But as we passed, when he realized it was me, his eyes widened. And there was an incredibly satisfying hitch in his step.
I bit back a smile and kept walking. As I strolled through the first floor and out the front door, I probably looked unconcerned.
But I knew I'd always remember that little hitch.
Chapter Twelve
MERIT'S DEEP, DARK (72% COCOA) SECRET
It was nearly midnight when I made it to Wicker Park, but I got lucky, finding a corner grocery with its neon OPEN sign still blazing in the window. I grabbed a bottle of wine and a chocolate torte, my calorie-laden contribution to Mallory's not-going-that-far-away party.
On my way north, I tried to shrug off the job tension. It wasn't that I was the first girl to have boss issues, but how many bosses were four-hundred-year-old Master vampires or sword-wielding sorcerers? It didn't help that the same sword-wielding sorcerer was one-fourth of Mal's party.
Once in the 'hood, I opted to leave my sword in the car. Since I was off duty and off Cadogan House turf, it was unlikely that I'd need it and, more importantly, the act felt like a tiny rebellion. A wonderful rebellion. A rebellion I needed.
Mal opened the door as soon as I popped up the steps. "Hi, honey," she said. "Bad day at the office?"
I held up booze and chocolate.
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, holding open the door for me. When I was inside and the door was closed and locked behind us, I handed over the gifts.
"Chocolate and booze," she said. "You do know how to woo a girl. You've got mail, by the way." She bobbed her head toward the side table, then headed for the kitchen.
"Thanks," I mumbled after her, picking up the pile. Apparently the post office hadn't completely caught up with my change of address. I set aside magazines, interesting catalogs and bills, and dumped credit card offers addressed to "Merit, Vampire" into a pile for shredding. There was also a wedding invitation from a cousin and, at the bottom of the stack, a small crimson envelope.
I flipped it over. The envelope was blank but for my name and address, both written in elegant white calligraphy. I slid a finger beneath the flap and found a thick, cream-colored card tucked inside. I pulled it out. It bore a single phrase in the same calligraphy, this time in blood red ink:
YOU ARE INVITED.
That was it. No event, no date, no time, and the back was completely blank. The card contained nothing but the phrase, as if the writer had forgotten, mid-invite, exactly what party she'd been inviting me to.
"Weird," I muttered. But the folks my parents hung out with could be a little flighty; maybe the printer was in a hurry, couldn't finish the stack. Whatever the reason, I stuffed the half-finished invite back into the pile, dropped the pile back on the table, and headed for the kitchen.
"So, my boss," I said, "is kind of an ass."
"Which boss did you mean?" Catcher stood at the stove, stirring something in a saucepan. He glanced back at me. "The ass**le vampire or the ass**le sorcerer?"
"Oh, I think the name applies pretty well to either." I took a seat at the kitchen island.
"Don't take Darth Sullivan personally," Mallory said, twisting a corkscrew into the wine like a seasoned expert. "And really don't take Catcher personally. He's full of shit."
"That's charming, Mallory," he said.
Mallory winked at me and filled three wineglasses. We clinked, and I took a sip. Not bad for a last-minute quick-stop find. "What's on the menu for dinner?"
"Salmon, asparagus, rice," Catcher said, "and probably too much talk about girly shit and vampires."
I appreciated the light mood. If he could leave our issues in the Sparring Room back in Cadogan House, I could, too. "You are aware that you're dating girly, right?" I asked.
Mal may have loved soccer and the occult, but she was all girly-girl, from the blue hair to the patent leather flats.
Mal rolled her eyes. "Our Mr. Bell is in denial about certain issues."
"It's lotion, Mallory, for God's sake." Catcher used a long, flat spatula and the tips of his fingers to flip salmon in his saute pan.
"Lotion?" I asked, crossing my legs on the island stool and prepping for some good drama. I could always appreciate being the audience for a domestic squabble that had nothing to do with me. And God knows Mal and Catcher were a constant source - I'd been able to give up TMZ completely, my need for gossip sated by Carmichael-Bell disputes.
"She has, like, fourteen kinds of lotion." He had trouble getting out the words, his shock and chagrin at Mallory's moisturizer stockpile apparently that intense.
Mallory waved her glass at me. "Tell him."
"Women moisturize," I reminded him. "Different lotions for different body parts, different scents for different occasions."
"Different thicknesses for different seasons," Mallory added. "It's pretty complicated, actually."
Catcher dumped a cutting board of trimmed asparagus into a steamer pot. "It's lotion.
I'm pretty sure science has advanced to the point that you can buy a single bottle that will take care of all that."
"Missing the point," I said.
"He's missing the point," Mallory parroted. "You're totally missing the point."
Catcher snorted and turned to face us, arms crossed over a Marquette T-shirt. "You two would agree that the world is flat if it meant you could gang up on me."
Mallory bobbed her head. "True. That is true."
I nodded and grinned at Catcher. "That's what makes us awesome. A force of nature."
"What's bad about this conversation," Catcher said, pointing at Mallory as he stalked toward her, then waggling his finger between their bodies, "is that we're dating. You're supposed to side with me."
Mallory burst out laughing, just in time for Catcher to reach her and nab her glass of wine before Cabernet sloshed over the top. "Catch, you're a boy. I've known you for like a week." Two months, actually, but who was counting? "I've known Merit for years. I mean, the sex is great and all, but she's my BFF."
For the first time since I'd known Catcher, he was speechless. Oh, he sputtered a little, tried to get something out, but Mallory's pronouncement stopped him short. He looked to me for help. If I hadn't been amused, the desperation in his eyes would have moved me.
"You're the one that moved in, Slugger," I said with a shrug. "She's right. Maybe next time you should do a little of that famous Bell investigatory work before you sign up for the full ride."