“All that and a bag of chips,” she agreed, then jumped to her feet, and held out a hand to help me up, too.
“Thanks for the help.”
“No worries. Least I can do since you held back my hair during my last psychic barfathon.”
“I did do that,” I agreed. “Listen,” I said, toying the zipper on my jacket absently, “while we’re here, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Is it about my sex life?”
“I will never ask you a question about your sex life.”
“Fair enough. Carry on.”
“It’s about being called . . . ” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “It really sucked, Lindsey. Balthasar was in my head, and there was nothing good or comforting about it. It was manipulation, pure and simple, and in the most fundamental way.” I frowned. “I guess my question is this: If there are ways to fight it, why do any Novitiates let their Masters do it?”
She looked saddened by the question, which made me feel like a freak for having asked.
“Because immortality is a long time, Merit. Humans and empires will come and go in that time. Sorcerers and shifters will come and go,” she added quietly, and I refused to think about the implications of that statement. I refused to consider the possibility my beloved humans, shifters, and sorcerers wouldn’t be around forever.
“That’s the crappy part of our reality,” she continued. “But your connection with your Master? It’s there as long as you’re alive. A wisp of flame in the darkness. You’re never alone. Not really.” She tilted her head at me. “Didn’t you notice when Ethan was gone? I mean, in your head?”
How could I separate that? I’d felt his loss utterly and in so many ways—emotionally, physically, psychically. Yes, I knew he wasn’t there any longer, but his sudden absence had been devastating, the mental silence only one small sliver of it.
“I was grieving,” I said. “I don’t know that I could separate it out.”
She nodded. “I get that. Actually, now that I think about it, I wonder why Ethan didn’t sense Balthasar out there somewhere.”
“Maybe he did,” I said. “He’s never said that he didn’t.”
But we still looked at each other, added that fact to the growing list of concerns about this man we’d called Balthasar, a man who was powerful enough to call our Master and invade my brain, and brave enough to glamour humans in the middle of downtown Chicago.
We weren’t sure who he was, but the “what” was clear enough.
He was a threat.
Chapter Seventeen
(MALLO)CAKE OR DEATH
After the session, I went back to the Ops Room, searched (unsuccessfully) for anything I could find about Balthasar’s room until Luc accused me of looking tired, which I was, and sent me upstairs.
There were two hours until dawn, and I wasn’t exactly looking forward to sitting in our apartments and obsessing about Balthasar or the Circle, or my strategic failure today. I hated screwing up. My grandfather’s and Ethan’s support notwithstanding, I still felt that that was exactly what I’d done.
I was too tired to exercise, and didn’t look forward to my cheek aching from more running, so I’d decided to lose myself in a book that had nothing to do with vampires, mobsters, or magic. I was rounding the banister to head from first floor to third when I spied Mallory heading toward me.
“Hey,” she said, “do you have your apotrope?”
It took me a moment to catch up with the question. “My who what?”
“Your apotrope. Your good luck charm. The raven bracelet I gave you,” she finally said, with obvious exasperation.
“Oh, sure.” She’d given it to me to help ward off bad juju when Ethan and I provided security at a shifter Pack convocation. “Why?”
She gestured from her head to toes with a finger. “Because I am mother-loving exhausted—the ward is killing me. It’s all day, all night. Catcher gave me a boost”—she winged up her eyebrows suggestively—“which helped, but I’m still pretty pooped. The long and short of it is, we can’t keep him physically and psychically out of the House at the same time. That’s more power than we’ve got. But if I use the bracelet, as a focus, I can at least keep him out of your head.”
“Okay,” I said, realizing she was offering me precisely what I’d needed—a distraction. Or some distracting magic to watch, anyway. And besides, she and I still had chits to chat about. “It’s in the apartments. Wanna come upstairs?”
“Is it okay if I make magic there?” She held up a hand. “And ignore that I just set you up for a comment about Ethan’s sexual prowess.”