Biting Cold: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (CHICAGOLAND VAMPIRES SERIES)

reliable, and he was usually planted in front of his very large computer. Of course, if he’d needed our help, he wouldn’t have been shy about asking for it.
    “We can’t be sure he’s looking for the book,” I said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised to find him in the middle of the action. After all, he was the one who told me about the Maleficium .” He’d been clearly intrigued by the magic, and it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d cash in on an opportunity to grab it. It was too bad I hadn’t brought along my worry wood, a token of magic from my grandfather that gave me protection from Tate’s more subtle forms of magic.
    “No argument there,” Catcher said.
    “In the unlikely event Tate causes problems in Chicago, you can call Malik,” Ethan said. “He can rally the rest of the Cadogan guards.”
    Malik was the official Master of Cadogan House, Ethan’s second until he’d been killed and still in charge until Ethan was officially Invested as Master again.
    “You can also call Jonah,” I offered, but the offer was met with silence. Jonah was captain of the guards of Chicago’s Grey House, and he’d been my substitute partner while Ethan had been gone. Although neither Catcher nor Ethan knew it, Jonah was also my official partner in the Red Guard, a secret organization dedicated to keeping an eye on the vampire Masters and the Greenwich Presidium, the British council that ruled us.
    “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Catcher said. “For now, I need to wrap this up. I’ll call you if I learn anything else.”
    We said our good-byes, and Ethan switched off the phone.
    “He seems to be holding up,” Ethan said.
    “He doesn’t have much of a choice. He loves her, or I assume he still does, and she’s out there head over heels in danger, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. For the second time.”
    “How did he fail to see what she was doing the first time around?” Ethan wondered. “They were living together.”
    Mallory had set Chicago ablaze in her attempt to make Ethan a familiar. She’d made the magic in the basement of the Wicker Park brownstone she and Catcher shared.
    “I think part of it was denial. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of the mess she put the city through. And she was studying for exams—and taking them, apparently—the entire time. If Simon didn’t suspect anything, why should Catcher?”
    “Simon again?”
    “Unfortunately. And that’s not the end of it. Catcher thought she and Simon were having an affair. Not a romantic one, maybe, but they were becoming too close for his comfort. He was afraid she was going to take Simon’s side—the Order’s side—against Catcher.”
    “Love does strange things to a man,” Ethan said, his voice suddenly distracted. He tapped a finger on the dashboard. “There’s something in the road there. A dog?”
    I squinted at the freeway ahead, trying to ferret out what Ethan had spotted. After a moment, I saw it—a dark mass on the centerline a quarter mile ahead. It wasn’t moving. It also definitely wasn’t a dog.
    Two arms, two legs, six foot tall, and standing in the middle of the road. It was a person.
    “Ethan,” I called out in warning, my first thought that the figure was McKetrick, a Chicago-based vampire hater who’d guessed our route and was ready to launch an attack against the car.
    The sudden punch of peppery magic that filled the car—and the cloying scent of sugar and lemons that accompanied it—proved this was a magical problem . . . and a problem I knew all too well.
    A cold sweat trickled down my back. “It’s not an animal. It’s Tate.”
    We didn’t have time to decide whether to fight or take flight. Before I could speed up or change course, the car began to slow.
    Tate had somehow managed to take control of it.
    I wrenched the wheel, but it made no difference. We were heading right for him.
    Fear and anticipation tightened my chest, my heart fluttering like a frightened bird beneath my ribs. I had no idea what Tate was capable of, or even what he really was. Well, other than an ass-hat.
    We slowed to a stop in the middle of the westbound lanes, straddling the centerline. Fortunately, it was late and we were in the middle of Iowa; there wasn’t another car in sight. Since Tate had rendered the car useless and there was no point in wasting gas, I turned off the ignition but left the headlights on.
    He stood in the beam in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair