Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

“You know me too well,” I said. I really wanted one of those flashlights, but I could still appreciate an hour of deep dish with friends. Besides, cream cheese and double bacon was my favorite topping combination—a culinary concoction that could cure most ills, at least in my bacon-addled opinion.

“Let’s get moving,” Mallory said. “Because God forbid Merit doesn’t get her flashlight.”

“They sell flashlights everywhere,” Catcher muttered as Mallory slipped her arm into his and we crossed the street toward the bar.

“You don’t get it,” she said, patting his arm, then glanced over her shoulder. “Husbands. Am I right?”

God, it was weird to hear her say that.

• • •

Temple Bar was a narrow building full of brass, wood, and Cubs memorabilia. The paneled walls were lined with vintage pennants, T-shirts, and game balls, and bleacher seats scavenged from Wrigley during the renovation. High-top tables and leather booths filled the space, and they’d added a pool table. The bar was packed with vampires in Cubs gear, their supernaturalness obvious from the buzz of magic that electrified the air.

Sean, one of the two vampire brothers who managed the place, rang the brass bell that hung behind the bar. The patrons turned their heads toward the sound.

“Master on the premises!” Sean yelled cheerfully, pointing toward Ethan with his free hand.

The bar exploded with cheers and applause as vampires turned in their seats, craning to get a look at their Master. I took for granted how often I saw Ethan, whether personally or professionally. To the other Cadogan Novitiates, being near him socially was a rarity, a treat. They smiled as we walked in, their gazes still slightly suspicious when they got to Mallory. She’d mostly redeemed herself to the House after a troubling history, but vampires had long memories.

We headed to a four-top. Sean’s brother, Colin, came around the bar, white towel slung over his shoulder. Sean was younger than his brother, but both looked as if they’d stepped out of an Irish travel brochure: tall and lanky, with red hair, blue eyes, and ruddy complexions.

“Liege,” Colin said, giving Ethan a little bow, then smiling at me. “It’s been too long,” he added, playfully squeezing my shoulder. “What’s the occasion?”

“Merit’s first post-fang game at Wrigley,” Sean said, setting a pizza box, paper plates, and napkins in the middle of the table. The scents of spicy sauce, smoky bacon, and cheese filled the air, and the box had one of my favorite words printed across it in bold red letters—SAUL’S. Not just my favorite kind of pizza, but from my favorite pizza place in Chicago. Ethan had really gone above and beyond.

Thank you, I said silently, activating the telepathic link between us. I appreciate the effort.

You’ll appreciate it more later, he said, with a wickedness in his eyes that promised delightful things to come—even if the Cubs didn’t pull out a win.

“Well, well,” Colin said, glancing at me. “That’s worth a drink on the house. You’re a gin-and-tonic girl, right?”

“I am,” I agreed. “And that sounds great.”

“Done,” he said, and looked at Ethan. “Sire?”

Ethan had gotten an upgrade, at least in title, when he became a member of the Assembly of American Masters, a newly created organization intended to give American vampires control of their futures. So far, they’d been very low-drama, which was a nice change from their predecessor.

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

“I knew you’d trust my judgment eventually.”

Catcher snorted. “About food pairings, anyway.”

“A Novitiate takes what a Novitiate can get,” Colin said with a wink. He took Catcher’s and Mallory’s orders, left us with pizza. We exchanged shrewd looks, waiting for someone to make the first move toward a slice.

“Well, I’m not waiting for your people to play supernatural rock-paper-scissors,” Mallory said, spinning the box so its maw opened toward her, and sliding a piece onto a plate.

“Which would be what, exactly?” Ethan wondered.

She paused, chewed contemplatively, then raised two fingers in a “V,” curled them into would-be claws, and wiggled them like she was sprinkling a spell over us. “Vampire-shifter-sorcerer,” she said. “You can call it ‘VSS.’”

“I think you just invented a meme,” I said, impressed.

“Of course I did. I’m awesome. Pass me the cheese.”

• • •

We’d nearly finished the pizza when Catcher gestured toward the pool table. “You play?” he asked Ethan.