Blade Bound

  “I could guess they’re providing security in case the dragon comes here. But that seems . . . unrealistic,” Mallory finished.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  We walked inside, found Ethan in his office in a clean shirt, tidy jeans. He, Catcher, and Malik were checking their phones, probably wondering where we were.

  They looked up when we entered, expressions shifting from gratitude to bafflement.

  “How do you look so clean?” I asked Ethan.

  “We found a gypsy cab and got a ride home.” He stared at Mallory and me, took in another day of torn and dirty clothes. “Why do you not look clean?” he asked, putting away his phone and walking toward us. “What the hell happened to you two?”

  “We were chased by a goddamn dragon through the streets of goddamn Chicago,” Mallory said, pushing past the men toward the beverage area. I had a sense she was headed for booze.

  Ethan arched an eyebrow. “Long night, Sentinel?”

  I handed Ethan my sword, my scabbard, and followed Mallory to the bar. “Bite me.”

  Mallory snorted as she poured liquor into glasses.

  “What’s with the guard at the door?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Mallory said. “They keeping the dragon out, or the vampires in?”

  “The latter,” Catcher said. “Part of the mayor’s efforts to work with the Guard and keep the ‘situation’ from escalating. There are soldiers posted at Grey and Navarre, too.”

  There were tunnels beneath the House that would get us past the guards if necessary.

  “So a useless gesture to mollify the haters,” I said. “What would happen if we tried to go back out there?”

  “We would be rebuffed and told to stay indoors,” Luc said. “Grey House tried. When they were threatened back at gunpoint, he called us and let us know the state of affairs.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “And Grey was okay with that?”

  Ethan smiled. “Grey is planning his next move.”

  “And Jeff?” I asked, realizing that he wasn’t in Ethan’s office, and neither were the manuscript and foldouts.

  Catcher smiled. “He’s in the Library. He’s scanned in the folio pages, and he’s making a program that will compute all possible arrangements and make predictions about which ones are most likely.”

  “He’s a smart one,” I said as Mallory came back, offered me a glass. I finished it in a single gulp.

  “And what do we do now?” Mallory asked.

  “Now,” Ethan said with a heavy sigh, “we watch. And we wait.”

  • • •

  Mallory and Catcher joined Jeff. The rest of us gathered in the ballroom with the rest of Cadogan’s Novitiates to watch the dragon’s progress through the city.

  The Guard kept firing, trying to drive it closer to the Lake, maybe hoping it would fly north for the remains of the summer and become Canada’s problem. But it hadn’t worked. The dragon wouldn’t be led; it flew where it wanted to go.

  So the Guard took to the sky, sent F-16s against the dragon.

  That had been another mistake.

  Bravery and tactics were no match for a sentient monster that could fly, land, run, hide, and lift off again. Humans had been outmaneuvered, and Chicago had borne the brunt of their failure.

  Novitiates around me wept softly as images of the city filled the screen.

  Concrete, steel, and glass replaced the snow that had covered downtown Chicago, toppled from buildings. Towers of smoke rose from a dozen fires through downtown. The Navy Pier Ferris wheel had fallen—or been thrown—into the soaring glass of the Shakespeare Theater. An exterior section of the Hancock tower had been gouged away, a tangle of steel and wires hanging from the scar that remained. The top of the Wrigley building had been sheared away, and the lions in front of the Art Institute had been tumbled into the street like broken toys.

  The battle had wreaked destruction through the city.

  And still the dragon flew.

  The dragon had been injured, so blood smeared its body and the trail it left throughout Chicago. But that hadn’t stopped it. Its wings remained intact, which was enough to keep it airborne. The dragon had roosted on Towerline roof. Since it hadn’t gone any deeper into the city, Mallory speculated the creature was tied to the building—and its magical origin point.

  The dragon—the Egregore—had gotten the worst of Chicago, its anger and fear and hopelessness. But it had also gotten some of its perseverance.

  Ethan offered to provide transportation for any vampires who wished to leave Chicago. None of them did. Leaving would have felt like giving up. Not that staying was any easier.

  Watching our home be destroyed by a monster we didn’t know how to kill, a monster that seemed impervious to human weapons, was miserable. Ethan tried to give us hope, bolster our courage, but watching one image of destruction after another filling the screens drained away hope, left grief and numbness behind.

  I wasn’t sure Chicago would survive this.

  I wasn’t sure any of us would.

  “Do you think they’ll figure out this isn’t working before or after Navy Pier’s in the water?” Catcher asked.

  The coverage split-screened to a news studio.

  “Sorcha Reed has been neutralized, and the National Guard is working to lead the creature out of the city,” the mayor said, “and is very optimistic about their progress to date. In the meantime, the vampires remain in their Houses and are not involved in current containment efforts.”

  “Public Enemy Number One ate Public Enemy Number Two,” Luc corrected. “Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think that means the mayor neutralized jack shit.”

  Pundits tended to agree with him. They blasted the mayor for failing to keep the city safe—and causing more destruction in the city’s efforts to kill the dragon—and us for contributing to the chaos.

  “I’m not saying this was the vampires’ fault,” said one woman with big hair and a pinched face. “But these are the dangers of living in integrated communities—that humans will be dragged into their internal struggles. Into their violence.”

  Angry magic roiling off him in waves, Ethan looked back at Luc. “Schedule a press conference. It’s time we did some talking of our own.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  IMPRESSED

  We waited until a couple of hours before dawn, hoping that even if the National Guard didn’t scare off the dragon, it would take its leave during the day like it had before.

  This time, our hope wasn’t futile. Its movements had begun to slow, each flap of its wings seeming heavier than the last. After a final flight over the Chicago Lighthouse, the dragon disappeared in the direction of the sunrise. But the mayor didn’t remove the soldiers outside Cadogan House.

  It was late for us and early for humans, but it didn’t matter. The first press conference held by Navarre House more than a year ago had pulled them in. And now, this first time he’d agreed to hold a press conference, the city would finally hear from Ethan Sullivan.

  Representatives of magazines, Web sites, radio and television stations, and newspapers—including our shifter friend Nick Breckenridge, who wrote for the Tribune—weren’t going to miss this. They gathered on the Cadogan House lawn. Ethan stood on the front steps in his suit, strong and powerful, his attitude completely different from the supernatural eroticism Celina Desaulniers had worked to project at her press conference.

  Ethan didn’t need to work at it. His power was nearly tangible, his confidence unwavering. He’d played the political game in the interest of peace. Now he would fight back.

  He wore a trim, black suit, button-down, and tie in the deepest crimson. Malik, Luc, and I stood in suits behind him, swords belted at our sides. We were the representatives of Cadogan House. And tonight, we would have our say.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, and a
hush fell over the crowd so quickly he might have used magic to make it happen. But that wasn’t necessary. The crowd was rapt.

  “My name is Ethan Sullivan, and this is my House. Last night, Sorcha Reed used magic to manifest the creature that has been terrorizing the city. Due to, we believe, a complicated sequence of magic initiated by Sorcha with the financial and political assistance of her human husband, Adrien Reed, she was able to make physical a distillation of magical energy. That energy caused the delusions which affected Chicagoans; the freeze was caused by her gathering of magic as she worked to condense that energy into the dragon that has attacked downtown Chicago.”

  Probably surprised to get answers to the magical questions that plagued the city, the reporters began shouting questions at Ethan.

  Utterly unperturbed, he ignored them.

  The three of us all bit back smiles. This was our imperious Master at his political best.

  “Do not be mistaken,” he said. “The dragon was created by Sorcha Reed to terrorize this city. And though she may be gone, she has succeeded at that. The city is destroying itself in an effort to kill a creature that clearly has defenses to human weapons.

  “Unlike others, we will not discuss blame. We will not talk about failures or missteps, because that solves nothing, and because it takes the focus away from where it should be—on the perpetrator of these crimes. On a woman whose self-centeredness and egoism have wrought destruction over the city. We will note that destruction, in part, was caused by this city’s willingness to believe human over supernatural, to give deference to humans with wealth and power, and to blame others for their failures. That attitude must change.

  “Chicago is not perfect. But Chicago is ours, and it has been ours for a very long time. We have protected it as we’ve been able, and we will continue to do so. We are not the city’s enemy. We are Chicagoland’s vampires. Human solutions to this problem have not worked. When you’re ready to discuss a real solution, you know how to reach us.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and walked inside, leaving reporters yelling questions in his wake.

  Ethan’s phone rang before he’d even made it back to his office. He answered it, eyebrows lifting. “Madam Mayor.” A pause. “Yes. We will.”

  The call lasted less than a minute, and then the phone was put away again. But the smile on his face looked pretty damn good.

  “The mayor has formally requested we step in and handle the dragon in the manner we feel most appropriate. The CPD and National Guard await our instructions.”

  Now we could begin. And a good thing, because we had a lot of work to do.

  • • •

  We assembled the Ombuddies in the Ops Room again, and the energy was much different from the last time. Lindsey picked “Bad Blood” as our preparation music, and the vibe made us all feel pretty vindicated.

  Scott Grey and Jonah showed up, as did Gabriel and Morgan. I’d wondered if Claudia would put in an appearance, but she wasn’t the helping type. Besides, we didn’t yet know what Sorcha’s death had done to her newly replenished power; she might not have been interested in destroying the dragon.

  “And so,” Ethan said as everyone gathered coffee and filled seats at the conference table,“we find ourselves here again.”

  “And with authority,” Scott said, raising his mug to Ethan. “Kudos.”

  Ethan nodded. “This is a rare and important moment, and we need to capitalize upon it. That’s why we’re here—to create a plan for dealing with Sorcha Reed’s creation once and for all.”

  “Hear, hear,” Gabe said, and lifted his mug. I guess even shifters with flasks needed coffee sometimes.

  “In that case,” Ethan said, “I believe our Ombuddies have an update. And one honorary Ombuddy,” he said as Mallory, Jeff, and Catcher stepped to the front of the room.

  “Clicker?” Jeff said, and Luc tossed the screen remote to him. Jeff caught it handily, turned on the large view screen.

  “So, Mallory and Catcher figured a sorcerer who’s taken the time to explain how to manifest an Egregore is also going to explain what to do when things go bad.”

  “When the Egregore acts out,” Gabe said.

  “Exactly. Since we’re short on time, we’ll skip the programming details. Suffice it to say, while we snoozed, the program worked through the many, many combinations of arrangements that would explain how to, basically, dismantle the Egregore.”

  “Like a Lego pattern in reverse,” Mallory said.

  “Kind of like that,” Jeff said with a smile. “At Northerly Island, we learned magic pretty much bounces off the dragon’s scales, and they’re very hard to permeate. At least part of that is because of its nature, the fact that it’s a creature born of magic. Like you have immortality and shifters have strength, the Egregore has a certain resiliency.”

  “So we’re out of luck?” Morgan asked.

  “Not entirely,” Jeff said, and held up the remote. “Because of this.”

  A blocky white sword filled the screen.

  “A Lego sword?” Scott Grey asked, eyebrow cocked.

  “Not Lego,” Jeff said with a smile, and zoomed in. “Just reordered.”

  It wasn’t a sword made of blocks; it was a sword made of paper. Each “block” was actually a page of the Danzig foldouts, carefully organized into this new shape.

  “Computer hit on this arrangement after about seven long hours,” Jeff said. “And when you look at the illustration unlocked by this magic and the arrangement, you get this.” He held up the remote again.

  This time, the pixelated sword was replaced by a line drawing of a sleek, two-handed broadsword with a gleaming jewel in the middle of its hand guard. Below the sword lay the split body of the manifested Egregore.

  “It explains how to enhance a sword to increase its potency against the Egregore,” Jeff said, beaming with pleasure. “Long story short, each hit will do more damage than it ordinarily would.”

  “As we fight with swords,” Ethan said, “a very handy solution.”

  “Handy,” Catcher agreed, “but not infallible. Presuming the magic works the way Portnoy has laid it out, you’d still be facing a magic monster with increased, as Jeff said, resiliency. It won’t be easy to bring down even with a magic sword.”

  “I’ll wield the blade,” Ethan said.

  I gave him my most Masterly look. “You most certainly will not. I’m Sentinel of this House. I’ll wield it.”

  There was nothing especially pleasant in Ethan’s eyes. “I don’t doubt your prowess. I do have concerns about sending my wife into a battle with the only sword.”

  “So I’ll enchant more than one.”

  We looked back at Catcher, whose lips were curved with amusement.

  “You could do that?” Ethan asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We’ve got Portnoy’s instructions and plenty of steel.”

  I looked back at Ethan, brows lifted.

  For a moment, he breathed silently, looking not unlike a dragon himself with his fierce and angry eyes. But acceptance eventually filtered through.

  “You’ll be careful. And I’ll go with you.”

  It was my turn to frown, to deal, to accept, but we’d sworn we would be partners to each other. Of course, that didn’t mean we couldn’t use another partner.

  “How about four swords?” I asked Catcher.

  “Four?” Ethan asked.

  “One for me, one for you”—I looked at Jonah—“and two for him, because he’s very good with dual blades.”

  Jonah smiled. “I’m game, subject to Scott’s approval.”

  Scott nodded. “Permission granted.”

  “Then it sounds like we’ve decided on a sword battle with a dragon,” my grandfather said. “We need to minimize the damage to the city while it’s under way, preferably to zero. No injuries, mi
nimal collateral damage.”

  Luc nodded. “We need a space big enough to contain a dragon, but contained.”

  “I don’t think there’s a dragon arena in Illinois,” Jeff said with a grin.

  “Actually, I’ve got an idea,” Jonah said, then looked at Scott, smiled. “A place that’s already big enough to contain Bears.”

  My grandfather snorted. “You’re either thinking the Lincoln Park Zoo or Soldier Field.”

  “Soldier Field,” Jonah confirmed. “Plenty of space on the inside—more than a hundred yards of it from end to end. But it’s contained, at least in two dimensions.”

  “And the parking lot and lake are buffers,” my grandfather said. “So that would help contain damage.”

  “I doubt the Chicago Park District would be stoked about letting us use Soldier Field for a dragon battle,” Mallory said.

  “It won’t be a problem.”

  We all looked at Scott.

  “We have certain contacts in the sports community,” he said. “We’ll make it work, ensure the lights are on.”

  “And how do we lure the dragon into our little trap?” I asked.

  “Simple,” Mallory said with a smile. “We bring bait.”

  “You will not be bait,” Catcher said.

  “Oh, hell no,” she agreed. “I’ve already seen one sorceress get chewed up this week.” She waved it off. “The dragon doesn’t want me anyway, not really. Remember—it’s the manifestation of the Egregore, of a very angry Chicago. With a little creative spell casting, we can create an offer it won’t be able to refuse.”

  I glanced at Mallory. “When we make that offer, and it shows up, and we kill it, what happens to the Egregore, to the magic? Would we release that back into the world again, and just set ourselves up for more drama? For another round of this in the future?”

  “There’s a risk,” Catcher said with a nod. “The magic doesn’t dissipate cleanly, just spreads out over downtown again, and we have more delusions, more violence.”