Midnight Marked: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (17 page)

“Balthasar,” Malik said, and I nodded.

“Exactly. And yeah, he likes to wax poetical about the game we’re playing, the chess match, whatever. He likes to screw with people. But we know he has a bigger plan. Lore admitted it. Reed admitted it, with all that messiah complex nonsense about saving Chicago. Whatever he has planned, we aren’t the focus. I think moments like this—this drama he orchestrated at the Botanic Garden—they’re part of his sideshow. He had CPD officers waiting for us. There’s no way they’d have gotten there so quickly otherwise. But they weren’t the main event, because we aren’t the main event. The alchemy, the plan. That’s the main event. That’s why we have to go tonight, because that’s what Reed cares about. That’s what he’s trying to distract us from. If we don’t go, we help him win.”

There was silence for a moment.

“That’s not bad, Sentinel.” Luc wiped a faux tear away. “I’m actually pretty proud.”

“I had good teachers. But let’s not get too cocky,” I said, and pulled out my phone, handed it to Ethan. “Call my grandfather,” I said, meeting his gaze. “Tell him where we’re going. And then let’s get this show on the road.”

Wisely, he didn’t argue.

•   •   •

Annabelle asked us to meet her at Mount Rider Cemetery, which was located on the city’s far northwest side. My grandfather promised to meet us there—or to send Jeff or Catcher, depending on who could get there quickest. We gave her a heads-up in case we weren’t the first to arrive, then climbed into the car again.

Unlike Longwood, with its chain-link fence and fallen headstones, Mount Rider was as much park as cemetery, its rolling hills landscaped and artfully dotted with trees, shrubs, and reflecting pools. The monuments were tall enough to be war memorials, with plenty of weeping angels and marble obelisks.

Annabelle was still in her car when we arrived, and there was no sign of Ombuddy yet. It took a good fifteen seconds—and an offered hand from Ethan—for her to unwedge herself from behind the steering wheel of her Subaru. “Three more weeks,” she said, locking the door behind her. “Just three more weeks.”

“Your first child?” Ethan asked.

“Second,” she said, adjusting the long, drapey wrap she’d worn over a tank and long jersey-knit skirt. “Marley’s a very precocious four right now. My husband, Cliff, stays at home with her. She is very eager to be a big sister, and he is very excited about having another little one in the house.” She smiled. “I am excited about being able to stand up without assistance. But enough about me.” She glanced around. “No Ombudsman?”

“Right here,” said a voice behind us. Catcher jogged up, stuffing his car keys into the pocket of the dark-wash jeans he’d paired with a gray T-shirt.
NO MAGIC? NO PROBLEM
was written across the front. The Ombuddies were showing love for everyone.

“I parked on the other side of the block,” he said, running a hand over his shorn head. “Didn’t want too many cars parked in one spot, just in case. Catcher Bell,” he said, extending a hand to Annabelle.

“Annabelle Shaw. You’re the sorcerer.”

“And you’re the necromancer.”

“All night long.”

We chuckled. Supernatural inside joke.

“Heard you were dealing with the Order tonight,” I said.

Catcher’s lip curled. “They have the bureaucracy of a DMV office with one hundred percent less effectiveness.”

“Any news about the sorcerer?” Ethan asked.

“Not from the Order. They maintain they have no knowledge of a sorcerer with expertise in alchemy, nor of alchemy being used in the city. And they’re holding the line on Reed—that no union sorcerers work for him.”

“Adrien Reed?” Annabelle asked. “Is he involved in this? With the alchemy?”

“We believe so,” Ethan said. “But we’re still trying to figure out the mechanics.”

“And who the sorcerer is.”

“Exactly,” Ethan said with a nod.

“Sometimes I wish I was more involved in the city’s supernatural communities,” she said. “And sometimes I hear about nonsense like this and I’m glad I live under the radar.”

“Stay sequestered,” I recommended. “Unless there’s a potluck.”

And that reminded me: I needed to plan a potluck.

“Fair enough. Shall we?” she asked, and when we nodded, she walked to the cemetery’s gate, used an enormous key on an equally enormous round key ring to unlock it.

We followed her inside and down another crushed-stone path.

“They never sleep as well when their memorials are disturbed,” she said.

“Then by God,” I said, trying to step as lightly as possible in her footsteps, “let’s not do that.”

We followed her over a low hill. Heavily pregnant or not, she moved like a sprite, walking under a copse where dew glimmered in the moonlight like fallen coins, and then stopping outside a small brick building.

“It used to be a maintenance facility,” she said, stepping back onto the paved walkway that led to the front door. The glass in the windows and door had been painted white, not unlike the treatment at La Douleur. An open padlock hung from the door’s handle. Annabelle pulled it off, pushed open the door, and flipped on the light switch just inside it.

“Welcome to Symboltown,” she said, the room illuminated by a bare bulb that swung from the ceiling.

Its circle of light shifted back and forth across the square room, illuminating the symbols that had been drawn in black across the whitewashed walls.

“That’s affirmative for alchemy,” Catcher said, spinning in a slow circle to take it in.

“The scale is impressive,” Annabelle said, hand on the small of her back, her gaze on the walls. “But I don’t get the point of going to all this trouble. Alchemy seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Maybe this is magic that only alchemy can accomplish,” I said, nearly skimming my fingers over the symbol for mercury until a hand gripped my arm.

I glanced up, found Ethan’s hand there, his expression concerned. “You looked like you might dive right into it. Perhaps a step back, Sentinel.”

I took the advice and made it a big step.

“Alchemy’s not my bag,” Catcher said. “But I see your point. This is a lot of symbols.”

“Does any of this look familiar?” Ethan asked. “In the specific equations, I mean?”

I walked around the room, trying to find the starting point, settled on a symbol near the ceiling of the back wall where the symbols seemed a little bit larger than the others, as if he’d shrunk them slightly as he worked to fit them all in.

I followed the symbols as they moved down the wall, looking for a pattern, part of the equation that might have matched the ones I’d seen while helping Paige. The symbols were basically the same—the primary symbols of the alchemical language, along with some of the same hieroglyphs we’d seen at Wrigley.

“It looks like the same set of symbols,” I concluded, “but that doesn’t really tell us anything, except that he’s decided he needs them in a second place.”

“Did you know alchemists sometimes put false symbols in their texts?” Annabelle asked. “I thought it would be a good idea to read up.”

“Maybe that’s why none of it makes sense,” I said. “How are we supposed to tell the true from the false?”

“To do that,” Catcher said, “we need to understand the context. That’s what we’re missing.”

“Even if it takes him time to get the code together, Jeff’s algorithm might still be the faster option. I mean, unless we find the sorcerer and can ask him.”

Ethan glanced at Annabelle. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

“Actually, I might have.”

Catcher glanced back sharply. “You saw him? The sorcerer?”

She held up a hand, smiled apologetically. “I mean, sorry, I didn’t see his face. So, I saw the light on in here for the first time maybe two or three weeks ago. At the time, I thought someone was doing some late maintenance work. Tonight’s the first time I’ve actually been in here. But a few days ago—before I met Ethan and Merit—I noticed someone leaving.”

“What did you see?” Ethan asked.

She closed her eyes, remembering. “Not a tall guy. Maybe five foot eight or nine? Not an especially big guy. On the leaner side. Wore a suit, I think. I mean, it was dark, so I’m not sure, but just from the shape of the clothing, looked like a suit.”

“Did you see where he went?” Ethan asked.

“I didn’t. This was before I met you, learned about the alchemy, so I wasn’t on the lookout. He walked out of the cemetery, and I heard a car start a couple of minutes later. Once we did meet, and you mentioned you were looking for alchemy, I thought I’d better check it out. I expected to find some graffiti, maybe evidence teenagers had been drinking or getting high.” She gestured to the walls. “Did not expect this.”

Her phone rang—her ringtone Chopin’s famous and haunting funeral march—and she checked the screen. “Appointment about a potential client.” She put the phone away, looked up at us. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Of course,” Ethan said. “We can’t thank you enough for your help. All things considered, I wouldn’t mention what you’ve seen to anyone else. It’s unlikely Reed would know you’re involved, and it’s safest to keep it that way.”

The irony of his saying that wasn’t lost on me. And from the heavy look he offered me, it wasn’t lost on him, either.

“No argument there. If I see anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Would you like an escort back to your car?” Catcher asked, and she just smiled.

“Thoughtful offer,” she said, patting his arm. “But the night I can’t take care of myself in a graveyard is the night I need to hang up my license.” She turned and walked out the door.

I looked at Catcher. “I bet she and Mallory would get along really well.”

“Merit, Sentinel of Cadogan House and magical matchmaker.” Ethan smiled, probably grateful for the levity.

“I got Paige and the Librarian together,” I pointed out.

Catcher pulled out his phone “Technically, Mallory got them together. Let’s get this photographed for Jeff.”

I nodded, pulled out my own phone.

“I’d like to meet at dusk,” Ethan said, walking to one of the walls and staring at it, hands on his hips.

Catcher nodded. “Jeff mentioned it. You might try not irritating Adrien Reed in the meantime,” he said, angling his phone to get a shot.

“Been holding that one in for a few hours?” I asked.

“I have.”

“It’s good advice,” I said. “You should convince Ethan to take it.”

“You might make the same suggestion to Reed,” Ethan grumbled. “I suspect it won’t be long before we hear from him again.”

“Then we’ll have to double our efforts,” Catcher said.

“We may need to do more than that.”

Catcher and Ethan both stopped, looked back at me.

“We’ve found symbols in two different parts of town. At a cursory glance, it looks like they’re part of the same kind of magic.” I looked at Catcher. “Chicago’s a big town, and two sets isn’t very many for magical purposes. If they really are connected, wouldn’t we expect to see more than two?”

“Possibly,” Catcher said. “But that would mean there are more sites out there. Potentially many more.”

“Yeah,” I said. “My point exactly.”

Ethan looked at Catcher. “Maybe Chuck could ask the city’s sups to keep an eye out, report in if they see anything?”

Catcher nodded. “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“So we know our sorcerer wore a suit,” I said.

Ethan gestured to the tuxedo pants he still wore, the button-down shirt. “Many supernaturals wear suits.”

I thought of the sup at La Douleur in the suit and fedora, the one who I thought had ratted us out to Cyrius. We didn’t know if he was a sorcerer, but he’d known enough to want us out of the club. And he’d been a snazzy dresser.

“I know,” I said. “I’m grasping at straws. Because other than his connection to Adrien Reed, we don’t have anything.”

“Dusk,” Ethan said. “We’ll work through the steps, and we’ll figure this out. He won’t be able to hide much longer.”

Good. Because he’d been hidden long enough.

NEWSIES 2.0

E
than and I returned to the House, stopped at the basement stairs.

“You’re going to the Ops Room?” he asked.

I nodded. “You’re going to meet with supplicants?”

“It’s only fair.”

We stood in silence for a moment. We were both afraid—afraid of losing something dear, afraid of what Adrien Reed wanted to take from us. That fear had blossomed into anger and frustration, and those emotions roiled between us, a barrier we hadn’t yet crossed.

“I’m not sure what else I can say.”

I looked up at Ethan. “Me, neither.”

He looked down, nodded. “Then let’s go about our work until we do know. I’ll see you later.” Without waiting for my response, he began to trot up the stairs.

When he’d disappeared, I pressed a hand against my stomach, which had tightened with nerves and fear.

Yet another reason to detest Adrien Reed.

•   •   •

I walked down the hall, but when I opened the Ops Room door, Lindsey shook her head.

“Nope, nope,” she said, moving to bar the door with arms outstretched. “You have company upstairs.”

I frowned at her. “Company? Who?”

“A very pissed-off sorceress.”

Damn. “Paige? Because of the alchemy?”

“Paige is in the library. It’s Mallory.”

“Mallory?” I checked my watch. It was late, and I didn’t have any idea why Mallory might be pissed off.

“And before you ask,” Lindsey said, “no, I don’t know what she wants, even with my wicked psychic powers.” She released one of her arms, used it to shoo me. “Go upstairs, talk to her, and get her to knock off the bad juju. She’s magically funking up the joint.”

I wanted to argue but decided the fastest way to figure out what was up with Mallory was to actually go upstairs and ask her. Still, I felt a low sense of dread. I didn’t know anything I’d done to piss her off, which raised other issues—did it have something to do with the shifters? My grandfather? Dark magic?

I hustled up the stairs, glanced around the foyer, saw no one but the supplicants in the foyer and a vampire at the desk.

The assault came from behind me. She popped out of the woodwork like a pixie, began slapping at me with fluttering, butterfly hands.

“Ow! What the hell, Mallory?” For a petite woman with plenty of magic at her disposal, she slapped pretty hard.

“Biggest thing to happen in either of our damn lives and you didn’t even tell me!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Gabriel’s prophecy,” she said in a fierce, growling whisper.

I stopped, stared at her.

There weren’t many who knew about it, and I hadn’t told anyone other than Ethan, for obvious reasons, and Lindsey, and because she’d mostly guessed it.

“How did you—”

She crossed her arms. “Gabriel’s angry at Ethan. I guess he let it slip to Jeff, and Jeff told me.”

Supernaturals could not keep secrets to save their lives. “Does my grandfather know?”

“No. Jeff didn’t even mean to tell me, and he swore me to secrecy.”

I rubbed my temples, which were beginning to ache from the weight of too much drama. Or Mallory’s psychic funk.

“Let’s go for a walk outside,” I said.

But Mallory just kept staring at me, and her eyes began to fill. “You didn’t tell me.”

Crap,
I thought, and took her arm much more gently than she’d have taken mine.

“Let’s go outside,” I said, heading off another round of bruises, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

•   •   •

I walked her through the House and the cafeteria, which was filled with chattering vampires and the scents of meat and chilies. It was Tex-Mex night, a House favorite. Thankfully, the food kept their attention as we walked past.

I led Mallory outside to the House’s enormous pool, a beautiful rectangle of sparkling water. I sat down on the concrete that surrounded it. Mallory sat in front of me, cross-legged.

She put a hand on her chest. “Is it because of the magic? Because you don’t trust me? Because you don’t want me to know that you’re trying to get pregnant?”

The fear in her eyes was obvious.

“No,” I said, and when she looked at me, I said it again. “
No
. Big no, little no, no. We’re not trying to get pregnant, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you or trust. It doesn’t have anything to do with anything, really. It’s just—it may not ever happen. It’s all very fuzzy and up in the air.”

She frowned, then cast a quick and wary gaze at my crotch before lifting her gaze to mine again. “You’re going to need to explain that. Jeff was vague on the details, and I’m not really sure I understand how pregnancy could be fuzzy or up in the air.”

“Because it’s a prophecy, not a pregnancy test. Gabriel thinks we’ll have a child—me and Ethan. But that would basically be a miracle among miracles.”

“Why?”

“Because no vampire child has ever been born.”

She leaned back in surprise. “Ever?”

“Forever ever. Three known vampire conceptions in the entire history of the world. None made it to term.”

Her expression fell. “Damn, Merit. Those are pretty shitty odds.”

“They are. Which makes Gabriel’s prediction that much more awesome, and that much more questionable. And, to add insult to injury, we have to go through some kind of test before it happens.”

She frowned. “What kind of test?”

“I don’t know. Something bad that we have to endure.”

She snorted lightly. “Hasn’t there already been plenty of that?”

“I had the same question. I don’t know what it will be, or when, or if it’s sitting out there around the corner just waiting for us.”

Or were we already in the middle of it—this nightmare with Reed? Was this the nastiness we had to survive, individually and together?

“What?” she asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to talk about Ethan, but she thumped me on the shin. “
Ow
. You are violent tonight.”

She grinned. “It’s very effective. And if you don’t spill, I’ll do it again.” To prove her point, she made a circle of her thumb and index finger, held them near my shinbone.

“Ethan and I are fighting. I think.”

“That is just shocking, because you’re both so easygoing.”

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“I disagree, but I’ll skip the argument. Spill.”

I sighed. “You know about the Botanic Garden?”

“I got the earful, yeah.”

“He found out Reed was going to be there by calling my father, having him make a phone call or something, confirm Reed’s attendance.”

“Hmmm,”
was all she said.

“Yeah.”

Mallory pulled up her knees, wrapped her arms around them. “The territory near your father is tricky, tricky ground. On the one hand, yeah, he’s an adult. Could have told Ethan to pound sand. And just making a phone call isn’t necessarily risky.”

“And on the other hand?”

“On the other hand, Ethan even potentially involving your father with Reed again? That’s dicey.”

“Yeah, it is. That’s exactly what I said.”

“Has he apologized?”

“In the way that he apologizes. ‘I would do anything to protect you,’” I said, in a pretty good imitation.

Mallory nodded. “He gave you an alphapology.”

“What now?”

“An alphapology. The apology made by the alpha male, which isn’t really an apology, but more a reason for insane behavior. Catcher does it all the damn time. Drives me up the
wall
.”

“Alphapology,” I repeated, kicking the tires. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it. What do I do about it?”

“Depends on Darth Sullivan’s particular brand of alpha. He knows you’ve got a rocky relationship with your family, but he also knows they matter to you. And frankly, Merit, at least some of his asinine behavior is because of Reed. Reed’s a crazy asshole, and crazy breeds crazy. If Ethan gets to the point where he acknowledges the phone call was a mistake, you can carry on.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then Darth Sullivan isn’t the man I thought he was.” She reached out, took my hand, squeezed it. “And he is that man, Merit. Look at it this way. If this is the testing, you know you’ll get through it. Or at least through it enough to get knocked up,” she said with a snort.

“That’s not really funny.”

“I know.”

“You know, I’m kind of surprised Gabriel didn’t mention this to you when you were tutoring with him.”

“Gabriel’s really weird about his prophecies. He doesn’t like to talk about them.” She frowned, as if considering her words. “I’m not even sure ‘prophecy’ gets to the heart of it, not really. The word makes it sound like he knows this independent piece of information—this bit of knowledge that’s separate from him. But it doesn’t work that way. Shifters are connected—to the earth, to the things living on it, to the kind of”—she waved her hands in the air—“universal timeline. The things they prophesize, that knowledge, is part of that interconnected timeline. Part of who they are.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“It sounds like horseshit,” she said with a grin. “Like the nonsense I’d have spewed in my Grateful Dead and patchouli days.”

“Those were very colorful days.” Mallory had braided her hair, worn broomstick skirts, and stocked the fridge with Cherry Garcia. I hadn’t complained about the last.

“They were something,” she agreed. “But Gabriel’s the real deal. You’ve seen the Pack together. Hell, you saw Convocation. You know what they’re like.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

“I’d say, take the middle ground. Cautiously optimistic. Or optimistically cautious.”

“My question is, how’s it actually going to happen?”

“Well, Merit, Ethan will put his—”

I held up a hand. “I didn’t mean literally. If no child of vampires has ever been carried to term, how are we going to beat those odds?”

“I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowed. “Something with magic?”

“That was my guess, but I still don’t know how the mechanics would work.”

“Tab A, slot B.”

“This conversation has taken a weird turn.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of our thing.” She leaned forward, put a hand on my knee. “My God, do I want to see Ethan facing his first loaded diaper. And can you imagine him dealing with milk puke?”

“I think he’ll be a good dad.” A protective one, certainly. He had that gene in spades. “I mean, for a four-hundred-year-old pretentious Master vampire.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s his burden to bear, and we shouldn’t hold it against him. You know what we need?” she asked suddenly. “A beach vacation before you’re ankle-deep in poopy diapers. I mean, I know you can’t sunbathe, but we can still do manicures. Pedicures. Eat plenty of fried fish and listen to Jimmy Buffett by moonlight.”

“I’ve never listened to Jimmy Buffett in my life.”

“I haven’t, either. But I think that’s what you do on the beach. While drinking a margarita. We’ll call it a retreat! I’ll write a grimoire of good and helpful magic, or work on SWOB stuff, and you can, I don’t know, sharpen your sword.”

“Is that what you think we do in our free time? Sharpen our swords?”

She grinned. “Yes. Literally and figuratively.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I know.” She sighed happily. “All the shit we’ve been through—all the shit
I’ve
been through—and I can still make lascivious jokes with the best of them. That’s impressive, Merit. That’s character. And I’m serious about the retreat idea. I might even let you bring Ethan for a night if you two make up. I bet he’d look fine in one of those tiny Speedos.”

I grimaced. As far as I was concerned, no one looked good in them. But I imagined Ethan would look good emerging from the ocean, body drenched and trunks riding low on his hips, striding across the sand like Poseidon.

I cleared my throat. “If we make up, I’ll talk to him.”

Mallory grinned. “You were thinking about him naked, weren’t you?”

“No. Maybe. Yes.”

“Good,” she said with a grin. “’Cause you got a baby to make. And I should get going. I need to run an errand. I’m going to buy a crucible, actually. I mean, technically it’s part of an old ceramics kiln. But I figure it will do the trick.”

According to the books the Librarian had provided, crucibles were a crucial part of alchemy. “Are you going to actually try a transmutation?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m thinking it would be worthwhile to try out one of the subequations—one of the shorter alchemical phrases. I was thinking that will help us fill in some of the nonsensical spots. But I don’t want to accidentally set Reed’s big plan in motion.”

“No argument from me there.”

“You gonna work on the symbols?”

I checked my watch. I’d spent part of the night on the road, part in a ball gown, part in a jail cell, and part in a cemetery. There wasn’t much darkness left. “I’ll at least stop by the library, yeah. I haven’t exactly been a very good assistant for Paige.”

“Since you’re usually the one doing the heavy lifting, I wouldn’t feel too bad about that. You’re working other angles.”

I nodded. “And speaking of, Ethan wants to meet here at dusk to talk. We told Catcher earlier.”