Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires #1) - Page 14

LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD.

SO IS THE CITY OF CHICAGO.

The next evening, I woke pepared for battle. But not with a serial killer. Not with warring nymphs or Rogue vampires. Not even with the Master I avoided.

This time, I prepared for Helen. I hadn't handled our first meeting well, which maybe wasn't so unusual given the nature of it – the cold, hard reality she'd been burdened with preparing me. But I was losing my house, Mallory's house, to Catcher and his roaming hands. I needed a place to crash. It was time to ask about moving into Cadogan.

Although I wasn't thrilled with that choice, the alternatives didn't seem much better. I couldn't move in with my parents. I didn't think they'd allow it, and dealing with my father was soul-sucking enough from a ZIP code away.

Getting my own place wasn't a viable option, either. My Cadogan stipend was nice, but it wasn't enough to cover rent in Chicago without a roommate. I wasn't ready for the burbs, and I certainly didn't want to bring my supernatural drama to some new roommate's door. And unless I lived in Hyde Park, having my own place didn't solve the time problem – the fact that I'd still have travel time between me and a Cadogan crisis.

I could move in with my grandfather, and there was no question that he'd invite me in, but with me came my baggage – including being the near-victim of a serial killer, the recent recipient of a death threat, and the new guard for Cadogan House. Moving into Cadogan posed its own set of problems, its meddlesome Master key among them. But I'd never need to worry about troubling someone who couldn't handle it. If there was anything pleasant I could say about Ethan Sullivan, it was that he was equipped to deal with supernatural drama.

I hadn't, of course, informed Ethan that I was considering moving into the House. I imagined three possible responses to the news, none of which I was interested in experiencing.

At best, I figured I'd be offered cool approval that I'd finally reached the decision a proper Sentinel would have reached a week ago. At worst, I bet on vitriol, on his expressing serious concerns that I was going to spy on Cadogan or sabotage the House from the inside.

But most disturbing was the third possibility – that he'd ask me again to be his Consort. I was pretty sure we'd moved past that idea, the fact that we'd happily avoided each other for the last week evidence enough, but this boy was more stubborn than most.

So I planned to work through Helen, who, in her position as Initiate Liaison, also coordinated new vampires' moves into the House, and let word reach Ethan through channels. But working through Helen meant apologies. Big-time apologies, since the last time I'd seen her, I yelled at and insulted her, and prompted a sorceress to kick her out of our house. To fix things, I opted for a simple, classic strategy – bribery. I was going to buy my way into her good graces with a dozen pink-and-white birthday cupcakes. I'd repackaged them in a shiny pink bakery box, and I was ready to make the drop at her office as soon as I reached Cadogan.

But before I did that . . . I had my own business to attend to, namely in the form of a private vampire fashion show. After I'd showered, but before I'd slipped into the requisite Cadogan black, I slipped my birthday ensemble from its hangers and donned the leathers. The suit, such as it was, fit like a glove, like it had been molded for my body. My hair in its high ponytail, the sword in my hands, I looked pretty fierce. I looked like I was ready for serious vampire combat. That was patently untrue, of course, but it didn't make posing in front of the mirror any less fun.

I was still in front of the mirror, sword in hand, when my beeper began to vibrate. I jumped at the sound, thinking someone had walked in on the spectacle of my vampire dress-up. When I realized the source of the noise, I grabbed the beeper from the top of my bureau and scanned the screen: CADGN. BREACH. GREEN. 911.

Breach: Uninvited supernaturals on the premises.

Green: Ethan's code. He was in trouble, needed assistance, etc.

911: Quickly now, Sentinel.

There were footsteps in the hallway. Beeper in hand, I opened the bedroom door and peeked into the hall. Catcher, in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, walked toward me. I had to give him credit – he didn't so much as bat an eyelash at my ensemble.

"You got the page?"

I nodded. But before I could ask how he knew about it, he continued, "The meeting we discussed, with all the vamps? The one Sullivan needed to schedule? It's happening right now, and not by invitation."

"Shit," I said, moving my left hand to the handle of the katana, and ignoring for the moment the fact that he had this information before I did. "I need to change."

Catcher shook his head. "Today's the day you bluff," he said. "I'll get your car ready."

I stared at him. "Are you kidding? Ethan will shit if I show up dressed like this in front of other Cadogan vampires, much less other Houses."

Catcher shook his head. "You stand Sentinel, not Ethan. You do your job the way you do it. And if you're going to bluff your way into keeping Ethan safe, would you rather do it in leather or a suit and prissy heels? You need to show teeth today."

Because his words echoed my own thoughts, I didn't argue.

He offered me advice via cell phone the entire ride to Cadogan House: Look everyone in the eye. Keep my left hand on the handle of the sword, thumb at the guard, and only pull the right hand over if I needed to be seriously aggressive. Keep my body between Ethan and whatever pointy thing – be it blade or teeth – was threatening him. When Catcher started to repeat himself, I cut him off.

"Catcher, this isn't me. I'm not prepared for warfare. I was a grad student. But he gave me this job, presumably, after four hundred years of experience, because he thought I could bring something to the table, something he thought could trump my lack of training. I appreciate the advice, and I appreciate the training, but it's the eleventh hour, and if I haven't learned it by now, I'm not likely to learn it in the next five minutes." I swallowed, my chest tight. "I'll do what I can. It's been asked of me, and I agreed to stand Sentinel, and I'll do what I can."

I decided to confess the thought that had tickled the back of my mind, but hadn't yet voiced. That the vampire inside me had a mind of her own. That sometimes it felt like we hadn't merged, not truly, but rather like she lived inside me.

Maybe because it sounded ridiculous, I found it harder to vocalize than I'd imagined. "I think – I think – "

"What, Merit?"

"She feels kind of separate from me."

Silence, then: "She?"

He spoke the word as if it was a question, but I had the sense he knew exactly what I meant. "The vampire. My vampire. Me. I don't know. It's probably nothing."

Silence again, then: "Probably nothing."

Blocks passed, and then I was turning onto Woodlawn, cell phone still pinched between shoulder and ear.

"If you need to look threatening, can you silver your eyes? Pull down you fangs? On purpose, I mean?"

I hadn't tried, but imagined I'd learned enough in the last week about what silvered my eyes to be able to manufacture the effect. Method vampirism, as it was.

"I think so, yeah."

"Good. Good." I pulled the car up to the curb in front of Cadogan House. There were no guards at the gate. The House looked empty, and that foretold nothing good.

"Shit," I muttered and grabbed the door handle. "The House looks deserted."

"Merit, listen."

I paused, one hand on the door, the other wrapped around my cell phone.

"Cadogan House hasn't had a Sentinel in two centuries. You got the job because he believed in you. Do the job. Nothing more, nothing less."

I nodded, although he couldn't see it. "I'll be fine."

Or I wouldn't, I thought, as I threw the phone in the passenger seat, walked down the empty sidewalk, and tugged at the hem of the leather jacket I'd zipped over the midriff- baring bodice.

Either way, we'd find out soon enough.

The front door was partially ajar, the first floor empty of vampires. I heard rumblings upstairs and, with a hand on my sword, took the staircase. Luc stood on the landing, legs braced, arms crossed, a katana belted on his left side.

I gave him a nod, waited for him to look over my ensemble. When he'd taken me in, I asked, "Where are we?"

He inclined his head toward the ballroom, and we walked together toward it. His voice was all business. "Ethan tried to schedule a meeting about the murders. He invited representatives from Grey, Navarre. The meet was supposed to happen later tonight. Then the Rogues found out. Noah Beck – he's their rep – showed up half an hour ago."

A chunk of time had passed then, since the page. I did need to move into Cadogan House.

"They're pissed about not being included," he continued, his expression pulled tight, "about our existence being leaked – no, announced – to the press." Clearly Ethan wasn't the only one who doubted Celina's decision making in that regard.

We stopped in front of the closed ballroom doors, and I planted my hands on my hips, slid him a glance. "How many?"

"Twelve Rogues, maybe thirty vamps from Cadogan. Scott Grey and four of his people; they showed up early for the meet. Lindsey, Jules, and Kelley are in there, but they're hanging back."

I lifted brows. "You ever think the ratio of six guards to three hundred Cadogan vamps ain't quite right?"

"It's peacetime," he explained, irritation in his voice. "We hold too many swords, and we're showing animosity, risking war." He shrugged. "Too few, of course, and we risk a Rogue taking a shot at Ethan."

It took me a moment to realize he wasn't being metaphorical. "A shot? I thought vampires used blades?" I motioned to the katana at his waist, but he shook his head.

"That's House Canon, tradition. Rogues reject the system, reject the pretense, the rules. They'll have weapons. They've got their own Code, such as it is. They might have one blade visible, maybe more hidden. But they'll have guns – probably handguns, probably semiautomatic. Probably a forty-five. They're partial to the nineteen eleven."

I nodded, remembering the picture I'd seen in a Kimber catalog in the Ops Room. That was all I needed – stray bullets flying around the room during my first real fight.

"I can't defend shots," I told him, belatedly realizing the weapon I was expected to use in a gunfight was my body – between Ethan's and the racing bullets.

As if catching my concern, probably easy given the expression of sheer terror on my face, Luc offered, "Shots won't kill him, unless they let loose a spray. Just do what you can. And one more thing."

He paused so long I looked over, saw his brow furrowed.

"Your position," he said, before pausing again, "it's more political than ours. We're considered field soldiers, even me. Sentinel's still soldiering, but traditionally vamps see it as more of a strategic position. And that means more respect." He shrugged. "That's history, I suppose."

"Which means," I concluded, "I can get a little closer to him than you can. I'm less a declaration of war, more a show that the situation's being taken very, very seriously."

Luc nodded again, relief that I understood evident in his expression. "Exactly."

I blew out a slow breath, trying to assimilate this new information – which would have been helpful before the crisis – and not panic at the pressure. I stroked my thumb over the handle of the katana, prayed for calm. Two weeks into vampiredom and I was being asked to defend the House against a band of marauding unHoused vampires.

Lucky me.

Not that it mattered. I had a job, and while I panicked at the thought of actually doing that job, doing it was the only thing I could do. Enter the fray, take the step, and bluff like my life depended on it. Because it probably did.

I accepted the tiny earpiece Luc offered, slipped it into my ear. "Let's go."

When Luc nodded, I took a breath, put my hand on the door, and opened it.

There were fifty people in the ballroom, but even in the giant space, it seemed like a much larger swarm. Even the air seemed thick. It fairly prickled with bitter magic, with a flowing energy that called my vampire. I felt her shift, awaken, stretch, and wonder why the air felt barbed. My lashes shuddered, and I had to force my palm against the sword's handle until cording bit into my skin, to force her back, to keep my mind clear. But later, I promised her, she'd feed.

The vampires stood in a mass, backs to the door. I recognized the black-suited Cadogan vamps, but from the back, couldn't tell where anyone else, including Ethan, was standing. I glanced at Luc, mouthed, Where is he?

Kelley's voice sounded in my ear. "Nice of you to join us, Sentinel. Ethan's in front of the platform, facing the crowd. The Rogues are facing him, their backs to us, and the Cadogan vamps are in a circle around everyone. We're just trying to keep things calm."

I scanned the crowd, looking for an in, and saw Kelley's straight dark hair. She glanced back, slightly inclined her head at Luc and me, then turned back to the crowd.

I looked over the mass of bodies and tried to imagine where to go, where I could be close enough to see, to guard, but not so close that I, as Sentinel, escalated matters. The room was tense enough as it was, the vampires leaking energy as they dealt with the possibility that a murderer was among them.

I motioned to the left, indicated my direction, and Luc nodded, pointed to the right, then made a hand signal indicating we'd meet in the middle.

At least, I hoped that was what it meant.

I took a breath, blew it out slowly, stabilized the scabbard and stepped forward. I skirted the edge of the crowd, trying to will myself invisible as I moved to the left, as I eased around the border of Cadogan vampires. My attempt at glamour didn't help – the Cadogan vamps watched as I moved, a few nodding in quiet acknowledgment, a few giving looks that suggested something altogether different than respect – but I was glad, even in the face of bitter stares, that they played buffer between me and the rest of the interlopers.

Seconds later, I was close enough to see the action. Ethan, with Malik at his side, stood in front of the platform at which I'd been Commended into the House only days ago. Standing perpendicular to Ethan was a tall, dark-haired man in a Cubs T-shirt and jeans who I guessed from the athletic bent of his clothing was Scott Grey. Across from Ethan, striking standouts in a room of tidy, chic suits, and sports gear, were the Rogues.

They stood in a tight pyramidal cluster and were, just like the Cadogan vampires, clad in black. But this wasn't Michigan Avenue black. This was vampire warfare black. Black boots. Trim black pants. A chest piece of black leather body armor. There was enough black in the cluster of them to suck the light from the ballroom. Punctuating the look was silver – belts, rings, wrist-bands, wallet chains, and in the middle of each chest, a silver pendant – an anarchy symbol on a silver chain.

This was the look Morgan wanted to achieve. Urban, rebellious, dangerous.

But this was real.

This was actual bad ass.

That said, all the Rogue vampires were dressed the same. Wasn't it kinda ironic that the herd mentality affected even the disaffected? That warranted pondering, but not today. Today was business.

One of the Rogues – tall, broad-shouldered, muscled – stood point, facing Ethan. Where the rest of the vamps in the room, the Housed vamps, looked polished, he looked a little fierce. He was ruggedly handsome, a couple days' worth of stubble across his face and jaw. His brown hair was an inch or two past a hair-cut, and stood in kind of messy whorls. And his eyes, big and blue, were ringed with kohl. He stood with arms folded across his broad chest, head cocked slightly to the side, listening as Ethan discussed the ongoing investigation.

They were definitely here for business. At their waists were holsters with handguns snapped inside, probably the 1911s Luc had mentioned. While the feel of them was different than Housed vampires anyway – the energy a bit less focused than House vamps, a little more scattershot – it was obvious they were carrying more than just the guns. The power flowed differently around their bodies. I couldn't see it, but I could sense it, the change in the current, like rocks altering the flow of a stream.

When I was where I wanted to be, a few bodies behind the edge of the crowd and still out of the players' direct line of sight, I checked Ethan, saw that he was unharmed and managing to mask the frustration I knew he felt. His body was loose, his hands in the pockets of the ubiquitous black trousers, half of his blond hair pulled back in a tie. His gaze was on the Rogue in front of him.

"Frankly, Noah," Ethan was saying, "it wasn't an oversight that you weren't invited to talk, nor was it a sign of disrespect. It was a choice, based on my assumption, apparently incorrect, that you weren't interested in participating. The humans only know about the Houses. As far as I'm aware, your existence is still a secret, and I'd imagined you'd be happier keeping it that way."

Noah gave Ethan a flat stare. "It was an assumption of uninterest, then. The assumption that because we're not affiliated with a House, because we aren't sheep, we're unconcerned about our fellow vampires." His tone was all sarcasm.

Ethan lifted a blond brow, responded crisply, "That's not what I said."

Thinking it might be helpful to say hello, to let him know that he had backup should the worst occur, I reported in, opening my mind to Ethan. I'm here, I sent him.

He didn't respond, but the Rogue in front of him, Noah, did. Not, I think, because Noah heard me, but because there was scuffling behind us, which drew his eyes across the crowd. As he looked for the source of the trouble, gazed across the sea of watching vampires, he met my eyes, lifted both brows. The subtext was easy enough to read: And who are you? Friend or foe?

I blinked, trying to guess how I was supposed to react – was there etiquette for this? The unintroduced Sentinel responding to a flicker of interest from the spokesperson for Chicago's Rogue vampires? Unfortunately, I didn't have time to fully evaluate, so I just did what felt natural given the awkward position we were in: I gave a half smile and a shrug.

I'm not sure what I expected from him. Maybe the reaction Ethan would have given – a condescending look, a roll of the eyes.

But Noah wasn't Ethan. Noah smirked, squeezed his lips together to keep in the laugh that shook his chest, and quickly looked away, mouth curved. My first real political act, and it sparked a bubble of laughter from the man who'd allegedly breached the walls of Cadogan House. A good enough reaction, I decided, hoping his amusement would defuse the obvious strain in the room.

Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to test that theory. Our exchange took only seconds, but that was more than enough time for trouble to call. The vampire whose shuffling we'd heard behind us revealed himself, Morgan pushing through the crowd, through the Rogues, until he stood before Ethan. Perhaps sensing his obvious anger, the waves of it radiating from his body, the other vampires moved back, gave him space.

He looked like a man possessed – hair sexily mussed, his leather jacket over a green T- shirt and jeans, black sneakers beneath the cuffs. And although he vibrated with the energy I knew he was capable of, that wasn't the only reason he roiled. He was carrying. And not a sword, not a weapon obviously belted or sheathed. This was hidden. A medium-sized blade, I guessed, by the differential weight of him. Too small to be a sword, but bigger than your average kitchen knife.

I tightened my grip on the sword's handle, my thumb on the latch that would release the blade from its scabbard, and waited.

"You fucking son of a bitch." The words were tight, forced through his clenched jaw.

Ethan blinked, but made no other move, his stance still relaxed, confident. "Excuse me?"

"You think this is right? That you can do this?"

I flinched when Morgan lifted his arm, nearly pushed through the couple of vampires who separated Ethan and me, but held back when I saw the white paper he held in his hand. A small square of it, a black curve of handwriting across one side. Having seen something similar weeks before, I guessed what might be written on it.

Ethan probably knew, too, but bluffed. "I don't know what that is, Morgan."

Morgan fisted the note, held it in the air. "It's a fucking death threat – that's what it is. It was on Celina's bedside table. Her bedside . Table. She's scared to death." Morgan took a half step forward, uncurled the note, held it out for Ethan to read. Ethan gingerly took it between long fingers, his gaze traveling the length of the paper and back.

"It's a threat," Ethan announced to the crowd, his gaze still on Morgan. "Very similar to the one Merit received. I'd guess it's the same handwriting, the same paper. And it's purportedly signed by me."

The crowd rumbled. Morgan ignored it, lowered his voice to a fierce whisper that immediately quieted the crowd again.

"And that's fucking convenient, isn't it? Get Joshua Merit's daughter into the House, then take out Celina? Blame it on the Rogues, consolidate your power right under Tate's nose?" Morgan turned, surveyed the crowd, swinging out an arm dramatically. "And all of a sudden, the House that drinks is everyone's favorite."

The room went eerily quiet, and Ethan's frame finally stiffened. I watched the change in his posture, and my stomach sank as I feared, and faced, the worst – that Morgan had guessed correctly, and that Ethan was on the main quad that night for a very specific reason. That it wasn't "luck" at all.

Ethan leaned forward, eyes flaming green, and bit off, "Watch your words, Morgan, before you take steps Celina isn't ready to back up. Neither myself nor any other

Cadogan vampire is responsible for that note, for any violence or threats made against Celina or Merit." He lifted his head, looked at Noah, then Scott Grey, then out over the crowd. "Cadogan is not responsible for the death of Jennifer Porter, for the death of Patricia Long, for the notes, for the evidence, for any part of those crimes." He paused, let his gaze travel. "But if someone – some vampire – is responsible, be they Grey, or Rogue, or Navarre, and if information comes to light that any vampire or sect of vampires took part – any part – in these crimes, we will give that information to the police, human or not. And they will answer to me."

He glanced back at Morgan, gave him the withering Master-to-Peon look I knew he was capable of.

"And you'd better remember your place, your age, and where you're standing, Morgan of House Navarre."

"She's afraid for her life, Sullivan," Morgan said through clenched teeth, clearly unaffected by Ethan's threat. His jaw was set, his stance aggressive – feet planted, hands clenched into fists, chin tipped down just enough so that he glared at Ethan from beneath his brow. "I'm her Second, and that is unacceptable."

I sympathized, understood his frustration, knew Ethan would expect the same loyalty from Malik, if not the drama that made me wonder about the relationship between Celina Desaulniers and her Second. But I also knew Ethan wasn't involved. Maybe the Rogues had some involvement, maybe Grey House, undoubtedly some vampire with access to the Cadogan grounds. But Cadogan vampire would have, could have, murdered under his watch.

I looked across the anxious crowd, met Luc's eyes, got the nod that I knew signaled action. Just as Morgan cocked back a fist, I stepped forward, pushed through the remaining veil of vampires, whipped the sword from its scabbard, and stretched out my arm just so the tip of it lay before the pulse that throbbed in his neck.

I lifted a brow at him. "I'm going to have to ask you to step back."

The ballroom went silent.

His dark eyes followed the length of the sword, surveyed the leather. He took in the jacket, the pants, the boots, the high ponytail that held back my hair. If he hadn't been completely sobered by the steel, I think he'd have complimented the ensemble. But this was business, and I'd stepped into his fight.

Morgan lifted his chin incrementally above the blade. "Put down the sword."

"I don't take orders from you." I took a step to the side, my arm outstretched, and stepped directly between Morgan and Ethan, forcing Ethan to back up behind me. It was enough to put him out of Morgan's reach, and to substitute me in Morgan's line of attack.

"But you take orders from him?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

I blinked, all innocence, and let my voice ring across the room. "I stand Sentinel. I'm a vampire of his House, and I stand Sentinel. If he orders me to lower the blade, I will."

Ethan was silent behind me. But it wasn't the fact that he made no order, but my admission that I'd obey it if it came, that prompted a round of whispering. Ethan had been right: Chicago's vampires doubted my allegiance, maybe because rumors had leaked out about the nature of my change, maybe because of my father, maybe because of my strength. Whatever the reason, they had doubted.

Until now.

Now they knew. I'd joined the fight, I'd made a shield of my body, and I'd stepped between Ethan and danger, drawn steel on his behalf. I'd accepted the possibility of injury, of death, in order to protect him, and I'd publicly made clear that I was amenable to his orders, willing to submit to his authority.

I had to squeeze the handle of the katana when the tunnel rushed me, when I heard Ethan's voice. I'd say this counts as a show of allegiance.

I almost grinned from the sheer relief of it, of realizing that I wasn't doing this alone, facing down a hostile crowd outside the chain of command. But I kept my gaze neutral, remembered the audience around us, and knew that they were memorizing this moment, would play it back, would recall it for friends and enemies and allies – the night they first saw Cadogan's Sentinel take up arms.

I said a quick prayer not to screw it up too badly.

Oblivious to the undercurrent, Morgan barked, "This isn't your fight."

I shook my head at him. "I took my oaths. It's my fight – only my fight. He named me Sentinel, and if you bring this to Cadogan House, you bring this to me. That's the way this works."

Morgan shook his head. "This is personal, not House business."

I cocked my head at him. "Then why are you here, in someone else's House?"

That must have had some kind of impact. He growled, the sound low and predatory. If I'd been an animal, it would have raised my hackles. As it was, it called the vampire again, and I knew my eyes were silvering at the edges, but pushed, as hard as I could, to quiet her again.

"This isn't your concern," Morgan said. "You're only going to get hurt."

A corner of my mouth lifted. "Because I'm a girl?"

His lips tightened, and he leaned forward, pricked his neck against the sharpened tip of the blade. A single crimson drop slid down the edge of it. Looking back, I'd have sworn the sword instantaneously warmed as Morgan's blood traced the steel.

"First blood!" was called by someone in the crowd, and the vampires around us backed up, widening the open circle in which we stood. There was movement to my left and right, and I slid a quick glance sideways, saw Luc and Juliet take up positions at Ethan's sides.

Master secured, I grinned at Morgan beneath the fringe of my bangs and called up all the bravado I could muster. "You're here. I'm here. We gonna dance?"

I kept my sword level, saw Morgan's gaze flick behind me, then back to me again. His eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting. I had no idea what that was about. But Morgan began pulling off his jacket, then held it out to the side, revealing the straps of a sheath. A vampire, presumably one who'd arrived with him from Navarre House, stepped forward to claim his jacket, and reaching behind him, Morgan pulled a gothic- looking dagger from its mount. The blade glinted, all weird curves and angles, and I couldn't say that I was impressed by the fact that he hid it beneath clothes.

I stifled a sudden sense of panic that, at twenty-eight, I was about to be in my first real fight – not a sibling spat, but a duel, combat, my first battle on Cadogan's behalf. Honestly, I still wasn't sure Morgan would go through with it, that he would actually attempt to draw my blood in front of Ethan, Scott, the Rogues, and witnesses from Cadogan House, and on Cadogan territory. Especially because he lacked concrete evidence that Cadogan was involved in the threat, because he knew I'd received a threat of my own, and maybe most important, because he'd kissed me.

But here we were, in this circle of fifty vampires, and he'd brought this on himself, so I called his bluff. Carefully, slowly, I lowered the sword, flipped the weight of it so the pommel was up, and held it out to the right, waiting until Lindsey stepped forward to take it.

Morgan's eyes went wide when I unzipped the jacket, but not as wide as they did when I slipped it off. The only thing beneath was snug leather band, which left my abdomen and hips bare to the top of the leather pants. I extended the jacket with my left hand, felt the weight of it disappear, then held out my right to retrieve the sword. When the body- warmed handle was back in my hand, I rolled it in my wrist, getting used to its weight, and smiled at him.

"Shall we?"

His expression darkened. "I can't fight you."

I assumed the basic offensive position Catcher had taught me – legs shoulder width apart, weight on the balls of my feet, loose knees, sword up, both hands in position around the handle.

"That's unfortunate," I commented, then lunged for