Page 88 of Cold Curses

“South Gate is for demons coming in by road,” Mom said. “Or, at that time, carriage or horse.”

“And the warehouse—maybe intended for flying demons?” Uncle Catcher guessed.

“The beam goes up into the air,” I said with a nod, “and it shoots lightning.”

“Transportation,” Uncle Catcher murmured. “I want to think about that.” He wandered a few steps away to ponder.

“That means you did good,” Aunt Mallory said.

I didn’t know if that was true right now, but I’d make it true in the end one way or the other.

“Go home,” Mom said. “You both look beat.”

Theo and I looked at each other, then back at the skyline. There was still so much to do, and tomorrow would only add new challenges. Resting felt like stealing time.

“You can’t save the world on your own,” Mom said. “Let us help shoulder the burden.”

“You saved humans on the L tonight.”

Mom’s smile was wide. “We did.”

“The mayor is going to be pissed,” Theo said, kicking a chunk of rock off the sidewalk, probably so no one would trip on it. I appreciated the small kindness.

“Probably,” Mom agreed. “Officials always get mad when we solve problems we didn’t create.” That was said with adefinite tone. “But as soon as someone offers me a better, easier, faster, clearer option, I’ll be happy to take it.”

“Truth,” Theo said with a nod.

Mom’s screen signaled, and she pulled it out. “Hello, Mr. Ombudsman,” she said. “You’re on speaker with, well, pretty much everybody. We were just about to report in.” She gave him an update about the river monster.

“We got close to fixing the wards,” Aunt Mallory said.

Uncle Catcher sniffed. “Not close. We triggered it. One hundred percent successful. But only temporarily.”

“I know you’re eager to get back to your daughter,” Roger said. “If you need to go, please do. At some point, the mayor is going to have to make some hard decisions about who she wants to allow into the city and how she’s going to enforce those limits.”

“Yeah,” Aunt Mallory said, “she is.” She reached out to Uncle Catcher and my mother, and took their hands. “But in themeantime, we have to keep Chicago standing. It has to start by closing the door to demons. We’ll do our best,” she said.

“I know you will,” Roger said. “And Chicago appreciates it.”

* * *

I was nearly dry by the time I made it back to the town house. The lights were on, but the first floor was empty. A note on the counter read, simply, “Outside.” I put my still-damp jacket on the chair to dry, grabbed a throw blanket for the chill, and headed into the backyard. I needed a shower, but it could wait a bit.

A small fire shone in a brick firepit on the side patio, and a cooler was on the ground in front of it. Connor sat in the low Adirondack chair, beer in his clasped hands. He stared at the flames like they might tell him the answers he needed.

He glanced up at the sound of my footsteps, took in my damp hair and the blanket. Wordlessly, he leaned over, pulled another beer from the cooler, popped the cap, and offered the beer to me.

I took the seat next to his, accepted the beer, our fingertips holding that contact for an extra beat.

I didn’t want to give voice to troublesome things. But the sun wouldn’t give us another chance to release the day’s frustrations. And I knew we’d need a fresh start tomorrow, not a rehashing of tonight.

“We’ll say it quick,” I said. “Your night, twenty-five words or less. Then I’ll go. Then we put it away.”

He looked at me, nodded, the move spilling a dark wave of hair over his brow. “I had to debate my worth with assholes who contribute nothing to the Pack.”

I gave him a moment, but he said nothing else. “Fourteen words,” I calculated. “Short and to the point. My turn.” I took a breath, tried to mentally condense the evening. “Monster freaked at Cadogan House. I lied to Dad. Dante nearly made me bite Theo. I swam with a river monster. Lulu is still spelled. And fuckdemonkind,” I added, although that put me three words over the limit.

Connor watched me for a moment, his anger fading into concern. “Quite a fucking night,” he said after a solid minute.