“And they are . . . ?” Mallory asked, eyeing them suspiciously.
“A very small percentage of her notes,” Ethan said.
I nodded. “They were all over the room, so I grabbed a couple of square feet before we had to make a run for it.”
“They saw you?” Catcher asked.
“No,” Ethan said with a smile for me. “They found evidence of our entry. I’m afraid we may have broken a window.”
“Should have broken more than that,” Catcher muttered. “The assholes.”
Mallory pulled off the top sticky note, which read “glizzard,” eyed it suspiciously before setting it aside again. “We’ll look through them when we get back.”
“I take it you’re ready?” Ethan asked.
“Ready to listen, and ready to go.”
He arched an eyebrow. “And where will we be going?”
“Downtown, relatively near Towerline. It needs to be within the former alchemical web, and preferably quiet.” She winced. “And maybe not right next to a residential building. Just in case.”
In case things went sideways. Because there was always a chance of it.
“To confirm,” Ethan said, “you want to be near Towerline—in downtown Chicago—but not too close to the other million people who live there.”
“Exactly,” she said brightly.
“Millennium Park,” Catcher said. “There won’t be anyone at the pavilion tonight. The lawn will give us space. It’s not exactly close to Towerline, but it’s as close as we can get with that kind of space and privacy.”
Mallory pursed her lips. “Interesting idea,” she said. “Maybe I can use the trellis as some kind of antenna.”
“Let’s just take this one step at a time,” Catcher said.
• • •
Since we’d all be heading back to Cadogan House after our trip downtown, Catcher drove the SUV. He and Ethan landed in the front seat, which gave Mallory and me a chance to talk. Doubly good, because I wanted to keep pushing aside my rising emotions.
“And how are you finding married life?” Mallory asked from her spot beside me on the second-row bench.
“At the moment?” I considered the question. “Treacherous.”
Mallory snorted. “Yeah, but in fairness, your dating life was pretty treacherous, too. That’s what you get for nabbing a Darth Sullivan.”
I glanced at her. “Has he told you his nickname for me?”
“Of course he has.”
I lifted my brows. “What do you mean ‘of course he has’? Fess up!”
“Oh no,” she said, picking a remaining bit of chipped polish off her nail. “I want no part of that. You’ll weasel it out of him eventually.”
I narrowed my gaze at her. “I could weasel it out of you.”
She grinned. “I seriously doubt it, vamp.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Probably about many things, yes.”