"Miserable, isn't it?"
I glanced behind me. Margot, the House's head chef, stood in the doorway with a dour expression. She wore her chef's whites and rubber clogs, her sleek bob of dark hair gleaming, the pointed bangs resting just between her catlike amber eyes. Her eyes, though, looked a little watery, and they were marked beneath by dark circles.
Was that an effect of blood rationing?
"It is miserable," I agreed.
Margot pul ed a smal cart into the kitchen, its top and bottom shelves laden with healthy snacks and the crunchy sorts of vegetables that only tasted good when drowned in creamy dil dressing.
I know I wasn't a model for healthy eating. But I'd been careful about my weight my entire life. Now, because of my vampire metabolism, I couldn't gain a pound. I considered that a chal enge.
"I like to bake," she said, opening a cabinet and stocking the shelves, "and I enjoy my fruits and veggies, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy plastic-wrapped carbs now and again."
"I'm sure he thinks he's doing the right thing."
Margot paused, hand on a bag of al -natural dried fruit snacks that probably tasted like Styrofoam, and looked over at me. "Do you real y believe that?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I think he truly believes he's doing the right thing for the GP."
She lowered her voice. "Then maybe it's the GP we should be arguing with."
I made a sound of agreement.
Margot stocked the cabinet, then opened the refrigerator door. "Not much blood," she said, frowning as she looked over the bags that were left.
"Rationing, I assume."
"You'd be right. He's reduced our Blood4You delivery by forty percent."
"I think he's hoping someone loses it," I quietly predicted.
"That someone goes after a human, or goes crazy from hunger in front of a camera."
"So he can prove to the GP how flawed the House is.
Convince them to turn it over to him for good."
I nodded. Margot and I shared a worried look, before she suddenly brightened.
"I might have a little something that wil cheer you up, actual y," she said, kneeling down to dig around the bottom shelf of the cart. When she stood up again, she had a gleaming box in her hands.
"Mal ocakes!" I whispered, my eyes probably lighting up like roman candles. It wouldn't have surprised me if my fangs had descended out of sheer excitement. Mal ocakes were my favorite snack-cake delight, chocolate bars of spongey goodness stuffed with marshmal ow creme.
"Contraband," she corrected, then pul ed the paper strip off the box and pul ed out a Mal ocake. With much reverence, she handed it to me. "I'm only brave enough to sneak these in one box at a time," she quietly said, hiding the box again in the jumble on the bottom shelf. "But we al need a little something to get through the day. And if Se de," she this is what it takes, so be it. You find me when you need a fix."
And so it began, I thought, the first wave of a revolution against oppression, fought with corn syrup and chocolate.
"I appreciate it," I said. "And your secret is safe with me."
Margot rol ed her cart back down the hal way. I headed back to my room and downed the blood immediately. I stared at the Mal ocake in my hand for a moment, but ultimately stuffed it into a drawer. There would undoubtedly be a moment when I needed it even more than now.
Chicago - especial y with vampires - just seemed to work that way.
CHAPTER SIX
NO MAN (OR WOMAN) IS AN ISLAND
The message from my grandfather came sometime during the day when I was fast asleep and, thankful y, nightmare free. I snapped up the phone as soon as the sun fel again and read the message: STREETERVILLE HELIPORT.
21:00 CST.
As expected, my grandfather had managed to find a helicopter, and also had developed a taste for using military time.
Being late fal , the sun set earlier and stayed down longer. That gave us a little more time to be awake and about, and it meant I had time to get dressed and take care of secondary business in the few hours before my trip to the island. First item on the list - talking to the people who could make it happen.
I dialed the Ombud's office. Jeff answered the phone on the first ring.
"Merit!"
"Hey, Jeff. I don't suppose the lake magical y fixed itself?"
"Not so much, as it looks exactly the same and is stil pul ing in magic like a Hoover."
"Awesome." If we weren't careful, and fast, there wouldn't be any magic left in Chicago.
"How are the nymphs doing?"
"Not great, but could be worse. We moved them around until we found a place with a relative equilibrium - couldn't move them too far from the lake, or they got weaker because of the distance. Move them too close to the lake, and they get weaker from the vacuum. We eventual y hooked them into a couple of condos your father is managing; your grandfather made the arrangements."
That was awful y nice of my father, but undoubtedly a ploy of some kind - either to gain the favor of a supernatural group that was new to him . . . or to gain favor with me. I stil hadn't forgiven him for bribing Ethan to make me a vampire; Ethan hadn't taken the bribe, but that didn't lessen the sting of the betrayal.
"Did you find anything in your research?"
Jeff yawned. "We did not. Stayed up most of the day looking, too. Our best theory is this is some new kind of spel ."
"We know Catcher's not involved, and Mal ory's freaked out about her exams. Simon's the only other sorcerer in town. You think he could have something to do with it?"
"Simon? I don't know. He doesn't seem the type. Catcher looked into his background when he started tutoring Mal.
From what I've heard, he had a rough start as a kid, cleaned up when he apprenticed with the Order. I don't think he found anything suspicious, but tha Ve de,Simon?t didn't real y help. Catcher does not like Simon."
"I noticed," I said.
"I noticed," I said.
"So, anyway, long story short, we're at a dead end.
Maybe your talk with Lorelei wil clear things up. You psyched for the trip?"
"I'd be more psyched if this was a casual visit, and not a trip to an isolated island to solve a magical problem she might have caused."
"Eh, piece of cake," Jeff said.
"We'l see about that. But that's not actual y why I'm cal ing. I need a favor."
"In addition to the helicopter ride?"
"In addition to that. I need to talk to Tate."
Silence.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
I could hear the question he wasn't asking - are you sure it's a good idea to visit the man responsible for the death of your lover? But I'd already thought that one through.