Biting Bad_ A Chicagoland Vampires Novel(85)

“I don’t think Joshua believed him,” Catcher said.

Ethan nodded and looked at Mallory. “You’re quiet,” he said.

She nodded. “I don’t really feel like I have much political capital to offer my opinion on stuff like this.”

Ethan was obviously taken aback by the statement. Maybe he hadn’t expected her to be so honest, or so self-aware of the damage she’d done to her relationships with others.

“That’s very . . .”

“Accurate?” she finished. “Self-aware? Yeah, I know.” She crossed one leg over the other, her booted foot swinging. “If you were to ask me, and I’m not saying you are, I’d tell Joshua Merit to take a long walk off a short pier. He can play buddy-buddy with Merit all he wants to, but he’s a self-centered prick and we all know it.”

Now that sounded like the Mallory I knew. I couldn’t help but smile, even in spite of the unfortunate accuracy of her statement.

“I don’t disagree,” Catcher said. “But he’s not taking the hint that he needs to leave Chuck alone.”

“My grandfather would kick your ass if he knew you were over here trying to get help from us.”

“He would,” Catcher agreed. “I considered this one of those ‘apologize later’ rather than ‘ask permission now’ scenarios.”

“I’ll call Joshua,” Ethan said. “Not to accept the offer, but perhaps to string him along just a little bit. Perhaps that will take the heat off your grandfather.”

Catcher nodded. “I appreciate it. He’s got enough on his plate playing secret Ombudsman without his son whining.”

“More trouble with the nymphs?” I wondered.

“The River nymphs are calmer than usual this month,” Catcher said. “The deeper the winter, the calmer they get. It’s because of their connection to the water—it slows down, and they do, too.” He shook his head. “No, in addition to the rest of the stuff he’s working on, he’s beginning to get calls from Detective Jacobs about supernatural issues.”

“What kind of issues?” I asked. I knew my grandfather was smart and capable, but that didn’t mean I wanted him in the middle of even more supernatural drama.

“It varies. Sometimes consultations. Odd one earlier this week—a body was found on the lakeshore on the south side, but Detective Jacobs had some questions about it. Something strange about it. I’m not sure of the details.”

“Sounds like morbid work,” Ethan said.

Catcher shrugged. “It’s cop work. It’s often morbid.”

Mallory’s face suddenly paled, and she reached out for Catcher’s hand.

“Mal?” I asked.

She waved me off, her eyes closed and features squeezed together. “Prophecy. Coming up. Hold on. It’s like a pre-sneeze—”

She stiffened, beads of sweat popping onto her forehead. Sorcerers had the discomforting ability to prophecy, although their prophecies were usually wrapped inside riddles and metaphors that required patience and imagination to figure out.

They were also hard work, requiring an outlay of energy that could weaken a sorceress pretty severely.

“Blood,” she said, eyes closed, magic swirling in the room like an invisible twister and raising goose bumps on my arms. “The alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. The fount of life and harbinger of darkness.”

She sucked in a breath, and a rush of words poured out in a string. “All is waiting. All is forever. All is before.”

She stopped, clipping the end of the final word like the needle removed too quickly from a vinyl album.

But although the prophecy was done, her body hadn’t yet released from the spell. She still stared blankly ahead, her expression utterly frozen.

“Mallory.” Catcher called her name.

She didn’t move.

“Mallory,” Catcher said, more firmly this time, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

She shuddered, then shook her head. “Sorry. That one was heavy.” She looked around the room. “What was it about?”

“Blood,” Catcher said. “It was a treatise on how good it is.”

Mallory brightened. “Oh, cool. Blood. Vampires. That makes sense. At least it was actually about the right species this time. I had an attack last week while talking to Gabriel and ended up spouting off about unicorns and narwhales.”

“Because both have horns?” I asked.

“God only knows why, or what it had to do with shifters.” She shrugged. “I don’t write the news; I just report it.”

Catcher stood up, then offered Mallory a hand. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you back to the crib.”