Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)

“Then Darth Sullivan isn’t the man I thought he was.” She reached out, took my hand, squeezed it. “And he is that man, Merit. Look at it this way. If this is the testing, you know you’ll get through it. Or at least through it enough to get knocked up,” she said with a snort.

“That’s not really funny.”

“I know.”

“You know, I’m kind of surprised Gabriel didn’t mention this to you when you were tutoring with him.”

“Gabriel’s really weird about his prophecies. He doesn’t like to talk about them.” She frowned, as if considering her words. “I’m not even sure ‘prophecy’ gets to the heart of it, not really. The word makes it sound like he knows this independent piece of information—this bit of knowledge that’s separate from him. But it doesn’t work that way. Shifters are connected—to the earth, to the things living on it, to the kind of”—she waved her hands in the air—“universal timeline. The things they prophesize, that knowledge, is part of that interconnected timeline. Part of who they are.”

“That’s pretty deep.”

“It sounds like horseshit,” she said with a grin. “Like the nonsense I’d have spewed in my Grateful Dead and patchouli days.”

“Those were very colorful days.” Mallory had braided her hair, worn broomstick skirts, and stocked the fridge with Cherry Garcia. I hadn’t complained about the last.

“They were something,” she agreed. “But Gabriel’s the real deal. You’ve seen the Pack together. Hell, you saw Convocation. You know what they’re like.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

“I’d say, take the middle ground. Cautiously optimistic. Or optimistically cautious.”

“My question is, how’s it actually going to happen?”

“Well, Merit, Ethan will put his—”

I held up a hand. “I didn’t mean literally. If no child of vampires has ever been carried to term, how are we going to beat those odds?”

“I don’t know,” she said, brow furrowed. “Something with magic?”

“That was my guess, but I still don’t know how the mechanics would work.”

“Tab A, slot B.”

“This conversation has taken a weird turn.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of our thing.” She leaned forward, put a hand on my knee. “My God, do I want to see Ethan facing his first loaded diaper. And can you imagine him dealing with milk puke?”

“I think he’ll be a good dad.” A protective one, certainly. He had that gene in spades. “I mean, for a four-hundred-year-old pretentious Master vampire.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s his burden to bear, and we shouldn’t hold it against him. You know what we need?” she asked suddenly. “A beach vacation before you’re ankle-deep in poopy diapers. I mean, I know you can’t sunbathe, but we can still do manicures. Pedicures. Eat plenty of fried fish and listen to Jimmy Buffett by moonlight.”

“I’ve never listened to Jimmy Buffett in my life.”

“I haven’t, either. But I think that’s what you do on the beach. While drinking a margarita. We’ll call it a retreat! I’ll write a grimoire of good and helpful magic, or work on SWOB stuff, and you can, I don’t know, sharpen your sword.”

“Is that what you think we do in our free time? Sharpen our swords?”

She grinned. “Yes. Literally and figuratively.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I know.” She sighed happily. “All the shit we’ve been through—all the shit I’ve been through—and I can still make lascivious jokes with the best of them. That’s impressive, Merit. That’s character. And I’m serious about the retreat idea. I might even let you bring Ethan for a night if you two make up. I bet he’d look fine in one of those tiny Speedos.”

I grimaced. As far as I was concerned, no one looked good in them. But I imagined Ethan would look good emerging from the ocean, body drenched and trunks riding low on his hips, striding across the sand like Poseidon.

I cleared my throat. “If we make up, I’ll talk to him.”

Mallory grinned. “You were thinking about him naked, weren’t you?”