Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires 12)
“Nope, nope,” she said, moving to bar the door with arms outstretched. “You have company upstairs.”
I frowned at her. “Company? Who?”
“A very pissed-off sorceress.”
Damn. “Paige? Because of the alchemy?”
“Paige is in the library. It’s Mallory.”
“Mallory?” I checked my watch. It was late, and I didn’t have any idea why Mallory might be pissed off.
“And before you ask,” Lindsey said, “no, I don’t know what she wants, even with my wicked psychic powers.” She released one of her arms, used it to shoo me. “Go upstairs, talk to her, and get her to knock off the bad juju. She’s magically funking up the joint.”
I wanted to argue but decided the fastest way to figure out what was up with Mallory was to actually go upstairs and ask her. Still, I felt a low sense of dread. I didn’t know anything I’d done to piss her off, which raised other issues—did it have something to do with the shifters? My grandfather? Dark magic?
I hustled up the stairs, glanced around the foyer, saw no one but the supplicants in the foyer and a vampire at the desk.
The assault came from behind me. She popped out of the woodwork like a pixie, began slapping at me with fluttering, butterfly hands.
“Ow! What the hell, Mallory?” For a petite woman with plenty of magic at her disposal, she slapped pretty hard.
“Biggest thing to happen in either of our damn lives and you didn’t even tell me!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Gabriel’s prophecy,” she said in a fierce, growling whisper.
I stopped, stared at her.
There weren’t many who knew about it, and I hadn’t told anyone other than Ethan, for obvious reasons, and Lindsey, and because she’d mostly guessed it.
“How did you—”
She crossed her arms. “Gabriel’s angry at Ethan. I guess he let it slip to Jeff, and Jeff told me.”
Supernaturals could not keep secrets to save their lives. “Does my grandfather know?”
“No. Jeff didn’t even mean to tell me, and he swore me to secrecy.”
I rubbed my temples, which were beginning to ache from the weight of too much drama. Or Mallory’s psychic funk.
“Let’s go for a walk outside,” I said.
But Mallory just kept staring at me, and her eyes began to fill. “You didn’t tell me.”
Crap, I thought, and took her arm much more gently than she’d have taken mine.
“Let’s go outside,” I said, heading off another round of bruises, “and I’ll tell you everything.”
• • •
I walked her through the House and the cafeteria, which was filled with chattering vampires and the scents of meat and chilies. It was Tex-Mex night, a House favorite. Thankfully, the food kept their attention as we walked past.
I led Mallory outside to the House’s enormous pool, a beautiful rectangle of sparkling water. I sat down on the concrete that surrounded it. Mallory sat in front of me, cross-legged.
She put a hand on her chest. “Is it because of the magic? Because you don’t trust me? Because you don’t want me to know that you’re trying to get pregnant?”
The fear in her eyes was obvious.