by Chloe Neill
“Those all sound like things Reed would like,” Morgan said.
“Agreed,” she said. “But I don’t think this sorcerer is working on what I’d call the ‘traditional’ alchemy problems. The philosopher’s stone, turning lead into gold, whatever. The phrases—the smaller chunks within each equation—don’t match those traditional equations. They’re very contradictory.” She pointed the laser at one of the lines. “For example, this phrase tells you to do something.” Then she dropped it to the line below. “And this phrase tells you to do the opposite.”
“What’s your best guess about the purpose?” Ethan asked.
Paige looked back at the boards, considered. “Something big. Even the equations that have tried to produce a philosopher’s stone aren’t this complex, or this contradictory.” She frowned. “Because of that, I don’t see this being intended for one person. I mean, you want to make yourself blond, rich, immortal, whatever, you don’t need this many lines of code, so to speak. I think it’s intended for other people.”
“What other people?” Ethan asked.
She looked back at us. “I don’t know yet. But as large as the equation is, I’d say a number of them. Many, many people.”
“I’m working on an algorithm,” Jeff said. “A program that will automatically translate the symbols, make predictive guesses about the hieroglyphs, and give us best translation results.”
“How far along are you?” my grandfather asked.
Jeff frowned. “About two-thirds? Need a few more hours to get the cipher right, and then I can compile the code, and we’ll be ready to roll. Might need to do some contextual tweaking—like Mercury next to the sun instead of the moon means you need to hop on one foot or whatever—but we’ll be close.”
“Good,” Ethan said. “We appreciate the work.”
Jeff nodded.
“So Reed’s got a sorcerer working some kind of big magic,” Scott said, his gaze on the board. “Big magic that could affect a lot of people. But we don’t know what the magic is yet, and we don’t know how many people. And most of Chicago still thinks he hung the moon.”
“And made it shine,” Ethan said. “That’s a fair summary.”
“Then what can we do?” Scott asked.
“Be vigilant,” Ethan said. “I can’t stress that enough. He’s looking for opportunities.” He met my gaze. “He likes to use what he perceives as personal weaknesses against people. He’s very intelligent, and he likes to manipulate.”
“He’s very egotistical,” my grandfather said. “Likes to create a dramatic scene, but doesn’t always think through the implications.” He looked at Ethan, then me. “It turns out, the cops who arrested you at the Garden thought they were doing a favor for someone very powerful—putting away supernaturals who’d been stalking his family. They were, let’s say, set on a better path.”
“Thank you for that,” Ethan said, and my grandfather nodded.
“The inaccuracies can be corrected,” he said. “But that’s the kind of manipulation we’re dealing with.”
“As for the magic,” Luc said, “spread the word. Alert your vampires to the possibility of more symbol sites, and ask them to report anything they find.”
“The odds of that seem pretty slim,” Jonah said. “I mean, not that there are more sites, but that we’ll randomly stumble across them.” He glanced at me. “That’s pretty much how you found the Wrigleyville symbols, right?”
“Almost exactly,” I said.
“Maybe we can build something.”
We all looked at Mallory, who was staring blankly at the open windows.
“What kind of something?” Catcher asked.
She blinked, looked at him. “I’m just talking this through, but a machine that would find the other sites? A magical radar, something that could send back a signal from concentrations of alchemy.”
Catcher frowned, seemed to consider. “You’re thinking about a receiver? Something to pick up the alchemical signals?” He paused. “Yeah. That might be possible. The sites would work like reflectors, if you could tune in to the alchemy’s signal.” He grabbed a notepad and pen from the center of the table, began scribbling.
“Is such a thing possible?” Ethan asked.
Mallory snorted. “Anything and everything is possible.”
“Truer words,” I murmured.
“Visibility could be a problem,” Mallory said. “Actually being able to see where the symbols are, I mean. If they’re spread out, we’ll have line-of-sight problems.”
“Maybe I could help with that,” Jeff said.
“What are you thinking?” Catcher asked.
Jeff rubbed his temple absently. “Maybe I can align a program to the magic? So even if we can’t see the locations’ IRL, we can watch them on a screen? A three-dimensional map?”
IRL? Ethan asked silently.
In real life, I said. As opposed to the lighthearted fantasy we’re pretending to live in.
“Yeah,” Mallory said, nodding as she looked at Jeff and Catcher. “Yeah. That might actually work.”
Ethan looked at Mallory. “There’s no risk that this would harm you?”
His question was softly spoken. And it wasn’t about doubt or lack of confidence in her, the fear that she’d use dark magic again, backslide into the hole she’d only so recently crawled out of. There was only concern for a woman who’d been his enemy, and who’d gained back enough trust to become his friend.
“No,” she said, her voice calm and clear. And then she held out her hands.
Black magic, when she’d been using it, had chapped and cracked them. But they looked healthy and healed, each nail painted a different pastel shade, so they formed a long rainbow when she lined them up. Which made for a gorgeous effect.
“I wasn’t asking—” Ethan began, but Mallory shook her head.
“I know,” she said, meeting his gaze, chin up. “I was showing you. I owe you that much.”
Ethan’s expression stayed serious, and he nodded at her, something important, something weighty, passing between them. I had to bite my lip to keep quick, bright tears from welling. That he and I weren’t in sync right now didn’t minimize the importance of the gesture, especially given the similarity between Reed’s alchemy and Mallory’s dark magic.
Catcher put an arm around his wife, pressed a kiss to her head.
“Well, then,” Luc said. “That gives us a plan for the alchemy.”
“And Reed?” Scott asked, rocking back in his chair. “What’s the plan there?”
Ethan’s gaze went flat. “His destruction and expulsion from the city of Chicago.”
“So humble goals, then,” Scott said.
“He won’t stop,” Ethan said. “This isn’t a vendetta against me or my House. Reed doesn’t care about anything other than his empire. We’ve seen that with Cadogan, we’ve seen it with Navarre, and now we’ve seen it with the unfortunate shifter who crossed his path.”
“Then we won’t let him,” Morgan said, raising a bottle of water like a sword of allegiance. “It’s about damn time we took back this city.”
• • •
When details had been discussed and work assigned, supernaturals rose and dispersed. Some lingered and chatted; others left immediately.
Scott and Jonah were the first to go, which meant I didn’t have to make awkward small talk while avoiding the real issue between us. Morgan followed, and then the guards went back to the Ops Room, and Paige returned to the library.
I checked with Jeff again about the safe-deposit box key. Still no dice after checking nearly three-quarters of the city’s banks. Yes, it had been a long shot. We didn’t even know if the key fit a box in Chicago. But we had to keep trying, had to do the work, even if it didn’t seem to lead anywhere.
Margot brought in a care package for Mallory—a bag of j
unk food apparently intended to make up for the “kale and quinoa” at the Bell house. While Catcher and Ethan chatted, Mallory shuffled through the bag of chips, popcorn, and cookies Margot had prepared like a woman preparing to wage her own Hunger Games.
“You have an entire chocolate drawer,” I reminded her, thinking of the long bay of chocolate I’d collected when we were roommates.
“Had an entire chocolate drawer,” she said.
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean, ‘had’?”
“Quinoa,” Mallory said by way of explanation. “He took the rest of it to the Ombudsman’s office for the communal candy dish. It’s all chia seeds and whole grains in there now.”
“That bastard,” I gritted out. In truth, I had only myself to blame for losing all that lovely chocolate. I should have taken it all with me when I moved into the House.
She cast a sly glance toward her husband. “I need to go sneak this into the car. Wanna go on a secret mission?”
“Candy-related missions are my favorite type,” I said as she handed the loaded bag to me. I caught Ethan’s glance on the way out the door. I’ll be right back.
He nodded, slid his gaze back to Catcher.
With Mallory in the lead, car keys in hand and walking in a fast shuffle, we walked out of the House and through the gate. Catcher’s sedan was parked right in front of the House.
I glanced at her, my brow cocked. “How’d he get this prime spot?”
“Said we were on an urgent mission. Which the guards bought, because it was the absolute truth.”
“Did I mention I love your nail polish?” I asked.
“You did not, but thank you. Times like this, you gotta have a bright spot. You gotta have something to lighten the mood.” She shrugged. “Catcher’s homemade waffles and enormous dick usually do the trick. But a little paint and color never hurt.”
I had no idea how to respond to that. Or what I could say that wouldn’t encourage her to go into details. I decided on simple agreement. “Paint and color never hurt.”
She popped open the car’s trunk, moved aside a blanket, a spell book, and an enormous ceramic vessel the color of bone.
“Is that the crucible?” I asked, putting the bag in the trunk and smirking while she covered it with blankets.
“It is.” She tucked in the bag like it was precious cargo. “I think I’m going to distill something. Try to make a salt, which doesn’t really mean what you think it means.” She sighed happily. “Oh, alchemy. You’re so wonderfully wacky.”
She might have appreciated the alchemy, but she wasn’t nearly as careful with the ceramic crucible as she was with the bag of snacks.
“Mallory, you know I love you, but I wonder if going to this much trouble to keep some candy from Catcher is a bad plan.”
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him. I just need a new hiding place. I’m thinking a cabinet in the basement, but then the spiders might get in there.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to make light of this Reed situation, but honest to God, we have apocalypse-level spiders. Spiders big enough to operate motor vehicles. If the world ends, it will be because they’ve stolen tanks and challenged the president.”
“Nope.” I held up a hand. “Nope. Nope. I do not want to hear about revolutionary spiders.”
“You truly don’t,” she said. Having secured her goodies, she slammed the trunk closed.
I turned to head back to the House . . . and that was when I saw him.
A lean man about forty yards down the sidewalk, looking up at the fence and stone behind it. Pale skin, thick hair. He wore jeans, dark shoes, a dark jacket, and a black skullcap.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen someone staring up at Cadogan. Gawkers and tourists visited all the time, as did paparazzi, hoping for a million-dollar shot. There were even tourist buses that carted humans down the street for a look.
The man shifted, situating his face in the light of the corner streetlamp and revealing the thick beard that made him all too recognizable.
He wasn’t just an onlooker.
He was a vampire—the vampire who’d killed Caleb Franklin. The one who’d gotten away from me in Wrigleyville and was now standing in front of Cadogan House.
My heart began to race, my blood to pound with need, with fight. “Get in the House, Mallory.”
“What?” Her smile faded, and she looked around, sensing my sudden caution.
“Get in the House, right now. Tell Ethan to close the gate and lock it down.”
“Merit, I’m not—”
I looked at her, and whatever she’d seen in my eyes must have convinced her.
We might have started this journey together, unsure of our steps, unfamiliar with the kinds of darkness we’d come to see. But we knew it now—how to react, how to protect. Her gaze steeled, and she slid her glance slowly, casually, to the vampire who I didn’t think had yet realized we were watching.
“He works for Reed,” I said. “I’m going to approach him. He’s going to run, and I’m going after him. I’m not going to stop until I get him.”
Ethan would be pissed that I was doing exactly what I lectured him not to do—taking Reed’s bait—but it couldn’t be helped. I couldn’t just let the vampire go. Not when we’d made a promise to Gabriel. And not when Caleb Franklin deserved better.
Fear crossed her eyes, but she put it away. “I’ll tell Ethan,” she said. “Go.”
I turned toward him.
He turned, I think, because he’d noticed my movement. And it took only an instant for him to recognize me, to see. We looked at each other, just long enough for me to confirm that he was the vampire I’d wanted . . . and for him to confirm that it was time to go.
He smiled at me, and took off in a sprint, heading north.
I’d be damned if I lost him again.
• • •
With the House’s gate clanking closed behind me, I followed him down Fifty-third toward the lake. He barreled past bars and twenty-four-hour restaurants where patrons still lingered, me in his wake.
All the while, I checked my pace, kept my gaze trained on his back, and wished to God I’d had my katana. But it was in the House, parked in our apartments, because I hadn’t thought I’d need it in a meeting of friends.
I’d been half right.
He ran toward the Metra Station, then inside the lobby. A train had just arrived; people streamed through the station, trying to get outside. I lost him in the crowd, scanned heads and shoulders frantically to catch sight of him.
I just saw his skullcap as he jumped the turnstile, then headed up the long, jagged staircase that led to the platform. I hustled through the crowd and over the turnstile as people yelled behind me, promising to send Metra the fare. Humanity pressed back against me like a tsunami.
He slipped into the train heading north. I did the same, managing to get inside just before the doors closed, and found him standing alone inside the empty car.
There, in the cold light of the train, I got my first real look at the vampire who had killed Caleb Franklin.
He’d lost his skullcap in the bustle, and stood with his legs apart, braced like a captain on a ship. His hair was thick, straight, and brown, and it was pulled into a knot atop his head. His face was handsome. But there was a coldness in his expression, a deadness in his brown eyes.
And there was something familiar.
Memories flooded back, slicked over sudden and battling bursts of fear and fury.
Freshly cut grass, still wet with dew. His fingers, rough against tender skin. The sharp shock of pain as his fangs tore into skin, spilled blood. And the speed with which he’d abandoned me, his quarry, when Ethan and Malik found me, saved me, and made me immortal.
This was the vampire who’d killed Caleb Franklin . . . and the vampire who’d attacked me on the Quad one year ago
.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAKER’S MARK
Many times I’d wondered if this moment would ever come—if I’d ever look into the eyes of the man who’d tried to kill me, the vampire who’d changed my life forever.
We’d believed he’d been a Rogue, a vampire not affiliated with Cadogan, Grey, or Navarre. He didn’t look vampirically familiar, for what that was worth.
Enough time had passed that I figured he was dead or gone, had left Chicago in order to avoid a run-in with me or Ethan. I hadn’t expected that run-in would come on a northbound train a year after the attack.
But a year was a long time, and I wasn’t the girl he’d found that first night. I was vampire. I was Cadogan Novitiate. I was Sentinel, and I knew how to push down fear. I braced my legs just as he’d done to keep myself upright against the swaying of the train, and I faced him, this man who’d tried to take my life, who seemed to value life so little.
“Hello, Merit,” he said.
Stick to the facts, I told myself. We’d have only a few minutes before we reached the next stop. He might disappear, or humans might jump on, which wouldn’t help matters. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
I swallowed hard against the bile that threatened to rise. “No, I know what you did to me and to Caleb Franklin. I’m pretty sure I know the why and for whom. But I don’t know who you are.”
In answer, he pulled a matte black dagger from a sheath beneath his T-shirt. His smile was slick and confident, and it made my skin crawl, sent a line of cold sweat down my back.
For the first time since I’d seen his face, I stopped thinking about that night, and started thinking about this one—the fact that I’d chased him onto an empty train. That he’d managed to lead me away from my House, my partners, my allies.
Reed couldn’t have planned it better himself. Unless he had planned it himself.
What, exactly, was I going to do? What was my play? I’d survived the vampire’s attacks. Was I going to kill him then and there for what he’d done to me? Did I even have the right?