The Keys were the four divisions of magic, which sorcerers had visualized by cutting a circle into four quadrants. It was apparently so important to sorcerers that Catcher'd had the four Keys inked onto his stomach.
"Wel , if you can't be available at my beck and cal ," I said, trying to lighten the mood, "do you think Catcher would wear a blue wig in the meantime?"
Mal ory's previously blond hair was now a notoriously bright shade of blue. It was straight and reached a couple of inches below her shoulders.
"Probably not. But you could always threaten to have his cable disconnected. That's how I got the kitchen cabinets painted."
"How is Mr. Chick Flick?"
"Infinitely happier not knowing you referred to him as that."
Be that as it may, Catcher was addicted. If a made-for-television movie featured a once-downtrodden lady doin' it for herself, he was in. It was an odd fixation for a gruff, muscular sorcerer with a penchant for swordcraft and sarcasm, but Mal ory tolerated it, and I suppose that was al that real y mattered.
"I cal 'em like I see 'em. Wanna schedule a dinner break? Maybe sushi?"
"Breaks aren't real y on my agenda right now. I have a lot to focus on. But you might think about not hogging down snack cakes right before bedtime."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Liar," she accused, but I was saved the necessity of lying any further. My Cadogan House beeper—a guard necessitya guardessity—al but buzzed off my nightstand. I leaned over and snatched it up. OPS ROOM, it read.
ASAP.
Unfortunately, "ASAP" translated only one way in Cadogan House these days: "It's time for another meeting."
Once again, with feeling: another meeting. Kel ey, our newly appointed guard captain, was a fan.
"Mal," I said, climbing off the bed, "I need to run. It's time to play Sentinel. Good luck with your exams."
Mal ory made a huffy noise. "Luck doesn't figure into it.
But sweet dreams to you."
I hung up the phone, not thril ed about our conversation, but wel aware that I needed to pick my battles. I'd done a real y crappy job of supporting Mal ory when she'd discovered she was a sorceress, mostly because I'd been knee-deep in newbie vampire drama at the time. I needed to be supportive, even if it wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to be. This was not the time to lay into her about sarcasm. She'd given me slack when I'd needed it; it was time to repay the favor.
Besides—we both had other fights to wage.
Luc took his job seriously, but he also had a pretty good sense of humor. He brought a jokey camaraderie to the Ops Room, along with a taste for denim, swearing, and beef jerky. Luc was a great strategist and a big picture kind of guy. I was perfectly fine with al those qualities.
Kel ey, his replacement, was smart, savvy, and skil ed . . .
but she was no Luc—cowboy boots or otherwise.
When she'd accepted the position, she'd chopped her silky dark hair into a short, sleek bob. Her hair became al business, and so did the Cadogan House guards. Our schedule became tighter, our meetings more formal. She scheduled daily workouts and required us to complete end-of-shift reports. Virtual y everything in the Ops Room had become virtual, and the few bits of paper that remained were color-coded, tabbed, alphabetized, and col ated. We had time cards and name tags, and we were required to wear the latter during our nightly patrols of the House grounds "for public relations."
"Part of keeping a safe House," Kel ey had said, "is instil ing a sense of trust in the neighborhood. If they know who we are, they'l be less inclined to violence."
It's not that I didn't agree. It's just—name tags? Real y?
But while I thought the idea was corny, I didn't voice the objection. When Ethan had been Master, before they'd needed me back in the guard corps, I'd spent most of my time on special assignments with him. Now that he was gone, Kel ey was my boss and my primary point of contact for the House.
She was my boss, so she'd get no name tag arguments from me. Besides, now was the time for solidarity, name tags or not. We'd had enough upheaval lately.
Surprisingly, the Ops Room was meeting-free when I arrived, post-shower and clothed in my Cadogan uniform—a black, slim-fit suit. Lindsey and Juliet sat at two of the room's computer stations, while Kel ey stood beside the conference table, a cel phone in hand, her eyes on the screen.
"What's up?" I asked.
Without a word, Kel ey turned her cel phone around and thrust it toward me. A picture fil ed the screen—or what I assumed was a picture, since the screen was pitch-black and I couldn't actual y see anything.