It shone like a beacon. More than a thousand feet of skyscraper, the lights at the top of its antennas blinking through the darkness that blanketed the city. The Willis Tower, one of the tallest buildings in the world, was nestled in downtown Chicago, surrounded by glass and steel and the waters of the Chicago River and Lake Michigan. Its bulk was a reminder of where we’d come from . . . and where we were going.

We’d left Hyde Park, our home turf, and were heading west across the plains toward Nebraska and the Maleficium, an ancient book of magic that my (former?) best friend, Mallory, was evidently intent on stealing.

My nerves on edge, I tightened my grip on the steering wheel of my companion’s sleek Mercedes convertible.

That companion, Ethan Sullivan, smiled at me from the passenger seat. “You needn’t look so morose, Sentinel. Nor should you keep looking at the postcard of the city you’ve taped to the dashboard.”

“I know,” I said, sitting up a little straighter and scanning the freeway before us. We were somewhere in the cornfields of Iowa, about halfway between Chicago and Omaha. It was November and the corn was gone, but the acres of wind turbines arced in the darkness above us.

“It’s just weird to be leaving,” I said. “I haven’t really been out of Chicago since I became a vampire.”

“I think you’ll find life as a vampire is fairly similar regardless of the location. It’s really only the food that’s different.”

“What do you think they have in Nebraska? Corn?”

“And steak, I imagine. And probably most everything else. Although your Mallocakes may be hard to find.”

“That’s why I packed a box in my duffel bag.”

He burst out laughing like I’d told the funniest joke he’d ever heard, but I’d told the absolute truth. Mallocakes were a favorite dessert—chocolate cakes filled with marshmallow cream—and they were exceedingly hard to find. I’d brought some along just in case.

Regardless of my culinary choices, we were on our way, so I smiled and worked on adjusting to the fact that Ethan, the once and future Master of Chicago’s Cadogan House, was sitting in the seat beside me. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been completely and utterly deceased. And now, by a trick of ill-intentioned magic, he was back.

I was still pretty dumbfounded. Thrilled? Sure. Shocked? Absolutely. But mostly dumbfounded.

Ethan chuckled. “And are you aware you keep looking over here like you’re nervous I’m going to disappear?”

“It’s because you’re devastatingly handsome.”

He grinned slyly. “I wasn’t questioning your good taste.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mallory brought you back from ashes,” I reminded him. “If something like that is possible, there’s not much in the world that’s impossible.”

She’d raised Ethan from ashes to make him a magical familiar . . . and to release an ancient evil that had been locked away in a book by sorcerers who thought they were doing the world a favor. They had been, at least until Mallory decided releasing the evil would fix her weird sensitivity to the locked-away dark magic.

Fortunately, her spell had been interrupted, so she hadn’t actually managed to set the evil free or make Ethan a familiar. We assumed that was why she’d escaped her bonds and was chasing down the Maleficium—she wanted another try.

Familiar or not, Ethan was back again: tall, blond, fanged, and handsome.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Unnerved that you keep staring at me, and pissed that Mallory has interrupted what should be a very long and involved reunion between me and my House and my vampires.” He paused and looked over at me, his green eyes fire bright. “All of my vampires.”

My cheeks burned crimson, and I quickly turned my gaze on the road again, although my mind was decidedly elsewhere. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“As well you should.”

“What, exactly, are we going to do if we find Mallory?”

“When we find her,” he corrected. “She wants the Maleficium, and it’s in Nebraska. There’s little doubt our paths will cross. As for the what . . . I’m not entirely sure. Do you think she’d be amenable to bribery?”

“I’m aware of only one thing she wants,” I said. “And she has a head start, which means she’ll probably get there before we do.”

“Assuming she manages to evade the Order,” Ethan said. “Which seems pretty likely.”

The Order was the union of sorcerers that had been overseeing Mallory in rehab and was responsible for keeping the Maleficium safe. All around, they’d done an embarrassingly bad job of both.

“That’s funny, Sullivan. Especially for someone who’s been alive for barely twenty-four hours.”

“Don’t let my youthful good looks confuse you. I now have two lifetimes of experience.”

I made a sarcastic sound but said a silent thank-you. I’d grieved for Ethan, and it was glorious—all the more for being so unexpected—to have him back again.

Unfortunately, my gratitude was matched by the icy gnawing in my stomach. He was here, but Mallory was out there, inviting an ancient leviathan back into our world.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t shake the Mallory funk. I’m furious with her, mad at myself for missing the fact that she was the one trying to destroy Chicago, and irritated that instead of celebrating your return, we have to play supernatural babysitters for a woman who should know better.”

I rued the day Mallory had learned she had magic; things had gone downhill for her—and by extension, her friends and family—since then. But she’d been my friend for a long time. She’d jumped to my defense the first day we’d met, when a thug tried to snatch my backpack on the El, and it was her shoulder I’d cried on when Ethan made me a vampire. I couldn’t abandon her now, even as much as I might have wanted to.

“We’re on our way to find her. I’m not sure what else we can do. And I agree that you should be basking in my glory . . . especially since I took a stake through the heart to save your life.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “And it didn’t even take you twenty-four hours to remind me.”

“One uses the tools at one’s disposal, Sentinel.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, even as the telltale line of worry appeared between his eyebrows.

“Do you have any idea where we’re actually supposed to go when we get to Nebraska? Where the silo is? It’s a big state.”

“I don’t,” he said. “I’d planned to give Catcher time to get his bearings and then ask for details.”

Catcher was Mallory’s boyfriend. He’d been employed by my grandfather, Chicago’s supernatural Ombudsman until Diane Kowalcyzk, the city’s new mayor, stripped him of the title. Like Mallory, Catcher was a sorcerer, but he’d been on the outs with the Order much longer than she had.

My cell phone rang, a herald of news, good or bad.

Ethan glanced at it, then propped it up on the dashboard between us. “I guess he’s ready to talk.”

“Ethan, Merit,” Catcher said in greeting. His voice was gravelly, his tone even lower than usual. He wasn’t one for displays of emotion, but Mallory’s disappearance had to be wearing on him.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“The woman I’d planned to spend the rest of my life with is trying her best to open Pandora’s box, and damn the consequences. I have had better days. And weeks.”

I winced sympathetically. “So fill us in. What do we know?”

“She was staying at a facility not far from O’Hare,” Catcher said. “There were armed guards to keep an eye on her and medical staff to make sure she was stable.”

“I thought the Order didn’t have operations in Chicago?” Ethan asked.

“Baumgartner claims it’s not an Order facility. Just an inpatient medical facility where Baumgartner has friends,” Catcher said. Baumgartner was the head of the Order. From the sound of Catcher’s voice, he wasn’t buying Baumgartner’s excuse.

“So what happened?” Ethan asked.

“She slept for a while, woke up, and started talking about her addiction. She seemed self-aware, remorseful, so they removed her restraints for a med exam.”

“That’s when she attacked the guard?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah. Turns out, she wasn’t groggy. The guard’s still in the hospital, but I understand they’re releasing him today.”

“Where did she go?” I asked.

“Transit authority security cameras have a record of her,” Catcher said. “She caught the El and then took the train to Aurora. She was spotted at a truck stop, catching a ride on an eighteen-wheeler headed to Des Moines. The trail ran cold in Iowa. She hasn’t popped up again since.”

Catcher had been the one to put a stop to Mallory’s familiar spell by knocking her out. Pity he hadn’t knocked her out a little harder.

“So she’s probably headed toward Nebraska,” I guessed. “But how did she know to go there? How did she know the Order would send the Maleficium there instead of to a new guardian?”

“Simon told her about the silo,” Catcher said. “And he and Baumgartner visited and talked about the book being transported when she was supposedly asleep.”

“That’s two more strikes against Simon,” I said.

“Yep,” Catcher said. “He’d be out of the Order if Baumgartner wasn’t afraid of him. Too much knowledge, too little common sense. If he’s still a member, Baumgartner still has some authority.”

“Tough position to be in,” Ethan mused. “Any thoughts on our strategy?”

“First step is to get closer,” he said. “You’ll want to head toward Elliott, Nebraska. It’s about five miles northwest of Omaha. The Order’s archivist lives in a farmhouse outside the silo. I’ll send directions.”

“The archivist?” I asked.

“The recorder of Order history.”

“And will he be the only sorcerer guarding the book?” Ethan asked.

“Her name is Paige Martin. She’s the only sorcerer at the farmstead; she’s also the only sorceress in Nebraska. The Maleficium isn’t always kept there. Since it travels, there’s no need for a full contingent. I’ve asked them to reconsider letting me go,” Catcher quietly added. “I want to be there if things go bad. If worse comes to worst. But they’re afraid I can’t be objective.”

We were all quiet for a moment, probably all imagining just how bad things might go, and the possibilities that we couldn’t save Mallory . . . or that she wouldn’t want to be saved.

“But they’ll allow this archivist to be there?” Ethan asked.

“She doesn’t know Mallory,” Catcher said, “and she’s part of the Order. They think she can handle herself.”

And they probably thought they could handle her, too. Just like they could handle Simon, Mallory, and Catcher, before he was kicked out. The Order had an awful track record for managing its employees.

“You’d think they could spare one or two more soldiers to stop a problem they created in the first place,” Ethan mused.

“Unfortunately,” Catcher said, “this isn’t the world’s only magical crisis, and there aren’t many sorcerers to go around. They’re assigned as they’re available.”

I’d been taught as Sentinel to make do with what I had, but that didn’t mean I had to like a bad set of odds, or the thought of similar crises around the world.

“We’ll chart a course for Elliott,” Ethan said. “Mallory got a head start, so it seems unlikely we’ll reach the book before she does. You might warn the archivist, if you haven’t already.”

“She knows. And there’s something else.” Catcher cleared his throat nervously. At the sound, Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“It’s possible you and Mallory aren’t the only ones on the road. Seth Tate was released this morning.”

I swore under my breath. Seth Tate was the former mayor of Chicago, deposed after we’d discovered he’d been running a drug ring.

Tate was also a supernatural with an old, unfamiliar magic, one that had lifted the hairs on my neck more than once. Unfortunately, we knew nothing else about his powers.

“‘This morning’ was hours ago,” Ethan said. “Why are we just learning this?”

“Because we’re just learning it. We aren’t employees anymore, so Kowalcyzk didn’t feel the urge to fill us in. Our new mayor has decided Tate was framed, in part because one of the individuals allegedly killed at his residence was spotted outside Cadogan House earlier tonight.”

“That would be you,” I whispered to Ethan.

“And no thanks to Tate,” Ethan said. “Do we think he’s looking for the Maleficium, too?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Catcher said. “He was pardoned by Kowalcyzk, so the CPD didn’t feel they had the authority to follow him, even if they had the resources. And we’re short staffed today.”

“Short staffed?” I wondered. There were three unofficial Ombuddies, as I liked to call them, in addition to my grandfather: Catcher; computer wizard Jeff Christopher; and the admin, Marjorie. None seemed like the type to miss work.

“Jeff called in today. Said he had some things to take care of. Which is only fair since he’s not an employee and isn’t actually paid to be here.”

Logical, sure, but it still seemed weird. Jeff was uncommonly reliable, and he was usually planted in front of his very large computer. Of course, if he’d needed our help, he wouldn’t have been shy about asking for it.

“We can’t be sure he’s looking for the book,” I said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised to find him in the middle of the action. After all, he was the one who told me about the Maleficium.” He’d been clearly intrigued by the magic, and it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d cash in on an opportunity to grab it. It was too bad I hadn’t brought along my worry wood, a token of magic from my grandfather that gave me protection from Tate’s more subtle forms of magic.

“No argument there,” Catcher said.

“In the unlikely event Tate causes problems in Chicago, you can call Malik,” Ethan said. “He can rally the rest of the Cadogan guards.”

Malik was the official Master of Cadogan House, Ethan’s second until he’d been killed and still in charge until Ethan was officially Invested as Master again.

“You can also call Jonah,” I offered, but the offer was met with silence. Jonah was captain of the guards of Chicago’s Grey House, and he’d been my substitute partner while Ethan had been gone. Although neither Catcher nor Ethan knew it, Jonah was also my official partner in the Red Guard, a secret organization dedicated to keeping an eye on the vampire Masters and the Greenwich Presidium, the British council that ruled us.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Catcher said. “For now, I need to wrap this up. I’ll call you if I learn anything else.”

We said our good-byes, and Ethan switched off the phone.

“He seems to be holding up,” Ethan said.

“He doesn’t have much of a choice. He loves her, or I assume he still does, and she’s out there head over heels in danger, and he can’t do a damn thing about it. For the second time.”

“How did he fail to see what she was doing the first time around?” Ethan wondered. “They were living together.”

Mallory had set Chicago ablaze in her attempt to make Ethan a familiar. She’d made the magic in the basement of the Wicker Park brownstone she and Catcher shared.

“I think part of it was denial. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of the mess she put the city through. And she was studying for exams—and taking them, apparently—the entire time. If Simon didn’t suspect anything, why should Catcher?”

“Simon again?”

“Unfortunately. And that’s not the end of it. Catcher thought she and Simon were having an affair. Not a romantic one, maybe, but they were becoming too close for his comfort. He was afraid she was going to take Simon’s side—the Order’s side—against Catcher.”

“Love does strange things to a man,” Ethan said, his voice suddenly distracted. He tapped a finger on the dashboard. “There’s something in the road there. A dog?”

I squinted at the freeway ahead, trying to ferret out what Ethan had spotted. After a moment, I saw it—a dark mass on the centerline a quarter mile ahead. It wasn’t moving. It also definitely wasn’t a dog.

Two arms, two legs, six foot tall, and standing in the middle of the road. It was a person.

“Ethan,” I called out in warning, my first thought that the figure was McKetrick, a Chicago-based vampire hater who’d guessed our route and was ready to launch an attack against the car.

The sudden punch of peppery magic that filled the car—and the cloying scent of sugar and lemons that accompanied it—proved this was a magical problem . . . and a problem I knew all too well.

A cold sweat trickled down my back. “It’s not an animal. It’s Tate.”

We didn’t have time to decide whether to fight or take flight. Before I could speed up or change course, the car began to slow.

Tate had somehow managed to take control of it.

I wrenched the wheel, but it made no difference. We were heading right for him.

Fear and anticipation tightened my chest, my heart fluttering like a frightened bird beneath my ribs. I had no idea what Tate was capable of, or even what he really was. Well, other than an asshat.

We slowed to a stop in the middle of the westbound lanes, straddling the centerline. Fortunately, it was late and we were in the middle of Iowa; there wasn’t another car in sight. Since Tate had rendered the car useless and there was no point in wasting gas, I turned off the ignition but left the headlights on.

He stood in the beam in jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair ruffled into dark waves. There was a glint of gold around his neck, and I knew instantly what it was. Every Cadogan vampire wore a small gold disc on a chain, a kind of vampire dog tag, that identified their name and position. I’d bargained mine away to Tate in exchange for information about the Maleficium.

Ethan had given me the medal, and although I’d gotten a replacement, I didn’t like to see Tate wearing it.

“I’m open to any suggestions you might have, Sentinel,” Ethan said, eyes fixed on Tate.

Unfortunately, our sharp and sleek Japanese swords were in the trunk, and I doubted Tate was going to give us time to grab them.

“We face him,” I said. “And in case we need to make a run for it, leave your door open.” Knowing Ethan could maneuver the Mercedes more effectively than me, I handed him the keys, sucked in a breath, and opened the door.

- C'est probable, dit Ethan avant de me prendre la main et d'adresser un sourir à Malik. Mais si ça ne te dérange pas, j'ai l'intention de profiter au maximum de ce que m'offre cette soirée.
Je sentis mes joues s'empourprer, mais j'avais de la compagnie : même Luc avait rougit.
[...]
A peine avions-nous fermé la porte qu'il s'empara de mes lèvres pour m'embrasser avec voracité et insistace. La passion nous enflamma, tourbillonnant autour de nous avec la puissance d'une magie ancienne.
Je ne discutai pas. Je lui rendis son baiser avec toute la fougue dont je pouvais faire preuve, le dévorai avec chacun des outils de mon arsenal, l'embrassai et le caressai tandis que le désir nous embrasait.
Au bout de quelques instants, il recula, haletant, ouvrit les yeux et pris mon visage entre ses mains.
-Je me rapelle très bien où nous en étions resté, Sentinelle, et je n'ai pas l'intention de l'oublier.
- Tu as été absent longtemps.
- Je n'ai pas cette impresion. Je ne me souviens que d'une vague obscurité... et de ta voix de temps à autre. C'est grâce à toi que j'ai gardé espoir, et je t'ai appelée pour en faire de même pour toi.
[...]
- Est-ce que tu as tu as quelqu'un d'autre ?
- Non, mais pendant eux mois, je ne t'ai pas eu, toi.
Il sonda mon regard quelques instants en silence.
- A une certaine époque j'aurais tenu compte de tes réserves et t'aurais laissé le temps de prendre ta décision, dit-il .
Il inclina de nouveau ma tête en arrière et fit glisser ses doigts sur ma nuque, me donnant des frissons. Puis il a approché ses lèvres de mon oreille.
- Cette époque est révolus, Merit.
La seconde d'après, il pressait sa bouche contre la mienne, m'emportant dans un nouveau tourbillon. Il m'embrassait avec l'adeur d'un homme qui n'avait qu'une envie : me toucher et me goûter.
Avec l'ardeur d'un homme revenu à la vie.
- On m'a onné droit à une troisième existence, même si les circonstances sont quelque peu troublantes. Tu es mienne, et nous le savons tous les deux.
Il m'embrassa de nouveau et, alors que je commençais à croire à la réalité de son retour, je me sentis soudain mue par un sentiment de possessivité, une émotion plus forte que tout ce que j'avais ressenti jusque-là. J'étais certaine jusqu'au tréfonds de mon être qu'Ethan était mien.

http://www.calameo.com/read/0009135445767fb9d1192

Quand ils enseignent les techniques de crochetage de serrures, n'essaie pas de briller. S'ils te croient super douée, tu vas vraiment avoir du mal à faire le mur pour aller rouler une pelle à ton cheri.

Se bécoter en mison, à moins que cela fasse partie de ta couverture, est un motif tout à fait valable pour que tu fasses des pompes supplémentaires. C'est super pour ta ligne, mais pour ta vie amoureuse, c'est l'enfer.

On a même eu droit aux camionnettes des journalistes et à tout le tralala. Malheureusement, nous, dans toute notre magnificence mordante, n'apparaissons pas sur les films.
Les Fédérauxpurent donc entrer en scène, étouffer l'affaire et nous faire travailler pour eux. Que cela nous plût ou non. Laissez-moi vous dire, c'est vraiment à se mordre.

petit récapitulatif: la dernière fois que nous avons quitté notre héoïne - à savoir moi - elle et ses sous-fifres... Oh et puis merde, moi et mes sous-fifres, venions juste de battre une mégère vampire, un médium marteau et le conseil vampire de Mozulla, dans l'Ohio. Vive nous !

Je levai les yeux au ciel en souriant malgré moi.
- J'ai été impressionnante.
- Au point que la prochaine fois qu'il te croisera dans ta tenue en cuir, il va s'en mordre les doigts de t'avoir larguée?
- Maintenant, je sais pourquoi tu es ma meilleure amie.

Un ultime pas, et il fut près de moi. Je sentis son corps derrière le mien, ses lèvres sur ma peau, juste en dessous de mon oreille, et la chaleur de sa respiration dans mon cou. Je reconnus son odeur - propre, savonneuse, étrangemment familière. De façon troublante, je désiris me laisser tomber dans ses brad afin qu'il me serre contre lui.
[...]
Il secoua la tête, riva son regard sur ma bouche puis ferma lentement les paupières. Il se pencha davantage et posa ses lèvres sur les miennes, se contentant de me taquiner, de me frôler, sans vraiment m'embrasser. Mes yeux se fermèrent malgré moi. Je sentis ses mains sur mes joues, ses doigts sur mon menton, et entendis sa respiration s'accélérer alors qu'il me couvait de baisers, m'embrassant partout, sur les paupières, les tempes, sans s'arrêter sur ma bouche.
- Tu es tellement plus que ça.
Ce furent ces mots qui me perdirent et scellèrent mon sort. Mon corps s'embrasa, sembla vibrer, et je m'alanguis sous ses caresses qui attisaient mon désir, m'incitaient à m'abandonner à lui.

Les gens riches ne sont pas plus beaux, ils ont juste de plus grosses voitures

Je gagnais le salon, supposant qu'il me suivait, et me laissai tomber sur le canapé avant de croiser les jambes. Puis je me levai vers lui, l'air d'attendre quelque chose pendant qu'il fermait la porte.
- Alors ?
- Alors quoi?
J'agitais la main
- A genoux. Voyons de quoi tu es capable.
- Tu es sérieuse?
Je haussai les sourcils. Il réagit de même manière avant de hocher la tête et s'avancer. Il mit un genou à terre en tendant les mains.
- Je te présente mes monumentales excuses pour la douleur et l'humiliation que je t'ai fait subir, à toi et tes...
- Les deux genoux.
- Pardon?
- Je préfererais que tu aies les deux genoux à terre. Si tu as l'intention de ramper devant moi, autant faire ça bien, non?
Morgan me dévisagea un moment, sa bouche tressaillit légèrement, sur le point de sourire, puis il acquieça d'un air solennel. Il s'agenouilla avec une expression digne d'un chien fidèle.
- Je suis vraiment désolé."

La musique changea encore et il se pencha vers moi.
- Et si je te demandais ton numéro de téléphone?
Je lui souris.
- Tu ne veux pas savoir comment je m'appelle, d'abord?
Il acquiesça d'un air pensif.
- C'est probablement une information importante.
- Merit, lui dis-je. Et toi?
Sa réaction ne fut pas celle que j'attendais. Son sourire joyeux s'effaça et il s'immobilisa, même si les gens continuaient à danser autour de nous. Ses mains quittèrent mes hanches et j'ôtais les miennes de ses épaules d'un geste gauche.
- Morgan. Navarre, je suis le Second de Célina Desaulniers. De quelle Maison es-tu?
Voilà donc qui expliquait ces vibrations de pouvoir. J'eus un mauvais pressentiment concernant sa réaction à ma réponse, mais je lui donnai tout de même d'un ton hésitant.
- Euh... Cadogan.
Silence.
- Comment es-tu entrée ici?

Ethan, les bras croisés, me regardait avec un air interrogateur.
- Eh bien? Que me vaut ce plaisir, Merit?
Je le regardais bêtement, essayant de me rappeler en quoi venir dans le bureau de Hyde Park d'un Maître vampire était une bonne idée, quand soudain ma bouche, qui n'était de toute évidence pas au courant de mon débat intime, lâcha soudain:
- Je ne vous ai pas donné la permission de me transformer.

pour lire un extrait aller sur ce lien:
http://fr.calameo.com/books/000680467ec446d3f3965

- Tiens, Percy, m'a dit Luke en me tendant un plat d'entrecôtes grillées.
Je me suis servi généreusement et j'allais me découper une belle bouchée quand j'ai remarqué que tout le monde se levait et se dirigeait, assiette à la main, vers le feu central. Je me suis demandé s'ils allaient chercher le dessert ou quoi.
- Viens, m'a dit Luke.
En me rapprochant, j'ai vu que chacun, son tour venu, prélevait une part de son repas et la jetait dans les flammes ; la fraise la plus mure, la tranche de viande la plus juteuse, le petit pain le plus chaud et beurré.
Luke m'a murmuré à l'oreille :
- Offrandes brulées pour les dieux. Ils aiment l'odeur.
- Tu plaisantes ?
Son regard m'a averti de ne pas prendre cela à la légère, pourtant je ne pouvais pas m'empêcher de me demander pourquoi un être immortel et tout-puissant aimerait l'odeur d'aliments brulés.
Luke s'est approché du feu, a penché la tête et jeté une grappe de raisins noirs :
- Hermès.
C'était maintenant mon tour.
J'aurais tellement aimé savoir quel dieu nommer.
Alors j'ai prononcé une prière silencieuse : qui que tu sois, dis-le-moi. S'il te plait.
J'ai jeté un beau morceau d'entrecôte dans les flammes.