when my phone rang again.
"Merit," I answered.
"Something's going on tonight," Jonah said.
"A rave?"
"Might start out that way. But if these things really are as violent as you're hearing . . ."
He didn't need to finish the sentence, unfortunately. The implication was obvious - and bad.
"How did you find out?"
"Text message. A flashmob, just like the others."
"And this time we got in early enough?" I wondered aloud.
"This time we got lucky and found the phone," Jonah said. "Someone left it at Benson's."
"Benson's, as in across-the-streetfrom-Wrigley-Field Benson's?"
"Yeah. That's the Grey House bar."
One of the many bars around the stadium that had installed bleachers on its roof, Benson's was, in my opinion, the best spot in town to get a view of Wrigley Field without a ticket.
"Kudos on that one," I said. "I've spent many a fine evening in Benson's."
"And so you were in the company of vampires before you were even aware of them," he said.
"How ironic."
I couldn't help but chuckle. He might be pretentious, but Jonah apparently had a sense of humor, as well.
"Anyway, I had the phone in my office, and we didn't think much of it until we got the text. Same format, same message as the others."
"Is the phone useful? Can we trace the number or something?"
"The phone was a disposable, and it hadn't been in use long. The outgoing calls were all to businesses that don't keep track of customer calls. The only incoming was the text. We called that number back, and it's already been disconnected. We haven't been able to find any other information."
Ah, but they didn't have a Jeff Christopher.
"Can you give me the number? I've got a friend with some computer skills. Wouldn't hurt to have him look at it."
Jonah read me the digits; I grabbed an envelope and a pen from the glove box and wrote it down, making a mental note to send it to Jeff later.
"So where's the rave?"
"A penthouse in Streeterville."
Streeterville was the part of downtown Chicago that stretched from Michigan Avenue to the lake. Lots of skyscrapers, lots of money, and lots of tourists.
"I am not crazy about the idea of raving vampires in Streeterville."
"Although that would make a good horror-flick title. 'Vampires in Streeterville,' I mean."
A second joke in a matter of minutes. "I'm glad to know you have a sense of humor."
"I'm a vampire, not a zombie."
"Good to know."
"If you're in, meet me at the water tower. Two o'clock."
I checked the dashboard clock - it was barely past midnight, which gave me just enough time to get back to the House, change clothes, and head out again. "I'll be there," I assured him.
"Weapon-wise, what should I bring? Sword or hidden dagger?"
"I'm surprised at you, Sentinel. Vampires generally don't use hidden blades."
He was right. Hidden blades were considered a dishonorable way to fight. I heard the question in his voice: Are you an honorable soldier?
Admittedly, carrying a hidden blade didn't pass the smell test I'd just told Mallory to use, but what could I do?
"The hidden-blade taboo was made before Celina got a wild hair and decided to out us to the world. I can fight without steel if necessary, but I'd prefer to have backup." I think I'd proven that point pretty well last night. And to think - only a few months ago, I'd been a graduate student in English lit. Go figure.
"Well put."
A thought occurred to me. "I can't tell Ethan I'm visiting a rave alone, and I certainly can't tell him I'm going with you if you want to keep your RG membership a secret."
"Maybe you should substitute Noah in the version you tell Ethan."
Since Noah was the de facto leader of Chicago's Rogue vampires, that made sense. Of course, I'd still have to lie to Ethan. I wasn't crazy about that idea, but it wasn't fair to rely on Jonah and his intel and then out his RG membership.
"Probably a good idea," I concluded.
"I'll give Noah a call and fill him in," Jonah said. "I'll see you tonight. Call me if you need anything."
I said my temporary goodbyes, sincerely hoping I could make it through the next few hours before meeting Jonah without having to call him for help.
Of course, even if I wasn't calling a vampire for help, I still had to ask a vampire for permission.
The food truck was gone when I returned to the House, and the humans looked tired again.
Ethan probably hadn't counted on the truck's second benefit - the post-hot-beef food coma.
I walked past the protesters with a friendly smile and wave, then trotted into the House and headed for Ethan's first-floor office. I found the door open, the office abuzz with activity.
Helen, the House liaison for newbie vamps, stood in the middle of the room, pink binder in hand, directing the flow of sleek new furniture into Ethan's office. The room had been mostly emptied after the attack, the bulk of his furniture reduced to matchsticks. But that was being remedied by the men and women - presumably vampires, given Tate's human-free-House policy - who were carrying in pieces of a gigantic new conference table.
Another vampire I didn't recognize flitted around, offering suggestions to the movers about furniture placement. Since she wore a nubby pink suit that exactly matched Helen's, I assumed she was Helen's assistant.
Ethan sat behind a new desk, his chair pushed back, one ankle crossed over one knee, his gaze on Helen. He watched the two of them work with a mix of amusement and irritation in his expression.
I walked over and noticed the spread of glossy paper on his desk - home-decor catalogs, catering menus, lighting plans. "What's going on?"
"We're preparing."
Hands behind my back, I glanced down at one of the catering menus. "For senior prom? Let me guess - 'A Night Under the Stars' is your theme."
Ethan glanced up at me, a line between his eyes. "For the imminent arrival of Darius West."
That floored me. Darius West was the head of the Greenwich Presidium. Since the GP was headquartered near London, I couldn't imagine Darius's arrival in Chicago portended anything good.
That took care of convincing Ethan not to join me and Jonah at the rave tonight. Darius gave me a perfect excuse to keep Jonah in the closet.
But that didn't mean I wouldn't take the opportunity to tweak Ethan. "Yet another surprise visit to Cadogan House?"
He kept his voice low. "As we've discussed, Lacey's visit wasn't a surprise, although it was somewhat accelerated." He looked up at me.
"And as we've also discussed, you're the only one I'm interested in."
I wasn't up for this conversation in an empty room, much less a room full of vampires, so I changed the subject. "When will our esteemed leader be here?"
"Evidently in two hours."
I blinked, shocked Ethan wouldn't get a little more advance notice for the arrival of a man we had to call Sire. "And you're just discovering this now?"
Ethan wet his lips, irritation crossing his face.
"Darius apparently believed it would be best if he visited the House au naturel, so to speak. No warning meant no time to fake conditions in the House, or some such concern. He wants to see us in our typical home environment."
"Being the knuckle draggers we usually are?"
He smiled thinly. "As you say. He's on a plane - has been since before sunset - and will be here relatively shortly. Helen is preparing an evening meal. There are . . . traditions that must be followed."
"Virgin sacrifice?"
"The finest corn-fed, midwestern beef. In copious amounts for Darius and his entourage."
That word tightened my stomach. "When you say entourage - "
"I'm not including Celina. He won't be bringing any other GP members, just his usual traveling staff. He's already got an advance man in Chicago. They'll be staying at the Trump."
"I'm surprised he's not staying here if he wants to keep an eye on things."
Ethan scoffed. "The largest room we have available is the consort suite, and Darius's taste runs to something larger - and more refined."
I hadn't developed much respect for the GP in the relatively few months I'd been a vampire; this info wasn't doing much for my impression of Darius West, either.
Now that he'd explained the furniture shenanigans, it was time to give Ethan a second dose of fun news. I gestured toward Helen and her helpers. "Can I speak to you privately?"
"To discuss?"
"House business."
He glanced up, meeting my gaze for a moment while gauging my request. "Helen," he said, his eyes still on me, "could you give us a moment?"
"Of course." With a smile, she closed her binder. With a twirl of her hand, she rounded up her assistant and the movers.
"You have the floor," he said when the office door closed behind them.
"First matter of business, my father wants to involve you in some kind of investment. Feel free to call him back or not; I only promised that I'd tell you about it."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "That explains his chipperness at Creeley Creek."
"My thoughts exactly. As for the other Creeley Creek business, I visited the Ombud's office. They haven't heard any chatter about violent episodes." I steeled my will and offered up the lie I'd prepared. "Since we've suspected the raves are operated by Rogues, I called Noah."
Ethan paused, probably debating whether it was worth the trouble to scold me for making a call to the leader of the Rogue vampires without his permission. But after a moment, he relented.
"Good thinking."
It was a lie, is what it was. And that did not sit well in my stomach or heart. But it had to be done.
"He called a few minutes ago," I added. "He was flashmobbed a time and place for some sort of event tonight."
"A rave?"
I shrugged. "He doesn't know. He only got time and place. A high-rent place in Streeterville. Two a.m."
Ethan pushed back his shirtsleeve and glanced down at his watch. "That's not much time. And with Darius coming in, I can't go, and I can't spare any guards."
"I know. Noah volunteered to go with me."
Ethan watched me for a minute. We'd usually, by circumstance, ended up on our various adventures together. This would be a first for me - an escapade with another vampire.
"I'm not crazy about this idea," he said.
"If Tate's information is correct, we're looking at something bigger and nastier than raves - maybe something the raves are evolving into. We have to figure out what it is. If we don't, you'll be wearing an orange jumpsuit."
"I know." He picked up a black pencil and tapped it absently on the desk before gazing up at me with translucently green eyes. "You'll be careful?"
"I have no interest in ending up on the wrong end of an aspen stake," I promised. "And besides, I took two oaths to serve your House. It wouldn't exactly be kosher of me to skip out just because I was afraid."
His expression softened sympathetically. "Are you?"
"I prefer to avoid violence."
"I know the feeling."
At the sudden knock on the door, we both looked up. Two vamps, unescorted by Helen, stood in the doorway, sharing the weight of a massive marble pedestal.
I glanced at Ethan, eyebrow lifted.
"It belonged to Peter Cadogan," he dryly explained. "We've had it in storage, but Helen thought it would add verve to the room."
"Far be it from me to disagree."
"We can move this in?" one of the vamps asked.
Ethan waved them in. "Of course. Thank you." As they scurried across the floor, marble in hand, he glanced back at me. "Good luck tonight. Report when you're back."
With that, he looked down at his papers, excusing me from his office.
It took me a moment to turn around and head for the door again. It was not that I'd expected a teary goodbye, but we had become de facto partners. I could understand his reticence to talk about raves in front of other vamps, but a few words of wisdom wouldn't have been amiss. I might have been a soldier, but I was still a newbie one . . . and even vampire soldiers were occasionally frightened.
As much as I loved casual, and as steamy as August had been so far, I knew jeans and a cotton tank top weren't going to cut it tonight.
We were heading to a rave. At best, it was going to be a party for vamps, and I needed to look the part; at worst, it was going to be a battle of vamps, and I was going to need the protection.
No, tonight was a night for leather. Well, leather pants, at least, since it was much too hot for the full ensemble.
I know, stereotypical vampire. I had that thought every time I pulled the leather out of my closet. But you ask any Harley rider who's experienced road rash, and he'll explain why he wears leather. Because it works. Steel can slice, and bullets can pierce. Leather makes those things a little harder to get through.
I pulled a longish, flowy, gray tank top from the closet and paired that with the leather pants, then pulled my hair into a high ponytail, leaving a fringe of bangs across my forehead. I skipped the Cadogan medal - I was attempting to fly undercover, after all - but I pulled a long necklace made of strands of pewter-colored beads over the tank. With my black boots, the ensemble looked half-runway, half - party girl. It didn't scream vampire soldier, which I figured could only help. Element of surprise, and all that.
I slid my dagger, inscribed on one end with my position, into my right boot, then stuck my phone and beeper into a tiny clutch purse. I wouldn't take the purse or the beeper to the event, but at least I wouldn't have to carry a handful of gadgets to the car. En masse, they weren't exactly ergonomic.
I'd just added blush and lip gloss when there was a knock at the door. Luc, I assumed, having been sent upstairs by Ethan for a last-minute strategy session.
"About time," I said, pulling the door open.
Green eyes stared back at me. Ethan hadn't sent Luc upstairs; he'd come on his own. He scanned my outfit. "Date night?"
"I'm trying to fit in with the rest of the partygoers," I reminded him.
"So I see. You've got weapons?"
"A dagger in my boot. Anything else would be too obvious."
The emotion was clear in his eyes, but I needed to stay focused. I kept my voice neutral, my words careful. "I'll be safe. And Noah will have my back."
Ethan nodded. "I've updated Luc. The guards are all on standby. If you call, they come running, immediately. If you need anything, you call one of them. If anything happens to you - "
"I'm immortal," I interrupted, reminding him of the biological clock he'd stopped from ticking.
"And I have no interest in taking liberties with my immortality."
He nodded, regret in his eyes. That look made it seem he was seeking a discussion between two lovers, not between boss and employee. Maybe he did have feelings for me. Real ones, unbound by obligation or position. But even if I was interested in pursuing that lead, now was not the time. I had a task to perform.
But before I could remind him of that and send him on his way, he cupped my face in his hands.
"You will be careful." It was an order that brooked no argument. That was convenient, since words failed me.
"You will be careful," he repeated, "and you will stay in touch with me, Luc, or Catcher.
Darius will be here, so Malik and I may be indisposed. Get in contact with whomever you can. Take no unnecessary risks."
"I promise I wasn't planning on it. Not because you asked me to," I hastily added, "but because I like being alive."
He clearly wasn't dissuaded, and stroked my jawline with his thumb. "You can run. You can keep running to the ends of the earth. But I won't be far behind you."
"Ethan - "
"No. I will never be far behind you." He tipped up my chin so that I could do nothing else but look back into his eyes. "Do the things you need to do. Learn to be a vampire, to be a warrior, to be the soldier you are capable of being. But consider the possibility that I made a mistake I regret - and that I'll continue to regret that mistake and try to convince you to give me another chance until the earth stops turning."
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead, my heart melting even as my more rational side harbored suspicions.
"No one said love was easy, Sentinel."
And then he was gone and the door was closed again, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded, staring at it.
What was I supposed to do with that?