“Everything but sorcerers,” Catcher said, crunching a chip.
“There aren’t tons of them out there,” Mallory said, elbowing him. “That’s exactly why we need resources like this—so they don’t feel any more alone than they already are. But I have touched base with a girl in Indiana and a guy in Iowa who were pretty freaked out when they accidentally did some magic. So we’re hooking them up with the Order, making sure they get the support they need, not just handed off to a tutor with a fare-thee-well.” Her tone darkened at the end, since that was precisely what had happened to her.
“I think that’s awesome,” I said. “Better to be overprepared than under-.” The city had burned, after all, the last time we were underprepared.
“And speaking of underprepared, how’s the mayor?” Ethan asked.
Catcher took a swig of beer. “I’m guessing she’ll have some comments for Chuck given Balthasar’s latest display. But he’s communicating pretty regularly with her staff, and she’s done a decent job the last few weeks of asking about supernatural situations instead of making accusations. Doesn’t hurt that two human unions are on strike—gives her someone else to blame.”
“She does like to play the blame game,” Ethan said, a slice of tomato splurting out the side of his sandwich.
“You’re not the sandwich architect I’d have figured you for,” I said.
“I am, apparently, Darth Sullivan,” he said, lifting a corner of bread to stuff the tomato back in. “I understand that building things, Death Stars or otherwise, isn’t my particular strength.”
My heart melted a little. “Did you just make a Star Wars reference? And a joke? At the same time?”
“Oh my God, that is so cute,” Mallory said with a grin. “He makes jokes just like a human.”
* * *
Ethan managed not to smite her for the comment, and we ate in companionable silence until the sandwiches were gone and Mallory and I had nearly finished the bag of chips, wincing with each successive bite.
Ethan tried one, but from the pursed expression, wasn’t a fan. “My response,” he said, “is ‘why?’”
“Because delicious,” Mallory said, reaching chip-greased fingers into the bag to dig for another one.
“Because delicious,” I agreed, and spun the bag around so the open maw faced me.
“Finish them off,” Mallory said, dusting salt and potato chip flakes from her hands and then wiping them on a napkin. “In the immortal words of Popeye, ‘I’ve had all I can stands, and I can’t stands no more.’”
While I grabbed another chip without argument, Mallory and Catcher looked at each other and shared a look that said we were about to return to the announcement they’d wanted to make.
“So, while we’re all here,” Mallory said, “we wanted to talk to you about something—again.”
“Is everything all right?” Ethan asked.
“It’s fine,” Mallory said. “We’re getting married.”
Ethan’s knife hit his plate with a jarring clank. “Sorry,” he said, putting it aside. “Sorry. You surprised me. Congratulations! That’s fantastic.”
His recovery was fast. Mine was not, primarily because she didn’t sound as though she thought it was fantastic. “You’re getting married,” I repeated.
“We are,” she said, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “So, Catcher is thinking about seeking reinstatement in the Order.”
While I waited to hear the connection between her marriage and the Order, Ethan’s eyebrows lifted. He met Catcher’s gaze, something weighty passing between them. He and Catcher had a history I wasn’t entirely sure about—it would take many years, I suspected, before I had a complete overview of Ethan’s four centuries. Maybe it was Catcher having been kicked out of the Order that had brought them together in the first place.
o;So I’ll stick to cheddar,” I said, nabbing a small square of yellow-white cheese, relieved to find, when I bit in, that I’d picked the correct one.
“Why don’t we all grab a plate?” Ethan suggested. “I could use something substantial to eat.”
I bit back a smile as I piled cheese and meat onto some sort of multigrain bread, smiled as Ethan held up a small bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. “I believe Margot left these for you.”
“Offensively delicious,” Mallory and I said simultaneously, remembering one of our long-ago-agreed-upon conclusions. We grinned at each other, and since our hands were full, we bumped hips in a kind of high five.
And frankly, it felt amazing to share that connection with her, that sense of history and solidarity. We were the living memories of our friendship, and being friends again seemed to make those memories more real, bring them into sharper focus. She smiled at me, nodded just a bit, and I knew she’d had the same thought.
Chapter Eleven