"Huh," was all I said.
"She'll live and breathe the power of it, learn to exercise the control." He paused contemplatively, staring off into space until Mallory touched his hand with the tips of her fingers. He turned and looked at her. "Sorcerers learn by practice, by actually funneling the power. No books, no classrooms, just doing it. She'll be put into a situation in Schaumburg, and she'll handle it. The hard way - on her own, no nets."
I guessed "the way I had to do it" was coming next. The speech had the ring of old-school practitioner complaining about the way things had changed since his time, when he had to walk uphill both ways to get to school, etc., etc. Of course, I bet learning to funnel magic through Mal's slender frame took considerably more effort than hauling a couple of arithmetic books up a hill.
"Damn," I said, giving her a sympathetic look. "At least vampires get a desk reference."
On the other hand, that's about all we got. Although Luc valued training, and I appreciated the effort, he and Ethan had had decades to gain experience before assuming their House positions. To play the part of Sentinel, I got two weeks, a sorcerer with an attitude, and a katana.
"So'sI'm going to Schaumburg," Mal said, "where I'll get a little less practical experience than if I'd summered full-time in Detroit, but hopefully enough that I learn not to turn bad guys into piles of glitter because I inadvertently snapped my fingers."
As if to illustrate her point, she snapped them, a tiny blue spark jumping from her fingertips, the air suddenly stirring with the electricity of magic. Catcher closed his fingers around the spark, and when he opened them again, a glowing blue orb was centered in his palm. He lifted his hand, pursed his lips, and blew the orb away. It shattered into a crystalline glitter that peppered the air with sparkling magic before it dispersed and faded.
Then he turned to Mallory with a lurid look that made me happy, super happy, to be living in Cadogan House. "She's a nice funnel."
Oh, dear, sweet God, did I not need to hear about Mallory being a funnel. "So you're going to Schaumburg," I repeated, refocusing the conversation and taking another bite before I lost my appetite completely. "And you'll do your internship there. How long do you have to stay? How long will it take? Give me the deets."
"It'll be nightlies," Catcher said. "She'll spend most of her evenings in Schaumburg for a while. Since she's getting an exemption, we're not sure how long her practice will last.
Special case, special rules. She'll stay, I assume, until she proves her worth."
Mallory and I shared a snarky glance about that one. "Sad thing is," she said, "he's serious."
Something occurred to me. "Oh, shit, Mal, what are you going to do about your job?"
Mallory's expression went uncharacteristically wan. She stretched up from the stool and grabbed a white envelope from atop a pile of mail that sat at one end of the island. She held it in front of me so I could read the addressee - McGettrickCombs.
"Resignation letter?" I asked. She nodded, then returned the envelope to the pile.
Catcher put his hand at the back of her neck, rubbed it. "We talked about this."
"I know," she said, nodding her head. "It's just a change." When she looked up at me, her eyes were bright with tears. Notwithstanding the discomfort of being witness to their more amorous adventures, I was glad Catcher was here for her, that she had someone who'd been through similar experiences, who could guide her through the process or just be there when she needed comforting.
"I'm sorry, Mallory," was all I could think to say, knowing how much she'd loved her job, how well suited for it she'd been, how much pride she'd taken when a commercial or print ad she'd conceptualized appeared in the Trib or on ABC-7.
She sniffed, nodded, and knuckled away the tears that had slipped beneath her lashes, before chuckling. "Hey, I'll get my union card, and think of all the doors that will open for me then."
"Absolutely, kiddo," Catcher said, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple.
"Absolutely."
"I don't want to bust the pro-union party here," I said, "but will those doors open into any bank vaults or some kind of salary?"
Catcher nodded. "Once she's completed her on-the-job, since the Order has finally realized they need someone on the ground in Chicago, she'll be on call." The middle part of that sentence had been spoken gruffly and with obvious bitterness. Typical Catcher, in other words.
"On call?" I asked, turning my gaze to Mallory, who smiled slyly.
"I'll be doing my own dispute handling, investigating, that kind of thing." She shrugged.
"It's a job. I mean, it's not Cadogan-Hyde Park kind of money, but I'll manage. Speaking of Cadogan money, what's up on your end of things? How's life under the tutelage of Darth Sullivan?"
"Well," I began, "I've been roped into shenanigans."
Without preface, Catcher muttered a curse, then leaned over, slipped his wallet from his jeans, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, which he handed to Mallory.
She grinned down at it, then carefully folded it and tucked it into her shirt. "On behalf of Carmichael Savings and Loan, we appreciate your business."
At my arched eyebrows, she bobbed her head toward Catcher. "I voted shenanigans within the first twenty-four hours. Mr. Bell over here thought Darth Sullivan would let you get 'settled.' " She used air quotes for that last part.
"Damn. I wish I could have taken that bet," I said. I debated how much I could tell them about said ensuing shenanigans, but since Ethan would probably tell Catcher his plans, and Catcher would undoubtedly tell Mallory, I didn't think I was risking much.
"We'll be doing some reconnaissance work. Long story short, I'm going home."
Mallory arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean, going home?"
"I'll be hanging out with the Merit clan."
"Seriously?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm going to try to get close to an old friend. According to Ethan, at least the part he's telling me, we're trying to keep prying human eyes away from some questionable vamp activities. God only knows what other secret motivations he's got."
"Does getting into your pants count as a secret motivation these days?"
I screwed up my face. " Ew."
Mal rolled her eyes, apparently not buying my disgust. "Whatever. You'd totally hit that if he weren't such an ass."
"And that's exactly his problem," I muttered.