Wild Things

Chapter Eleven LOOK AT LITTLE SISTER

We were dressed the next evening and preparing to emerge from the bedroom when our phones rang simultaneously. I reached for mine, but Ethan found his first.

“Sullivan,” he said, answering it through the speakerphone.

“It’s Luc. Turn on the television. NBC affiliate. Now.”

Dread ran cold along my spine like a spill of ice water.

We ran for the door, pulled it open, found Mallory on the couch, yawning as she flipped through a magazine. Catcher was gone, but there was shuffling in the kitchen.

Ethan reached the television first, switched it on, and found the channel.

“What’s the emergency?” Mallory asked.

A newscaster’s solemn voice began to ring through the air, drawing my attention back to the television. And there on the screen was Scott Grey, his lip bruised and bleeding, one eye swollen, his arm in a make-do sling. He limped as he walked, two men in black suits escorting him from the police station. The man on his left whispered to him, close and confidential.

“Catcher,” Mallory said, the same look of mortification in her eyes, “you need to see this.”

Catcher emerged from the kitchen, a mug in hand and wearing only boxers. He nodded at me and Ethan, then fixed his eyes on the screen.

“Scott Grey, the quote-unquote Master of Chicago’s Grey House of vampires, was led away from the precinct tonight by his lawyers after a day of intense questioning. Police spokesmen say they spoke with Grey about the recent murders and riots that have racked the city.”

“Bastards,” Ethan gritted out with obvious temper, needles of magic spilling into the air. “They’ve beaten him like he’s a goddamned animal.”

“Police say Grey is not a suspect in those events, but he may have information which could lead to the arrest of those suspected. John Haymer has more live from the precinct steps.”

The shot switched to a young man with dark skin, sharp gray eyes, and a very serious expression. “Thank you, Linda. I’m here with Terry Fowler, a resident of Hyde Park, with commentary.”

Haymer tipped a black microphone toward Fowler, a man with bony shoulders and a gleaming pate.

“It’s about time,” Fowler said, with a thick Chicago accent and a waggling finger, “that the mayor took some action on the hooligans that are running loose in our streets.”

“Those hooligans,” Ethan bit out, “are not vampires.”

“And what do you think about the charges the city used inappropriate force against Mr. Grey?”

“Inappropriate force? He’s a predator. They all are. Rioting, plucking victims here and there, probably grab you right off the street if they had a mind to. ’Bout damn time, if you ask me.” He smiled with gusto at the camera, clearly happy about his forty seconds of fame.

There would never be a moment’s peace, I realized. Not as long as human civilization had its own problems, not when vampires made such an easy target. Not when blaming us was easier than addressing deeply rooted social ills.

This was Celina’s doing, the result of her outing vampires, the mess she’d made by announcing their existence to the public. It had been more than a year since she’d made the decision, held a press conference, brought vampires into a light they hadn’t asked for. And now we were paying the price. This wasn’t the age of the Inquisition or the Salem witch trials, but it was proving to be different only by mechanism and degree. Technology didn’t make humans less blind; it only made it easier for hate and ignorance to spread.

“The mayor maintains the city’s supernaturals are little better than domestic terrorists. What are your thoughts?”

“They’re violent,” Fowler said. “Creating chaos. Making good people afraid to go out at night. Isn’t that terrorism? She should put ’em away or take ’em out.”

“You mean the death penalty?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah. If it’s good enough for humans, ain’t it good enough for vampires?”

My blood chilled. His voice stayed casual, like it was nothing at all to suggest our deaths.

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler,” said the reporter, looking straight into the camera again. “I’ve spoken with a number of individuals here outside the precinct. Although not all of them support the mayor’s actions, it’s clear they are concerned about the presence of vampires in their community.”

The shot switched back to the studio, where the anchor, every strand of platinum blond hair in place, nodded. “Thank you, John, for that report. The mayor has not issued a statement respecting Mr. Grey’s release. The mayor also has not yet identified a replacement for the head of the Office of Human Liaisons, who was arrested a few days ago for his role in the riots that have racked the city this week.”

The camera shifted to the man who sat beside her, a brunette with thick eyebrows and a long, straight nose. “Thank you, Patrice. And now to sports.”

Ethan flicked off the television.

“They actually think we’re threats to the public welfare?” I asked.

“The mayor thinks I’m a threat to the public welfare,” Ethan said. “And Scott is the bait they’re using. And they’re using him, well and thoroughly, after all we’ve done for the city. The times we’ve pulled it back from the brink. Assimilation didn’t work. Living in public doesn’t work. I’m not sure what our remaining options might be.”

“Disappearing,” Catcher said. “Just like the elves.” He glanced at me. “Have you heard from Jonah?”

“I haven’t even had time to look.” I went back to the bedroom and grabbed my phone, found three missed calls from Jonah, and sent a message.

WE’RE WATCHING THE REPORTS, I sent. I’M SORRY GREY HAS GOTTEN DRAGGED INTO THIS.

He didn’t immediately respond, so I kept the phone in my hand, went back to the living room, and wished him strength.

Ethan glanced back at me, the line of worry between his eyes. “I can’t let them be punished on my behalf. Seeking shelter here to avoid a fight with the CPD was one thing. But others being targeted in my stead is something completely different. This isn’t Scott’s fault.”

“It’s not his fault,” I agreed. “But he was at the House when Monmonth was killed. They’d have seen that on video.” When rioters firebombed Grey House, we sheltered the Grey House vampires, a direct violation of the GP’s blacklist. Monmonth had come to Cadogan House to enforce it, to force Scott and the rest out of their sanctuary, when he attacked.

“He’s a witness,” Catcher said, “because you did him a favor and let him into your House. But it hardly matters. Whether or not you’re there wouldn’t matter. If she thinks she can beat a witness with impunity, there’s no act on your part that would stop her.”

“And it would be dangerous,” Mallory said, fear in her eyes. “She’s willing to do all this when you clearly acted in self-defense. She’s not operating within the bounds of the law.”

“I’m not sure that matters to her,” Ethan said, putting his hands on his hips. “The law applies to humans, which we are not. I’m sure she has advisers, lawyers on staff who are promising her that she’s doing nothing illegal, nothing that’s not sanctioned by vague and antiquated laws. Add in her argument that we’re domestic terrorists, and she has a license to abuse her powers. Goddamn her.” Furious magic buzzed around Ethan, filled the room. “Goddamn her and her narcissism.”

My phone buzzed; it was Jonah again.

WE’RE MANAGING, he said. RG HELPING. LAWYERS TALKING TO SCOTT. ALL GUARD CAPTAINS COMMO’ING.

That was something, at least. The Houses would never be as strong apart as they would be together.

But Jonah had one more message to share: BEWARE—KOWALCYZK MEANS TO MAKE AN EXAMPLE OF ETHAN.

I could face down a harpy or an elf. But the thought of Ethan in trouble curled my stomach with fear.

“Ethan,” I said, passing the phone to him when he glanced back at me.

“What am I supposed to do?” he slowly asked, handing it back. “Sit here twiddling my goddamn thumbs while they take the punishment she means to give me?”

“You’ll stay here,” Catcher said, “and keep the situation from getting worse. Scott has lawyers, and he’s immortal just like you. And frankly, it’s time the other Houses get beat up instead of Cadogan.”

When Ethan opened his mouth to argue—probably with cursing—Catcher lifted his hands. “Stop. Just wait a minute. Let me play the asshole, and you can be pissed at me if you want. We go back a long way, Ethan. You know I don’t bullshit you. Not on purpose anyway,” he said, slanting a glance at Mallory. “For once, take my advice—let the others do the heavy lifting. If you go back, she’ll crucify you. That won’t do you, Merit, Malik, or anyone else any good. So Scott got a little bruised; he’ll heal. This is not the first time or the last time authorities in Chicago have roughed up a witness or a suspect. Christ, how many times have you both been injured?”

He sucked in air, let it out again, looked between us. “What’s happening in Chicago isn’t great. But you knew when you came here that ‘not great’ was a pretty strong possibility. And in the meantime, an entirely new crisis has dropped into your life. Let’s deal with that crisis first, before we run back to the arms of the other one.”

The room went silent for a moment with the weight of Catcher’s words.

“Been saving up that monologue for a while, have you?” Ethan asked, a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth.

Catcher humphed. “Longer than I should have. We all have improvements to make.” He looked at Mallory. “I’m trying to make mine.”

I caught Mallory swiping tears from under her eyes, love flooding between them. I looked back at Ethan, and the look he gave me was similarly deep. And surprising, as it often was. The fact that this four-hundred-year-old immortal, this Master of vampires and men, needed me was still occasionally bewildering. And awesome.

“Sentinel?” Ethan asked.

“You stay,” I agreed. “Let our people do their thing in Chicago. And in the meantime, we try to fix what’s broken here.” I stepped forward and took his hands, knowing now the time was right. “We have to find the person who’s attacking supernaturals. Because if we don’t finish this now, there’s a pretty good chance the Houses will be on their radar.”

He pressed a kiss to my brow. “You’re wise beyond your years.” He glanced at Catcher and Mallory. “I wasn’t certain I would ever have an opportunity to say this—but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re part of the team again.”

Mallory grinned, a smile breaking like sunrise across her classically pretty face, now framed by blue waves.

“I’m glad you stopped being a pain in my ass,” Catcher said.

“Well,” Mallory said, pulling back her hair. “Now that we’re temporarily hunky-dory, maybe we should get some work done.”

“And coffee,” Catcher said, walking back to the kitchen.

“You might also want to find some pants,” I helpfully added.

Considering the one-finger gesture he offered, he didn’t much appreciate the suggestion.

• • •

Luc agreed with our plan, as did Ethan’s lawyers, who assured him Scott was fine and would have a glorious civil suit against Mayor Kowalcyzk when the time came. The lawyers had very particular concerns about Ethan’s welfare should he fall into Kowalcyzk’s hands, and weren’t willing to turn him over. In the meantime, they promised to check with their contacts in Washington, alert the Justice Department to the mayor’s acts, and, in the interest of clearing the air, invite the Homeland Security folks to come to Chicago and interview Ethan themselves.

I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that course of action—it seemed to me like inviting the wolves into the henhouse—but we didn’t have to worry about it now. We had larger concerns.

Ethan directed Luc to give Grey House anything they needed and asked Malik to make his own diplomatic phone call. We waited while he made the communication and reported back that Scott, too, agreed that Ethan should stay away.

“According to Scott,” Malik said, calling back from the Ops Room, “Kowalcyzk is on the hunt.”

“Does she know where I am?” Ethan asked as we sat together on the couch, mugs of coffee Catcher had distributed in hand.

“She does. Her goon squad told Scott she received an anonymous tip.”

Ethan glanced at me, eyebrow arched. “Any bets on Michael Breckenridge?”

“He’s the most likely candidate,” I agreed. “But every shifter out there knows we’re here.”

“She hasn’t moved on the information,” Ethan said. “At least not directly. Pulling in Scott reads to me like a ploy. As we predicted, she doesn’t want to move on the Brecks, so she’s trying to lure me back to Chicago.”

“If she had any cause at all, she wouldn’t need the lure,” Malik said. “She’d head down there and arrest you. But she doesn’t have evidence of anything but self-defense, which isn’t enough to arrest you in Chicago, much less cross jurisdictional bounds and convince the officers of Loring Park to go up against the city’s biggest taxpayer.”

“Still,” Ethan said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the game playing, and I certainly don’t like her using others to get to me. She knows she has no case. Why not drop it?”

“Because riots,” Luc said blandly. “The city’s still reeling, and her popularity is in the toilet. She’s got to come across as being hard on crime—and the perceived root of that crime—if she wants to survive a real election. Seth Tate being thrown out of office was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I imagine she knows it.”

“And so we are the playthings of the fates once again,” Ethan quietly said. “But we carry on and nobly endure. Thank you for the reports,” he added, then glanced at me. “Oh, and Merit’s grandfather?”

“Doing well,” Luc said. “They’re working on managing his pain, getting him prepped for rehab. Long road ahead, but his spirits are good. I debated what to tell him about your current shenanigans but opted for the truth.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that,” I said. “What did he say?”

“He was surprised—said he didn’t know of any conflicts between the Pack and other groups. Was stunned about the harpies and the elves.”

“Did you tell him about my heroism? Laud my bravery? Extol my fighting virtues?”

“I told him you fainted at the first sight of blood.”

“That would be an obvious stretch considering the fangs.”

“He knows you did well,” Luc assured. “Oh, and your father called, Merit. He wanted to offer whatever assistance he could in the troubles facing the House.”

“How . . . noble,” Ethan said, flicking me a glance. I simply rolled my eyes. My father might very well have wanted, on some level, to help the House. But that desire would have been significantly dwarfed by the financial and political hay he thought he could make of it. He was an opportunist, and he’d already expressed an interest in becoming a financial sponsor of Cadogan House. There was no denying his power or money—being the city’s chief real estate mogul had its advantages—but the cost of cashing in that chit would be much too great. And I already owed favors to too many bloodsuckers.

“I thought you’d think so,” Luc said. “We’ll keep you apprised of any developments.”

“Do that,” Ethan requested, and ended the call. He looked at me, humor in his eyes. “If I had a dollar for every time your father sought to buy his way into our favor—”

“Then you’d be as rich as my father,” I said with a smile.

“Just so,” Ethan agreed, then nodded at the door. “Let’s get out there and see what the night brings.”

• • •

The guards were gone when we opened the door, apparently satisfied that we weren’t going to run and that we could care for ourselves now that the sun was down again. We walked to the house, found the front part of the house completely empty of shifters or staff.

Ethan put his hands on his hips, surveying the empty parlor and kitchen, then glanced back at us, brow raised. “Thoughts?”

I could sense the flow of magic from other parts of the house, moving toward us. “Follow the magic,” I said, pointing to the hallway.

I led the way, the others falling into step behind me. The magic grew in intensity as we neared the eastern wing of the house.

“Ballroom,” I murmured, pointing to the double doors up ahead. One door was closed, the other open a few inches. I moved toward it to peek inside.

Gabriel, wearing a long-sleeved Henley-style shirt and jeans, stood at one end of the ballroom, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He stood alone, the rest of the Pack standing before him, watching him speak. I didn’t see any other Keenes but assumed they were part of the crowd. Their mood was grim, the magic strong but banked, like a thousand hummingbirds in place, but wings in motion, waiting for the call to move.

I pushed open the door just wide enough so we could slip inside. We lined up in the back, where Damien offered a mirthless smile.

“Normally,” Gabriel said, looking across the members of his Pack, “we would cast our votes. You would speak, and as Apex of the Pack, I would be your voice.”

He looked down for a moment, considering, then up again. “Tonight, I am also the words. Lupercalia is hereby canceled.”

That was the call to arms they needed.

Sound erupted—shifters hissing and screaming out, accusing Gabe of cowardice, of giving in to intimidation, of lacking certain portions of the male genitalia. Magic filled the air: angry, peppery, biting. No longer banked, but swirling around the room like whirlpools and eddies in a river.

Considering what he’d faced down this week, they undoubtedly knew there was no basis to call the Apex a coward. But this wasn’t about truth. This was about anger and frustration. The Pack had been wronged by someone—and they were taking it out on Gabriel.

He let them rant for a full minute, his expression blank, his shoulders square. He stared ahead as if their jeers couldn’t touch him, were utterly meaningless, and couldn’t change his mind. His body language told the tale: The decision had been made, and anyone with a mind to the contrary could go fuck themselves.

It took me a moment to realize his play, to figure out why Gabriel Keene, usually so attuned to what the Pack did and did not want, was suddenly playing dictator.

He was giving them an excuse.

They were shifters—their senses of self built upon the notion that they were braver than everyone else, with fuck-it attitudes and the power to back up the attitudes with action. If they’d voted to cancel Lupercalia, they’d have taken another psychic blow. Not just two showdowns, but three, the last a clear defeat. Gabe didn’t want them to feel they’d taken an easy out, given in to fear. By making the decision, by being dictatorial, he put the weight of that decision on himself and himself alone.

It was, to them, an act of cowardice.

It was, in fact, the ultimate bravery. He would sacrifice himself for the good of the Pack, for their safety and longevity. But he would do it with cost.

He glanced at Berna, and she whistled, quieting the crowd immediately. I really needed to learn how to do that.

“I’m the Apex of this Pack,” he said. “If any of you want to challenge me for that position, you know where I’ll be. Until that time, the decision stands.” With that, he turned and walked forward, the crowd dividing to let him through. He walked toward the door, a slant of his eyes the only indication that he’d seen us. If the rest of his family had been there, they didn’t follow him now. Maybe this was part of his larger plan—to let the Pack have its moment to vent, and keep them out of the argument.

“Difficult to be the Master of any house?” I quietly murmured to Ethan.

“Indeed, Sentinel. One quickly learns the meaning of sacrifice.” He glanced at the crowd, still unsure whether it should revolt or walk away and let the battle lie. “And the costs of it.”

With Gabriel gone, we looked at each other, not entirely sure where to go. Should we follow Gabriel out of the room or stay here and keep watch?

“We all know this is bullshit,” said one of the shifters—a hard-bitten, meaty man with long, braided hair that glinted with age. He wore an NAC jacket, with LETHAL stitched onto the front, and his eyes looked bloodshot and haggard.

“What have we become? Pussies? Humans? Canceling a party because things might get rough? We do not cancel Lup. The entire point of fucking Lup is to show off our cojones.” He grabbed his crotch, smiled at the crowd. I presume he meant to show himself a virile shifter, but he only succeeded, at least in my mind, in looking like an entirely different kind of predator.

“What a moron,” Damien whispered, his voice mild and faintly disgusted, which raised him even more in my estimation.

“And this harpy and elf bullshit? You know who attacks us when we’re strong? Nobody. We were attacked because Keene can’t hold our shit together. His old man was a fucking shifter. A fucking wolf. And now? We’re cavorting with vampires, with sorcerers. The Packs don’t cavort! We are shifters!” He beat a fist against his chest. “We eat. We ride. We fuck. We fight.”

The magic in the crowd began to rise, buzzing louder. He was ramping them up, riling them up, preparing them for something.

Ethan firmly believed we needed the Pack as allies in this volatile time, but frankly I couldn’t think of a group more volatile than shifters. We shifted from allies to enemies in the span of days, and sometimes over the course of a single day. They couldn’t seem to make their mind up about us, and their fair-weather friendship was beginning to grate on me.

Lethal scanned the crowd, locked his gaze on Mallory.

“And then there’s the fucking sorcerers,” he said. “Was Gabe a pussy before he started playing with girls and their magic? Would he send us all home like whelps, tails between our legs? The elves show their faces, kidnap two of our own, and we don’t fight them? We don’t stand and deliver?” He barked out a laugh. “That’s bullshit. Part of that hippie nonsense he’s always spouting. ‘We’re all part of the universe,’” he said in a mocking voice. “She’s making him soft.”

Gabriel did have a holistic view of shifters, seeing the Pack as a crucial part of the natural world. It wasn’t unlike the sorcerers’ belief that they funneled magic through their bodies, although he hadn’t voiced it that way. Regardless, he’d been talking about nature before Mallory went bad, and certainly before he became her tutor.

But Lethal wouldn’t have cared about that. He was pissed and looking for an excuse to do some damage. And as he stared down at Mallory, a disturbing glint in his eyes, it seemed clear whom he’d picked as a target.

He began to stalk toward us, the rest of the shifters moving out of his way just as they had when Gabriel passed. I wasn’t impressed that they stood by while a bully attempted to cower a guest, especially someone he could easily overpower—at least in terms of pure physicality.

Wordlessly, Ethan and I moved together and formed a barrier around Mallory and Catcher. Damien did the same.

My heart began to race with the possibility of a fight, and I let my irritation shine in my eyes.

Lethal emerged through the crowd in front of us, maybe ten feet away. The shifters closest to us—all in NAC jackets and with the look of bikers who’d been riding hard for a few days—looked between us, not entirely sure which side they’d bet on, but happy to see some action either way.

I’d been a victim yesterday; I preferred to be a perp today.

I stepped in front of all of them, flipped off the thumb guard on my katana, and lifted the handle just a bit, letting them know that I’d be happy to roll if that’s how they wanted to play it.

“Did you need something?” I asked.

But it wasn’t a big, burly shifter who wanted to talk.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Emma, Tanya’s petite sister, stepped out of the crowd on the other side of the room, drawing everyone’s attention. She looked the opposite of Lethal in nearly every way—petite and fragile, wearing a simple cotton top and jeans, her eyes wide and face flushed with anger.

“We are facing crises—several, at once—and the only thing you can think to do is blame other supernaturals for our issues?”

There were mumbles in the crowd.

Any pretense of shyness was gone now. However quiet she might have seemed, she’d found her voice.

She looked at Lethal and made a sarcastic noise. “You want to challenge Gabriel? Then do it, you cowardly asshole. Don’t stand up in here and cause trouble for the rest of us, and for these people, who’ve done nothing but try to help. I’m pretty sure you spent yesterday sleeping off a hangover.”

The crowd snorted with laughter. I bit back a grin, deciding conclusively that I liked Emma. I also cast a glance at Damien, saw pride shine in his eyes.

But Lethal wanted his bit of infamy, and he wasn’t about to give that up to Emma. “And who are you to talk about it? Are you even old enough to drink?”

Emma’s expression didn’t change, but she did put her hands on her hips. “Plenty. And I bet I can hold my liquor better than you can, Mervin.”

It wasn’t a very shiftery name, which was probably why Mervin preferred to go by “Lethal.” But he wasn’t happy about Emma pointing that out. His face went beet red.

“You think your sister’s being married to a Keene’s gonna save you? You think I won’t hit you because you’re one of them? Or because you’re a girl?”

“No, I think you won’t hit me because you’re a bully who talks a lot and doesn’t do shit about it.”

“Come over here and say that to my face.”

Her courage bobbled, and for a moment there was nothing but fear in her face. But she pushed it back, squared her shoulders, and met his gaze. And then she moved toward us, hands fisted at her sides as if courage were a bird and if she didn’t hold tight enough it would fly away and out of sight.

She stopped a few feet from him. Together, we formed a triangle of dissension. Or a game of rock, paper, vampires.

Ethan? I silently whispered, thinking she looked small and frail staring down Lethal and his buddies. But I didn’t want to step forward if that would weaken her position.

This is her fight, he confirmed.

“All right,” Lethal said. “You wanna play?” He walked forward, shoved her.

I saw Damien jerk beside me, his eyes lined with concern, but before he could even think about moving, Emma moved.

He must have had a foot in height and eighty pounds on her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Emma reached out, grabbed one of his wrists to hold him, then rotated her other elbow and brought it hard against the side of his head. She released him, and he stumbled backward.

“Fucking bitch,” he murmured, rotating his jaw, setting himself, and lunging again.

He came at her like a bull, head down and forward, apparently intent on tackling her to the ground. But she was lighter, faster, more spritely. She turned to the side, neatly dodging his dive, and lifted a knee to catch him in the gut.

Magic rose in the room again, and the rest of the shifters began shuffling, obviously eager to join the fun.

The shifter in front of me—a tall woman with a long blond braid—grinned wolfishly. She wore the same leather jacket as the others, and ROSIE was embroidered into the front.

I dipped my chin, pursed my lips, and grinned at her. “Shall we, Rosie?”

The silver in my eyes spooked her; she swallowed hard and clenched her fingers, clearly rethinking her plan.

A boom on the other side of the room drew our attention away.

Lethal hit the hardwood floor on his back, then slid ten feet backward. His eyes were closed.

We looked at Emma, who shook her right hand, the knuckles split and dotted with blood. A hank of brown fair fell over her eyes, and she blew it up and out of her face.

I was in absolute awe, and a little bit in love.

Emma looked around at the crowd. “We’ve lost four people, have one missing, and you still want to fight? How stupid and stubborn do you have to be to think going forward with Lup is a good idea? So we haven’t finished it this year. Who cares? Since when are we defined by whether or not we have a party?”

“Lup isn’t just a party!” called a smart-ass from somewhere in the crowd.

“It’s not just,” she agreed. “And neither are we. We are the shifters of the North American Central Pack. And we’ve chosen Gabriel Keene to lead us. Until one of you has teeth enough to step forward and take it from him, then shut the hell up about it.”

Without another word, she stepped forward and marched out of the room with a dignified tilt to her chin.

“I really like her,” Ethan murmured.

“I seriously want to be her best friend,” Mallory said, glancing at me. “No offense.”

I smiled at her. “I thought the exact same thing.”

Curious, I glanced at Damien. By the avaricious glint in his eyes, I guessed Damien liked her, too.

Damien lifted his head, glanced around the room, daring the shifters to step forward. “I think we’re done here.”

Magic hovered for a moment but dissipated, and shifters began filing out of the room.

“Crisis number three?” I wondered, as we watched them leave.

Catcher laughed mirthlessly. “If we start counting crises, we won’t have time to do anything else.”

And thus was the state of supernaturals in Chicago.