We waited until the situation at the House was stable. Until the human guards had been cared for and shifters had covered the broken windows with plywood, installed a make-do door and make-do gate, and stood guard outside both. They’d stay until the House was secure again. Architecturally, anyway.
We also waited until Scott and the Grey House physician were let through the barrier, could tend to Jonah. Ramón had kept an eye on him during the fracas, monitoring him until the battle was over.
“Concussion,” the doctor said, but frowned. “I don’t like that he’s unconscious, but it’s not uncommon with a good knock to the head. Let’s get him someplace safe and stable, and I’ll monitor him from there.”
I pressed a very platonic kiss to Jonah’s cheek and watched as they drove him away.
Getting all that arranged put us on the House’s narrow widow’s walk only an hour before dawn. It was a narrow space accessible through the attic and a window to the roof and bounded by a wrought-iron rail.
Cadogan House was the tallest building on the street, which at least meant there weren’t too many line-of-sight issues. The city unfolded around us, a blanket of orange and white lights, buildings tall and short. And to the east, the lake spread like dark, rich ink, virtually untouched by artificial light. It looked as if the world simply stopped.
“Damn,” Jeff said. “You forget how beautiful it is when you only see it from down there. When you only see the anger and petty squabbles.”
“Speaking of which, let’s try to fix this one,” Catcher said.
“I think that’s a hint that my husband is eager to get this show on the road.”
“Husband” still hit my ear wrong.
Mallory, Catcher, and Jeff began to prepare their magic. Beside me, Ethan kept his gaze on the city. I would give it to you if I could, Sentinel. And all of it in peace.
I smiled and held out a hand. Let’s go see if we can make a little of that happen.
A few feet away, Mallory pulled off the satchel she’d worn diagonally across her chest and spread it open. She put both hands inside, very carefully lifted out what looked like a spinning spice rack, and placed it on the ground. There were jars in about a third of the slots, and the middle of the older had been carved out, a small porcelain crucible placed inside. A small, square mirror was mounted on a bracket above it.
Silence followed.
Ethan and I cocked our heads at it.
“Huh,” I said.
“Pretty sweet, isn’t it?”
“It’s not what I expected.”
Mallory moved the bag out of the way. “It’s not the shimmy in the magic, it’s the magic in the shimmy. Right, honey?”
“Put that on a T-shirt,” Catcher said, crouching beside her.
Jeff pulled a tablet from his backpack, began scrambling fingers over the screen. He might not have been vampire—we couldn’t all be so lucky—but his fingers were faster than any I’d ever seen.
Good for Fallon, I thought cheekily.
“How, exactly, will this work?” Ethan asked, peering over my shoulder.
“With unicorn farts and happy wishes,” Catcher said, adjusting the gadget’s glass cylinders. Alchemical symbols were inscribed in the wood around the bottles and crucible.
“Oh, good,” Ethan said. “I was concerned we weren’t adequately addressing our energy needs by ignoring the unicorn farts.”
“At least you’ve kept your sense of humor,” Mallory said, expression tight with concentration. When they’d adjusted the bottles, she adjusted the mirror, then stood up again.
Catcher did the same. “This will detect alchemical resonance.”
Mallory nodded. “We’ve created the appropriate mix of salts and mercury, added the necessary symbology. We just have to quicken the magic. You ready?” she asked Jeff.
“Calibrating,” he said. “Nearly there.” With a final tap, he rolled his shoulders and moved to stand behind the machine, aiming the tablet at it. “Ready.”
“We’re going to do Wrigley first,” Catcher said. “We know where those symbols are, so it’ll be a good test.” At Mallory’s nod, he struck a match in the dark. The smell of sulfur singed the air. As Mallory closed her eyes to whisper quiet words, he dropped the match into the crucible.
There was a pop and the hiss of fire meeting fuel, and a pale beam of smoky light shot from the crucible, bounced off the mirror above it, and shot north. It faded as it moved away from us, and disappeared completely when a building interrupted our line of sight. Probably for the best—we didn’t need to field phone calls about laser beams over Chicago.
“Here,” Jeff said, and we gathered around him. He’d pulled up the three-dimensional map of the city. The light was green on the tablet, and it speared north from Cadogan House to Wrigleyville.