Hard Bitten (34 page)

This time, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Merit, but we have to disagree with you.
I
have to disagree with you.” He frowned, then looked up at me. “I don’t like saying this, making this accusation. Darius won’t say it—it’s not his position to do so—but I think it bears consideration.”

“What’s that?”

“None of this started until after you joined Cadogan House.”

My heart beat like a timpani drum in my chest.

“Excuse me?”

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. For better or worse, Celina seems to have an obsession with you. You move into the House, you elicit a confession from her, and as a result she apparently decides you, and perhaps Ethan, are her new targets.”

I forced myself to bite my tongue. Ethan clearly hadn’t told him that I’d been Celina’s intended victim, that he’d brought me into the House because a Rogue she’d hired hadn’t done his job completely. I wasn’t sure why he’d made that call, but I wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to the GP. I had no objection to the GP knowing as little about me as possible.

“We’re aware of the Breckenridge situation,”

Charlie continued, “of the fact that she attacked you outside the House. Would you deny that you appear to be one of her keenest targets?”

“No,” I said. It would be impossible to deny that. On the other hand, “I’m not the only target.

Cadogan House is a target. Chicago is a target.”

He was saved a response by sudden, high-pitched beeping. He lifted his wrist, revealing a square calculator watch circa 1984.

After tapping its buttons, he smiled guiltily. “I was amazed by the technology when it was revealed, and I haven’t found anything that compares since then. Simple, efficient.”

“Kudos,” I said, trying to stuff the snark as far down as possible.

Charlie stood up again and walked toward me, heading for the door now that he’d concluded his lecture. “I hope it doesn’t seem that I’m trying to irritate you or blame you for her actions. Clearly, she is a woman with free will and the ability to make decisions for herself. But consider the possibility that the actions you undertake—as Sentinel of your House, with all of its appurtenant responsibilities—bear upon her actions, as well.”

I stepped aside, giving him access to the door.

“We do truly wish you the best with your House. We want all the American Houses to succeed, to flourish.”

“I will relay that sentiment to Ethan,” I said politely. Although my silent thoughts were much less polite, as I guessed would be the case for Ethan’s, as well.

“Excellent. Good evening, Merit.”

“Good evening, Charlie.”

He walked out again, an efficient smile on his face and a hop in his step. And in his wake . . .

insecurity.

Was he right? Had we prompted Celina’s antics by responding to them? Were vampires drugged and humans dead because we’d encouraged her to act out, to rebel against Cadogan House like an angsty adolescent?

It wasn’t fair to lay the responsibility for Celina’s actions at our door. We’d tried to do right by Cadogan and Chicago, and ultimately she was the one who’d solicited the murders of humans, who’d blackmailed us, and who was now probably behind selling drugs. Those decisions were her own.

Still. Charlie’s accusation gnawed at me. Even if she’d perpetrated the acts, it wasn’t unfathomable to think she’d done it, at least in part, because she was reacting to me and Ethan, trying to rile us up, trying to score in the vampiric chess game she’d created.

I hated the idea of it, hated the thought that the battles we fought on a daily basis were somehow our fault, no matter how good our intentions.

On the other hand, what else could we have done? We couldn’t exactly leave her to her own devices, creating chaos across Chicago just to fulfill her childish craving for attention. We couldn’t have ignored the blackmail attempt or Tate’s threats against us even if we wanted to. It wasn’t like Ethan and I were out and about searching for something to rail against.

Of course we wanted peace and quiet. Of course we wanted to wake in the evening and spend our time training, researching, working to ensure the success of the House—instead of playing defense against the marauders at the gate.

Whatever the drama, whatever her

motivations, there was only one thing that was going to solve the Celina problem. Getting her out of Chicago, once and for all.

DENIABILITY ON A STICK

I
needed a break from vampires. I also hadn’t checked in on Mallory in a while, and that definitely needed to be remedied. So when I woke and dressed, I texted her for an update and learned that she and Catcher were training at his gym. Translation: I’d get to watch Catcher torture someone other than me, and I’d get to see Mallory work her magic.

Easy call. I left the House and headed to the Near North Side, where Catcher’s workout space was tucked into another old warehouse.

(Converting former warehouses into playrooms for vampires and other sups was apparently the new trend in Chicago.)

I hardly needed to sneak out of the House.

Darius had pulled us off the V investigation, so there wasn’t going to be much need for me to stick around. And my conversation with Ethan last night had raised uncomfortable questions about me and my hypocrisy that I wasn’t keen to face. I knew we’d talk eventually; there was likely no avoiding it. But it didn’t have to be right now.

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?”

“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.”