Some Girls Bite (Chicagoland Vampires #1)(34)
Author: Chloe Neill

As I admired the sword, tracing a finger in the air an inch above the blade – loath to sully the surface – Mallory asked, "Why swords? I mean, if vamps can be killed, why not just use guns? It’s faster, certainly easier than carrying around a three-foot-long sword. Those things aren’t exactly inconspicuous."

"Honor," Catcher said, gripping the sword just below the hilt and rotating it in his hand in a figure-eight pattern. He glanced over at me. "You’re immortal, meaning you’ll live forever if you aren’t killed. But if someone decides it’s your time to go, they have three options. Sunlight is, of course, the easy way." He gripped the sword in both hands, the blade pointing to the ground, and thrust it down. "Two – pierce the heart with a stake. Destroy the heart and you destroy the vampire. Aspen is the traditional wood."

"Why aspen?" I asked.

Mallory lifted a finger. "There’s a theory chemicals in the fibers prevent the heart from regenerating."

"And you know this because . . . ?"

"Oh, please," she said, waving me off with a hand. "You know I read a lot."

Catcher swung the sword above his head, then sliced the blade through the air, the steel whistling as it fell. "Three – destroy the body. Remove the head, remove the limbs, the body dies. Slicing and dicing will weaken the body, as will guns. But guns are too easy. Bullets too easy. If you want to take out an immortal, you do it carefully, precisely, and after battle. You take out an immortal because you’ve fought them, used the old traditions, earned the right." Pommel up, he gripped the sword and sliced it beside his body, a move that would have gutted an enemy behind him. Then he looked up at me. "Honor among thieves," he concluded, brows lifted, and I wondered, not for the first time, how Catcher knew so much about vampires, and what put that intent gleam into his eyes.

He glanced back at Mallory. "That’s why they don’t use guns."

"How do you know all this?" she asked.

Catcher shrugged matter-of-factly. "Weapons are what I do."

"That’s how he works his mojo," Jeff said.

"It’s the second Key," I added, enjoying the surprised expression on Catcher’s face. "I am capable of learning."

"Color me surprised," he snarked, then moved to his knees, resheathed the blade, and placed the sword in front of him on the floor. Solemnly, he bowed to it, then rewrapped it in the silk. "Next time, I’ll let you hold her."

"Next time? What about your job? My grandfather?"

"Chuck doesn’t mind that I’m ensuring your safety." When the scabbard was covered again, he rose, cradling it in his arms, and surveyed us all. "Who wants eggs?"

CHAPTER SEVEN

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

"Eggs," it turned out, meant a deliciously greasy breakfast. After I’d showered and changed back into my street clothes, Mallory and I followed Catcher and Jeff to a tiny aluminum diner situated in the shadow of the El in a commercial neighborhood that had seen better days. An electric blue neon sign blinked "Molly’s" in one of the round windows.

Once inside, we piled into a booth and surveyed the breakfast-only menu. After a gingham-clad waitress took our orders – eggs, sausage, and toast all around – we lapsed into a companionable silence, marred only by the intense stares that Mallory and Catcher couldn’t seem to help but exchange.

When the plates arrived minutes later, laden with greasy breakfast necessities, I tore into the sausage. I sucked down three links immediately and made doe eyes at Mallory, who handed me a fourth.

Catcher chuckled. "You’re craving protein."

"Like a shifter," Jeff put in, grinning wolfishly. And that made me wonder something.

I nibbled the edge of my toast. "Jeff, what kind of animal do you change into?"

He and Catcher exchanged a glance, wary enough that I guessed that I’d made another supernatural faux pas. I mentally reiterated my interest in getting a guidebook. Hell –  writing one, if that was what it came down to.

"Did I ask the wrong question again?" I asked, taking another bite, social clumsiness clearly not affecting my appetite.

"Asking about someone’s animal is the shifter equivalent of pulling a ruler and asking a guy to whip it out," Catcher said.

And down went toast into my trachea. I choked, had to swallow half my glass of OJ to get my breath back. "I’m okay," I said, waving Mallory off. "I’m fine." I gave Jeff a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

He beamed at me. "Oh, I’m not offended. I could show you. I think you’d be pretty pleased."

I held up a hand. "No."

Jeff shrugged and chewed a mouthful of eggs, apparently unruffled.

Catcher took a sip of his coffee, then dunked a corner of toast in the remnant of gooey egg yolk on his plate. "There’s an easy way for you to remedy your ignorance, you know."

"What’s that?" I asked him, pushing back my plate. I’d finished off five links of sausage – three of my own, two pilfered – three eggs and four triangles of toast, and I’d just taken the edge off the hunger. But two thousand calories or so of grease, carbs, and protein was my limit at one sitting. I’d catch a snack later, and wondered how late Giordano’s was open. Or how late Superdawg stayed open. A hot dog and fries – how good did that sound?

"Read the Canon," Catcher answered, interrupting my meat reverie. "It’s your best source for information on sups, including all the shit you’re already supposed to know about vampires. There’s a reason they give those out, you know."

I drummed fingers on the table – well on my mental way through a Hackneyburger with bleu cheese – and made a face. "Yeah, well, I’ve been busy – getting death threats, kicking my Master’s ass, getting training."

"You finally have an excuse to buy that BlackBerry," Mallory pointed out, sipping at her diamond-patterned plastic tumbler of orange juice. I scowled at her, then batted my eyelashes at Catcher. "So, what’s the story with Mallory?"

Mallory growled. Catcher ignored her. "Now that she’s been identified, the Order will contact her. She’ll get her training, be assigned a mentor – not me," he clarified, giving her a look, "and will be asked to swear never to use her magic for the forces of evil" – he crossed a hand over his heart – "but only for good."

"Is that what you did?" I asked him. "Used magic for evil instead of good?"

"Nope," was all he said, tossing his napkin onto his plate.

"Why now?" Mallory asked. "If I’m so powerful, why the interest only now? Why wasn’t I identified before?"