Drink Deep

PARADIGM SHIFT(ER)

The ride back was miserable. The wind had picked up, and we were tossed around with enough force that the pilot's hands were white-knuckled around her controls. She spent half the trip praying under her breath.

I'm pretty sure I was green when we reached the helipad again. I made it to my car without incident, but sat in the driver's seat for a few minutes, unwil ing to brave the drive home until I was sure I wasn't going to ruin the upholstery.

The last thing a boxy, twenty-year-old Volvo needed was the stench of airsickness.

While I had a moment, I checked my phone. I'd missed a cal from Jonah, and Keley had left a voice mail checking in. I did my duty and cal ed her back first.

She answered the phone with a squeal. "You are amazing!"

"I'm - what now?"

"You! The lake! I don't know how you did it, but you are a miracle worker!"

I had to shake my head to catch up. "Keley, I just got back to the city, and I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Merit, you did it! The lake's back to normal. Just al of a sudden, boom, and the water's clear again and the waves are flowing, just like nothing happened. I don't know what you told Lorelei, but it total y worked. It mattered, Merit. You mattered. Do you know how much this helps the House?

The protestors have actual y gone home tonight. This might get the GP off our back completely."

I'd only been out of the helicopter for fifteen or twenty minutes, tops, and the lake hadn't looked any different from the sky or when we landed. As much as I appreciated the praise and the possibility that I was giving the House room to breathe, I was skeptical. I'd believed Lorelei, and there was nothing on that island that made me think she had anything to do with what had happened to the lake, much less that she could stop it an hour or so after my visit.

Something else had to be going on.

"Kel, I'm not sure it's that simple. I mean, I'm glad the lake is back, but I ^="3do do didn't do anything, and I don't think she did either. In fact, I don't think Lorelei had anything to do with the lake at al . She's weak like the nymphs are."

"Occam's Razor, Merit. The simplest solution is usual y the true one. The lake went bad, you talked to Lorelei, the lake is back again. Maybe you scared her straight. Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

I frowned. That those things happened in order didn't mean they were related to each other. Lorelei certainly hadn't worked any magic while I'd been there. Would she have had time to do anything after I'd left?

This wasn't the first time I'd been presented with an answer that seemed too easy. Celina had confessed her involvement in the V trade while standing in the middle of a public festival. That had briefly seemed like a miraculous end to our drug-related drama, at least until we discovered she'd been under Tate's magical thumb.

Nothing was that easy. But maybe, for now, Keley needed to believe we were making a difference, that we'd actual y managed to solve a problem. The entire House probably needed to believe it. Maybe forgoing the truth was occasional y the right thing to do, so I gave her what she needed to hear.

"You're probably right," I said. "It would have been a pretty big coincidence otherwise."

"Right? Anyway, go play! Take the night off. I'm just thril ed. Excel ent job, Sentinel. And I'l make sure Cabot knows it."

The phone went dead, but that didn't do anything to quel my anxiety. If I couldn't discuss my findings in Cadogan House, I'd find a more receptive audience. Problem was, my best audience - the Ombud's office - might not be al that receptive, either. I wasn't thril ed about the idea of tel ing Jeff that Lorelei blamed the Packs for the lake, and decided that confession needed to be made in person.

Tel ing him shifters were my new suspects wasn't going to go over wel .

On my way to the Ombud's office, I cal ed Jonah to check in. He answered on the first ring.

"Wel done on the lake," he said.

"Thanks for the performance eval. But it wasn't me. Any word on the nymphs?"

"I've heard they're getting more healthy and hale by the minute and are big fans of yours right now."

"Crap."

"That wasn't the reaction I expected."

"I'm ruining the punch line here, but I didn't actual y do anything at the lake. Lorelei and I just talked."

"You just talked?"

"That's it. She was also weak and getting weaker, and she denies having done anything to the lake. I tend to believe her."

"And I'm guessing you aren't going to be content with the fact that the lake's back to normal?"

I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or insulted by the sentiment. But either way, he was right. "You would be correct. I'm gonna visit my grandfather and pick his brain.

You wanna join me?"

"No can do. I'm in the middle of something. You want to meet later to debrief?"

"We can do that. I'l cal you when I'm done."

"I'l bring popcorn," he promised, then hung up.

I gnawed my lip al the way to my grandfather's south side office, hard enough that I eventual y tasted the metal ic bite of blood. The lake's time as a giant magic vacuum might have ended, but I was convinced this wasn't the end of the story. And if I was right and the fix was a coincidence, we had another force working major magic in the Windy City. I had a sinking fear we were going to find out soon what Tate's "next move" would be.

Traffic was light, so the drive to the south side didn't take long. The office of the Ombudsman was located in a low brick building in a working-class, residential neighborhood.

I parked on the street and headed to the door, hitting the buzzer to signal Jeff, Catcher, my grandfather, or Marjorie, my grandfather's admin, that I was there.

Marjorie was an efficient woman, and she answered the door the same way she answered the phone - handing me off to someone else as quickly as possible.

"Good evening," I told her after she uncoded the door and held it open for me, but by the time I got out the words, she'd relocked the door and was headed back to her office. Maybe supernatural diplomacy buried her in paperwork.

The building sported some serious 1970s decor, and Catcher and Jeff shared an equal y ugly office down the hal . Metal desks probably grabbed from a city surplus auction fil ed their smal room, and posters of River nymphs lined the wal s.

I found Jeff and Catcher at their desks, but they were so heavily immersed in conversation they hadn't even heard me enter.

"Her hair's a lot darker," Jeff was saying, while simultaneously typing on one of the rainbow of keyboards that covered his desk. "So I'm pretty sure our kids would have darker hair, too."

"That's not necessarily the case," Catcher disagreed. He was folding a sticky note into a tiny, origami something-orother. "I mean, they could get your genes. And your hair is lighter. You're tal er than Fal on, too."

"True. True," Jeff said.

Was this for real? Were these two magical y oriented, problem-fixing, ass-kicking guys talking about what their kids would look like?

Jeff leaned over and offered a bag of pistachios to Catcher. Catcher smiled genial y - and without even a bit of snark - dropped the origami and plucked a few from the bag. Jeff split the hul on one and chewed it.

"You ever think about coaching basebal , that kinda thing, when you and Mal ory have kids? You know, doing the whole soccer dad routine?"

Catcher threw a pistachio in the air and caught it in his mouth. "While hoping they don't fry the universe from day one? Yeah, that thought has occurred to me." He sat up straight and looked at Jeff. "Can you imagine some little girl with Mal ory's hair? The blond, I mean."

"Heart. Breaker," Jeff said. "You'l have to keep a shotgun by the front door just to ward off the players. Or, I guess, you could have Mal ory do it for you."

"I could," Catcher al owed, then - realizing I was in the room -  looked up and glared right at me. "I'l do that right after I have her kick Merit's ass for spying."

I grinned and stepped inside, offering each a wave.

"Hel o, proud papas of children not yet conceived."

Jeff's cheeks blossomed crimson. "You could have given us a heads-up."

"And miss the parental discussion? No thank you. It was adorable. You two kids, being al chummy and paternal."

"I guess the siren didn't drown you?" Catcher dryly asked, getting me back to the point.

"Not even close. She was pretty nice, actual y."

"She must have been," Jeff said with a grin. "I mean, you convinced her to do the right thing. The lake is back to normal."

"Thank Christ," Catcher said. "Did she make the trip worthwhile and confess to fucking up our lake?"

"As a matter of fact, she didn't," I said, pul ing out a chair of my own. "Let's cal in my grandfather. He'l want to hear this, too."

I didn't mean to set a dramatic scene, but I wanted them al in the room at the same time when I laid down the facts about our lake siren.

After a few minutes, my grandfather walked in, offered me a hug and a smile. But then his eyes changed, the joy flattening as he prepared to get down to business.

"Lorelei has been the lake siren since she took possession of the Piedra de Agua, the water stone, which somehow imparts its power to the holder. She's weak -

looked pretty awful, actual y - and seems to be in pain.

She'd actual y hoped the nymphs had been responsible.

We flew back to Chicago, total y uneventful, and I'm told when we arrive the lake is suddenly back to normal.

Magically back to normal."

There was silence in the room.

"It wasn't her," my grandfather concluded.

"Not unless she was lying and worked some real y fast magic."

Catcher frowned and began to rock in his ancient metal office chair, which squeaked in time to his movements. "So we're dealing with something unknown."

"She did have a theory," I began, and offered Jeff an apologetic glance. "She thinks it's the combination of shifters and nymphs in town that made the magic. Their elemental magics working together or against each other, and the result of al that power in one place, she thought."

Jeff looked taken aback. "That's a new one."

"Is that even possible?" my grandfather asked. "That the number of sups would create spontaneous magic?"

Jeff frowned and scratched absently at his head. "I guess it's theoretical y possible there'd be some lambent magic spil age, but you'd expect to see a positive increase in magic - not something that's sucking the magic out of the city."

"Unless it's like the effect of a tsunami," Catcher suggested. "Is it possible the shifters being together in one place pul ed out so much magic the lake began to pul it back in?"

Jeff shook his head. "If that were true, we'd shift ocean currents every time we met in Aurora or anywhere else." He glanced at me. "I'm not aware of any instance of a magical vacuum being created because too many shifters got together. This would be a first."

His tone was polite, but his expression made clear he didn't buy Lorelei's theory.

"I didn't real y buy it either," I said. "Although I like even less the fact that we have no explanation for something this powerful."

"We may not have an explanat ce a that ion," my grandfather said, "but at least we have a reprieve. I know times are not easy at the House. Let us do the heavy lifting on the rest of the investigation."

My lip curled at the implicit mention of Frank. "I can't schedule my work based on what the GP might say.

They're going to criticize me regardless, so I have to do the right thing by the House and by the city. And if worse comes to worst . . ."

"Merit," Jeff quietly said, "you don't want to be cast out of the House."

"No, I don't," I agreed. "But I'm not going to act like there's nothing going on when, clearly, something is brewing. I can't let the city go to hel because the receiver has his head up his ass. Sorry, Grandpa," I added about the language.

He patted my back. "We'l carry the burden," he said.

"You keep your head down and do your job. I know how hard it's been for you lately. How hard it must be without Ethan. He was a good man - a good Master for his people.

But tough times don't last forever, and Malik wil need you when he's free and clear of the receiver."

It was great advice; it was just going to be hard to fol ow.

Ethan hadn't exactly trained me to sit on the sidelines and watch a problem unfold. He'd taught me to strategize and investigate. To soldier. And what soldier bowed out because the pressure was too high? Sure, fol owing orders was important, but a soldier stil had to rely on her own conscience, right?

Marjorie peeked into the office and knocked on the open door, worry in her expression. "Chuck," she said. "I think you'd better come out here."

Frowning, my grandfather stood up and walked to the door. After exchanging a glance, Catcher, Jeff, and I fol owed. We stood at the door, each of our heads poking around the door frame at various heights, like kids in a slapstick comedy.

My grandfather stood in the hal way, Marjorie beside him, their gazes on the front door. A nondescript black SUV was parked outside. It was the kind of SUV that moved in the dark of night, that you didn't know was coming until the passengers were already out of the car with guns . . . or worse.

"McKetrick?" I wondered.

"I wish," Marjorie spit out. "At least then I'd see some action."

We al stared at her.

"Sorry, sorry," she said with a thick Chicagoan accent, the word sounding more like "sarry" than "sorry."

"Pushing paper on sups just gets a little dul around here sometimes, ya know? But, no. It's not McKetrick, who I understand is a very bad person. Horrible." She crossed herself. "God bless us al . It's the mayor."

"Turn off the alarm," my grandfather said, and Catcher stepped into the hal way, moved to the keypad and uncoded the lock.

"Did you know she was coming?" I quietly asked.

My grandfather shook his head. "It's a surprise to me."

We waited for her arrival in a heavy, worrisome silence.

The mayor showing up unannounced at the Ombudsman's office probably didn't portend anything good.

She was preceded to the door by two beefy security guards. When they opened it, she walked inside and peered around. She wore a burgundy pantsuit, her hair flipped at the bottom into an odd curl, her expression disdainful. Chunky costume jewelry was ce jnd. Sh draped around her neck and wrists, and there were chunky rings on her fingers.

After a moment of disdainful review of the office, she made eye contact with my grandfather. "Mr. Merit."

"Madame Mayor," he said in greeting.

"I hear you and your . . . staff . . . have been using the city's resources for private helicopter rides."

He blinked back surprise. "Ma'am, if you have budgetary concerns, we can move to my office and discuss them."

"I'm on a bit of a schedule, Mr. Merit. I'd prefer an answer now."

My grandfather wet his lips, then continued. "As detailed in my requisition report, we needed a ride to Bear Island.

We believed its resident might have been involved with the lake."

"And was she?"

Choose your words carefully, I thought. You don't want to give her the ammunition and the gun, too.

"As I'm sure you've seen, the lake is back to normal."

She frowned, and it wasn't an attractive look on her.

Diane Kowalczyk was the kind of person who looked good

- and even then, not great - only when she was smiling with political vigor.

"Mr. Merit," she final y said, "my job is not to waste taxpayer dol ars kowtowing to supernatural boogeymen. My job is to ensure the resources of this city are used wisely."

"My apologies, Madame Mayor," my grandfather diplomatical y said. "If you'd prefer, the cost of using the helicopter can be doubly removed from our budget for the year. As always, we'l have a surplus, and we'l return that money to the city."

The mayor smiled thinly - and meanly. "That won't be necessary. You see, Mr. Merit, effective today, you have no more budget."

My jaw dropped, as did Catcher's, Jeff's, and Marjorie's.

The hal way fil ed with uncomfortable magic. The mayor and her guards seemed oblivious to it, and she stared us down with an evil glint of triumph in her eye.

To his credit, my grandfather's expression stayed neutral.

"And what does that mean, Madame Mayor?"

"It means the position of Ombudsman is hereby suspended. Your employees are on administrative leave, and your office wil be closed until further notice."

"You can't just - " Jeff started, but my grandfather held up a hand, and then he made me proud.

"I have held my tongue," he said. "Many times, over many issues, I have held my tongue. I walked the streets of this city for a long time - before you were even born into it, I'd imagine. Every man and woman who walks this earth must make his or her own way. And I see you're trying to do what you believe is correct. But you couldn't possibly be more wrong. The supernatural populations of this city need a friend now more than ever. Now is the time to foster mutual understanding, not leave supernatural populations adrift in a sea of hostility."

"That hostility is their fault and their burden," she retorted.

"They made their bed."

"Mayor Tate made their bed," he corrected.

The mayor rol ed her eyes. "This city no longer tolerates favoritism, whatever label you might put on it, and however wel you sel that favoritism to the special int ce songerests that support it."

The demagoguery in her tone and the gleam in her eyes had Future Presidential Candidate written al over them.

"And if humans attack us?" I asked her. "If they gather up their stakes and pitchforks - or their guns - and rise against the Houses, wil that be tolerated? Wil they be treated with impunity?"

She shifted her gaze to me, the peon who'd bothered her with a practical question. "That is the kind of exaggeration that has turned our city into a national laughingstock. This is the real world, and we have more important concerns than whether vampires deserve special treatment."

"We'l appeal this to the city council," Jeff said. "We'l talk to our alderman."

"And they'l tel you the same thing that I have. It's time we prioritize, Mr. Merit. This is how I'm starting that process.

You have twenty-four hours to clean out your offices - and you might recommend your constituents plan on getting their registration papers in order. Good night."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked outside again, her bodyguards behind her.

"I don't use this word lightly," Marjorie said, "but that woman is a stone-cold bitch."

My grandfather wouldn't be outdone by Marjorie's swear.

He let loose a string of curses the likes of which I'd never heard before. There were words in there I couldn't believe he'd ever heard before.

"If she thinks," he final y said through gritted teeth, "I'm going to take this lying down, she has another think coming.

I am not going to destroy al the forward progress we've made for the sups of this city for the sake of her presidential campaign."

"She can't do this," Jeff said. "Not unilateral y. It's not right."

"That woman couldn't differentiate 'right' from a hole in the ground," my grandfather said. "But I wil be damned if that's the end of us."

The five of us stood in silence in the hal way.

"You know," Catcher final y said, "there may be a bright side to this."

"What's that?" my grandfather asked.

Catcher looked at my grandfather with a gleam in his eyes.

"Every decision you've made in the last four years you've made with the mayor in mind. We were beholden to the position, which means anyone who relied on the office was beholden. We may not have governmental sponsorship anymore - but we also don't have government repression,"

Catcher said. "We've started from less. Four years ago, we had no contacts, no friends, and no legitimacy. Sups were afraid of us. She might be able to take away our funding, but she can't turn back time."

My grandfather smiled, just a little. "Mr. Bel , you may have a point there."

I walked back to my car, leaving Jeff, Catcher, Marjorie, and my grandfather to pack their boxes and consider their options. Given the gleam in my grandfather's eye, I had no doubt he'd find another solution. The four of them - and their secret vampire employee - would probably have a new office set up before the sun rose again. I wondered if Grandpa would make them meatloaf to celebrate? He made a fantastic meatloaf.

Meatloaf on my mind, I pul ed out my phone. I cal ed Keley and advised her m cadvbably hay grandfather was going to look further into the lake's darkening. I had also promised Jonah a debriefing. And yes, I'd let my grandfather do the heavy lifting about the lake problem, but I wasn't going to ignore the situation, especial y now.

"Are you done with your project?" I asked when Jonah answered my cal .

"I am. Let's get together and debrief. Where are you?"

"South side. Just leaving my grandfather's office. Where are you?"

"Grey House. I don't want to meet here, obviously, and I'm not going anywhere near Cadogan. Too many protestors." He was quiet for a moment. "How about the Midway? We'l have some privacy there."

Midway Plaisance Park was a mile-long strip of green space that ran east-west across the city near the U of C

campus. It had been carved out for the 1893 Columbian Exposition, the World's Fair that made Chicago the "White City."

"Sure," I said. "I'l be there in fifteen."

"See you then."

I hung up the phone and tossed it into the passenger seat, then stared at it for a moment. It was times like these I'd normal y have cal ed Ethan to debrief. Even if he didn't know precisely what to do, he'd have some kind of suggestion. He had hundreds of years of experience as a vampire and a ridiculously keen grasp of politics and strategy - even if that got him into trouble sometimes.

I'm sure Jonah would have valuable advice, as wel ; I wouldn't have agreed to the meeting otherwise. But Ethan and I had a camaraderie. A style. We'd learned how to work together. Ethan and I had an intimacy born of shared experiences; Jonah and I simply didn't. Maybe, if in some strange new world I accepted the RG's offer and he became my partner, it would develop. But tonight . . .

Tonight, I missed Ethan.

Seeking oblivion, I pul ed my gaze from the phone and flipped on the radio. Snow Patrol blasted through the speakers, and although I turned it down to a slightly less eardrum-shattering volume, I left it loud enough to wipe unpleasant thoughts from my mind. The band sang about bravery and taking difficult steps, even if you were afraid to do so. I pretended the universe was daring me to be brave, to step into this new life as I'd done once before. The last time - from graduate student to warrior for Cadogan House. This time - from constant companion of the Master of that House to . . .

To what?

As I drove in the dark, the song rose to a crescendo, and I concluded that was the crucial question. What would I be without Ethan? Who would I be without Ethan?

It was probably time to find out.

The Midway linked Washington Park to the west and Jackson Park to the east. It was bounded by art, including the Masaryk memorial, a statue of a mounted soldier, on the east end. The horse and soldier sat atop a rectangular plinth above a set of raised concrete steps. Jonah stood in front of the plinth, arms crossed, looking up at it.

"You rang?" I asked him, hopping up the steps.

He turned around. "Do you ever wonder if we'l get to the point where we're considered part of Chicago?" He gestured toward the statue. "I mean, enough that they'd consider memorializing one of us? That they'd actual y be proud of what we've done?"

I sat do c="3 memoriawn on one of the steps, and he moved over and sat beside me.

"This city has been through a lot of phases since Celina's press conference," I said. "Denial. Hatred. Celebrity."

"And now back to hatred?"

I made a sound of agreement. "Something pretty profound would have to change before they'd consider us equal to humans. And speaking of equality," I said, and fil ed him in on the mayor's visit.

His eyes went wide. "The Ombud's office - they can't close it. The city needs it. The sups need it. They trust your grandfather. They think he gives them a voice. Without him, people only know about troublemakers, about Celina and Adam Keene."

"I agree, but don't fret. When I left, they were already brainstorming a plan to help out. They'l do what they have to do; taxpayers just won't be paying for it."

We sat quietly for a moment, the cool air raising goose bumps along my arms.

"I'm guessing you think something else is going on with the water," he said. "Something beyond the siren?"

"I do. It's too convenient otherwise. I was there with her, Jonah. And she wasn't working any magic."

"So we should keep looking."

"Quietly," I said. "Let my grandfather do the heavy lifting, as he put it. There's just too much pressure on me to be more active. Frank's not thril ed I'm standing Sentinel. It wouldn't surprise me if he tried to push me out of the position."

"He doesn't have the power to do that."

I gave him a dry look. "There may not be a rule in the Canon that says he can, but who's going to stop him? He's got the House over a barrel, and if it came down to me and the House, Malik has to pick the House. How could he not pick the House?"

My stomach sank at the thought - and not just from the possibility I'd no longer be Sentinel, but because I'd chided Ethan about having to choose between me and the House.

I'd suggested it was wrong of him to even consider picking the House over me. Maybe I hadn't given him enough credit  - not because I would have agreed with the decision, but because the decision had been harder than I'd thought.

"Where are you right now?"

I looked over at Jonah. "Just thinking."

"About?"

I looked away again, and he must have understood the embarrassment in my expression.

"Ah," he said.

"Ah," I repeated with a nod.

"Can I tel you something?"

"Sure."

Whatever he was going to say, it took a few seconds for him to work up to it. "I know we didn't exactly hit it off in the beginning, mostly because of my admittedly preconceived notions about who you were."

"And because I'd forgotten you'd masqueraded as a human to date my twenty-two-year-old sister."

"Also that," he quickly agreed. "But that doesn't change the obvious."

"Which is?"

"Which is, you're rather intriguing, Merit, Sentinel of Cadogan House."

"Thanks," I said, but couldn't manage to make eye contact.

Jonah put a finger beneath my chin, turning my head so I had to face him. The touch of his finger sent a warming zing of power straight down my spine.

"What the hel was that?"

Surprise in his eyes, he pul ed back his fingers and stared down at them before lifting his gaze to mine.

"Complementary magic," he whispered. "I've heard it was possible, but I've never actual y seen it. Vamps aren't magical per se, you know. We feel it. We sense it. We know it's around us. We disrupt the balance of it when we're upset."

That wasn't exactly how I'd learned it. "I thought we leaked magic when we were upset?"

Jonah shook his head. "The magic doesn't come from us. It flows around us. Strong emotions - fear, anger, lust -

change the way we interact with it, sending ripples through it. We aren't making the magic or leaking it. We're altering the currents."

"I see," I said.

"But this," he began, picking up my hand and tracing a finger across my palm - and sending frissons of magic down my body. "This is unexpected. The theory is that some vampires affect magic in complementary ways - as if on the same frequency. It looks like we might have some of that."

Magical novelty or not, this sounded like a complication I didn't need. And yet, every movement of his fingers sent shivers down my spine and shut off the part of my brain that should have been thinking better.

"Al right," he suddenly said, jumping up from his seat.

"Let's get back to work."

The abrupt change in conversation surprised me again.

He must have caught the shock in my face, as he smiled.

"This city is bigger than a magical novelty. Bigger than three Houses or two vampires or a pain in the ass council.

I'm not going to sweat the smal stuff."

Relief at his casual tone coursed through me. "I'm now 'smal stuff'?"

He grinned. "And you've got yourself a nickname. I'm thinking 'Shorty.' "

"I'm five eight without heels."

"It's not a description. It's a nickname. Get used to it, Shorty."

We stood there for a moment, waiting for the tension to evaporate. When it did, we smiled at each other. "Don't cal me Shorty," I told him.

"Okay, Shorty."

"Seriously. That's very immature."

"Whatever you say, Shorty. Let's cal it a night."

"Fine by me."

I'd worry about the humiliation in the morning.