“I say skip the call,” I said, “and don’t put them on alert.” I looked at Ethan.
He considered in silence for a moment. “What my Sentinel wants, my Sentinel gets.”
“Since I don’t have a closet stocked with chocolate, that is literally incorrect,” I said. “But good about this Sorcha thing.”
“While you’re committing crimes, we’ll stay here, work on the magic,” Catcher said. “And maybe, if you’re cool with it, we’ll stay the night at the House.”
It wasn’t the first time they’d done so. When Mallory had been plugged into the House’s ward, she’d stayed here to keep it running. She’d since figured out a way to power it with good old electricity; she just had to check the magic to make sure everything was working the way it should have.
“No objection,” Ethan said. “I’m fairly certain your manners are better than Sorcha’s.”
It wasn’t a difficult threshold to meet.
• • •
We were dressed in black, which wasn’t especially unusual for vampires, and had swords belted at our waists. I’d brought along a small, sleek backpack, just in case I found anything worth larceny.
Luc insisted Brody take the wheel of the SUV, giving us at least one more guard in case we got into trouble. But we didn’t plan to get into trouble. The steady expression on Ethan’s face said that much.
The temperature had grown even colder. Only five degrees above zero, according to the current weather report. The snow had stopped; maybe the heat sink had sucked all the available moisture from the sky.
The Reed house was in a historic neighborhood northeast of Hyde Park, where several Gilded Age mansions had been kept historically pristine. It took up a large chunk of the block; not as large a chunk as Cadogan House did in Hyde Park, but with significantly more attitude. This was old money. Old Chicago money.
The living quarters were shaped like a U, one unified center and separate wings on each end, a private courtyard in the middle. Catcher had been right about the guards. There were two in the front, an additional guard stationed on each side of the house. Possibly more roaming around inside. The heirs to Reed’s fortune, whoever they might be, were taking no chances on their inheritance.
“We can’t walk in,” I said, and narrowed my gaze at an enormous oak that abutted one corner of the house. “So we go up.”
• • •
We left Brody at the curb, crept in darkness through the old and elegant trees that shaded the block, then slipped to the side of the building. We watched the guard in silence, waited for him to pass, then darted to the tree that stood at one corner of the property. There was snow on the ground, but, since it was August, still leaves on the trees. That would give us some cover, at least until we made our way into the house. But we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.
It’s been a while since I’ve climbed a tree, Ethan said, but he grabbed a branch, hauled himself up easily. Vampire strength was a very handy thing.
A while for me, too, although not the centuries you’ve probably got on me. I followed him up, and we took one large branch at a time.
Hold, Ethan said, and I stilled, watched the guard pass beneath us, the green light on his communicator blinking in the darkness. I held my breath, like that would keep us hidden in the dappled moonlight, but couldn’t stop the chunk of snow that fell beneath my foot and landed with an audible splat on the ground fifteen feet below.
I willed my heart to slow, because it pounded loudly enough that I was sure the guard could hear it. But he kept walking, making his slow procession down the block, watching for the sorceress who might steal her way back into her home.
This is the tricky bit, Ethan said, and climbed into a standing position, then edged his way across a limb to the stone parapet that edged the house’s second floor. It was only about three feet wide, and would be a very tricky walk. But that was the way in, so no point in bellyaching about it.
Ethan held out a hand, helped me jump across.
Being in the tree hadn’t bothered me, but standing on a ledge two stories aboveground did nothing for my appetite. We moved to a dark window, peered inside. It looked like a bedroom, dark and mostly empty. I tried to lift the sash, but it was locked.
Watch for cars, Ethan said, and let me know when you see one.
While I nodded, Ethan unsheathed his katana, turned it so the heavy pommel faced the window. And waited.
It took two long minutes for headlights to play down the street. On its way, I told him. Five seconds.
When the car passed in front of the house, he slammed the katana against the glass. Glass tinkled inside, but the noise was at least partially muffled by the sound of the passing car. We waited in silence for an alarm, for the heavy thump of guards’ feet, but heard nothing.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Ethan reached inside the opening of jagged glass, flipped the lock, lifted the shutter.
He climbed in first, pushed away glass, then offered a hand to help me inside. We left the window open, cold air spilling into the room behind us, and crept to the closed door that probably led to the interior hallway.
I got there first, turned the knob with slow and careful concentration, pulled open the door just a sliver.