I felt the footsteps before I heard them, shudders across the roof. Ethan moved into my vision first, gaze searching frantically. Mallory and Catcher appeared behind him.
“The dragon is bound,” I said, “and I survived.” But my head was still spinning.
“Merit,” Mallory said, falling to her knees beside me. “You’re glowing.”
“Looks like you got a good dose of magic,” Catcher said, running a hand along my arm. “But I don’t see any lasting damage.” He looked back at the sword, and a grin pierced the fear on his face. “And there’s a helluva lot of magic in that sword.”
“Yeah. There’s a dragon in there. And I feel . . . kind of purple.” I looked up at Mallory, then Ethan. “Is that a thing? Feeling kind of purple?”
She smiled, pushed hair from my face. “It absolutely is a thing, you crazy vampire.”
“My crazy vampire,” Ethan said, and scooped me into his arms. “Who I very well may handcuff permanently to the House.”
“Not leaving anytime soon,” I said, and dropped my head to his shoulder. “Glad you found me. I got the bad guy.”
“So you did,” he said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. “For now, be still.”
He’d said his magic words, and the lights went out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CRAVING
Winters in the Midwest were fearsome things, and summers often weren’t much better. But early fall, with clear skies and temperatures as crisp as autumn apples, was undeniably beautiful.
Two weeks after the dragon’s demise, when the wounded had been attended to and the city had begun to right itself again, we enjoyed that gorgeous autumn weather from the stage at Pritzker Pavilion—the place where we’d first heard the Egregore speak—while thousands of Chicagoans looked on.
Microphone in hand, Mayor Kowalcyzk stood in jeans, boots, and a windbreaker, her power suit abandoned for clothes better suited for walking Chicago’s broken streets and helping pick up the scattered pieces.
We stood behind her—vampires of Cadogan House, my grandfather and his staff, Mallory, CPD officers, and the men and women who’d served at Soldier Field.
“Not once,” the mayor said, “but twice, have supernaturals saved this city in clear and obvious ways, and at great cost to themselves and their loved ones. And at the head of that effort were the staff of the Ombudsman’s office, the vampires of Cadogan House, and sorcerer Mallory Carmichael. And those are only the efforts of which we are aware. How many more times have they acted in the dark of night, in the quiet, when we weren’t aware? Or when we didn’t believe them?”
She paused, hands at the edges of the podium, gaze downcast and contemplative. “Like you, I’ve had doubts and concerns. Supernaturals have wreaked havoc upon this city. But supernaturals have saved us, too.” She glanced at Ethan. “We owe those supernaturals a debt of gratitude. And to ensure that, in the future, we pay attention to their advice and their warnings, I am pleased to announce the Ombudsman’s office is hereby established as a permanent department of the city of Chicago.”
She walked back to my grandfather, offered her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Merit.”
He nodded gravely, well aware of the responsibility she’d placed on his shoulders. “You’re welcome, Madam Mayor.”
She shook Jeff’s hand, then Catcher’s, then returned to face the crowd. “Let’s hear it for the Chicagoland Vampires!” she said, and led the crowd in a roaring round of applause.
I looked at Ethan, saw the pride and contentment in his face. And beneath that, hope. He’d shepherded his vampires through many storms in his time as Master, and undoubtedly would again. But for now, there was peace, and there was acceptance. Both had been a long time coming.
Ethan looked at me and smiled. We did good, Sentinel.
I nodded back. We did good.
When the crowd finally died down, Kowalcyzk lifted the microphone again.