Boys.
Traffic was horrible, and the drive to Ukrainian Vilage took exponentialy longer than it should have. Even as late as it was, and with a clear sky above us, traffic on Lake Shore Drive had slowed to a crawl, and the freeway wasn't any better.
Even Little Red was packed, every spot outside the bar filed with a motorcycle, and a cadre of shifters stood just outside the door, smoking and chatting one another up. Sure, there was a deadly angel on the loose, but there were cigarettes to be roled and whiskey to be drunk.
Supernatural man drama was making me grouchy.
I parked two blocks away and thought about leaving my sword in the car. But since Dominic was on the prowl, I decided not to take chances. My next visit to the sunlight prison might not have such a happy ending.
I dodged drunken revelers as I headed back toward the bar, and I was ful-on ready to argue about whether the guys outside the bar would let me in with a sword at my side. But no one paid me any mind.
The bar was overflowing with shifters. Berna was back at the bar, helped by a young woman with deep-set eyes, dark hair, and a very snug T-shirt. I pushed through bodies and mildly intoxicated magic to reach them.
"Upstairs," Berna said, without looking up.
She was busy, and I was smart enough to stay out of the way.
I walked through the back room, the table again empty of shifters and card players, and up the stairs.
The door to Malory's smal bedroom-slash-prison-cel was open, and I could hear people chatting. Since I already had one black mark for snooping this week, I decided to actualy announce myself.
I knocked on the doorjamb and peeked inside.
Malory sat cross-legged on the bed. She looked thin and tired and stil oddly blond, but she looked more like Malory than she had in a long time. Her eyes were clearer, somehow. The knot of worry around my heart unclenched a bit.
She wasn't alone. Catcher stood nearby, arms crossed and a frown on his face as he stared at the third person in the room, who was new to me. He was older, probably in his late fifties or early sixties. Average height, round bely, and a thick head of silvery white hair. He wore a thick green Packers jacket, jeans, and shiny white tennis shoes with thick soles. Grandpa-style tennis shoes.
They al turned to look at me.
I waved a little, suddenly self-conscious, the uninvited vampire. "Hi."
Catcher waved me in.
"Merit, this is Al Baumgartner, head of the Order."
You could have knocked me over with a feather.
This guy was Al Baumgartner? This guy who looked like someone my grandfather bowled with was in charge of al the sorcerers in North America? I'd expected someone a little more Darius, maybe. A little more polished. A little more professional.
A little slicker.
Al Baumgartner smiled politely, then stretched out a hand.
"Merit, it's very nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you, as wel."
"We appreciate your help in getting al this sorted out," he said. "It's good to know who your friends are."
I didn't say it aloud, but we weren't friends, and Malory wasn't a problem to be "sorted out," like he'd simply forgotten to pay the electric bil on time.
But from what I'd heard from Catcher and Paige, there was no point in arguing with him.
"We did what needed to be done," I said politely. "Am I interrupting?"
"Not at al. I'm just here to check in. The world is changing, and we're just trying to keep up."
I slid Catcher a surreptitious glance and enjoyed his dramatic eye rol.
"I see," I said, although there was no doubt he was teling us only part of the story.
"Wel," Baumgartner said, "I should probably be off. I've got some things to attend to while I'm in town." He looked at Malory, and his features changed. From grandfather caricature to magical overlord. That expression looked a bit more honest on his face, I thought.
"We'l talk" was al he said to her, then smiled politely at me, zipped up his Packers coat, and walked out the door.
I waited for the sound of footsteps on the stairs before I spoke. "Why is he realy here?"
"Punishment," Catcher said.
It didn't say a lot that the answer didn't surprise me - because the Order rarely seemed to pay that much attention. "What's he proposing?"
"Nothing yet," Catcher said. "Could be rendition - a mix of isolation and indoctrination. Could be nulification."
"What's nulification?"
Malory uncrossed her legs. "That's where they take away my magic for a specified period of time."
"That doesn't sound as bad as rendition."
"It's not," Catcher said, "but it's worse than it sounds. She's had the magic for a long time, even before she was aware of it.
It's integrated into her body, which makes nulification akin to a magical lobotomy."
Put that way, it sounded pretty horrible. "And when wil they make a decision?"
Catcher shrugged. "They're muling things over."
It was clear the "muling" was getting to Malory. Even though she looked better, she picked nervously at the edge of the blanket.
"How are you feeling?" I asked Malory.
"Like I'm trying to quit smoking again. If the smoking kiled everybody else but me, turned me into a she-bitch, and made me screw over al of my friends."
That about said it.
"It takes time," Catcher said.
"I know," she said, then squeezed her eyes closed. "I'm sorry. I know this is an addiction and I know it wil take time to realy feel better, and I am trying my damndest not to f**k up my life any more than I already have. But in the meantime, it sucks. I feel like crap." She laughed hoarsely. "And it doesn't help that I have a Packers fan deciding my fate. I mean, seriously? You're going to wear that jacket in Chicago?"
The words were sarcastic, but I could tel she was walking a knife's edge of fear and anger. That would certainly explain Ethan's irritability.
"What brings you by?" Catcher asked.
I gave them the same overview I'd given Jeff, and I wasn't thriled when they looked as surprised as he'd sounded. I was hoping for a little more familiarity with the problem - and through that, a solution.
"How did they end up together?" Catcher asked.
"That's the part we aren't sure about. I was hoping you might have an idea."
Malory shook her head. "It doesn't ring any bels for me. You, Catcher?"
It saddened me that Malory was back to caling him Catcher.
She had a milion nicknames for him and used them more often than not. But they were on a break that Catcher deserved, so there wasn't much I could do about it.