Хлоя Нейл: Friday Night Bites

I knocked on the locked front door and waited for someone to let me in. Jeff turned a corner and headed down the hallway toward me, a grin breaking across his face. He was all lean appendages and floppy brown hair, and tonight he wore his usual uniform—pressed khakis and a long-sleeved button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

When he reached the door, he typed an alarm code into a keypad beside it, then turned a lock and opened it.

“Couldn’t stand being away from me?”

“I was hurting a little,” I said, then stepped inside as he held the door open. “It’s been, what, almost a week?”

“Six days, twenty-three hours, and about twelve minutes.” He recoded and locked the door, then grinned over at me. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Oh, of course not,” I agreed as he escorted me down the hallway to the office he shared with Catcher. “You’re much too suave for that kind of thing.”

“Much,” he agreed, then entered the room and moved behind one of the four metal, atomic-era desks that sat in two rows in the tiny room. The top of Jeff’s desk was taken up by a Frankenstein-esque collection of keyboards and monitors, upon which sat a stuffed toy I’d learned was a model of H. P. Love-craft’s Cthulhu.

“How was tap class?” asked a sardonic voice on the other side of the room. I glanced over, found Catcher at the desk opposite Jeff’s, hands crossed over his skull-cut head, an open laptop on the desk before him. One brow was arched over his green eyes, his curvy lips slightly tipped up in amusement. I had to admit it—Catcher was irritating, gruff, a demanding trainer . . . and ridiculously pretty. Mal definitely had her hands full.

“Hip-hop,” I corrected, “not tap. And it was just fancy. Your girl nearly coldcocked the instructor, but it was pretty uneventful other than that.” I edged a hip onto one of the two empty metal desks. I wasn’t entirely sure why there were four desks in all. Catcher and Jeff were the only two in this office; my grandfather and Marjorie had desks in other rooms. My grandfather had reached out to a vampire source since Catcher and Jeff represented Chicago’s sorcery and shapeshifting communities, but the secret vamp avoided the office in order to avoid House drama, so no desk for him. Or her. Or it, I suppose. I was still trying to work that one out.

Catcher glanced over at me. “She nearly coldcocked the instructor?”

“Well, she wanted to, not that I blame her. Aerobics Barbie is hard to stomach for more than five minutes at a time. But thanks to my excellent mediation and negotiation skills, no punches were actually thrown.” The pad of footsteps echoed through the hall, and I looked over at the door to find my grandfather in his usual plaid flannel shirt and sensible pants, his feet in thick-soled shoes.

“And speaking of excellent mediation and negotiation skills,” I said, hopping off the desk. My grandfather extended his arms and beckoned me into a hug. I walked into his embrace and squeezed, careful not to inadvertently break ribs with my increased vampire strength. “Hi, Grandpa.”

“Baby girl,” he said, then pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead. “How’s my favorite supernatural citizen doing this fine spring evening?”

“That hurts, Chuck,” Catcher said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought I was your favorite sup.” His voice could hardly have been dryer.

“Seriously,” Jeff said, his gaze shifting between computer monitors. “Here we are, slaving night and day—”

“Technically,” Catcher interrupted, “just night.”

“Night.” Jeff smoothly adjusted. “Trying to keep everyone in the Windy City happy, trying to keep the nymphs in line.” He bobbed his head up toward the posters of scantily clad women that lined the walls of the office. They were river nymphs—tiny, busty, doe-eyed, and long-haired women who controlled the branches of the Chicago River. They were also, as I’d seen on the night of my twenty-eighth birthday, pretty dramatic. They’d shown up en masse at my grandfather’s house, all atwitter because one of the beauties’ beaus had cheated on her with another nymph. It was a catfight of monumental proportions, complete with tears, swearing, and raking nails. And it’d been stopped, surprisingly enough, by our Jeff. (My reticence notwithstanding, Jeff had a way with the ladies.)

“And we all know how difficult that can be,” I said, giving Jeff a wink. He blushed, crimson rising high on his cheekbones.

“What brings you by?” my grandfather asked me.

“Wait, wait, I got this one,” Catcher said, grabbing an envelope from his desk and pressing it to his forehead, eyes closed, the perfect Carnac. “Merit will be undergoing a change . . . of zip code.” He opened his eyes and flipped the envelope back onto his desk. “If you were trying to get to Hyde Park, you’ve gone a little too far south.”

“I’m procrastinating,” I admitted. I’d done the same thing the night before my Commendation into the House, seeking solace among friends and the only family that mattered before I became part of something that I knew would change my life forever. Ditto tonight.

Catcher’s expression softened. “You’re all packed?”

I nodded. “Everything’s in the car.”

“She’ll miss you, you know.”

I nodded at him. I had no doubt of that, but I appreciated that he’d said it. He wasn’t one for the mushy-gushy emotional stuff, which made the sentiment that much more meaningful.

My grandfather put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, baby girl. I know you—how capable you are and how stubborn—and those are qualities that Ethan will come to appreciate.”

“Given time,” Catcher muttered. “Lots and lots and lots of time.”

“Eons,” Jeff agreed.

“Immortal,” I reminded them, using a finger to point at myself. “We have the time. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy on him.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” my grandfather said, then winked at me. “Could you do your Pop-Pop a favor and give him something for us?”

My own cheeks flushed at the reminder of the name I’d given my grandfather as a kid. “Grandpa” was much too hard for me to say.

“Sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”

Grandpa gave Catcher a nod. Catcher opened a squeaky desk drawer, then pulled out a thick manila envelope tied with a loop of red twine. There was no addressee, but the words CONFIDENTIAL and LEVEL ONE were stamped in capital black letters across one side. “Level One” was the Ombud version of “Top Secret.” It was the only category of information that my grandfather wasn’t willing to let me see.

Catcher extended the envelope. “Handle this with care.”

I nodded and plucked it from his hand. It was heavier than I would have guessed, and held a good inch-thick sheaf of papers. “I’m assuming there’s no free sneak peek for the delivery girl?”

“We’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” Grandpa said.

“That way,” Catcher put in, “we won’t have to resort to physical violence, which would make things really awkward between us, you being Chuck’s granddaughter.”

“I think we can trust her,” my grandfather said, his voice as dry as toast, “but I appreciate your dedication.”

“Just a day in the life, Chuck. Just a day in the life.”

Task in hand, I figured now was as good a time as any to quit procrastinating and actually make my way to the House. I did have a first glance at my new digs to look forward to.

“On that note,” I said, “I’m going to leave you three to it.” I glanced back at my grandfather and held up the envelope. “I’ll make the drop, but I’m probably going to need a little somethin’ somethin’ for my efforts.”