Friday Night Bites (12 page)

The chicken and rice, on the other hand, was a hunger spot-hitter. It was a delicious recipe, and one of the first meals that Mallory had cooked for us when we’d become roommates three years ago. It was also better, or so I guessed, than anything I could get in the Cadogan House cafeteria.

Catcher padded into the kitchen, barefoot and jeaned and pulling on a T-shirt. The hem came down just in time to hide the circular tattoo that I knew marked his abdomen. It was a circle cut into quadrants, a graphical representation of the organization of magic into the four Keys.

“Merit,” he said, heading for the refrigerator. “I see you managed to stay away for, what, all of twenty-four hours?”

I chewed a mouthful of chicken and rice, swallowed. “I’m investigating disorderly sorcerers.”

He humphed and grabbed a carton of milk, then chugged directly from the cardboard spout. Mallory and I watched him, the same grimace on both our faces. Sure, I did the same thing with OJ, but he was a boy, and it was milk. That was just gross.

I glanced over at her, and she met my gaze, rolled her eyes. “At least he’s putting the toilet paper
on
the roll now. That’s a big step. Love you, Catch.”

Catcher grunted, but he was smirking as he did it. After closing the refrigerator door, he joined us, standing next to Mallory on her side of the kitchen island. “I assume Sullivan filled you in about Celina?”

“That she’s probably on her way back to Chicago to take care of me? Yeah, he mentioned that.”

“Celina’s been released?” Mallory asked, casting a worried glance in Catcher’s direction. “Seriously?”

He bobbed his head. “We’re not issuing a press release or anything, but yes.” Then he turned his gaze on me and scoured
me with a look. “One wonders if vampires enjoy drama, since they just keep making more of it.”

“
Celina
keeps making more of it,” I clarified, pointing at him with my fork. “I was more than happy to keep her locked away in a damp British dungeon.” I took another bite of chicken, my hunger apparently undiminished by the possibility that a narcissistic vampire was crossing the Atlantic to get me. On the other hand, might as well enjoy food while I still could.

“Now that we’ve covered that,” I said, changing the subject, “someone wanna fill me in on the sorcery drama?”

“They’re going to take me away,” Mallory said.

“To Schaumburg,” Catcher said dryly. “I’m taking her to Schaumburg.”

“So not to Detroit, then?” I asked, glancing back and forth between them. It was a pretty big difference, Schaumburg being a suburb northwest of the city. It was thirty miles and an entire Great Lake closer to Chicago—and me—than Detroit.

Mallory crooked a thumb at Catcher. “This one made a phone call. Apparently, he hasn’t lost all of his pull with the Order.”

As if on cue, Catcher’s expression clouded. “Given that it was phone
calls
, plural, before they’d even let Baumgartner near the phone, saying that I have pull vastly overstates my influence. Let’s just say they’ve softened their position on keeping a resident sorcerer in the Chicago metro.”

“Who’s Baumgartner?” I asked.

“President of the 155.” At my blank stare, Catcher clarified, “My former union, Local 155 of the Union of Amalgamated Sorcerers and Spellcasters.”

I nearly choked on chicken, and when I was done with the coughing fit, asked, “The acronym for the Order of sorcerers is ‘U-ASS’?”

“A, seriously appropriate,” Mallory commented, giving Catcher a sideways grin. “B, explains why they call it ‘the Order.’ ”

I nodded my agreement on both points.

“So, they’re good with the benefits, shitty with the marketing,” Catcher said. “The point is, she won’t be spending three months in Detroit.”

“Not that it isn’t a lovely city,” Mallory put in.

“Lovely city,” I agreed, but just for form, as I’d never been there. “So this training is, what, magical classes and whatnot?”

“Whatnot,” Catcher said. “No classes—just on-the-job training. She’ll begin to utilize and manipulate the Keys, major and minor, so that she can understand her duties and obligations to the rest of the Order and, if they have a few spare minutes”—his voice went dry as toast—“how to harness and redistribute the power that is beginning to funnel its way through her body.”

I looked at her, blinking, trying to imagine exactly how my blue-haired, blue-eyed, ad exec of a best friend—currently in a MISS BEHAVIN’ T-shirt and skinny jeans—was going to manage to do that.

“Huh,” was all I said.

“She’ll live and breathe the power of it, learn to exercise the control.” He paused contemplatively, staring off into space until Mallory touched his hand with the tips of her fingers. He turned and looked at her. “Sorcerers learn by practice, by actually funneling the power. No books, no classrooms, just doing it. She’ll be put into a situation in Schaumburg, and she’ll handle it. The hard way—on her own, no nets.”

I guessed “the way I had to do it” was coming next. The speech had the ring of old-school practitioner complaining about the way things had changed since
his
time, when he had to walk uphill both ways to get to school, etc., etc. Of course, I bet learning to funnel magic through Mal’s slender frame took considerably more effort than hauling a couple of arithmetic books up a hill.

“Damn,” I said, giving her a sympathetic look. “At least
vampires get a desk reference.” On the other hand, that’s about all we got. Although Luc valued training, and I appreciated the effort, he and Ethan had had decades to gain experience before assuming their House positions. To play the part of Sentinel, I got two weeks, a sorcerer with an attitude, and a katana.

“So’s I’m going to Schaumburg,” Mal said, “where I’ll get a little less practical experience than if I’d summered full-time in Detroit, but hopefully enough that I learn not to turn bad guys into piles of glitter because I inadvertently snapped my fingers.”

As if to illustrate her point, she snapped them, a tiny blue spark jumping from her fingertips, the air suddenly stirring with the electricity of magic. Catcher closed his fingers around the spark, and when he opened them again, a glowing blue orb was centered in his palm. He lifted his hand, pursed his lips, and blew the orb away. It shattered into a crystalline glitter that peppered the air with sparkling magic before it dispersed and faded.

Then he turned to Mallory with a lurid look that made me happy,
super happy
, to be living in Cadogan House. “She’s a nice funnel.”

Oh, dear, sweet God, did I
not
need to hear about Mallory being a funnel. “So you’re going to Schaumburg,” I repeated, refocusing the conversation and taking another bite before I lost my appetite completely. “And you’ll do your internship there. How long do you have to stay? How long will it take? Give me the deets.”

“It’ll be nightlies,” Catcher said. “She’ll spend most of her evenings in Schaumburg for a while. Since she’s getting an exemption, we’re not sure how long her practice will last. Special case, special rules. She’ll stay, I assume, until she proves her worth.”

Mallory and I shared a snarky glance about that one. “Sad thing is,” she said, “he’s serious.”

Something occurred to me. “Oh, shit, Mal, what are you going to do about your job?”

Mallory’s expression went uncharacteristically wan. She stretched up from the stool and grabbed a white envelope from atop a pile of mail that sat at one end of the island. She held it in front of me so I could read the addressee—McGettrick Combs.

“Resignation letter?” I asked. She nodded, then returned the envelope to the pile.

Catcher put his hand at the back of her neck, rubbed it. “We talked about this.”

“I know,” she said, nodding her head. “It’s just a change.” When she looked up at me, her eyes were bright with tears. Notwithstanding the discomfort of being witness to their more amorous adventures, I was glad Catcher was here for her, that she had someone who’d been through similar experiences, who could guide her through the process or just be there when she needed comforting.

“I’m sorry, Mallory,” was all I could think to say, knowing how much she’d loved her job, how well suited for it she’d been, how much pride she’d taken when a commercial or print ad she’d conceptualized appeared in the
Trib
or on ABC-7.

She sniffed, nodded, and knuckled away the tears that had slipped beneath her lashes, before chuckling. “Hey, I’ll get my union card, and think of all the doors that will open for me then.”

“Absolutely, kiddo,” Catcher said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple. “Absolutely.”

“I don’t want to bust the pro-union party here,” I said, “but will those doors open into any bank vaults or some kind of salary?”

Catcher nodded. “Once she’s completed her on-the-job, since the Order has finally realized they need someone on the ground in Chicago, she’ll be on call.” The middle part of that
sentence had been spoken gruffly and with obvious bitterness. Typical Catcher, in other words.

“On call?” I asked, turning my gaze to Mallory, who smiled slyly.

“I’ll be doing my own dispute handling, investigating, that kind of thing.” She shrugged. “It’s a job. I mean, it’s not Cadogan-Hyde Park kind of money, but I’ll manage. Speaking of Cadogan money, what’s up on your end of things? How’s life under the tutelage of Darth Sullivan?”

“Well,” I began, “I’ve been roped into shenanigans.”

Without preface, Catcher muttered a curse, then leaned over, slipped his wallet from his jeans, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, which he handed to Mallory.

She grinned down at it, then carefully folded it and tucked it into her shirt. “On behalf of Carmichael Savings and Loan, we appreciate your business.”

At my arched eyebrows, she bobbed her head toward Catcher. “I voted shenanigans within the first twenty-four hours. Mr. Bell over here thought Darth Sullivan would let you get ‘settled.’ ” She used air quotes for that last part.

“Damn. I wish I could have taken that bet,” I said. I debated how much I could tell them about said ensuing shenanigans, but since Ethan would probably tell Catcher his plans, and Catcher would undoubtedly tell Mallory, I didn’t think I was risking much.

“We’ll be doing some reconnaissance work. Long story short, I’m going home.”

Mallory arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean, going home?”

“I’ll be hanging out with the Merit clan.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m going to try to get close to an old friend. According to Ethan, at least the part he’s telling me, we’re trying
to keep prying human eyes away from some questionable vamp activities. God only knows what other secret motivations he’s got.”

“Does getting into your pants count as a secret motivation these days?”

I screwed up my face. “Ew.”

Mal rolled her eyes, apparently not buying my disgust. “Whatever. You’d totally hit that if he weren’t such an ass.”

“And that’s exactly his problem,” I muttered.

“And speaking of hitting that,” Mal added, perking up, “any word from Morgan? You guys have anything planned for the weekend?”

“Not really,” I vaguely said, and left it at that. It was true that there wasn’t much to report, but I also wasn’t up for talking about it; being conflicted about the guy I was pseudo-dating wasn’t helped by analyzing it to death.

I checked my watch. It was two hours until sunup. That gave me time to sneak back to Cadogan House, grab an obscenely long shower, and chillax a little before bed.

“I should go,” I told them. I took my empty plate to the sink, deposited it and then glanced back. “When does the training start?”

“Sunday,” Mallory said, rising from her stool. That gave her two full days to wreak pre-internship havoc, or at least enjoy some rowdy pre-internship rounds with Catcher.

“I’ll walk you out,” she said. Catcher followed us, a hand at Mallory’s back. We reached the living room and, without another word, he sat down on the couch, crossed his ankles on the coffee table and slouched back, remote control in his hand. He flicked on the television and tuned it immediately to the Lifetime Channel.

Mallory and I stood there, heads cocked, watching this incredibly sexy, incredibly masculine man, whose eyes were glued
to a made-for-TV movie. He slid us an annoyed glance, rolled his eyes, and turned back to the television.

“You know I love this shit,” he said, then made a vague gesture at Mallory, “and she lives with me.” That apparently being defense enough, he sniffed, settled the remote control in the crux between his legs, and crossed his arms behind his head.

“My life,” Mallory said. “My love. The keeper of my heart.”

“The keeper of your remote,” I pointed out, then enveloped her in a hug. “I love you. Call me if you need to.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and when we’d released each other, nodded her head in Catcher’s direction. “He’s making dinner Saturday night, kind of a pre-training deal. I don’t really need a going-away party anymore, but far be it from me to complain when someone tries to make dinner in my honor. We’ll call it a not-going-that-far-away party. Come over, maybe bring Morgan?”

I offered back a sardonic look. “A not-going-that-far-away party?”

“Jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re as stubborn as he is. Call it a kickoff party if that makes you feel better. I am a burgeoning sorceress. We haven’t celebrated that yet, and I figure I’m due.”

With that, we made our final goodbyes, and I headed back to my car. When I arrived back in Hyde Park, I parked outside the Cadogan gate, then moved through the House and back to my second-floor room.

I dropped off my keys and unbelted my sword, then glanced around. I’d planned on a long shower and a little reading in my pajamas before the sun hit the horizon. But since I’d been here nearly forty-eight hours and had hardly seen the other ninety-seven resident Cadogan vampires, I decided to opt for something considerably less geeky, and a lot more social. I flipped off the light in my room and headed for the stairs.