“That would be an unacceptable risk,” my grandfather said.
“We need to nail that down,” I said. “We can’t risk letting the magic spread again, or having six or seven tons of dragon fall onto downtown Chicago. We need to take the dragon down, and we need to keep that magic bound together.”
“Actually,” Mallory said, “Portnoy thought of that, too. Jeff?” she requested, and he panned the zoomed image on-screen to another corner of the arranged pages. There, the Egregore spark was enclosed in some kind of orb.
“He trapped it,” Ethan said.
“Technically,” Mallory said, “he bound it into quartz. But yeah, same effect.”
“So what do we use to bind it?” Gabriel asked with a grin. “World’s largest piece of Tupperware?”
“Could be anything,” Mallory said with a smile. “As long as it’s strong enough to hold the magic without breaking.”
“Maybe we can keep it simple,” I said. I unbelted my katana, placed it on the table, brilliant red scabbard gleaming beneath the lights. “We’ll already have our swords. Can you trap it in steel?”
Catcher opened his mouth, closed it again.
“Is that possible?” Ethan asked. “To bind magic in steel?”
“Like Mallory said, it just needs to be capable of holding magic, and we know it can. The tricky bit would be the size differential. The sword is not literally large enough to hold a dragon’s worth of magic. But we might be able to finagle it.” Catcher nodded as he considered. “You’ll need a protocol. Words, steps. I’ll let you know.”
My grandfather nodded. “In that case, we’ve got the place, the weapons, the bait, the binding.”
“And tomorrow at dusk,” Ethan said, “we finish the job.”
• • •
As dawn approached again, the Ombuddies returned to their offices, the vampires to their Houses. Mallory and Catcher returned to Wicker Park to ready the magic. We returned to our apartments. Ethan closed and locked the door, emotions heavy around us.
“This could all be over tomorrow,” I said.
He looked at me. “I’m not sure if you’re saying that with relief or regret.”
“Both, I think.”
He walked toward me, put a hand on my face. “How are you?”
“I’m managing. How about you?”
“Things feel . . .”
“Precarious,” I finished, and knew by the relief in his eyes that I’d captured it exactly. “I’ve had the same feeling. But, then, we talked about that.”
“So we did,” he said, careful not to let emotion peek through his voice.
“And I was wrong.”
His brows lifted, and a smile crossed his face. “Unfortunate that Nick Breckenridge isn’t here with his recorder.”
“I assume you mean that metaphorically.”
“I do,” he said. “What, precisely, were you wrong about?”
I put my arms around him, rested my head against his heart. “About family.” I thought of the terror and joy, equally matched, in the faces of Taylor and her mother. “There will always be fear. The possibility of loss. But that’s life. And what’s the point of living if you don’t take a chance on love?”
He went quiet. “And a child?”
“If we’re lucky enough, then yes.”
“Then yes,” Ethan said, and wasted no time. I was pressed against the door, his mouth frantic and possessive, as if each kiss might seal our connection to each other, brand his taste and scent onto me.
He pulled off the suit jacket I still wore with strong and questing hands, dropped it to the floor, and pressed his body against mine.
I only managed to slip one of his buttons before he threw away his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head, and pulled the tank over my head. And then his hands were on my breasts, and I dropped my head against the door, eyes closed as nimble and skilled fingers lit and tended the fire heating in my core.
And then I was in his arms, and he was carrying me effortlessly to the bed, placing me onto cool sheets with the care used for a priceless antique.
“I’m not delicate,” I reminded him, and crooked a finger at him. “Come here, husband of mine.”
His smile was slow, masculine, and very satisfied. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, his arousal heavy, and crawled toward me.
I reached for him, but he captured my hands, brought them together over my head.
He traveled down my body, removed the remaining scraps of clothing, and touched me until I was quivering with pleasure.
His own body quaking with restrained power, he covered my body again, shifted inside me with a thrust that was equally forceful and tender. We moved our bodies together, legs intertwined and hips rolling, pleasure building like a wave banking over us.
I tilted my neck toward him, offering him the intimacy, the connection, that only vampires could share. “Take,” I said to him, and, when his fangs pierced tender skin, and lightning bowed my body, called his name.
Forever, he said, our new mantra. Our love spell.
Forever, I agreed, and gave over to sensation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DRINK WITH ME
At dusk, the dragon was back, perching on the Chicago Lighthouse, where the Red Guards that inhabited it stayed silent and monitored its activities.
The mayor and governor were eager to move. But we were waiting on our sorcerers and their magic.
Mallory’s text messages, which she sent me throughout the day when she should have been sleeping, and the rest of us were allayed by the sun, told quite a story:
BEGINNING WORK ON WEAPON MAGIC.
WEAPON MAGIC IS WEIRD.
SNACK BREAK! CREAM CHEESE DOUBLE BACON!
CB NEEDS “BACKGROUND NOISE.” TV MOVED INTO BASEMENT 4 LIFETIME MOVIES. HE IS ALSO WEIRD.
MINORISH BASEMENT FIRE.
. . . IS NOW BIGGISH BASEMENT FIRE.
FIRE CONTAINED. WE DIDN’T NEED THOSE NAT’L GEOGRAPHICS ANYWAY.
*YAWN*
I’D LIKE TO SEE ICELAND.
PROGRESS!
APPEARANCE BY MINORISH BASEMENT FIRE’S ANGRIER, MORE FIREY COUSIN.
FIRE CONTAINED TO CHAGRIN OF FIRE.
WEAPON MAGIC IS STILL WEIRD.
The later it got, the loopier the messages. Mallory and Catcher had been awake for thirty-six hours, refusing to sleep so they could figure out the binding magic.
They were still going at dusk. Being that we were vampires, and because we were headed into battle, there were of course ceremonies to be had while we waited.
According to the Canon of the North American Houses, Desk Reference, it was a tradition of Cadogan House, a tradition established long ago by Peter Cadogan, the House’s first Master, at dusk before a big battle. All the vampires of the House would gather together with mutton and ale, and the Master would give a rousing speech that called the House to victory.
The cafeteria was full, each space at each table taken, and vampires shoehorned into corners wherever room enough for a plate could be had. Someone had brought in folding chairs from the storage room, and the rest stood around the edge of the room, yawning and waiting for the ceremony to begin.
We’d been ready to go into battle before, when we thought we’d be facing down Sorcha, getting an opportunity to knock the smug smile from her face and close that particular chapter of our lives. Tonight, the mood was somber.
Ethan sat beside me at the table, a pewter stein in front of him.
“The Master’s chalice?” I asked.
Ethan smiled, reached out, turned the mug so I could see the neat inscription on the opposite side: CADOGAN HOUSE BOWLING LEAGUE, FIRST PLACE, 1979.
“Why haven’t we had a bowling league since I’ve been here? I can bowl.”
“You’re the social chair,” E
than pointed out. “So that’s technically your fault.”
Tough, but fair. “I didn’t know you bowled.”
“I don’t,” he said with a smile. “But it’s my House, and to the sponsor goes the spoils.” He pushed back his chair and rose, buttoning the top button of his impeccable suit. Even before battle, Ethan would lead his people. He would Master them, and then soldier them.
A hush instantly fell over the room. “Novitiates.”
“Master,” they said in unison, as if responding to a pastor’s call-and-response.
I didn’t say it, because I hadn’t known it was a thing. I should have perused the actual Canon instead of just the Desk Reference. Not that I’d had a lot of free time.
“There have been many battles in the previous days. Many acts of bravery among our people, and many acts of treachery by those outside our House, including the woman whose name will no longer be spoken in its halls.
“In those other battles, we followed the dictates of others who believed, however wrong they were, that they knew what was best for the city. Tonight, we strike out against a monster plaguing the city in our own manner, in our own way.” He paused, leaving every vampire on the edge of his or her seat. “Tonight, we fight with steel.”
There were whoops of approval.
“Whatever happens here tonight, know that I am proud to be your Master, and proud that you are my Novitiates.” He raised a cup. “All hail Cadogan House!”
“Cadogan House! Cadogan House! Cadogan House!” Hands slapped tables in time with the chanting, as Ethan drank from his stein and toasted the room.
• • •
“It was a good speech,” Malik said, when Ethan sat again. “You will stay alive, or I will be monumentally irritated.”
“Hear, hear,” I said, and raised my cup.
Because hungry vampires were dangerous vampires, carts were rolled around the room by Margot’s staff, and food was dished out to hungry vampires. She brought the cart to our table herself.
Margot placed dishes in front of us. “Breakfast du jour,” Margot said, and lifted the silver dome.
On a plate big enough to serve the entire table was an enormous amount of food. Eggs, bacon, sausage, ham—in case the bacon and sausage weren’t porky enough—sliced tomatoes, neatly cubed potatoes, toast, a muffin with a suspicious absence of chocolate chips, a cup of fruit, and a pile of what I thought were grits. I hadn’t tried grits before. Although that was beside the point. There was also something black and vaguely sausagelike that I didn’t want to think too much about.
“I don’t think I need all this.”
“You have a battle to attend to. Meat for protein, carbs for energy.” She pointed at the tomatoes. “Lycopene and vitamin C for improved healing.” She pointed to the bottle of Blood4You that another vampire had placed beside my plate. “The blood is self-explanatory. Because you’re a vampire,” she explained anyway.
“Yeah, I figured that one on my own.” I poked the black blob with a fork. “And black sausage because . . . ?”
“Because it’s delicious. It’s blood sausage, and an old family recipe.”
I believed the second, doubted the first, and poked at the rubbery cylinder with my fork.
Eat your breakfast, Sentinel. Or I’ll tell everyone why you’re especially hungry this evening.
I forked a potato obediently.
• • •
Like the mayor, Ethan was ready to move the moment Catcher arrived. But Catcher insisted on training first, on careful preparation for the magic we’d have to face.
In our fighting gear again—but minus shoes—we met in the House’s training room, where dark wood walls reached down to floors covered in tatami mats.
Catcher wore jeans and a Hawkeye T-shirt today, while Mallory opted for jeans and a Black Widow T-shirt. They looked exhausted, but managing it.
Catcher carried a black canvas bag to the middle of the floor, began to unload scabbards from it as vampires filed into the balcony that ringed the room to watch. My scabbard was red, Ethan’s black. Jonah’s scabbards were bright yellow, the wrapping on each handle vermillion red. All four were absolutely gorgeous, and undeniably deadly.
“If Portnoy’s got it right, you’ll be able to do more damage with each blow than with a nonmagicked sword. But like I said, you don’t want to get too comfortable. This is still a monster, and a supernatural one.”
“Don’t let him step on you,” Jonah said.
“Pretty much,” Catcher agreed.
“The armor on his toes was relatively weak,” I said. “That may also be the case on his underbelly. Slipping the blade between the plates of armor might work.”
Catcher nodded approvingly.
“And how will the binding work?” Ethan asked.
“Similar to tempering the blades,” he said. “Blood on the blade, then say the magic words.” He pulled out his phone, typed something, and ours beeped a second later. We pulled them out, scanned the lines of text.
“Those are your charms,” Catcher said. “Memorize them, and don’t forget.”
“I was an English lit student. I can recite a four-line poem like a boss.”
“It’s true,” Mallory said. “I used to make her recite Shakespearean sonnets. I threw popcorn at her when she got the lines wrong.”
“You two have a complicated relationship,” Catcher said, gaze narrowed.
“Besties,” Mallory said with a shrug by way of explanation.
“What comes after the words?” Jonah asked.
“The dragon has to be mortally wounded, with that sword.” Catcher looked at us. “So whoever of you kills it also binds it.”
“Roger that,” Jonah said.
Catcher looked at us. “And you should know—there could be side effects.”
Ethan’s gaze narrowed. “What kind of side effects?”
“It’s hard to say, because we’re dealing with a creature made of magic, which adds an unknowable element. But my concern is that you’ll be affected by the very magic you’ll be casting.”
“In other words,” Ethan said, “because we’ll be holding the sword when we bind the dragon to it, we could be bound, too.”
“I don’t know,” Catcher said. “But, yeah, that’s my concern.”
My grandfather looked at each of us, his gaze settling on me. “Your call whether to proceed knowing that. If this won’t work, we’ll try something else.”
There wasn’t really a call to make. This wasn’t like the issue of children, of facing the possibility of love and loss. There was only one option here—keep the dragon from killing anyone else—so there was no point in fear or worry. There was just the doing.
“I’m in,” I said, and looked at Jonah and Ethan. They nodded, too.
“If that’s what we have to do,” Jonah said, “it’s what we have to do.”
“Good,” my grandfather said. “Good.”
“Okay,” Catcher said with a smile, clearly proud of our determination. “Let’s test them out.”
I wasn’t bashful about swordcraft, so I stepped onto the mats, picked up my scabbard.
“It’s heavier,” I said, and flipped the thumb guard, released the blade with a ringing whish of sound.
I hadn’t expected it to look different. I hadn’t expected the katana to have a soft glow, like a little CGI had been added to its edges so it gleamed.
“Hello, beautiful,” I said, and slipped a finger down the top of the blade, felt the answering call that sent a shiver down my spine.
“If only she looked at me that way,” Ethan said, then unsheathed his own sword. “My, my, my.”
Jonah’s reaction was pretty much similar, except that he kept getting distracted by glances at the gallery, where Margot sat with Lindsey and Katherine. And to my eye, she looked like she was working very
hard to ignore him.
Catcher picked up a bokken, a wooden practice sword, tapped it against his hand. “You can take practice swings at me,” he said, “so you can get a feel for how they move.”
“I was kind of hoping you’d be wearing a dragon costume,” I said, extending one hand above my head and the other behind me. “With head and tail and the whole shebang.”
“That would probably make for a better simulation,” Catcher agreed. “But let’s use what we’ve got.”
• • •
The sword moved like air was, on its own, something to be cut through. But after half an hour of swinging it around, it started to feel natural.
And those scanty thirty minutes were all we could afford—all the time we could take to prepare ourselves for the coming battle. For the dragon hadn’t been content to sit on the lighthouse long. And it left destruction in its wake.
“Mallory’s got the bait,” Catcher said as we rode to Soldier Field. She was in the van with Jeff, my grandfather, and the crucible she’d use to lure the dragon toward us.
“I’ll be standing by, in case the weapons need a boost, or we need to use fireballs to keep the dragon inside the stadium. Mallory will set the bait and join me, and the field will be yours.”
Ethan nodded. “Let’s finish the mission and win the game.”
• • •
CPD cruisers and National Guard vehicles formed a perimeter around the stadium parking lot to keep curious humans away from the battle, and deflect the dragon, if necessary, back toward the stadium, at least when the dragon arrived.
In the meantime, it had roamed as it pleased. The National Guard had held its fire this time, fearing that loosing more mortars and missiles on the city would only wreak further destruction. I wasn’t sure they could have done any better.
The stadium glowed with light, sending up a yellow haze over the city. I wasn’t sure whether the dragon was attracted to light, but it couldn’t hurt in getting him to the right place.
Brody pulled the SUV up to the service entrance, where CPD officers waited for us. We climbed out with our quartet of magicked swords. The Ombudsman’s van pulled up behind us. Mallory hopped out, took the pitted ceramic pot that Jeff handed her, followed by Jeff and my grandfather.