The room went silent.

   “How?” Ethan said.

   “Sorcha’s Trojan horse,” Mallory said. “The magic that didn’t dissipate after Towerline.”

   Catcher leaned forward. “Think about the emotions people were feeling around Towerline when the battle occurred. People were freaked out by the fight, the supernaturals, the river, the possibility of the building falling over. The city was in crisis, and that was in addition to all the other things they normally worry about. All that fear, anger, and worry was gathered together by Sorcha’s magic.”

   “It was distilled,” Mallory said. “Just like the scent of that magic is the distilled essence of Chicago.”

   “We’re hearing the Egregore,” Ethan quietly said, studying the picture, then lifting his gaze to Mallory. “Magic creating life?”

   “A form of it, anyway.”

   “And why would she do all this?” Ethan asked. “Create this collective magic? Work to create this Egregore? To foster the delusions? To use them as a weapon?”

   “I think the delusions are a side effect,” Catcher said. “There were thousands of people near Towerline, but the delusions have been relatively rare, sporadic, and geographically focused. That’s probably because Sorcha’s magic didn’t disseminate evenly.”

   “The fact that she’s never been trained hurts her,” Mallory said, nodding. “She’s got skills, sure. But it’s raw power, untrained.”

   “And that’s much more dangerous,” Ethan said. “Not to mention the fact that she’s narcissistic and unpredictable. She has changed the weather. Endangered the lives of millions. Brought the city to a standstill because she could.” He glanced at Mallory. “Because you didn’t let her have her way at Towerline.”

   “She’s acting like a hormonal teenager,” Lindsey said. “She is basically the worst Sweet Valley High novel ever written.”

   “Based on what we know about her,” Luc said, “that’s how she operated her entire life. She gets what she wants, usually because someone paid for it.”

   I nodded. “She doesn’t even fight her own battles. She used alchemy to control sups so they could do the fighting for her. She wants to win the war, but she doesn’t want to fight it. She wants power with impunity.”

   “She wants a weapon,” Catcher concluded, nodding at me. “Just like we were supposed to be.”

   “The Egregore is sentient,” I said. “If she can control it, it can fight us on her behalf.”

   Mallory nodded. “We think that’s where she’s going, too.” She gestured to the book. “But we haven’t had time to get further in the book, so we don’t know what she’ll try next, or how the weather relates to it.”

   “Another question,” I said. “If the Egregore is going to be her weapon, why does she want us? Why the ultimatum?”

   “Revenge,” Ethan said, and the word hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.

   “I’m sure that’s part of it,” Mallory said. “But that can’t be all of it. She’s creating a spectacle, sure. But she’s also giving us a chance to prepare, to be ready. To be armed. We’re missing something. Something involving the Egregore and us together. I just can’t see what it is. I either need more time to work through the Danzig”—she turned to Catcher—“or I need to go to the source.”

   Catcher glared back. “Don’t even think what you’re thinking. Jumping into her arms won’t change anything.”

   “I love you, but you don’t even know the half of what I’m thinking right now.” Mallory’s teeth were gritted with anger, every word bitten off like a bitter seed.

   “He’s right.”

   We looked back at my grandfather in the doorway. He walked in, Jeff by his side.

   “How much of that did you get?” Catcher asked.

   “Enough,” he said. “We’ll get the details later.” He sat down beside Mallory, clasped his hands together. “Even if you and Merit walked right up to her, offered yourselves, do you think it would make a difference? Do you think it would change anything?”

   “Probably not,” Mallory admitted. “But if there’s a one percent chance she’d back down? That if we go to her, turn ourselves in, she takes her ice and her couture and walks away? Isn’t that worth taking to save the city?”

   “Mallory,” Catcher said, “you know the math doesn’t work that way.”

   “It’s just an example,” she said, and rubbed a hand over her face.

   It might have been an example, but she had a point. I didn’t want that many people on my conscience, weighing it down.

   “I need more time,” she said. “We all need more time.”

   “I’m sure she realizes that,” Ethan said. “Which is why time is a luxury she isn’t giving us.” Ethan looked at my grandfather. “What’s the situation outside?”

   “The city is frozen and, because of it, quiet. The governor has called in the National Guard, and they’re helping those who’ve opted to evacuate. There’ve been two more instances of humans having delusions, which sent four people to the hospital. No fatalities, thank goodness. And there are protestors on your lawn.”

   “Protesting?” Ethan said, gritting out the word. “Protesting what?”

   My grandfather looked at me. “They demand Merit and Mallory immediately surrender for the safety of the city.”

   Protestors were nothing new. Much like the House’s fans, their numbers waxed and waned, usually depending on the weather and our news coverage. But that didn’t much matter to Ethan.