BOYS, BOOZE, BEEF, AND BETS
Fifteen minutes later I was still in traffic on Lake Shore Drive, with the lake to my right and Chicago's "big shoulders" to my left. Unfortunately, the drive hadn't done much to calm me down. The world was quiet, but my mind and heart were racing.
Probably Lacey and Ethan had been working. Probably they were taking a break after a long, miserable night. But probably that was time he could have spent with me, had he not been so angry.
He'd wanted a friend, someone who'd validate his feelings.
He couldn't have picked a better accomplice out of a catalogue. She was everything I believed I wasn't - graceful, stylish, cool under pressure. More like him than I was. Lindsey had once told me that was exactly why Ethan needed me, because I was fire to his ice. Lacey might never anger him, but she certainly wouldn't ignite him.
But none of that made me feel any better. Not tonight.
I slapped the steering wheel with both hands until my palms ached and the steering column felt loose. The poor Volvo. Fine Swedish engineering or not, it wasn't designed for vampire aggression.
There seemed only one option.
I drove to Ukrainian Village and the dive the North American Central Pack called home, at least in Chicago - a squat biker bar called Little Red. (Now also home to some of the city's best smoked meats. And I would know.)
Even in frigid temperatures, shifters lounged outside along the row of Harley-Davidson and Indian motorcycles that lined the pavement in front of the door. I smiled politely as I passed them, but they were big and gruff and, frankly, didn't give a crap about a skinny vampire, no matter how well fitted and buttery her leather.
I walked inside and was immediately pummeled by the Clash and the smell of sour cabbage. It must have been sauerkraut-canning night at the bar.
Berna stood in her preferred position - behind the bar in a T-shirt one size too small for her heft. But this time, she had a buddy.
Mallory, her ombre hair in high side buns - couture a la dairy maid - stood beside Berna and practiced pouring liquor into a row of shot glasses.
As I walked closer, Berna's instructions became clearer. "No," she insisted. "You pour quickly, no spills. I show; I show." She nudged Mallory out of the way and took the unmarked bottle of liquor from her hand, then proceeded to fill six glasses in a smooth, fast line without spilling a drop.
Mallory gave her a begrudging nod. "I'm not sure if I like you," she said frankly. "But you know your meat and booze."
"Those are two of the four food groups," I said, sitting down at the bar. "Mallocakes and pizza being the other two."
God knew Mallory was far from perfect, and our relationship was still delicate. But it took only a glance at my face for her to realize the source of my troubles . . . and roll her eyes.
"What did you do now?"
"Why do you assume I did something?"
"Because you're across town at this bar when you have bigger problems on your plate."
"You've talked to Catcher?" I liked that news. It suggested - even if only a little - that things were getting back to normal.
"We've talked. We're talking. Lots and lots of talking and then more talking and conversing and communicating and talking." She snapped her thumb and fingers together, mimicking a mouth. "But you're not here to talk about us." Mallory narrowed her gaze at me, and I felt a faint prickle of magical interest - at least before Berna pinched her on the arm.
"Ow!" Mallory said, rubbing the spot, which was already turning red. "Damn it, Berna. He said I could use it a little bit."
"You use sparingly," she said, slapping one hand against the other, then gesturing at me. "Look at girl. She skinny vampire. She is in love, but is far away from lover. You don't need magic to know this." She tapped her temple. "You need eyeball."
They both looked at me. I nodded sheepishly.
"When you're right, you're right," Mallory said. "And since he took a stake for her, which pretty much proves he's in it for the long haul, I'm betting she's the current source of her own drama?"
I hated that conclusion. Not because it was wrong, but because it was humiliating. I was twenty-eight years old and headed for immortality. Was I destined to be forever awkward, at least where love was concerned?
And how often had I screwed things up when she wasn't around, and didn't even know it?
Mallory turned to Berna. "I'm taking fifteen, and we're moving this discussion upstairs."
"You can have here! I will not listen."
"You will listen," Mallory said, "and you'll tell your book club exactly what you heard."
"But is like Twilight in real life!" Berna protested. "Sparkles!"
But Mallory had already grabbed my hand and was pulling me toward the door.
"Ignore the half-naked shifters," she said, and before I had time to ask what she was talking about, we were rushing through the back room of the bar, where three or four - I didn't have time to count - shifters, most with their shirts off, sat at the old vinyl table playing cards. I'm pretty sure Gabriel was one of them.
And then we were in the kitchen, my retinas seared by the glow of gleaming pecs and abs, and she was dragging me up the stairs to the tiny bedroom where she'd been staying since she'd started her black magic recovery with hard work, shifter oversight, and lots of KP duty.
Mallory slammed the door shut and fell onto the small twin bed that was tucked against the wall. "Oh, my God, Merit, I'm going to kill her."
"Please don't," I said. "That would not improve shifter-sorcerer relations in Chicago."
"She's so nosy! And she's always telling me what do to!"
"She's like the parents you never had?"
She looked up at me. "Is that what it's like?"
"I'm afraid so," I said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"All right. I won't kill her. For now. And now that we have some privacy, why don't you spill what you did?"
This was the hard part, given the oath of secrecy I'd already inadvertently breached.
"I can't give you all the details," I said. "Suffice it to say he found out something I should have told him. And he kind of found out from Lacey Sheridan."
Mallory's eyes narrowed, just like they were supposed to. She remembered Lacey from her last trip to Chicago. "Why is she here?"
"To help with the transition from the GP. She's got a good relationship with Darius, and there was hope she might be able to smooth things over a bit. But since they're currently trying to take the House, that didn't work."
"Yeah, Catcher told me. What's that got to do with you?"
I struggled to find a way to give her the high points without revealing the secret. "Confidentially, while Ethan was gone, I agreed to help a friend in a way that helps the House, too. And I've continued to help since Ethan's been back. But I didn't tell Ethan about it, and then Lacey found out and told Ethan for me. Ethan was not thrilled."
The look on her face didn't exactly comfort me. "You betrayed him."
"I did not betray him. I understand that he's feeling betrayed, but I did what I thought was right. What I believed - and still believe - was right."
"Does this have something to do with that Jonah guy?"
Eyes wide, I turned to stare at her. "How do you even know about him?"
"Catcher," she dryly said. "He's in full-on relationship-autopsy mode. It's some kind of bizarre defense mechanism, probably prompted by the fact that he spends half his time watching those goddamn movies." She paused and turned to me. "Did I tell you about the time he auditioned for one of them? Before Nebraska, I mean."
Funny how well that simple phrase compartmentalized our relationship. "Before Nebraska" and "After Nebraska." "Before Maleficium" and "After Maleficium" would have been more accurate, but I wasn't eager to refer to an era in our relationship as "BM."
"Catcher auditioned for a Lifetime movie?"
"Yep. They were filming part of a rom-com in the Loop, and he auditioned to be an extra. Didn't get the part, although that clearly didn't sour him on the channel or the 'art form,'" she said, using air quotes. "Anyway, he said you were hanging out with this Jonah when Ethan was gone. Who is he?"
"Captain of the Grey House guards. He's just a friend. He helped me deal with stuff - deal with you - when Ethan was gone. He was at the Midway that night. . . ." I trailed off, not wanting to remind her in detail that she'd nearly burned down the neighborhood. She probably hadn't been paying much attention to my sidekick at the time, anyway.
"Ah," she said, obviously embarrassed.
"Yeah. Ah." I adjusted my ponytail. Not that it had needed it; I just wasn't sure what to do with my hands. The awkwardness with Mallory hadn't completely disappeared. "Lacey will grab him if she gets the chance, Mal."
"And you think he's amenable to grabbing?"
It was a good question; I knew he loved me, but he was angry and hurt, and he was probably questioning my trustworthiness.
"If you felt betrayed, and someone pretty came along and swore that she was the only one with your best interests at heart - that she was the only one who understood exactly what you and your House needed - would you feel amenable?"
She didn't answer, and when I looked over at her, I saw sadness in her face. My stomach fell, and I realized my error. "Oh, God, Catcher didn't, you know, find someone else?"
"No. I mean, not that I deserve his even talking to me - or your doing so for that matter - after what I did. I just . . . I could understand it if he had, you know, done that." Tears sprang to her lashes and she quickly wiped them away. "I left him in the middle of a crisis that I'd caused. Of course he needed comfort. Of course he needed a shoulder. I certainly hadn't played that part for him."
I blew out a breath. "Seriously, are we just incapable of not screwing up our relationships with people? Are we destined to do this for the rest of our lives?"
"Be screwed up?"
"Be screwed up and living with our shifter guardians or some crap like that, going to speed dating together because we can't maintain healthy relationships."
"If you get old and gray, I'll be honest about your roots."
"Vampires don't get old or gray. I'm stuck with this hair forever."
Mallory flopped back on the bed. "Woe is Merit, the immortal vampire with the never-gray hair and long legs and hot blond boyfriend."
"Whose boyfriend has a hot, blond hanger-on?"
She chuckled and sat up again. "We've gone full circle with this."
"What do I do, Mal? Seriously."
"You apologized?"
I nodded.
"Then you do the only thing you can do, and the reason you're here in the first place. You wait him out."
"That is truly just the absolute worst."
"It really, truly is."
We sat in silence for a moment while the laughter evaporated and the weight of the world settled heavily on our shoulders again. "So this Cadogan House thing - do you think Gabriel has any dirt on Darius we could use to blackmail him?"
Mallory smiled sneakily. "Why, Merit, you sly girl. I am so proud that you've just asked that. It's so . . . vampiric. But honestly, I have no idea. He's downstairs, and you're welcome to ask him. But I will warn you - it's poker night."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, if you want to talk to a shifter on poker night, you must play cards with the boys."
I arched an eyebrow at her.
She made an awful sound. "God, you're already Mrs. Sullivan. Let's go downstairs."
I checked my phone; still no messages. I didn't feel like there was any purpose to going back to the House without a solution, so I figured I might as well stay.
"Do I have to actually play poker?"
"You do. Fortunately, they will remain half-naked during the poker playing. If you like that kind of thing. Which obviously I don't."
I didn't need magic to know she'd been lying about enjoying the half-naked poker playing. I, too, could use my eyeballs.
There were four of them at the table. All shifters, only three of them half-naked, but the well-sculpted view was worth it.
Gabriel, the only one wearing a shirt, was shuffling a thick, well-used deck of cards. "Kitten," he said, sparing me a glance. "My brother Derek. I believe you've already met Ben and Christopher."
Mrs. Keene had named her children alphabetically in reverse order, starting with Gabriel, the eldest. Adam, the youngest Keene sibling, had been handed over to the CPD after his failed attempt to wrest control of the Pack from Gabriel. Ben, Christopher, and Derek were the next-youngest three.
Ben and Christopher were as broad shouldered and tawny haired as their brother; they sat at Gabe's left. Derek sat on his right. He had the same amber eyes as Gabriel, but darker hair and finer features. He must have taken after the other side of the family.
"Vampire?" Christopher wondered, eyes on the cards. "You running a way station for supernaturals in here, brother?"
"I have no need of a way station," I assured him.
"The kitten has claws," Derek said with masculine approval.
"Rawr," I said.
"You fight the fairies yet, Kitten?" Gabriel asked.
"No. And that's why I'm interrupting your game."
Gabriel's gaze flicked up to me, considered, then settled on the cards again. "Take a seat, ladies." Gabriel's magic was strong, and there seemed little doubt even that flick was meaningful.
"Can I ask about the shirts?" I asked, taking a seat beside Mallory. "Or the lack of shirts?"
"You may not," Christopher said.
"Yes," Gabriel mocked, "she may. Once again, the whelps have lost their shirts, Kitten. Literally and figuratively."
Derek grumbled something unflattering.
Gabriel gave him a quick and withering glance. "Pipe down, or I'll challenge you again, and we both know how that will work out." He began flipping cards across the table, creating a seven-card pile for each of us. "The name of the game is Nantucket."
"What's Nantucket?" I asked.
"It's a way to cheat," Derek said with a smile, sipping the glass of clear alcohol in front of him. "Don't let him fool you."
"I would never cheat," Gabe said. "I am as honorable as they come."
"Or else a really good liar," Ben said.
"I am not a liar," Gabe said, presenting the rest of the deck to Christopher. He cut it in half, put the bottom half on top, and slid it back to Gabe, who divided the cards into three stacks in the middle of the table. After dealing out the entire deck, he turned over the cards in the two outer stacks, revealing a spade in each.
"Spades are the cards to beat," he said. There was nary a spade in my hand, but I had no idea whether that was good. If spades were the cards to beat, what beat spades?
"High card, first trick," Gabe said, placing the queen of diamonds atop one of the spades. I wasn't sure why, or what I should play. I picked a queen of hearts and played it atop the remaining spade.
"Well played," he said, and began looking through his cards, frowning in concentration.
Each time I played a card, I tried to steer the conversation toward the House. But Gabriel wouldn't let me get a word in - not about politics, anyway. And so it went on for nearly an hour, at the end of which I still wasn't sure of the rules of Nantucket. I occasionally threw down a card I thought was appropriately strategic, while the shifters placed cards with apparent nonchalance. They'd have been sure winners at a poker table, assuming any casino let them play long enough to win.
Eventually, Derek threw his two remaining cards on the table. "Nantucket turtleneck," he said, and the other shifters threw in their cards, as well.
"Is it done?" I asked, looking at Gabriel.
But before he could answer, the door to the bar opened and Berna's head popped in. "Customers!" she said, pointing at Mallory with an arthritic finger. "You pour!"
Mallory sat quietly at the table for a moment, massaging her temples. It seemed her patience with Berna was definitely wearing thin.
"It's a good reminder," Gabriel said.
"Of what?" she asked.
"Of what happens when you eventually leave us, and you don't make a successful go of it. She's going easy on you this time."
"This is going easy on me?"
"Have you cleaned out the grease trap yet?" Christopher asked.
"No?" Mallory said cautiously, lip curled.
Christopher huffed. "Then she's going easy on you. Aunt Berna's a hard-ass."
I looked at Gabriel. "Aunt Berna?"
He smiled, then waved a hand at the vinyl-topped table, the framed B-movie posters, and the peeling linoleum floor. "Kitten, would we have allowed Berna into this bastion of class if she wasn't family?"
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" I wondered.
"Yes," he said. "It is definitely one of those."
Christopher, Ben, and Derek excused themselves and disappeared into the kitchen, presumably for one of the drinks Mallory was going to pour. Gabriel gathered the cards and began shuffling them again. Dawn, according to the beer-advertisement clock on the wall, was inching closer, and I still didn't have any answers.
"About the House," I said.
"What about it?"
"I'm out of ideas, the lawyers aren't helping, we can't find the egg, and Claudia's inaccessible. I don't suppose you've got any information on the GP members we could use to our advantage?"
He chuckled a bit. "You mean blackmail?"
"I do."
"I'm sorry, Kitten, but I don't. I don't know much about the GP other than their reputation, and from that I don't believe I care to know more."
I put my elbows on the table and rested my head in my hands. "Gabriel, we're going to lose the House. Time is ticking down. And we've got some crazy Navarre Novitiate out there taking out vampires for no apparent reason, and I don't have a clue who it is. What am I going to do?"
"You're asking me for advice?"
I tucked the edges of my bangs behind my ears and looked up at him. "Yeah. I think I am."
"And you aren't asking Sullivan because . . . ?"
"He's mad at me."
"Ahhh," Gabriel slowly said. "That explains the funk."
I tried not to sniff at myself. "There's a funk?"
"Psychic funk. A bad vibe. You're sad."
"I am sad. And you know what would help me? Advice. Do you have any thoughts at all?"
"Well, let's think it through: Darius wants the House, or to punish the vampires, or both. In order to get it, he's convinced the fairies to forcibly remove you, what, tomorrow night?"
"Yeah."
"And he's bribing the fairies with the dragon's egg, which is some trinket they made but gave to vampires, and are now claiming again, or some shit?"
"That's the meat of it, yeah."
"And where is the dragon's egg?"
"We don't know. The GP took it, but we haven't been able to find it, and the other Houses aren't cooperating."
"Well, at the risk of being blunt, if the fairies are the only leverage the GP has over you, and the fairies want the dragon's egg, then you need to find it."
"That's easier said than done."
"Is it? You're dealing with vampires, and a theft that occurred in a pretty short amount of time. Consider this." The card deck in hand, he began flipping cards onto the table one at a time.
For all his shuffling, and although I'd seen no trickery, he flipped over the jack of spades, then the queen of spades, then the king and ace. All in a row, all somehow organized without my being the wiser, and even as I'd watched him shuffle.
"The vampires of the Greenwich Presidium, who don't impress me much, managed to steal an object from Cadogan House right under your noses. I find that suspect."
"What do you mean, you find that suspect? You don't think they stole it?"
Gabe placed the deck on the table. "I don't know if they did or not. In my opinion the GP consists of the sneakiest vampires. Sneaky because they're double-dealers, not because they're skilled operatives who could pull off a heist beneath the noses of Cadogan House, its Master, and its Sentinel."
He had a point, although it didn't give me any better idea where the egg actually was hidden.
Gabe glanced at the clock. "The sun will be rising soon. You should get home."
I nodded and rose. "Thanks for your help."
He nodded. "It all comes down to this, Kitten: Don't let your fear of the GP guide you, especially not to give them more credit than they deserve."
Only half an hour before dawn, with my failure on my mind, I returned to the House.
The sight that greeted me in the foyer was enough to make me weep again. The holiday decorations were gone; in their place were dozens and dozens of black suitcases.
Granted, dawn would be here soon enough, but had we really given up? Were we simply going to hand Cadogan House to the GP without a fight?
I walked downstairs, found the Ops Room empty. Luc and the rest were probably tucking in for the evening. Because I wasn't up for another Lacey confrontation, I skipped a visit to Ethan's office and headed directly to the apartment to await him there.
As the minutes passed, I put on pajamas, then perused the House's evacuation procedures in our online security manual. Luc had been incredibly thorough, including creating a security "textbook" broken into chapters and thousands of footnotes. There were 142 footnotes in the third chapter alone, including lessons learned ("Garden rakes are less effective against wereracoons than you'd think"), anecdotes ("I remember when 'message' meant something carried on the back of a horse"), and tricks of the trade ("Honey is a good balm for a cobra lily scratch").
Luc, who'd penned the protocols, had also written tests to check our knowledge, like the following gem:
Q: What's the most effective way to corral a raging centaur?
A: Ha! There's no such thing as centaurs, newbie. Get your ass in a chair and read your Canon.
I did not, however, pack a suitcase. I refused to do it, to give in. There were only a few objects I cared enough to take with me - my family's pearls, my hidden Cadogan medal, the baseball Ethan had once given me. But they'd stay exactly where they were, because packing them away now would be a sign of defeat. And Ethan had taught me better than that.
I brushed my hair for the second time, then organized the drawer of my nightstand - tissues, lip balm, socks for cold winter days.
Just minutes until dawn, and he was still gone.
Surely he'd come back before the sun rose. Where else would he sleep?
I curled into his winged chair in the sitting room, listening to the clock tick away the seconds of his absence. The shutters over the windows descended, and the sun began to rise. My eyelids grew heavier, but still the door stayed closed.
The apartments creaked - the sounds of the ancient House settling and adjusting as the wind fought it outside.
I stayed upright until sleep threatened to knock me to the floor, then clumsily shuffled to the bed and climbed beneath the covers. The sheets were crisp and chilly, and I curled into myself to preserve warmth, an island of heat in the tundra of pressed cotton that our bed had become.
It was to be a war of attrition, of cold sheets . . . and I was losing.