“The substance is worse,” I promised. “Rose messaged Roger today and said she was fine. So our focus, at least for now, is the ghosts.”
“You think it had something to do with the Great Fire?” Uncle Malik asked.
“Maybe only coincidentally? Petra had this device, and it measured the—apologies in advance—ooze from the ghost attack. The magic in it originated in 1872. Did anything happen around that time?”
“You know the Great Fire wasn’t really started by Mrs.O’Leary’s cow?”
I nodded. “It was a sorceress.”
“Yes,” Uncle Malik said. “A sorceress trying to make a familiar.”
Familiars were usually animals who’d been magicked by a sorcerer to act as servants or helpers. Lulu’s mom, my (honorary) aunt Mallory, had tried to use familiar magic to bring my dad back to life after he’d been killed in a fight with another vampire. Mallory managed to bring him to life again, albeit via magic that had nearly destroyed Chicago.
Dad looked at mom, covered her hand with his, squeezed, the love and appreciation obvious between them. Whatever else my parents may have taught me, they’d taught me the value of partnership. Of loving, trusting, and appreciating a partner who always had your back.
Partly because that made me think of Connor—and partly because I didn’t need to watch my parents making lovey eyes at each other—I glanced at him, found his gaze on me. He nodded his understanding.
“As you might imagine,” Uncle Malik said, “the experiment didn’t go well for either party. Making a familiar is old magic, evil magic—intended to take control of another living being.”
“The Great Fire,” I said. “That was one of the repercussions. And after the fire, the Order was kicked out of Chicago.”
Uncle Malik nodded. “The sorceress—and the Order by extension—shouldered the blame for the destruction. While humans began rebuilding the city, the sorceress was placed on trial. She was executed, the Order banned.”
“Who did the banning and the executing?” I asked. “I mean, did they remove the Order or the individuals?”
“Supernaturals were still assimilated then, mostly trying to act human. So information was harder to get, and there were no screens, television, radio. There was only word of mouth, and the truth tended to change as each person passed it on. That said, I’m not sure how reliable this is, but I’d heard both the Order and the sorcerers were forced out. And my understanding was the evictions were carried out by Order members from other states. They were horrified at what the sorceress had done and afraid of what humans might do if they discovered sorcerers living among them.”
“So theoretically there were no sorcerers in Chicago in 1872,” I muttered, frowning as I tried to think this through. “Who could have done this magic?”
“Sorcerers who weren’t known to the Order,” Connor offered.
“Or,” Dad added, “other supernaturals who can do magic but aren’t considered sorcerers—they don’t have that range of magic. Necromancers, for example.”
“That would explain the ghosts.” I looked at Uncle Malik. “I don’t suppose you knew any necromancers back then?”
“I didn’t, nor of any big magic they were working. There was still magic in Chicago; you could feel it, just as you can now. But I don’t recall feeling anything of the scale you’re describing.” He frowned, looked up and away, and his gaze became unfocused, as if watching memories replay.
“The mood in Chicago after the fire was... grim,” he saidafter a moment. “So many lost in the blaze. So many homeless, businesses destroyed. I remember sadness. I remember the hard work of rebuilding. I remember the chaos of that time.” He looked at my dad, gaze focusing again. “And I remember when a vampire brought his people to Chicago and asked me to join them.”
“One of the best decisions I’ve ever made,” Dad said with a smile.
“Perhaps second to your Sentinel,” Uncle Malik said, then looked at me. “I’m not sure if this helps you.”
“It helps,” I assured him. “We’ve ruled out sorcery, which narrows the playing field.”
We just had to figure out whatremained.
FIVE
We declined several more offers of food and drink, made apologies, and left to pursue the ghost angle. Mom agreed to call Mallory and see if she or Lulu’s father, Catcher, had heard anything about post-fire magical shenanigans, and my father headed to the House library to get the Librarian and his wife, Paige (a sorceress in her own right and former Order archivist), on the research as well.
“A lot of people on the hunt,” Connor said.
“We need all the help we can get.” I gestured back to the House. “So, based on that conversation, whatever magic was worked in 1872 probably wasn’t worked by a sorceress. It had to be someone else. A specialist, like a necromancer. But we don’t have any idea why. Maybe Ariel can help with that.”
He stopped when we reached the SUV. “I’m not sure what to call him.”
“Who?”