Page 112 of Cold Curses

He snorted.

“Did he conclude you’re a stand-up guy?”

“He concluded he doesn’t like chewing on demons, Goose Island root beer is legit, and I’m not an asshole.”

“I concur with the last two. No experience with the first one. But I’d guess…sour milk?”

“Up the vile meter ten or fifteen notches, and you’re there.” He grinned. “But chasing them was a hell of a lot of fun.”

“Are they Black’s minions?”

He sat up a little, looked at me. “I don’t know. They didn’t say. They looked like they were— I don’t know the right term.”

“Free agents?”

He smiled. “That works. They looked to be in control ofthemselves. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse than their being led—or misled—by Black. And you’re right,” he added after a moment.

“Usually yes. But in particular?”

“I don’t see him leading self-centered demons. What would they possibly think is in it for them?”

That was the million-dollar question.

“Move over,” he said, standing up.

“What?”

By way of answer, he stripped off his shirt, bearing stacked muscles under taut skin. And then his hands were at the button on his jeans.

“No way,” I said with the laugh. “This tub is way too small for two people.”

“Let’s test that,” he said, and stepped into the water.

EIGHTEEN

Dusk had us getting the gang back together or, more specifically, ensuring that the city’s resident sorcerers—Lulu and Paige—had a protected space to work with the out-of-towners—Lulu’s parents—on their “bubble ward.”

Lulu looked, TBH, amazing. Pink cheeked and bushy tailed, and not just because of the gumiho plush pinned to the messenger bag she’d paired with jeans and a striped long-sleeved T-shirt. She had reportedly eaten two bagels and a mess of hot-sauce-covered eggs for breakfast, much to Alexei’s joy and amusement, him being an aficionado of all things spicy.

He, Connor, and Kieran Swift had also joined us. Swift looked well rested after last night’s demon hunt and barbecue dinner. “And visiting every bar still open near the Keene house,” Connor had told me; Swift had been invited to stay with the family, being shifter royalty and all.

With the mayor’s approval, the sorcerers had picked Grant Park as the spot to kindle the new ward. It was well within city limits, easy to access, and defensible from the lake on the east side. A demon would have to get past the actual bubble in order to get to the place where its magic had been first kindled. But unlike the Guardians’ version, this ward wasn’t tied to geographic features. So, even if the grass on which we stood was bulldozed, it wouldn’taffect the bubble. Or so Lulu’s parents had explained to me, Roger, Petra, Gwen, my mom, and two representatives from the mayor’s office.

The wolves stood inside a circle of two dozen CPD uniforms and barricade tape. Four powerful sorcerers made quite a demon-friendly target, and we weren’t taking chances. A human crowd was gathering outside the perimeter, but there was no hostile magic in the air. Not now, anyway.

My mom had brought me a sword from Cadogan House. It was perfectly fine, with a gorgeous Damascus pattern in the steel. But it wasn’t mine, and it felt heavy and dead in my hand.

I couldn’t dwell on that, because monster got twitchy if the concept of a sword even skidded through my mind. It was eager to get out, even as I worried its exit would leave the city even more vulnerable than it already was.

And something else was bothering me: Black had proved himself to be even more dangerous than I’d believed. I had no idea what he’d do next or how much magic he was capable of. If I couldn’t defeat Black even with monster, how could I possibly defeat him without it?

“Are all the tags in place?” Uncle Catcher asked as the other Ombuds and I sipped from coffee cups and tried to stay out of the way. We were liaising and watching out for Jonathan Black. But if he felt this accumulation of magic, he hadn’t shown his face yet.

“The pins were placed,” Gwen confirmed with a nod, “per your very detailed instructions.”

While the bubble wasn’t tied to geographic generators, Uncle Catcher had given the CPD a map of spots to be “tagged” with spelled metallic spray paint. As he had now explained twice to the mayor’s people, the tags were necessary only to give the bubble its initial parameters, like magical muscle memory. The paint would wear off, but the protection wouldn’t be affected. If changesneeded to be made later—if the city’s boundaries changed dramatically—new marks could be placed.

Paige, who’d been a magical archivist for the sorcerers’ union, would compile a manual with all the necessary information and documents. And that manual, in both paper and screen forms, would be stored in Cadogan House, with a backup held by the city.