He tapped the blade of the knife against the hood. "You like fangs? You think that's hot?"
"I think you should get off my car so my friend and I can leave."
He flipped the knife in his hand so its point was facing me, and he leaned in closer. "I think you need to learn some respect."
Mallory's hands began to shake, her body vibrating with energy. She crossed her arms, tucking in her hands. She gnawed on her lip, banked anger in her expression, all of it directed at the guy who was hassling me.
She wanted to kick his ass.
She wasn't the only one.
"I know plenty about respect," I said. "But really, we need to go."
"Who the f**k do you think you are? Do you know what we just did?" He gestured back toward the column of smoke rising behind us. "We brought a building down. They think they're powerful? The vampires? Fuck them. Fuck them. Clean Chicago!" he yelled out, raising his arms to gather more of the rioters around him - and around us. They came with their weapons and began to surround us, drumming them on the Volvo to the beat of their own hate-filled symphony.
"You ready to go now?" asked the hateful one, the man who'd started the drama.
He slammed his hockey stick down on the hood, leaving a two-foot-long dent in her otherwise unmarred steel.
"What the hell!" I said, my own emotions breaking through the faux-human barrier I'd erected. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep from throttling him, from attacking humans in the middle of a street surrounded by witnesses, and no matter the justification. "That's my car!"
"Yeah? What the f**k are you going to do about it?" He hit the windshield, a crack spreading from side to side.
"Maybe it's not her you need to worry about."
We both looked at Mallory, who'd spoken those ominous words. She'd pulled off her knitted cap, and the tendrils of blue hair that had escaped her braid floated around her face in the cloud of magic. That cloud wasn't visible, but I could feel it, as though I were standing inches away from high-voltage wires.
"You got something to say about it, blue hair?"
"Mallory," I warned, but she was staring at him, giving him a look you might have expected from a genius to the man who'd just asked the world's stupidest question.
"As a matter of fact," she said, "I do."
She blinked . . . and so did a streetlight across the street. It flashed and crackled with light, loudly enough to make even the fearless rioters flinch. Another second of staring, and the light exploded - sending a shower of green and orange sparks into the air. Chaos erupted, and we took full advantage.
I tossed her the keys. "Get in the car!" I yelled out, and as she unlocked her door and climbed in, I used my door like a blunt object, slamming it against the guy's knees until he crumpled to the ground.
My predatory senses now on full alert, I heard the whip of a bat behind me and ducked just in time. But it was already moving, and it smashed right through the driver's side window.
"Damn it, I just washed the road salt off this thing," I gritted out, grabbing the middle of the bat and thrusting it backward into the gut of the woman who'd tried to take my head off.
The woman grunted and fell to her knees. I dropped the bat, climbed into the car, started it up, and gunned it. Most of the mob dropped away to avoid getting run over; some were braver and made a run at us, one final attempt at violence. I put the accelerator to the floor to gain speed and hightailed it down Division past another set of screaming police cruisers.
We'd gotten away. But what were we heading into?
Chapter Four
SWEET AND LOW DOWN
The car was freezing. The driver's side window was gone, and the windshield, while still in place, was marred by a web of cracks. Fortunately, Little Red wasn't far away. The bar was located on a corner in Ukrainian Village, which was only a hop and a skip - and in this case, a freezing car ride - away from Wicker Park.
When I'd put a few blocks between us and the riot, I glanced over at Mallory. Her knit cap was in place once again, and her arms were crossed, hands tucked into her sides. She'd banked her magic again, only a whisper of energy flowing around her, and all of it melancholy.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded but didn't speak.
"You only used it for a second," I said, assuming she was upset because she'd used her power.
"I used it to damage property in front of humans. They're not even supposed to know sorcerers exist, much less see me threaten them."
Sorcerers were among the last of the supernaturals still unknown to humans.
"You were protecting me," I pointed out. "And it's not like you shot a lightning bolt into the streetlight. They probably think it was a coincidence."
Mallory sighed and rubbed her temples. "Maybe they do, maybe they don't. Either way, I'm not sure Gabriel will care. I broke. That's what it comes down to. I broke, and he'll know it."
"And you have to tell him?"
She gave me a flat look. "You want me to try to hide something from the Apex predator of the North American Central Pack? He's a werewolf, for God's sake. He could sniff out the lie, even if I didn't tell him, no pun intended."
"I'm sorry, Mal. But thanks for sticking up for me. And for the car."
"Don't thank me for that. It's not exactly in one piece." Mallory leaned forward and looked through the cracked window at the dented hood of the car. "The ass**les took their toll."
"Assholes often do."
"That's a Billboard Top Forty song waiting to happen."
"Sung to the tune of 'There'll Be Sad Songs,'" I suggested, then offered up a lyric. "'There'll be ass**les, to make you cry.'"
"'Assholes often dooo,'" Mallory sang. "You're right. That's not bad." She sighed and pulled up her knees, resting her forehead on them. "My life sucks."
"It sucks because you're trying to do the right thing, but the result isn't showing it. You're at the stage where good intentions meet crappy abilities. Welcome to my first eleven months as a vampire."
"You've only been a vampire for ten months."
"My point exactly."
She chuckled a bit, which had been my motive.
"It gets easier," I said.
"You didn't have to adjust under the watchful eye of Gabriel Keene."
"You're right. I only had to adjust under the watchful eye of Ethan Sullivan. That was an utter cakewalk."
"You're really going to try to outdo me on this one?"
"You're the one who coined the term 'Darth Sullivan,'" I reminded her. "Besides, I wouldn't have let you slide a year ago, before you got your magic. I figure I probably shouldn't let you slide now."