Hard Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires 4)

"All right," she said, putting her palms flat on the table and blowing out a breath. "It's time for a pep talk. Ready, set, go."

That was my cue to call adult swim at the pity pool and kick her out - and then offer up a little motivational magic of my own.

"Mallory Carmichael, you're a sorceress. You may not like it, but it's a fact. You have a gift, and you are not going to sit around a Goodwin's drinking fifty-nine-cent coffee because you've got concerns about your assignments. You're a sorceress - but you're not a robot. If you have concerns about your job, talk to someone about it. If you think something you're doing flunks the smell test, then stop doing it. Break the chain of command if that's what it takes. You have a conscience, and you know how to use it."

We sat quietly there for a moment, until her decisive nod.

"That's what I needed."

"That's why you love me."

"Well, that and we wear the same shoe size."

She swiveled in her seat and pulled up a knee.

Her foot, now propped on the seat, was snug inside a pair of lime green, limited-edition Pumas . . . one of the pair I'd left at Mal's house when I'd moved into Cadogan.

"Are those - "

"What they are is so comfy."

"Mallory Delancey Carmichael."

"Hey, Street Fest is this weekend," she suddenly said. "Maybe we could head down and nosh some meat on a stick."

Street Fest was Chicago's annual end-of summer food bash. Restaurants and caterers put up their white vinyl tents in Grant Park to hawk their wares and celebrate the end of August's roasting heat and steamy humidity. Normally, I was a pretty big fan. Sampling Chicago's finest grub while listening to live music wasn't exactly a bad way to spend an evening.

On the other hand, "Are you trying to distract me with roast beast?"

She batted her eyelashes.

"Seriously, Mallory. Those shoes are limited edition. Do you remember how long I tried to find them? We staked out the Web for, like, three weeks."

"Epistemological crisis here, Mer. Seriously.

One cannot tread lightly in cheap knockoff sneaks when one is enmeshed in a crisis."

I sighed, knowing I'd been beaten.

As it turned out, she didn't have two hours in her. She needed only twenty more minutes before she was ready to return to her life - to Keys and magic and Catcher. She decided to make an early night of practicum, and instead put in a call to Catcher that was sickly sweet enough that my blood sugar rose.

But however sickening, she was smiling by the end of the call, so I had to give props to Catcher.

We exchanged hugs in the parking lot, and I sent her home to Wicker Park and the waiting arms of a green-eyed sorcerer.

Whatever worked.

Ironic, I guess, that I was heading back to the House of a green-eyed vampire, although definitely not - to his chagrin - his waiting arms.

I was nearly back in that vampire's territory when my phone rang again.

"Merit," I answered.

"Something's going on tonight," Jonah said.

"A rave?"

"Might start out that way. But if these things really are as violent as you're hearing . . ."

He didn't need to finish the sentence, unfortunately. The implication was obvious - and bad.

"How did you find out?"

"Text message. A flashmob, just like the others."

"And this time we got in early enough?" I wondered aloud.

"This time we got lucky and found the phone," Jonah said. "Someone left it at Benson's."

"Benson's, as in across-the-streetfrom-Wrigley-Field Benson's?"

"Yeah. That's the Grey House bar."

One of the many bars around the stadium that had installed bleachers on its roof, Benson's was, in my opinion, the best spot in town to get a view of Wrigley Field without a ticket.

"Kudos on that one," I said. "I've spent many a fine evening in Benson's."

"And so you were in the company of vampires before you were even aware of them," he said.

"How ironic."

I couldn't help but chuckle. He might be pretentious, but Jonah apparently had a sense of humor, as well.

"Anyway, I had the phone in my office, and we didn't think much of it until we got the text. Same format, same message as the others."

"Is the phone useful? Can we trace the number or something?"

"The phone was a disposable, and it hadn't been in use long. The outgoing calls were all to businesses that don't keep track of customer calls. The only incoming was the text. We called that number back, and it's already been disconnected. We haven't been able to find any other information."

Ah, but they didn't have a Jeff Christopher.

"Can you give me the number? I've got a friend with some computer skills. Wouldn't hurt to have him look at it."

Jonah read me the digits; I grabbed an envelope and a pen from the glove box and wrote it down, making a mental note to send it to Jeff later.

"So where's the rave?"

"A penthouse in Streeterville."

Streeterville was the part of downtown Chicago that stretched from Michigan Avenue to the lake. Lots of skyscrapers, lots of money, and lots of tourists.

"I am not crazy about the idea of raving vampires in Streeterville."

"Although that would make a good horror-flick title. 'Vampires in Streeterville,' I mean."

A second joke in a matter of minutes. "I'm glad to know you have a sense of humor."

"I'm a vampire, not a zombie."

"Good to know."

"If you're in, meet me at the water tower. Two o'clock."

I checked the dashboard clock - it was barely past midnight, which gave me just enough time to get back to the House, change clothes, and head out again. "I'll be there," I assured him.

"Weapon-wise, what should I bring? Sword or hidden dagger?"

"I'm surprised at you, Sentinel. Vampires generally don't use hidden blades."

He was right. Hidden blades were considered a dishonorable way to fight. I heard the question in his voice: Are you an honorable soldier?

Admittedly, carrying a hidden blade didn't pass the smell test I'd just told Mallory to use, but what could I do?

"The hidden-blade taboo was made before Celina got a wild hair and decided to out us to the world. I can fight without steel if necessary, but I'd prefer to have backup." I think I'd proven that point pretty well last night. And to think - only a few months ago, I'd been a graduate student in English lit. Go figure.

"Well put."

A thought occurred to me. "I can't tell Ethan I'm visiting a rave alone, and I certainly can't tell him I'm going with you if you want to keep your RG membership a secret."