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

mercenary fairies at the gate think Dominic and Claudia, their queen, are going to have a meet and greet. While you’re researching him, look for any connection with the fairies.”
    “Will do.”
    “I appreciate it. And Jeff, how’s Fallon?” I felt like I hadn’t heard anything about Gabriel’s sister—and Jeff’s newish flame—in a while. I wasn’t sure if that was because things were going well, or because they weren’t.
    “She’s good. She’s . . .” He sighed. “I think she has things to figure out.”
    That didn’t sound good. “What kinds of things?”
    “What she wants in life and in a man. There’s a lot of pressure growing up in the Apex’s family. I think she’s still sorting out who she thinks she is versus who she thinks her family expects her to be.”
    “That’s tough. Anything I can do?”
    “Just stay in play as my backup.”
    I nearly swerved the car off the road. “I’m sorry—your backup?”
    “You know, in case it doesn’t work out with Fallon.”
    “And what about Ethan?”
    Jeff chuckled. “I just figured he was your backup for me.”
    Of course he did. “Good night, Jeff,” I said, and hung up the phone.
    Boys.
    Traffic was horrible, and the drive to Ukrainian Village took exponentially 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 filled 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 rolled 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 full-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 Mallory’s small bedroom-slash-prison-cell was open, and I could hear people chatting. Since I already had one black mark for snooping this week, I decided to actually announce myself.
    I knocked on the doorjamb and peeked inside.
    Mallory sat cross-legged on the bed. She looked thin and tired and still oddly blond, but she looked more like Mallory 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 belly, 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 all 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 all 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 well.”
    “We appreciate your help in getting all 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 Mallory wasn’t a problem to be “sorted out,” like he’d simply forgotten to pay the electric bill on time.
    But from what I’d heard from Catcher and Paige, there was no point in arguing