Biting Cold (Chicagoland Vampires #6)

Biting Cold (Chicagoland Vampires #6) Page 12

HIS LIBRARY? WELL STOCKED

It was a good thing we weren't telepathicaly connected, because he wouldn't have enjoyed hearing my thoughts on the way back down to the Ops Room.

I decided my best option was to help the team with the investigation of Paulie Cermak's death, but with my mind absorbed by Ethan's stubbornness, I was pretty useless. Hoping to identify a specific motive for Paulie's death, I'd printed off as much information on Paulie Cermak as I could find on the Web.

The stack of papers sat on the table in front of me, but I hadn't so much as glanced at them in half an hour.

Al my brain cels were busy being furious at Ethan and wondering whether I could keep him from imploding our almost relationship. He was afraid he'd hurt me. It couldn't have been easy to feel trapped in someone else's neuroses, but that wasn't Ethan - the man who'd taken a stake for me.

But what was I supposed to do? What was the right thing to do? Respect his wishes and keep my distance? Play the sexy minx and use seduction to get him to change his mind? Or just ignore him until we got Malory's mind meld squared away?

Getting her squared away was definitely the first thing on my revised agenda.

"Merit!"

I jolted to attention and found Lindsey, who was back from guard duty and sat across from me at the conference table, staring at me with amusement.

"What?"

"Your phone is ringing."

For the first time, I heard the phone ring from the pocket of my jacket, which I'd slung over the back of my chair. I managed to grab the phone just before it stopped ringing.

"Helo?"

"Too busy to answer the phone?"

It was Catcher. "Sorry. I didn't hear it ring. What's up?"

"I talked to Malory. She used a conjuration spel."

"Which does what?"

"It conjures. Brings something into the space that hadn't been there before. The spel was also in the Maleficium, just like the familiar spel. She copied it before they took the book away so she'd remember the steps."

"Same magical theory as last time?" I wondered. "Use a bit of dark magic to upset the line between good and dark magic, and invoke the rest of the dark magic out of the Maleficium."

"That seems to be what she was trying to do. And that explains the second Tate. She conjured him into existence."

But had she? "I don't understand. If she was conjuring something, shouldn't something new have popped into the room?

I mean, instead of Tate splitting in two?"

"That's possible, I guess, but it's hard to say. Tate touched the Maleficium. That's like being shot at point-blank range by magic. It could have affected the outcome of the spel."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks for the information."

"Sure," he said, and the line went dead.

I put the phone away, and when Luc roled his office chair closer to the table for a report, I relayed what Catcher had said.

But while I took Catcher's point about Tate having touched the Maleficium, the magical math stil didn't make sense to me.

"He said conjuration is supposed to bring forth something new," I said, my gaze shifting between Lindsey and Luc. "Not duplicate something that already existed."

"The intricacies of conjuration aren't my specialty," Luc said.

"There is, however, a library at your disposal. You should take ful advantage."

I nodded. "Good idea. When Paige gets back, I'l stick her in the library and tag team with her. I'm hoping there's a logical explanation."

"As logical as a man asexualy reproducing before your eyes."

"Precisely."

"And that's enough for me," Luc said, wheeling back to his desk.

As soon as he was gone, Lindsey leaned forward. "Where were you before the phone rang?"

My cheeks warmed. "I was just thinking."

"You were not just thinking," she whispered, frowning. "Do you want to talk? We can go outside."

There wasn't much point in trying to fool Lindsey. She was an empathic vampire and could read others' emotions.

"Not right now. Maybe later."

Lindsey straightened up again. "In that case, Sentinel, get back to work. We've got double trouble on the loose."

And double trouble in the House, even if no one knew it yet.

A few minutes - and no substantive work - later, the door opened and Margot walked in with an assistant and a roling cart of fragrant food.

"What's this?" Luc asked, walking toward Margot.

"Your very thoughtful Sentinel ordered in dinner," Margot said. "She asked for a home-cooked meal, but I cheated a little bit."

Luc put a hand on my shoulder. "I knew you were worth keeping around."

I roled my eyes. "What did you bring?" I asked, but the answer became clear quickly enough, and I smiled for the first time in a while.

"You made a trip to Maxwel Street," I said.

"It's cold out. I thought 'hearty' would do you good."

There were a number of foods in Chicago that were totaly recognizable to tourists, like Chicago-style hot dogs and deep-dish pizza. But those of us who lived here knew some of the other secret delights: rainbow cones; Garrett's popcorn; and Maxwel Street Polishes. The latter were Polish dogs with griled onions and mustard. They were hot, spicy, and crazy delicious.

And there weren't just Polishes. She'd also provided cheese fries, ramekins of custard, and glasses of blood.

Cholesterol was no match for vampire immortality.

"This looks wonderful, Margot," Luc said as Juliet and Lindsey grabbed plates and Polishes. Pity Keley was out on patrol.

"You're quite welcome." Margot finished up, then wheeled out the squeaky cart and closed the door behind her.

"You've outdone yourself, Merit."

"I didn't know she'd actualy make a run for Polishes. She went above and beyond for that." I grabbed a Polish and took a bite, closing my eyes in sheer pleasure. I loved Chicago.

We ate quietly, four vampires with quick metabolisms and worry in our hearts, at least until Luc's pager buzzed. He unclipped it and checked the screen. "You might as wel head upstairs. Paige is here."

I finished my dog and wiped my face with a napkin. "I'l get her settled in the library." The next words were out of my mouth before I thought better of it. "Could you tel Ethan about the conjuration spel?"

Luc and Lindsey exchanged a glance. "Why don't you tel him?" Lindsey asked.

Because he's being an ass, I silently thought, but played my cards diplomaticaly.

"I want to get Paige into the library, so I won't have time to drop by his office, and my phone doesn't work very wel in the library. Because of the stairs. And such."

It was a crappy excuse, and I could tel neither one of them bought it, but they let it go.

"We'l tel him," Luc said. "You get to work."

I smiled with false cheer, then hightailed it to the door. Lindsey was going to have a field day with this one.

I found Paige in the first-floor foyer. She had shopping bags in hand, and she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved White Sox T-shirt. She'd found some clothes of her own; pity she'd picked the wrong team. We did live on the South Side of the city, which made the White Sox a logical choice, but that didn't diminish my love for the Cubs.

"Welcome back," I said.

"Thanks. It's been a long night."

I guided her toward the stairs, and we headed to the second floor. "Where did you go?"

"Catcher gave me a lift to meet with Baumgartner. I talked to him. I talked to Simon."

"What did Baumgartner have to say?"

"Not a lot." She sounded saddened by the answer.

We rounded the second-floor landing. Paige paused and tapped her fingers against the banister. "I had this idea - that I was part of something good. Something important."

"And you don't think so now?"

She looked away. "I don't know. I asked him about Malory, about Simon, about Catcher. About what they al missed."

"What did he say?"

"He shrugged. Just kind of" - she imitated a beefy, shoulder shrug - "shrugged, and said we do the best we can."

"That's pretty lame. I mean, the Order failed this city - and Malory - in a pretty spectacular way."

"Yeah," Paige said. "And I asked him about Tate. He said it was interesting, and that was that. He went back to polishing his bowling bal."

"He was not polishing his bowling bal."

"Hand to God. The Order is a union, and I guess not in the workers-rights-and-fair-labor-standards way. More like the let's-sit-around-and-blame-Jimmy-Hoffa way. I've only talked to Baumgartner on the phone, and I guess I never got how truly lame they are. And there's so much talk about the majesty of our magic, how powerful we are, how special. And how do we use that power? We talk a lot and completely ignore what's going on around us."

"Too much talky, too little walky?"

"Exactly!"

"That is a bummer."

"How's Malory doing?" I felt weird asking the question, like I was checking in with my best friend's new best friend.

"You'd know better than me. I didn't know her before, so it's hard to compare what she's like now. The shifters stil have her doing manual labor, and I don't think they're going to change that plan anytime soon."

"A little more of that walking we were referring to," I thought aloud. "They're very particular about the things they get involved in, but when they're in, they're in al the way."

Paige nodded. "That was my impression."

"Catcher told you about the spel she tried to work?"

"Conjuration?" Paige nodded. "Yeah. That's another advanced spel, impressive for her to work."

"I stil don't buy that a conjuration spel made one Tate split into two Tates. That doesn't make any sense to me. That should be the result of a duplication spel or something."

She nodded. "Duplication's not the way the conjuration spel is supposed to work; it's not the predicted outcome. Hey, about Catcher, and what I said earlier. I'm not trying to bash him. He's a legend in Order circles. Famous - or infamous, as the case may be. I know he's got the goods, or the Order wouldn't care so much. But when I caled him out yesterday, I realy felt like I had to lay down the law, you know?"

"You definitely put him in his place."

She grimaced. "I wasn't trying to humiliate him, but somebody has to step up."

I couldn't argue with that. "What's the story about the prophecy?"

"He made a prediction - you know we can do that, right?"

I nodded.

"The prediction was about realy bad things going down in Chicago. He warned the Order, but the Order was afraid that because he'd made the prediction, he'd be involved in those realy bad things. They banned him from coming to Chicago."

"He came anyway."

"He came anyway," Paige agreed, "and they kicked him out of the Order because of it. I asked him about it."

"What did he say?"

"He said the world would continue to turn and the prophecy would fulfil itself, and he wanted to be here when it did. He said he worked to stop al the natural disasters when they were going on and tried to help you figure out what was going on. The irony was that the trouble was boiling in front of his eyes, but he was so focused on the city, he completely ignored it."

"And so here we are," I said.

"Here we are," she agreed.

"Actualy, I meant that literaly." I pointed Paige to the double doors in front of us, then opened them with a whoosh of air.

It was an impressive reveal, if I do say so myself. The Cadogan House library was pretty spectacular. Two floors of books linked by a red wrought-iron staircase. The library held volumes on al sorts of vampire and supernatural topics, from history and food to a complete set of the Canon of the North American Vampire Houses , the codified law for American vampires.

Paige's reaction was pretty similar to what mine had been a few months ago. She walked inside, mouth agape, and stared up at the shelves and stacks and balcony of books. I figured it was an important room for an archivist.

"Welcome to the Cadogan House library."

"Shut the front door," she said. She walked toward the closest row and began to scan the books' spines. "Morphology of Vampirus Americanus. Pixies and Their Parts. The Horn of the Unicorn, and Other Important Features."

She trailed her fingertips across more of the spines, then looked back at me, eyes wide in amazement. "Your anatomy section is crazy impressive."

Not that I'd looked, but I didn't have the supernatural literature chops to disagree with her. "Yeah. It's pretty good."

She rubbed her hands together like a plotting evil stepmother.

"So I need to research the secondary and tertiary effects of conjuration spels. Where might I find - "

"Quiet down, could you?"

We turned around. The House librarian, whom I knew only by his title, stood at the end of the row. He was a little shorter than average, and his arms were crossed over a black short-sleeved polo shirt. His shortish brown hair stood up in little whorls, like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Sorry," I said with an apologetic smile. "She got a little excited. Your library is pretty phenomenal."

"She?" he asked, turning his gaze on Paige. He cast a long, lingering look at her boots-clad legs before meeting her gaze.

"You're tal, aren't you?"

"I am...yes...tal. So, yeah. Tal."

The room went silent as they stared at each other. There must have been something in the water today.

"This is Paige," I said. "She's the Order's archivist. She's stationed at the silo in Nebraska where the you-know-what is sometimes kept. She's staying with us for a bit. Do you have any literature about conjuration?"

He ignored me, probably because he was stil staring at Paige.

I knew she'd like the books; it hadn't occurred to me that the librarian would like her.

I cleared my throat to get his attention. "Conjuration," I said, more loudly, when he finaly looked my way. "Got any books on that?"

His expression was flat. "Of course we do. Folow me."

He disappeared into a row. We didn't dare disobey.

An hour later, the books had piled up. There were four stacks, each two feet tal, on our library table, and there was a pile of open volumes around us.

The evidence of our failure to find anything useful.

I closed one more and rubbed my eyes, which were beginning to blur from scanning tiny print. The library doors opened, and Ethan stepped inside. My stomach lit with nerves, and I darkly wondered if that was going to happen every time I saw him for the rest of our immortal lives. I did not look forward to that possibility.

But it was what it was, and until I figured out a way to end his connection to Malory or change his mind, I stil had work to do, and I wasn't going to let an irritating man get in the way of that.

He strode to our table and surveyed the mess with his hands on his hips.

"No luck?"

"Not even a little. We've found plenty of descriptions of conjuration. But not a single mention of anything remotely like what we saw. Nothing about one creature splitting into two identical creatures. I like books, but I don't like it when they fail me. And tonight, they have failed me."

Ethan glanced around. "Where's Paige?"

"With the librarian. They seem to be getting along wel."

He looked impressed. "Our librarian and the Order's archivist. I suppose that's fitting."

Clearly, Ethan was trying to act like everything was okay between us. And in a sense, it had to be - we had to work together, regardless of our personal drama. But if that's what we were doing - pretending al was wel - then two could play at that game.

"They do have books in common. But then, I love books, and I'm not exactly hitting on him. We'l see how it goes. How are the transition plans coming along?"

"Slowly. Our ties to the GP are complex and contractual. Tentacular."

I looked up at him. "Tentacular. Nice word."

"I aim to impress." He glanced at his watch.

"Busy night?" I hated that I had to ask him, that I had no idea what his schedule held.

"On occasion it feels as though I exist to move from one meeting to the next."

"You could let Malik handle those meetings."

He gave me a flat look, the look of a Master vampire who couldn't believe the Novitiate before him had said something so ridiculously naive.

"I am not officialy the Master of this House," he admitted, "but nor wil I relinquish my responsibilities."

"I wouldn't dare suggest otherwise. What's the next meeting about?"

"The vampire registration laws. One of Mayor Kowalcyzk's aides has requested a meeting. There's talk of stationing a booth in the foyer."

"Intrusive, but convenient."

"My thoughts exactly."

Paige stepped out of a row, a couple more books in her hands and a frown on her face.

"No luck so far?" Ethan asked.

"Nothing at al." She puled out a chair and took a seat. "But you can't fault the resources."

"I shelve a nice library," Ethan agreed. "Wel, I'l be off. Good luck, and let me know if you find anything."

"Of course," I promised. I wasn't going to miss a chance to tweak him a little more. On the other hand, I was the one who took in the view as he crossed back to the library door.

I'm pretty sure I sighed.

"Have you been together long?" Paige asked when I turned around again.

"We're not together now."

She looked decidedly skeptical.

"It's a long story." I leaned forward. "Listen, about this connection between him and Malory - do you know anything that would stop it?"

Paige frowned. "To tel you the truth, I'm not sure why he stil has the connection, especialy since the book was destroyed. But there could be methods or work-arounds I'm not familiar with."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Maybe he could learn to control it? He does seem to have a lot of wilpower."

"That is an understatement," I agreed. "Tal, blond, and stubborn."

Paige laughed. "Tal, blond, and stubborn is usualy right in my wheelhouse. I'm actualy kind of surprised I'm interested in the librarian." Her cheeks went a little pink. "Put two guys side by side - a fair one and a dark one - and I am usualy tuned in to the tal, blond, and handsome type."

Something she said rang familiar in a deep part of my brain.

"What did you say?"

"What? Oh, I was just saying I normaly prefer blonds."

But it wasn't her taste in men that interested me - it was the phrase she'd used. "Dark one," I repeated, my gaze shifting back and forth as I searched my memory. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Like, as a phrase?" Paige frowned. "I don't know it. When did you hear it?"

"When we were in Nebraska," I realized, and the memories clicked into place. "Todd, the gnome, caled Tate a 'dark one.' I thought he was referring to the color of Tate's hair - because it's dark brown. But maybe that's not what he meant. Maybe it's not a description. Maybe it's a name, or a species."

"I'm not familiar with the term, but I can look it up." She puled a giant book closer to her. "I'l check the sorcerer's omnibus."

"Sorcerer's omnibus?"

"It's like a giant magical dictionary," she absently said, and she was already thumbing through the entries. "If it's not in here, it doesn't exist."

She flipped the book open to a page, then skimmed a finger down the page she'd found. But when her shoulders slumped, I knew she hadn't found it.

"Nothing?"

"It doesn't exist." She looked up at me. "If that was realy a term of magical art - and not just a description - it would be in here. This thing is super-thorough."

Maybe, but I wasn't wiling to give up so easily.

"Dark one" was an odd phrase. It wasn't the kind of thing someone would just randomly say. On the other hand, Todd was an unusual guy.

" 'Sorcerers just don't get us,' " I remembered him saying, and I began to smile. Maybe we weren't coming at this from the right direction. Maybe "dark one" was a magical term of art... but not for sorcerers.

I jumped up, ignored Paige's question about where I was going, and ran down the aisles until I found the librarian.

"Are you running in my library?"

"Only because I need you. Do we have any books written by gnomes?"

He frowned but nodded. "Yes. Why? I thought you were looking for conjuration spels."

"Been there, done that." I smiled and thought of Todd. "I need gnome books. You know, because sorcerers just don't get them."

He didn't get the joke. "They're in cultural studies. About four rows to the left. Your other left!" he corrected, when I dodged right.

A few minutes later, Paige found me on the floor puling books into my lap. "Bright idea?"

"I think it's a gnome's phrase."

"Damn," she said. "I wish I'd thought of that." She sat down on the floor beside me, and I handed over A Gnome's Guide to Names.

"Come on in," I said. "The water's fine."

It wasn't in A Gnome's Guide to Names. It wasn't in Life from the Ground Up. It wasn't in Better Underground Gardening , Home Sweet Hillock, or Homes for Gnomes. (I couldn't make this stuff up.)

We did learn that gnomes are especialy careful about the layout of their underground dwelings. We learned they preferred plaid to gingham in their decor and often used a dozen or more false entrances and baffles to thwart unwelcome visitors.

When we could map out their favorite color palettes, we caled the librarian back into it.

Well, Paige caled the librarian into it. After flouncing up her hair.

Maybe she had been lonely in Nebraska.

"What exactly are you looking for?" he asked.

"Todd, one of the gnomes who fought with us in Nebraska, caled Tate a 'dark one.' We're wondering if there's anything to that."

The librarian roled his eyes and walked down the row.

"Sometimes I wonder why you don't just ask me the questions in the first place. Folow me."

We shoved our books back on the shelves and traced his path to a bureau of long, flat drawers. He opened a long drawer and rifled through it, then puled out a dark blue paperboard box with brass corners, which he carefuly carried to the closest table. He walked slowly, as if the materials in the box were delicate enough to disintegrate if he rattled them too much.

He placed the box on the table and lifted the lid. Scents of old paper and herbs - rosemary and thyme - filed the air, along with the damp scent of earth.

"Gnomes," I said.

The librarian nodded and puled a pair of thin cotton gloves from the pocket of his jeans. He slipped them on and carefuly removed a sheet from the box.

The sheet was thick and yelowed, the warp and weave of fibers from some ancient plant visible like a watermark through the page.

Across the surface were tidy rows of neat Latin words, and the lines were iluminated with drawings and fanciful letters in red, blue, and gold paint. It wasn't unlike medieval manuscripts I'd seen while in graduate school.

"It's beautiful," I said. "What's it from?"

"It's a hand-copied page from a document caled the Kantor Scroll. Kantor was a gnome, a scrivener who put together an impressive library of texts."

Paige walked around the table to give the document a closer look. "About what?"

"The usual. Love. Religion. Politics. War was a particular specialty. Gnomes are close to the ground, so people tend to forget they're there. They do a great job of war reporting because they can get in and around so easily."

The librarian set the first sheet aside and puled another from the box. This one had a drawing. The images weren't very sophisticated, but their subject was clear - a mud and stone city under attack by a storm of blue sparks as big as a cloud. The cloud had already consumed some of the buildings, leaving them in shambles.

"I've seen that before," I said, thinking of the wal of magic Tate had sent after us in Iowa. "Where was this?"

"Carthage," the librarian said. "The city was completely decimated by the Roman army, and they salted the earth afterward so nothing could grow."

"They destroyed the city with magic?" Paige asked.

"That wasn't the human version of the story," I said, but looked at the librarian.

"Do the Romans strike you as folks wiling to credit someone else for a victory?"

He had a point.

"According to Kantor," he said, "the Roman armies claimed the victory, but they didn't exactly fight the battle."

I pointed at the document but was careful not to touch. My heart began to race as we moved closer to an answer.

"Whoever did the fighting here, Tate can do the same kind of magic. What does Kantor have to say about it?"

"He says the magic was made by a 'Dark One.' " The librarian smiled smugly, but he'd earned it. He was good.

"So what is a 'Dark One'? Genies? Demigods? Are they related to fairies? Claudia, the queen, seemed to know who Tate was."

The librarian didn't look impressed by my magical auction.

"You'd hardly believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"They're caled 'messengers.' They were tal. Winged. Their magic alowed them to serve the world."

"Are you talking about angels?" Paige had leaned forward a little, like she was afraid we'd think the question was crazy.

"Yeah, but without the religious baggage," the librarian said.

He puled out another document. This one showed a fight between two creatures - one with the white wings of a traditional angel, one with wings as dark and slick as a bat's. They were both tal and sinewy with muscle, their bodies draped in flowing cloth, their wings slicing the air like blades. They were locked in battle with each other.

"There were two kinds of messengers," the librarian said.

"Those who carried peace and bounty, and those who carried out justice."

"I assume this story does not have a happy ending?" I asked.

"You would be correct," the librarian said. "The messengers of peace did their jobs. They rewarded the good. The messengers of justice did their parts, too. They punished the evil.

Together, they kept the world in balance.

"But the messengers of justice enjoyed the violence a little too much. They decided smal missteps by humans were worthy of severe punishment. It wasn't about justice anymore. It was about ego, about their conceptions of right and wrong. They lost their moral compass."

"The Dark Ones?" I guessed.

"The Dark Ones," he confirmed. "Angels with brutal swords of righteousness. Humans fought back against them; the Dark Ones went nuclear. They took out entire cities they thought didn't measure up to their standards. Carthage was just one example. The conflict goes back much, much further."

"How far?" Paige asked.

"Sodom and Gomorrah far."

"Why cal them 'Dark Ones'?" Paige asked.

"According to Kantor, the darker their souls became, the darker their wings became." He flipped a page again. This drawing showed only a caricature of a creature with dark wings, their size dwarfing the rest of the image. "Because of that, some sups, including your gnomes, referred to them as 'Dark Ones.' "

"And other sups?" I wondered.

He glanced at me. "Humans think of them as demons, although to be a 'demon' doesn't realy mean anything. 'Demon' is a quality, not a species. To be demonic - those who abandon good and give themselves wholy to the darkness."

"So Todd thinks Seth Tate was a Dark One," Paige said.

"Theory or fact?"

"Tate fought Ethan with a sword, and Paulie was kiled with a blade," I said. "Paulie's definitely guilty of some transgressions. Manufacturing V, for one. If Seth is a Dark One, he could have had a justice motive. Harsh justice, but stil."

"Ironic he doesn't consider himself worthy of that kind of justice," Paige muttered. "But even if that explains Seth," Paige said, "what about the other Seth?"

"I have no idea. So, to summarize, Seth was an angry angel, Malory tried to conjure evil, and Seth touched the book at the same time she triggered the spel. That somehow doubled him up, so now we have two identical angry angels flying around Chicago."

The very idea made me want to run away screaming...or hide under my bed for a few weeks.

"That would appear to be the case," Paige said.

I glanced back at the librarian. "Were there a lot of messengers? If he's one of them, can we narrow down which one?"

"There aren't many. Some you've heard of: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael."

"The archangels," I said.

"An angel by any other name," the librarian said. He flipped back to the first page he'd showed us, the one with the Latin text. "There are three Dark Ones listed: Uriel, Dominic, and Azrael."

"Are there any drawings that show their faces in any detail?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Every question we managed to answer about Tate seemed only to spawn four or five more.

But the real question was how much time we'd have to figure it al out.

The sun was nearly up before I returned to Ethan's apartments.

I'd have much rather returned to my room, but we'd made too much progress not to give him a report. Trouble didn't care if he was being an ass; in fact, the Tates probably would have been thriled to hear it.

I found him in a leather armchair in his sitting room, one leg crossed over the other, his head on the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

He looked exhausted, and I could sympathize. It had been a long night - too ful by half of magic books, pretentious Brits, and murder, and not nearly ful enough of satisfying answers. But we had at least one more than we'd had a few hours ago, so I stood in front of him at attention and gave him a precise report.

"So Tate is a Dark One. An angel of retribution who couldn't control his more violent urges."

"That seems to be the case. Do you know anything else about the 'Dark Ones' myth? Does it sound familiar to you?"

"You mean because of my age?"

Angry or not, I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to tease him. "Wel, you were alive during the big bang, weren't you?"

He roled his eyes. "I know the myths of the falen angels.

Those who didn't support the right camp and ended up cast aside at a decidedly downward angle. I wasn't aware they were aleged to have caused the destruction at Carthage. It hardly seems possible the Romans would have been able to destroy al the evidence they weren't the true victors."

"You came back from the dead," I pointed out. "You realy aren't in a position to argue what is and isn't possible."

"A fair point."

"How are you feeling?" I asked him.

"She's there," he said, rubbing his temples. "There's a dul buzzing. But I've pushed it back into the corner of my brain dedicated to footbal and video games."

"In other words, rarely used."

"Just so."

"Is it wrong of me to say this could have been avoided if only the Order had paid better attention to Malory?"

"Not wrong at al," he murmured. "Unfortunate that it's come to this, but not wrong. They have failed al of us, and Malory, in a multitude of ways. And they appear to be offering no assistance in cleaning up the mess they so tidily made."

We were quiet for a moment, watching each other. Ethan seemed to be at peace, but it seemed likely his mind was roiling with possibilities, probabilities, strategies, outcomes. I just wasn't sure how many of those involved me.

I decided to save myself the rejection, even if it was only temporary. "Wel, I should get back to my room. Dawn wil be here soon."

"I want to pretend al is wel in the world," he said. "I want to pretend our House wil be safe tomorrow and secure in the bosom of the GP. But that's not the world around us."

I think he meant it as an apology, but I wasn't in the mood. I wanted sleep and a warm body to curl against, and I wasn't going to get it.

"The world is what it is," I said. "We can only battle it back."

As dawn approached, I slipped back into my room and my own bed, the sheets cool and undisturbed. I tried to quiet my mind, and I tried not to worry about what tomorrow might bring, or the fact that the Tates were stil out there, undoubtedly planning their next attack. The sun was rising, and there was nothing I could do about it now.

I hoped Chicago wasn't Carthage. I hoped we could al find some peace. I hoped the sunrise wouldn't bring more problems than it solved.