Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires #10)

Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires #10) Page 19

“Smart enough to lay low,” Jonah said.

Jacobs nodded. “Some are. Chicago is a big city, and there are many places to hide.” He looked back at Samantha Ingram, who’d only just missed her chance at immortality, and possibly thought of his son, who could have used it.

The thought was unbearably sad, and I touched Jonah’s arm in sympathy.

“No murder is perfect,” Jacobs quietly added. “We’ll find her.”

“You can go home if you want,” I told Jonah, as we avoided the press and took the long way to the parking lot. “I can handle Catcher and Mallory. I’ve got to deliver the obelisk and the bobblehead, anyway.” I was, admittedly, a little afraid of the nymphs, but as long as Jeff was there, I’d be fine.

Jonah snorted. “Do you honestly think there’s a chance in hell I don’t want to see a nymph dinner party?”

“You’re a pervert.”

“I’m a healthy American vampire,” he said, stretching his arms like he was preparing for battle.

Considering the nymphs’ personalities, not a bad analogy.

Chapter Eleven

AIN’T NO PARTY LIKE A NYMPH PARTY

Because they were nymphs—giggly and busty and short-skirted women—I’d assumed a dinner party would be pretty much the same.

I was wrong. Truly and utterly—and pretty judgmentally—wrong.

They’d turned Catcher’s River North gym into a Moroccan festival. The equipment and mats had been removed, and the entire space had been draped in colorful printed fabrics gathered together in the middle of the ceiling like a tent. Metal lanterns with intricate shades hung from the ceiling, and a dozen low, round tables were placed at intervals around the outside of the room, with low cushions for seating. The floor was covered in threadbare rugs in glorious colors and patterns, and an enormous buffet was stocked with tagines of meat and rice. Music played softly in the background.

“I have seriously not been giving the nymphs enough credit.”

When three of them emerged from a back room with petite bodies, braided hair, and flowing jewel-toned gowns dotted with silver coins—the fabric nearly transparent—Jonah’s smile turned dreamy. “Neither have I.”

I elbowed him, caught his following “Urck,” and walked forward.

Each nymph had control of a segment of the river and a signature color. I recognized two of the three who approached us. Cassie was raven haired and controlled the river’s North Branch. Melaina was platinum blond and controlled the West Fork. Cassie had also recently been the victim of a magical attack by a woman intent on creating a menagerie of supernaturals.

The nymphs were notoriously temperamental—going from giggles to tears to catfights in seconds flat—so I stayed perfectly still, kept my eyes on them as they moved forward, ready to dart if they arched their wolverine nails.

But Cassie, apparently realizing who I was, bobbed toward me, hands clasped together. “You saved me!” she said delightedly. “You should feast with us.”

“Oh, that’s okay. We don’t need anything. We actually just came to talk to Catcher and Mallory.”

Her lower lip quivered as the other nymphs joined her. “You won’t feast with us?”

Crap, I thought. I didn’t have time to babysit nymphs tonight. I needed to get this job done and get back to the House for the supernatural delights that undoubtedly awaited me there.

Jonah took a step forward. “We would be delighted to feast with you, but we don’t want to interrupt your party or take the attention away from you and your invited guests. Maybe we could enjoy just a small taste of what you have to offer if Mallory and Catcher also could join us? It would help them have energy for the rest of their work this evening.”

The nymphs, who hadn’t so much as glanced at Jonah, now regarded him with interest. They’d made a deal with my grandfather and Catcher to hold this event. Maybe that was the secret to their affection: much like vampires, they liked to negotiate.

Melaina stepped forward, playing teasingly with the bottom of her braid. “You are tall,” she said to the auburn-haired guard captain. He blushed to the roots, grinned like an idiot.

“I have many outstanding qualities.”

Melaina giggled, wrapped herself around one of Jonah’s arms. “I think we should invite them!”

“You aren’t in charge,” Cassie said, her pout still in place, and a storm of magic and trouble brewing.

“You are clearly a thoughtful and dedicated leader of women,” I said. “And your hair looks awesome.”

Her eyes widened with delight. “I applied a very thorough mask last night. The trolls recommended it.”

Of course they had. “If it would be okay with you, could we talk to Mallory and Catcher? Or maybe Jeff?”

“I suppose,” she said. “But you can’t sit by Jeff.”

A woman had to have her boundaries.

Jonah and I had already sat on the low pillows when the Ombuddies emerged from the back room, arms laden with décor: flowers, hanging lamps, extra pillows. They placed them as directed by the nymphs—who promptly adjusted them because two sorcerers and a shifter apparently were unable to arrange throw pillows according to the nymphs’ exacting specifications.

“Save me,” Mallory murmured, as she placed an orchid on the table the nymphs had designated for us. She wore an orange tunic over jeans tonight, her blue hair divided into two braids that had been twisted into knots on the back of her head.

Catcher joined us, and I was shocked to see that he’d traded his usual sarcastic T-shirt for a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled nearly to his elbows.

“You look very handsome,” I said, as he arranged his long legs with obvious discomfort.

“I look like a banker.”

I wasn’t sure a banker would combine a button-down, jeans, and angry-looking black boots, but I thought it wise not to mention that.

“For all your faults, I’m glad to see you up and about. Heard you took a good fall.”

“It wasn’t my best night, but I’m okay now.”

When she’d finished with the flowers, Mallory put her hands on my arms. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Concussion, bullet through the shoulder. A little dizzy and headachy earlier, but I’m fine other than that.”

“And to think you were once a total English lit dork. Ethan must have had a fit.”

“He was worried,” I agreed. “Bad part about dating the vampire you trained to be a warrior? You worry every time you send her into battle.”

“It’s a job hazard,” Catcher acknowledged.

“Well,” Mallory said, sitting down beside us, “she did single-handedly rescue Darius West from the clutches of an evildoer.”

“It wasn’t exactly like that, but close enough.”

“What happens next with Darius?” Catcher asked.

“We’re still waiting for that part.”

Jeff came out bearing a glazed terra-cotta tagine that smelled absolutely heavenly. He normally paired a button-down with khakis, and he’d kept the same look today.

“That smells amazing,” I told Cassie, whose eyes had gone large and glassy at the sight of Jeff. Nymphs absolutely adored the lanky shifter. I liked Jeff, but their interest in him went far beyond “like” and was somewhere closer to “bewitched.”

Cassie pointed Jeff to a chevron cushion across the table, and he smiled at me and shrugged.

“I think they’re afraid I’ll hit on you,” I whispered to Jeff when Cassie had moved away. “Do they know about Fallon?”

“They haven’t asked, and I haven’t told. Besides, they all have boyfriends.” That had actually been the topic of discussion the first time I’d met the nymphs. Cassie and Melaina had been fighting over a boy who, based on the argument, hadn’t seemed worthy of either of them.

“Wise man,” Catcher said.

Melaina moved back to the table, the fabric shushing around her as she moved. “Please enjoy your meal,” she said, placing a giant ceramic platter in the middle of the table. It held mounds of dark meat—lamb, I guessed—inside a halo of couscous. “But eat quickly. The rest of the party will be here soon.”

She walked away again.

“I guess this is the staff table?” I asked.

“They like to feed people,” Catcher said. “That doesn’t mean they don’t divide them into castes.”

With the mound of food in the middle of the table, all eyes turned to me.

“Oh, come on,” I said.

“We’ve all eaten with you before,” Catcher said. “And we prefer to keep our fingers.”

“How do I begin?” I asked, sheepish at the question, but there was no silverware to be found, and I’d never eaten Moroccan food before, more’s the pity.

“Use the khobz,” Catcher said, pointing to round loaves of flatbread that looked something like Indian naan. “It’s Moroccan bread. Pull off a small piece, use it to pick up the meat and couscous. And try to keep your fingers out of our food.”

I did as directed, tore off a piece of bread, picked up meat and couscous, and tasted.

It was absolutely delicious. Spicy and savory chunks of lamb, with hints of clove and cinnamon and the sweetness of raisins and dates.

“I assume you came by for a reason,” Catcher said, scooping up his dinner.

“A couple, actually.” I wiped my hands on my napkin, picked up the box I’d tucked beside me, and smiled at Jeff. “We were at SpringCon, and I saw this and thought you had to have it.”

I passed it over, watched the smile blossom and brighten on his face. “Dude,” he said, grinning over at me with such puppy adoration I thought my heart would melt right onto the floor. “You got me a Roland.”

“Yeah, I saw it and I just thought—”

Before I could finish the sentence he leaped to his feet and had rounded the table and wrapped his arms around my shoulders from behind.

“That is so freaking thoughtful!”

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and must have been blushing furiously. “You’re very welcome,” I said, patting his arms. “Don’t do anything Fallon would kill me for.”

“And sit your ass down before Melaina comes back over here and gives you the stink eye,” Catcher barked. “I’m not doing this again if she cancels it in tears.”

“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” Jeff said, tucking back onto his pillow with the box in his lap. He looked up at me, beamed. “Seriously, awesome.”

“I think you made the right choice,” Jonah quietly whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, tearing off a bit of khobz. “I feel pretty good about my choice.”

Catcher’s phone beeped and he pulled it out, checked it, smiled. “Your grandfather,” he said with a smile, putting it away again. “He wanted to make sure you got here all right.”

I pointed to my stuffed mouth.

“Yeah, I told him you were fine. He said you went by the scene.”

I nodded, chewed, swallowed. “We did. He said you didn’t think the pentagrams pointed to a ‘legitimate’ sorcerer? His words, not mine,” I added at Mallory’s lifted brows.

“A pentagram isn’t a magical object per se,” Catcher said, stirring a hunk of bread in sauce. “It’s a symbol, typically used for a minor charm or incantation.

“So legitimate sorcerers could use them?” Jonah asked with a smile.

“They could. But they typically don’t. They’re useful as, let’s say, training wheels. Magical shorthand. A spell crib sheet—”

“I think they get the idea, hon,” Mallory gently prompted.

“It’s like the swords,” Catcher said. “They’re vampirish, but not vampirish enough. These are magical, but not quite magical enough.”

“So the killer understands the broad strokes,” Jonah said, “but not the nuance.”

“I’d agree with that,” Catcher said.

“What about vampires?” Jonah asked. “I told them I didn’t know of any historic use by vampires.”

Catcher shook his head. “Me, either.”

“What about the three pentagrams together?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to pick up more food. After years of using a fork, eating with fingers was a weirdly difficult process. “Does that maybe reference any particular charm or spell?”

Mallory held up a hand. “Wait. The first murder involved swords, and the second involved pentagrams?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

Malloy looked at Catcher. “And you seriously don’t know what’s going on here?”

Catcher and I looked at each other, then Mallory. “No?” he said.

Her eyes went absolutely flat, and very unimpressed with us. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Maybe?” I asked, glancing around for help, but Jonah and Jeff just shrugged.

She made a dramatic sound of frustration, wiped her hands, and maneuvered her way to her feet again. Then she scurried off, leaving all of us peeking around the walls of the tent, trying to find our sorceress.

She dug through a purple leather tote spread open on the floor, then pulled out a smaller, dark blue bag. She practically skipped back to the table.

“Give me some room,” she said, settling herself on her pillow as we moved plates out of the way, clearing a spot on the red, purple, and gold scarves that colored the tabletop.