"I wasn' ing"I wat glowing." Had I been glowing? And how had she known I'd seen Jonah? When had I become a topic of House conversation?
"You were glowing." She put a hand on my arm. "And that's okay. It's okay for you to have a friend, or a lover . . . ?"
There was actual y hope in her voice; I decided not to take that as a compliment.
"He's a friend. A col eague. Only a col eague."
"Does he know that?" At my raised eyebrows, she shook her head. "I mean, Merit, from what I hear the guy's spending time with you. Cal it work or whatever, but guys don't invest time if they aren't interested."
"Trust me," I said. "This is business." Even if he was vaguely interested, Jonah was stil my RG recruiter. He had an interest in keeping me safe.
"Is it going to stay that way?"
I looked away, embarrassed by the question. Ethan had been gone for only two months. I knew Lindsey wanted to see me come back to life, but the idea of dating anyone seemed rushed, disrespectful of Ethan's memory.
"You aren't ready to talk about it, are you?"
"What answer wil you believe?"
Lindsey sighed and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "You know what we need? We need to toughen you up a little. Rough up your edges. You'l find being a heartless vamp a hel uva lot easier when the shine is gone."
"Yay," I said without enthusiasm, twirling my fingers like a party favor. "I am real y looking forward to that."
"You should be. You'l get a membership card and a lifetime subscription to Heartless Vampires Monthly."
"Does that come with a free tote bag?"
"And a toaster." She gestured toward the back of the House. "I'm gonna get to work and take a look around the yard. Good luck tonight."
If only it were a matter of luck.
CHAPTER THREE
DEAD IN THE WATER
Some aspects of this city were spectacular. A river cruise at sunset. The Field Museum on a rainy day. Wrigley Field pretty much anytime. There was even thirty-course molecular gastronomy, if you were into that (no, thanks), or red hots, if they were your bag (yes, please!).
Other parts were less fabulous. Winters in Chicago had al the charm of a late sleeper at seven a.m. Politics were a combustible mess. And then there was perhaps the greatest irony of al : Despite the public transportation, despite the traffic, despite the construction, despite the fiasco that was on-street parking, most of us had cars.
Even residential parking required a permit, and don't get me started on "dibs."
Because parking was usual y a disaster, I'd been prepared to text Jonah and advise him it would take me an hour to meet him at Navy Pier—twenty minutes to get there and forty minutes to find a parking spot and make the hike.
Fortunately, although Chicago was a busy city at pretty much any time of day, it was a little less busy in the hours vampires roamed. Business in the Loop was winding down as I searched for a parking space, so I found an on-street spot and jogged back to t Mohe pier entrance, a hand on my sword to keep it from bouncing at my side.
I'd avoided Lake Shore Drive, thinking it would be swamped with gawkers. Consequently, I didn't get a look at the water until I neared Navy Pier. My first look might have been delayed, but that didn't dampen the shock. Sure, the lake at night had always been dark. Sometimes it was so dark it seemed the lakefront was the edge of the world, Chicago the final outpost before oblivion. But you might spy the break of a white wave or a glint of moonlight on the water, and you knew the sun would rise and the lake would appear again.
But this dark was something altogether different. There was no movement, no life, no reflection. There were no breaking waves, and the moon reflected off the slick, black surface like it was a lacquered void in the earth.
And it didn't just look strange—it felt wrong.
Vampires weren't magical creatures per se. We were the result of a genetic mutation that made us a little more powerful than humans, but with profound weaknesses—including aspen stakes and sunlight. But we could sense magic around us, usual y a mild, peppery, caffeinated buzz in the air.
Tonight there wasn't just an absence of magic—the lake actual y felt like a magical vacuum, sucking what magic there might have been into its maw. I could feel the magic being leached past me, like a freezing winter wind wicking away moisture. The sensation was uncomfortable, an irritating breeze beneath my skin, and it was al the weirder since the air was perfectly stil .
"Who could turn Lake Michigan into some kind of magic sink?" I quietly wondered.
"That would appear to be the principal question."