Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [92]
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BLACK BIRD
Catcher met me in the golf cart just outside the door. I climbed in, and he took off for the gate.
“What happened to your medal?”
“I traded it for some magic beans,” I grouchily said.
He gave a low whistle. “Those better have been good beans.”
“Jury’s still out. Tate agrees the sky and earth issues are caused by a magical imbalance—basically someone mixing good and evil a little too liberally. He’s not convinced the change wouldn’t be a good idea. He mentioned the Maleficium. Do you know anything about it? Is there any chance he could have gotten it?”
Catcher’s brow furrowed, but he shook his head. “The Order has the Maleficium. It’s in Nebraska in the silo under thirty feet of farmland and Order lock and key.”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “The silo?”
“Abandoned missile silo. Nebraska’s in the middle of the country, so it’s full of Cold War strategic defense munitions. You know—far enough away from the coasts that you could keep the important stuff there.”
“If you say so. Is it secure?”
“Whatever else I might say about the Order—and believe me, I have many choice words in mind—they would not allow the Maleficium to leave the silo. Tate just likes watching you squirm. The man is a total sadist.”
“He succeeded,” I said. “I’m squirming. If he doesn’t have the Maleficium, maybe he’s working through someone else. Has he had any visitors?”
“You’re the only one we’ve allowed in.”
So much for that theory. “Then by my estimation, here’s what we’re left with: He says he’s not involved, and I tend to believe him. And last we talked, you did, too.” I braced myself. “If it’s not Tate, and if the Maleficium’s involved, and if the Order has the Maleficium . . .” I let him fill in the blank.
“It’s not me or Mallory.”
“I know. But that only leaves one person. Simon is the only person in Chicago who’s officially associated with the Order. Wouldn’t that also make him the only person in Chicago who has access to the Maleficium?”
Catcher didn’t respond.
“What’s the history with you and Simon?” I asked.
Catcher squealed the golf cart to a stop in front of the gate in a flurry of rocks and gravel. “The problem,” he said, “isn’t historical.”
“We’re past personal vendettas at this point.”
“It’s not a goddamned personal vendetta!” Catcher yelled, slamming his fist into the cart’s plastic dashboard. “I wanted to protect her from this. I didn’t want her dealing with Order bullshit, dealing with Order politics, dealing with Order flunkies. She is freaking out, and we are both exhausted, and he is in there with her—down there with her—every single day. God only knows what he’s putting into her brain.”
“Mallory would never be unfaithful,” I quietly said.
“Unfaithful to our relationship? No, she wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But there are lots of ways to be turned against someone, Merit. If someone you loved was being brainwashed, what would you do about it?”
“Brainwashed? That’s putting it a little strongly, isn’t it?”
“Does she seem like the same person to you?”
She hadn’t, actually, since she met Simon, which supported my theory that Simon was involved.
“One way or the other, Simon is the linchpin in this thing. If you can’t stand to talk to him, then set up a meeting with me.”
“Simon won’t meet with a member of the House. The Order won’t allow it. There’s a formal process that has to be followed just to make the request, which they won’t grant.”
“I’ve talked to him before.”
“Casually. You’re talking about making him answer to vampires about his actions. That’s different.”
My patience with sorcerers—Catcher included—was growing thin. I climbed out of the cart, then looked back at him. “If I can’t meet with him, then you do it.”
Catcher’s jaw tightened. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, apparently ready for me to leave.
At least I could do someone a favor.
With another break in the action—since I was surely not going to interrogate Simon without Catcher as backup—I called Kelley and offered an update. I advised her about the Maleficium