Midnight Marked (Chicagoland Vampires, #12)(100)

“I’m surprised they haven’t been more aggressive,” Ethan said.

Morgan’s gaze tracked the moving shadows. “We’re tools to him. He’ll think of them as assets, and he won’t want to waste them until his plan’s completely in place.”

Jacobs nodded. “Our thought as well. We move toward the building, and he’ll attack.”

“That’s why we go in first,” Ethan said, and the cops around us went quiet, looked back at us.

“You aren’t qualified for that,” said a man in SWAT gear, but it sounded more like a question than an accusation.

“We are,” Ethan said. “All of us are combat-trained in some manner or other, and all of us are experienced in dealing with supernaturals. We’ve also been shielded against the magic. Oh, and some of us are immortal.”

His tone was dry; he didn’t intend to give up his chance to fight Reed.

“Look,” Catcher said. “We’re not trying to step on anyone’s territory. But Reed’s brought this battle to supernaturals. For better or worse, we’re the ones best equipped to do the fighting. We take care of the magic on the ground, and we send in a team to bring Reed out.”

“The goal is to limit fatalities,” the SWAT guy said.

“That’s our goal as well,” Catcher said.

Jacobs held out his hands as sorcerer and cop edged closer together in the rising tension. “This is my task force and my call. The sups are better equipped to deal with magic, and they won’t be sensitive to the vampire’s glamour. We would be. They go in, neutralize. We extract.”

“For what it’s worth,” my father put in, “it was my building. They say they can handle it, we let them handle it.”

It had taken twenty-eight years to get even that much approbation from my father. I wasn’t sure if that made it feel better or worse.

“There’s something else,” my grandfather said, and looked at my father.

“Robert’s meeting with Reed was tonight,” he said.

My body went cold, but my heart just pounded further.

“Elizabeth called a little while ago,” my father continued. “Asked if I’d heard from him yet because it was late. I hadn’t.”

“We’re working from the assumption he’s in the building with Reed,” my grandfather said. “Reed would see him as an asset, so I don’t think he’d hurt Robert.”

“We’ll find him,” Ethan said confidently, looking between two generations of Merit men, and promising protection for a third. “We’ll find him, and we’ll get him out of there.”

Fear wanted to bubble up and strangle me, but that was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Especially now that the magic in the air was increasing—the buzz of anticipation growing. There were gasps in the crowd. We looked up, followed the crowd’s gazes, and stared at the green lines that were beginning to spread across the city like lines of infection. Where Mallory’s magic had been nearly invisible, light as smoke, this was a sickly, radioactive green.

“We’re out of time,” Mallory said, slinging off the backpack she and Catcher had filled with countermagic essentials. “We need to get to work.”

“What do you need?” my grandfather said.

“Room to work,” Catcher said. “And when the doors open and the shooting starts, we wouldn’t mind some cover.”

“When should we move?” Ethan asked.

“Let Mallory get the symbol drawn before you rush in,” Catcher said. “We don’t want him to react too quickly or feel like he has to rush things. He’s dealing with a lot of power up there; one wrong move, and Towerline ends up in pieces on the ground.”

“Do try to avoid that if you can,” my father said, but his voice was kind.

“We’ll do our best,” Mallory promised, then looked at us. “It won’t be immediate—the magic, I mean. We’ve got to draw the marker, build the salt, kindle the magic, then work some more symbols to kindle the reversal. That’s when the countermagic will begin to take effect.”

“How long?” Jacobs asked.

“Not quick,” she said. “There are thousands of lines of code—of symbols—that make up their equation. It’s like a cassette tape—it will take the magic time to rewind.”

Catcher looked at his watch. “Let’s mark the time—it’s nearly midnight, right? I’m going to aim for that.”

We checked our watches, confirmed the time. And when that was done, my grandfather nodded. “We’ll keep you safe while you do it.” He looked at Ethan. “And upstairs?”

“You’ve got the tranqs?”

In answer, the SWAT guy pulled out an enormous hard case, popped the latches. Inside a nest of gray foam were a dozen small silver tubes a little larger than a roll of quarters, with one end tilted ninety degrees. He popped the cap off the end, pointed to an orange button on the side. “You need skin-to-skin contact. Hold the dispensing end against skin—doesn’t matter where—and press the button to engage the tranq. You’ll get results in two or three seconds.”

“How many doses per weapon?”

“Only three,” he said, and handed them out. I tucked mine into the pocket of my jacket. “These are still in R and D, and it’s the best we could do on short notice.”