Chicagoland Vampires - Some Girls Bite Part 19

He turned and walked down the steps. When he got to the sidewalk, he turned around and began strolling backward. "I'm going to worm my way into your life, Merit."

I waggled my fingers at him. "Uh-huh. Let me know how that works out for you."

"Hey, you're missing out. I've got mad skills."

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "I'm sure you do. Find a nice, sweet Navarre girl. You're not ready for Cadogan."

He faked pulling a knife from his heart, but then winked, and crossed the street to his car-a convertible roadster. The car beeped cheerily as he approached, and in seconds he was inside and zooming down the street.

I was asleep when they came back at five thirty a.m. They fought at first-Mallory screaming at Catcher, Catcher yelling back. The topic was magic and control and whether Mallory was mature enough for Catcher to leave her to her own devices. Mallory rued his arrogance, and Catcher rued her naivete. The argument woke me, but it was the making up that kept me awake. They slammed into her bedroom, and that was when the grunting and moaning began. I loved Mallory, and I was beginning to appreciate Catcher's sarcasm. But in no fathomable way was I interested in listening to the two of them engage in a rowdy bout of makeup s.e.x. When she screamed out his name for the third time-Catcher was apparently a machine-I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and stumbled groggily through the still-dark house to the living room, where I swaddled myself and fell asleep again.

The second time I woke it was almost noon. The house was quiet and dappled in sunlight, and I was just dazed enough-just stupid enough-to attempt to stumble back to my bedroom. I resituated the blanket, only one forearm, a few toes, and my face visible above the quilting, and began the trek back upstairs. I made it through the living room unscathed, unaware of how lucky that made me. With only a few days of vampiredom under my belt, I'd yet to come into contact with that terrible little vulnerability known to all who've ever seen an episode of Buffy-the sunlight allergy. I was just conscious enough to tread carefully through the dining room, and it wasn't until I'd made it halfway to the stairs that I felt the pinch and sudden burn. I'd walked directly across a shaft of sunlight, my uncovered forearm catching the full exposure. I gulped in air, the pain of it nearly bringing me down into the beam-it stung like a burn, but tipped to unfathomably painful levels. The heat was astounding-like punching my arm into an overheated oven-and the skin immediately began to redden and blister. I yanked it back and clutched at the blanket with my safe hand, searching frantically for some way back into the dark, realizing that I'd trapped myself in a tiny sliver of shadow. I felt behind me for the doork.n.o.b, and pulled open the door of the tiny hallway closet, careful not to push myself back into the sunlight. When I'd maneuvered it open, I stepped backward into cool darkness, hunkered down on the hardwood floor, tears streaming from my eyes from the needle-sharp pain in my arm, and fell asleep.

CHAPTER NINE.

THERE'S NOT MUCH WRONG THAT.

CHUNKY MONKEY CAN'T FIX.

I thought I was in a coffin. I thought I was the brunt of some horrible Navarre joke, or some horrible Cadogan hazing ritual, and I'd been stuffed into a pine box like the dead girl I'd once thought I was. Starting to hyperventilate, I clawed at the blankets around me, then pounded on the walls, screaming for someone to let me out.

I fell forward when Mallory pulled the door open, landing face-first in her poofy slippers. Face flush with embarra.s.sment, I rose to my elbows, spitting out bits of pink polyester fuzz. So much for the hard-a.s.s vamp.

Mallory's voice was strangled, and I could tell she was working hard not to laugh. "What. The. h.e.l.l."

"Bad night. Really bad night." I sat down on the floor, tucking my legs beneath me, and checked the status of my arm. It was lobster red from fingers to elbow, but the blisters were gone. Supernatural healing was a handy trick for an absentminded vampire, although it would make my enemies harder to kill. t.i.t for tat, I guess.

Mallory crouched beside me. "Jesus, Mer. What happened to your arm?"

I sighed and spent a few seconds wallowing in self-pity. "Vampire. Sunlight. Poof." I waved my arms in the shape of a mushroom cloud. "Third-degree burns."

"Dare I ask why you were sleeping in the closet?"

I didn't want to embarra.s.s her with a replay of her late-night antics, so I shrugged off the question. "Fell asleep, got too close to the sun, hunkered down."

"Come on," she said, taking my free elbow and helping me to my feet. "Let's at least put some aloe on your arm. Does it hurt a lot?

Never mind. Don't answer that. You've got a master's degree in English and you've yet to string a subject and predicate together.

I'll draw my own conclusions."

"Mallory!" Catcher's voice boomed down the stairs.

Mallory fixed her mouth into a tight line and walked me into the kitchen. "Ignore it," she advised. "Much like the bubonic plague, it'll go away if you give it enough time."

"Mallory! You weren't finished! Get back in here!"

I glanced up the stairway. "You didn't leave him handcuffed to the bed or something, did you?"

"Jesus, no." I incrementally relaxed, until she continued. "My headboard's a single piece of wood. There's nothing to handcuff him to."

I groaned and tried to wipe the image of a naked, bound Catcher writhing on the bed from my mind. Not that it was a bad image, but still . . .

Mallory kept us moving toward the kitchen. "He's p.i.s.sed because he doesn't think I'm paying attention to his incessant G.o.dd.a.m.n lectures on magic." Her voice went lower, and she mimicked, "Mallory Delancey Carmichael, you're a fourth-cla.s.s sorcerer with duties and obligations, blah blah blah. I think I understand now why the Order kicked him out; he was too bossy, even for them."

We went into the kitchen, and I took a seat while Mallory pulled a tube from a drawer next to the sink. She slathered cream on my arm with careful attention, then recapped the tube and set it aside. "I wonder if you need blood today."

I frowned, partly from the thought of drinking blood, partly from the realization that Mallory had become my predatory den mother.

Since when had I become so needy? "I'm fine, I think."

"It's just that sometimes in the literature"-and by that she meant the occult fanzines that appeared in our mailbox with surprising frequency-"when vamps are injured, they need extra blood to supplement the healing process." Her gaze flashed up. "You are healing, aren't you?"

I nodded. "The blisters are gone."

"Good." She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag, and my stomach began to grumble immediately.

"I need it," I sheepishly admitted, a little ashamed that I still had so little knowledge about the workings of my post-change body. I rubbed at a crick in my neck, no doubt the result of my having slept hunkered in a ball on the closet floor. "The fact is, for all this talk about how strong I am, I'm really not very good at being a vampire."

Mallory warmed the blood, poured it into a gla.s.s, and handed it to me. But she held up a hand before I could lift it to my mouth, went back to the refrigerator, and pulled out a celery stalk and bottle of Tabasco. She dotted some pepper sauce into the gla.s.s, then slipped in the celery. "b.l.o.o.d.y b.l.o.o.d.y Mary."

I took a sip and nodded. "Not bad. It could use vodka and tomato juice, but not bad for all that." Mallory snickered, but her grin faded when Catcher stomped into the kitchen. In his hands was the thick leather-bound book I'd seen him looking through the night I'd visited my grandfather's office. He was half naked, a pair of jeans that rode low on his sculpted hips the only visible bit of clothing. The man had a body to die for-all curves and angles and little delicious hollows of sculpted muscle and flesh.

While I took in the view, Mallory yelled, "Will you quit following me around? It's not even your house!"

"Someone has to follow you around! You're a danger to the G.o.dd.a.m.n city!"

A little thrilled that this piece of supernatural drama had nothing to do with me, I gave up the pretense of politely ignoring their fight, put down the gla.s.s, and gave them my full attention.

Catcher stalked through the kitchen, practically threw the book down on the kitchen counter, then pushed Mallory onto a stool. He pointed at the book. "Read!"

Mallory popped up and stared at him for a long time, her mouth drawn into a tight line, her hands fisted so tightly together her knuckles were white. "Who the h.e.l.l do you think you are that you can order me around?"

Tension and magic rose and spiraled around the room, tangible enough to raise the hair on my arms and neck. Eddies of it dipped and flowed, the ends of Mallory's hair lifting around her face like she'd stepped into a strong breeze.

"Jesus," I muttered, staring at the two of them.

Without warning, there was a crack of light. My gla.s.s, thankfully empty of blood, shattered on the counter.

"Mallory," Catcher warned, a half growl.

"No, Catcher."

The overhead light flickered as they stared at each other, a strobe lighting the battle of the wills.

Finally, Catcher sighed, power dissipating from the room with a tangible whoosh. Without words or hesitation, he grabbed her arms and pulled her against the line of his body. Then he lowered his head to hers, and kissed her. She squealed and twitched, but as his mouth worked at hers, she stilled. When, moments later, he pulled back, he looked at her expectantly.

For a heartbeat, then two, she just stared at him. "I told you we were done."

"Sure you did." He kissed the top of her forehead, turned her body, and pushed her shoulders so she dropped onto the stool. Then he raised her chin to meet his gaze. "I have to get to work. Read the Key."

He walked out of the kitchen. The front door shut seconds later.

For a good five minutes, neither one of us said anything. Mallory, hands in her lap, stared blankly at the book. When I'd shaken myself out of the drama-induced stupor, I went to the freezer and grabbed the carton of Chunky Monkey. I pulled off the top, found a spoon, handed them both to Mallory, then took the stool next to hers. Reciprocal ice-cream therapy, I decided. "So. That happened."

Mallory nodded absently and chewed a giant spoonful of ice cream. "I hate him."

"Yeah."

Mallory dropped the spoon into the container and put her head in her hands. "How does someone that arrogant look that good?

It's unfair. It's a crime against nature. He should be . . . punished for being pretentious with pockmarks and hairy warts or something."

I took up the spoon and picked through the ice cream for a square of white chocolate. "He spending the night again?"

"Probably. Not that I have anything to say about it."

I bit back a smile. There were many things I'd come to learn about Mallory. Number one among them was the fact that she rarely did anything by halves. Whatever she was involved in, be it boyfriend or career, she gave a near-obsessive level of attention. So that fake nonchalance heralded something very interesting about one Catcher Bell.

"In love with him, are you?"

"Little bit," she said, nodding. She rubbed her arms, then stared down at the table. "The thing is, Mer, he doesn't let me order him around. Like Mark-if I told Mark to climb the Matterhorn, he'd hop the next plane to Europe. Catcher stands up to me." A corner of her mouth tipped up. "I didn't realize how attractive a quality that was in a man."

Her gaze found mine, and her bright blue eyes were moist. "He doesn't give a s.h.i.t if I've got a kick-a.s.s job in the best ad firm in town, or if I've got blue hair, or if I'm pretty underneath it. He just likes me."

I stood and gathered her into a hug. "Too bad he's a pretentious a.s.shole."

Mallory gave a watery laugh. "Yeah, it is. But he's hung like a horse, so that kinda helps."

I pulled away, grimacing, and walked toward the kitchen door. "This house is getting too small for the three of us. Seriously."

Mallory laughed, but I wasn't sure I was kidding.

After showering and dressing in an outfit I knew wouldn't meet Ethan's approval-jeans, Pumas, and a couple of layered tank tops-I decided to head for my grandfather's office. I wanted an update about the investigation, and I was also working to avoid thinking about tomorrow. Day Seven. The Commendation Ceremony, during which I'd be a.s.signed a position in Cadogan House, would take my oaths to Ethan, and would probably be hazed within an inch of my newfound immortality.I wasn't sure of my welcome at the Ombud's office, or even if anyone would be staffing the building on a Sunday night, so I decided to bring a bribe a la fast-food chicken. After I made the pickup, I parked in front of the Ombud's office, I took my bribe to the front door, hit the buzzer, and waited.

Minutes pa.s.sed before Catcher strolled down the hall, this time having paired a black Ramones shirt with boots and jeans. He looked surprised to see me, but punched in the code to unlock the door and opened it, his gaze on the paper bucket I cradled in the crook of one arm.

"I brought chicken," I pointed out.

"I can see that. Did she kick you out, too, or is this a humanitarian visit?"

"Neither. I wanted to check on the investigation-"

"And you're scared s.h.i.tless about tomorrow night."

"And I'm scared s.h.i.tless about tomorrow night."

Catcher cast a wary glance at the street, then moved aside to let me in. I waited while he relocked and coded the door and grabbed a drumstick from the buckets. Then I followed him back down the hallway and into the office. Catcher immediately moved to his desk, leaning over it to press the b.u.t.ton on a Charlie's Angels-era intercom system.

"Merit's here," he said into it.

Jeff jumped out of his chair and made for the bucket that I placed on one of the empty desks after pulling out a piece for myself.

Apparently lacking the gene for subtlety, he grabbed a breast, eating it only after he'd pointed at the chicken to point out the symbolism. I couldn't help but laugh, even knowing he didn't need the encouragement.

"h.e.l.lo, baby girl." My grandfather shuffled into the room, a grand smile on his face. It was nice to be loved, I thought, and basked in the glow of it. "What are you doing here?"

Catcher pulled a chunk of meat from his drumstick. "She's hiding out. Commendation's tomorrow."

"Oh yeah?" Grandpa asked, picking through the bucket until he found a choice piece, then nudging a hip onto the edge of the desk.

"Are you nervous?"

Jeff kicked back in his chair and crossed his ankles on his desktop next to his mutant keyboard. "Do they still make the Initiates eat a raw chicken?"

I swallowed hard and, having lost anything resembling my appet.i.te, dropped the piece of chicken I'd selected back into the bucket.

"I think it's only half a chicken nowadays," my grandfather solemnly corrected. "They start with a whole one, but they'll stick two Initiates on it and make them tear it apart. No hands allowed. Just fangs."

"b.l.o.o.d.y and awesome," Jeff said with approval, tearing into the breast he held between two hands.

That was nauseating, but having not yet experienced the Commendation, I didn't get the joke until Grandpa winked at me. I should have known. Two vampires fighting over a raw chicken wasn't very Ethan-esque-it wasn't nearly dignified enough. His style was a little more European, a little less sports entertainment. He was, I imagined with a grin, more likely to make the recruits recite the English monarchs or play a complicated Chopin piece.

"Quit mooning over Sullivan," Catcher muttered, bending around me to get to the chicken bucket. He continued before I could argue the a.s.sumption. "The Commendation's gonna go fine. It's mostly ceremonial, except for the oaths. In fact," he began, before hopping onto the desk beside my grandfather, "if anything, I bet Sullivan gets a big surprise."

I frowned at him. "How so?"

Catcher shrugged. "I'm just saying. You're strong. He's strong. Should make for an interesting ceremony."

I took an empty seat. "Describe interesting."

Catcher shook his head. "You're a smart girl. You should be doing your homework. What have you learned about the ceremony so far?"

I frowned, tried to recall what I'd seen in the Canon. "All the vamps who live in Cadogan will be there, like witnesses. Ethan will call me forward, say my name or something, and I'm supposed to take two oaths-fealty and homage. To serve the House and be loyal to it."