Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  But avoider though I might have been, I wasn’t so immature that I didn’t take my beeper; I also put my dagger and sword in the car. Even if I was on investigatory hiatus, it wasn’t impossible Paulie had passed along my message to “Marie,” who planned on paying me an unscripted visit. On that front, better to be prepared.

  The drive was pretty quick by Chicago standards—a surprisingly speedy jaunt along Lake Shore Drive—but it did give me a few minutes to reflect and gain a little perspective.

  Not that I was going to find a lot of resolution in a fifteen-minute drive or even a few hours away from the House, but the space was necessary. I needed to recharge around people who knew me only as Merit . . . not as Sentinel.

  I’d apparently burned through my parking luck; a new bar had opened across the street from Catcher’s gym, so the neighborhood was full of long-legged girls and overcologned boys ready to head into the bar for flirtations and overpriced appletinis. I found a space three blocks away and walked back to the gym, then headed inside.

  The interior of the building was shaped like a giant T, and the gym—the place where Catcher had taught me to use a sword—was down the central hallway. I felt the electric sizzle in the air as soon as I reached the doorway. Rubbing the uncomfortable prickle along my arms, I peeked inside.

  Catcher wore his fancy new glasses, track pants, and a T-shirt; Mallory wore yoga pants and a sports bra, which was actually more clothing than he’d let me train in. The lucky duck.

  That said, her training was a different duck altogether. I’d known Catcher was amazing with a sword, and I’d known sorcerers—in addition to bending the universe to their wills—could throw balls of what looked like magical fire. But I’d never seen anything like this.

  It was a like a game of magical handball. The two of them stood at opposite ends of the room, throwing and dodging brilliantly colored orbs at each other. Catcher would heft a ball of magic toward Mallory, and Mallory would avoid it or toss out her own shot. Sometimes the shots would hit each other and burst into a fall of sparks; sometimes they’d miss and explode against the walls with a crackle of sound.

  That explained the tingle in the air—each time a ball exploded, it sent a cloud of magic pulsing through the room. I guess that was the risk of watching sorcerers practice.

  Mallory looked over and offered a quick wave before lobbing a ball of blue fire back at Catcher.

  “Hey, you!”

  I glanced over. Jeff sat in a plastic chair on the other side of the door, a bowl of popcorn in his lap.

  “Cop a squat,” he said, patting the seat behind him. “I was actually going to call you.”

  “No need to call now,” I said, taking a seat and grabbing some kernels of corn. It was kettle corn, which I adored. A little bit salty, a little bit sweet, and probably plenty better for me than a box of Mallocakes.

  “So, I did a little more digging into the criminal record of our friend Paulie Cermak.”

  “I thought you said his file was sealed.”

  Jeff threw up a piece of popcorn, then caught it in his teeth. “Oh, I did. But ‘sealed’ and ‘no longer in the system’ are two different things.”

  “Is this the appropriate time for a lecture on computer hacking?”

  “Not if you want me to give you the information I found.”

  I was becoming less of a stickler for the rules.

  “Lay it on me.”

  “So, to put it in layman’s terms, while the file has officially been sealed for court purposes, an image of the file’s contents was cached before it was sealed, so all the data’s still out there. Now, as it turns out, there was only one item on the guy’s record—he got a citation for punching someone in the face. A simple assault kind of deal.”

  I tried to play back my memory. I thought I’d seen Paulie Cermak before. Had it been on television? A report of the assault on the evening news? But I couldn’t remember anything specific. “Who was the victim?”

  “No clue. The guy never pressed charges, and his name was redacted from the file before it was scanned.”

  I sighed. “So Paulie Cermak punches a guy.

  The cops get called, but the vic doesn’t press charges, and the file gets sealed anyway.”

  “That sums it up.”

  “That’s weird. Why seal his file if no one pressed charges?”

  Jeff shrugged and tossed another piece of popcorn in the air. This one bounced off his lip and hit the floor—or would have hit the floor, had it not bounced just as a pulse of magic moved through the room. It hovered for a moment a few inches above the floor, and then exploded into tiny popcorn shards.

  Jeff and I both ducked, then looked up at Catcher. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring us down. “Popcorn? Really?”

  “What?” Jeff said slyly. “This is like the best tennis match ever. We needed a snack.”

  Catcher’s lip curled, and he lobbed a shot of blue that had us both dropping in our chairs. It hit the wall behind us and burst into a shower of sparks. I sat up, frantically brushing sparks from my hair.

  “Hello! I’m here to be supportive. Let’s ix-nay on the hitting me with agic-may.”

  “Yeah, Catch,” Mallory said. “She’s trying to be supportive.” She threw a ball of magic that had him jumping to avoid the sparks and letting out a string of curses.

  “Good times,” I said, giving Mallory a thumbs-up.

  “So, before we were so rudely interrupted,” Jeff said, “I was going to say that it’s not exactly a common thing to do—to seal a record when there’s no charges pressed or whatever—but there could be lots of reasons. Most likely, Paulie Cermak had friends in high places.” He chuckled.

  I made a sarcastic sound. “Paulie doesn’t exactly seem like someone who hangs with suits.

  Maybe Celina had him rough someone up.”

  “It’s an idea. I’ll keep digging.”

  “You’re doing a great job,” I told him, bumping him with my shoulder. “I appreciate the hard work.”

  Jeff blushed little. “Even Catcher said I was doing some pretty good investigation on this one.”

  “Well, Catcher never met a topic he didn’t have an opinion on. Speaking of which, any developments on the V? I assume the CPD does testing and such.”

  “Yeah—they do, and did. Turns out, V’s chemical structure is similar to adrenaline.”

  “That explains why it gets vamps so hyped up.”

  Jeff nodded. “Exactly. But that’s not even the most interesting part. Catcher did a little magical sniffing of his own, and he thinks there’s another component to the drug beyond the chemistry —magic.”

  I frowned. “Who else could have added the magic?”

  “That’s what’s got him worried.”

  It had me worried, too. Even if we could pin V on Paulie and Celina, we now had an unknown source who was throwing gratuitous magic around. And speaking of unknowns: “Did you ever glean any more information about the assault Mr. Jackson saw?”

  “Only the info you already knew. There haven’t been any developments as far as I’m aware. Case is going cold.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than bodies having been located. That question in mind, my phone buzzed, so I pulled it from my pocket, expecting a question from Ethan:

  “Sentinel, where are you?” or the like.

  I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered it anyway. “This is Merit.”

  “Kid, I got something I think you’ll be interested in.”

  The New York accent was unmistakable.

  “Paulie. What do you want?”

  “A certain someone wants to meet with you.”

  “A certain someone?”

  “Marie,” he said. “You asked her for a meeting, and it turns out she’s amenable.”

  Of course she was. We knew Celina wouldn’t pass up the chance, and even if this “Marie” wasn’t Celina, a meeting would almost certainly answer some of our questions. “Where and when?”<
br />
  “Street Fest. Tonight. Meet beside the Town booth.”

  Town was a chichi café in the Loop that regularly topped the annual “best of ” lists. It was a place for socialites to see and be seen, a place that required reservations weeks in advance —unless you knew someone . . . or you were the daughter of Joshua Merit. Pork saltimbocca?

  Yes, please.

  Although I didn’t figure Celina for a Street Fest participant, Town was just the kind of place she’d choose.

  “What time?”

  “Eleven o’clock.”

  I checked my watch. It was a quarter till ten.

  Street Fest ended at one o’clock, so the meeting time would hit the crescendo of bands, foods, and imbibing Chicagoans.

  “I assume I won’t need to wear a carnation in my lapel so she recognizes me?”

  Paulie coughed out a laugh. “She’ll find you.

  Eleven p.m. sharp.”

  The line went dead, so I tucked the phone away again and nibbled on my thumb as I thought it through.

  Celina—well, someone I thought must be Celina—wanted a meeting in a public place. And not just a public place—a public place where thousands of humans would be milling about.

  Was she hoping the crowd would give her anonymity, or was she planning on causing trouble in the middle of them?

  She had to have an ulterior motive, something she wanted to pull off. Maybe a trap she hoped to spring. It was just a matter of figuring it out—or planning for all contingencies.

  When I finally looked up again, I found Catcher, Jeff, and Mallory staring at me.

  “Paulie Cermak,” I explained. “‘Marie’ wants to meet me at Street Fest tonight.”

  Catcher and Mallory walked toward us.

  “You’re going?”

  “Do I have a choice? Darius is pissed, and so’s Tate.” I rolled my shoulders, muscles aching against the joint irritation of magic and tension.

  “We could pretend this isn’t our problem, but that’s not going to make V go away, and it’s not going to keep our House together.”

  “So what’s the downside of meeting with her?” Mallory asked.

  “Other than the possibility she’ll kill me?

  Darius ordered me and Ethan to stop investigating.”

  Catcher’s expression was incredulous. “On what basis? Vamps are fighting in public. How could he possibly deny that there’s a problem?”

  “Oh, he knows something’s going on.” I filled them in on the escapade at Grey House. “Darius just thinks it’s Tate’s problem to solve. He also apparently thinks we’re the ones creating the problem—that Celina’s acting out because we keep giving her attention.”

  “Not impressed with Darius so far,” Mallory said.

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  All heads turned to the doorway. A cute guy in a T-shirt and jeans smiled back at us.

  “Who’s he?” I whispered.

  “That,” Mallory tiredly said, “is Simon. My tutor.”

  I’ll be honest—when Mallory had said she had a tutor, I’d expected the nerdy type. Someone with an academic bent and maybe a pocket protector.

  Simon was about as far from the stereotype as they got: buff and cute in a boy-next-door way, with nary a pencil to be seen. His hair was closely cropped, with blue eyes peering out beneath a strong brow.

  “Well done,” I whispered to her.

  “You wouldn’t say that if he was making you levitate a two-hundred-pound lead weight for the sixty-seventh time.” But she smiled politely. “Hi, Simon.”

  “Mallory,” Simon said, then looked at Catcher.

  “It’s been a while.”

  Catcher’s expression stayed blank. He apparently wasn’t interested in a warm reunion with a member of the Order. “Simon. What brings you to the city?”

  Simon gestured toward Mallory. “We’re going to take a ghost tour.”

  I glanced at Mallory. “You’re going on a ghost tour?” It’s not that Mallory wasn’t interested in the occult. She was the girl with the Buffy fixation, after all. But she’d always refused when I’d asked her to go, calling the idea of a ghost tour the “fauxcult.”

  “Simon,” Mallory said with an absent wave of the hand, “this is Merit and Jeff. She’s a vampire, but I’m still friends with her because I’m awesome that way, and he’s a computer nerdling extraordinaire who works with Catcher.”

  Simon smiled at me, but the effect wasn’t nearly as friendly as you might have imagined.

  “So, you’re Sullivan’s Sentinel.”

  “I’m the Cadogan House Sentinel,” I politely corrected.

  “Of course,” he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t quite buy my clarification.

  “So you’re going on a ghost tour?” Jeff asked.

  “Is that some kind of magical research?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Simon said. “The hauntings aren’t all wives’ tales. Some of the locales are legitimately infested. Mallory’s task tonight will be to separate fact from fiction. It’s part of her practicum.”

  Mallory frowned. “Is that today? I thought that was tomorrow.”

  “Do you need to reschedule? There are some other things I could take care of while I’m in town.”

  Mallory waved him off. “No, today’s fine. It’s going to be on the exam, so I might as well do it.”

  “Oh, my God, you are Harry Potter,” I said, pointing a finger at her. “I knew it!”

  She rolled her eyes, then looked at Catcher. “I guess I need to get cleaned up and go?”

  Catcher frowned, clearly not comfortable sending Mallory off into the city with Simon. I couldn’t tell if the animus was all Order related or not.

  Catcher looked at Simon. “Could you give us a minute?”

  “Of course,” Simon said after a moment. “I’ll wait in the car. Jeff, nice to meet you. Merit, we’ll have to talk sometime. I’d love to hear more about Cadogan House.”

  I gave him a noncommittal smile.

  Simon walked out again. I looked back at Mallory and Catcher. “He seems pleasant enough.”

  “He’s a member of the Order,” Catcher grimly said. “They’re always ‘pleasant enough’ until they’re calling you a troublemaker and stripping you of your membership.”

  “Sounds like the Order and the GP have things in common,” I said.

  Catcher grunted his agreement.

  “Simon’s . . . okay,” Mallory said. “But speaking of the GP, you need to get out there and mix it up.” She reached out her arms, and I stepped forward into her hug. “Just like you told me,” she said, “you do what you have to do. You know right from wrong, and your instincts are good. Trust them.”

  “And if I still can’t pull it off?”

  She pulled back, her expression fierce.

  “There’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it. You just have to decide that you can.

  You go and find Celina Desaulniers, and you kick her ass this time.”

  Let’s hope it ended that way.

  There was a limo parked outside the House when I returned, as well as the usual gaggle of protesters. I recognized two or three—the same protesters were camped out night after night, their hatred of us apparently taking priority over any other activities.

  I figured the limo belonged to Tate or Darius, which didn’t thrill me. Neither was going to make my current task easier. I double-parked in front of the House and moved carefully inside, tiptoeing toward Ethan’s office.

  No Ethan. But Malik stood in the middle of the room, reviewing papers. Darius was in the sitting area, chatting on a cell phone.

  I smiled politely at Darius and walked toward Malik. His gaze lifted as I moved closer, and he must have noticed my frazzled expression.

  “What now?”

  I slid my gaze toward Darius. “In light of the GP’s directive, I thought I’d take the evening off.

  Head to Street Fest.
Meet some friends.”

  Malik’s expression was blank only for a second before realization dawned.

  “I thought I’d see if Ethan wants me to bring anything back. You know how much he loves greasy food. The man cannot get enough of battered and fried.”

  Malik smiled slyly. “That he does, Sentinel. I believe you’ll find him in his apartment. He and Darius plan to meet in a few minutes, but perhaps I could entertain him while you discuss the menu?”

  At my nod, Malik walked toward Darius. I headed for the door again. Darius must have ended his call, as I heard Malik ask, “Sire, have you had a chance to see the grounds? The gardens are spectacular in late summer.”

  Good man, I thought, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached the third floor.

  Ethan was just walking into the hallway when I reached him. Without bothering to ask permission, I moved past him into his bedroom.

  When I turned around again, he was still in the doorway, eyebrow arched.

  “Malik is taking care of Darius. I need five minutes.”

  “I have the distinct sense that I’m not going to enjoy those five minutes.”

  “Quite possibly not.”

  Either way, he walked inside and shut the door behind us, then crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Tonight will be tricky,” I said.

  “Because?”

  “Because she may be wreaking havoc in a very public place.”

  He dropped his arms, alarm in his expression.

  “How public?”

  “Street Fest.”

  Ethan closed his eyes for a moment. “Do we have defenses?”

  “Yours truly.”

  Ethan’s eyes flashed open. He opened his mouth to object, then closed it again.

  “Wise decision,” I complimented, “since I’m the only defense you’ve got at the moment.”

  “Is this a trap?”

  “Quite possibly. And it may be the kind of trap that puts us square in the public eye. But I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that—or at least make sure it’s the right kind of publicity.”