Wild Things

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.”