Free Drink Deep by Chloe Neill

the outcry.
    “I’ll work up some talking points for Mayor Kowalczyk,” my grandfather said, “although God knows how we’ll explain it.”
    “Focus on the part about how this isn’t the apocalypse,” I suggested, but a frisson of fear still tightened my chest. “And try to make sure they don’t automatically blame it on vampires. We have enough to deal with right now.”
    He patted my back. “We’ll work the problem, do a little research. You kids get home. I know you’re short-staffed at the House. I’ll give you a call when we’ve got the transportation lined up.”
    I nodded, although I hated bailing on a project. Sitting around and anticipating things to come wasn’t exactly a favorite pastime. To keep busy, I made a mental note to check out the House’s world-class library; if there was information to be found about our reclusive siren, the library would have it.
    I made my good-byes to Jeff (still entangled in nymph), but pulled Catcher aside for an update. “How goes the studying?”
    Catcher rolled his eyes. “I’m told her stress level has only been historically exceeded by the ‘Meisner-Moxner Presentation,’ whatever that was.”
    I grimaced. Meisner-Moxner was a household products company for which Mallory, a former ad exec, spent two straight weeks preparing a kick-ass branding campaign, only to be told three days before the presentation that her boss “just wasn’t feeling it.”
    The next seventy-two hours involved a caffeine-induced and sleep-deprived haze of massive proportions. Mal chained herself to her desk, surviving on d Kurvext seventiet soda, energy drinks, and a creative euphoria she later described as “epic.” When all was said and done, the agency bagged the deal and she slept for two straight days.
    The Meisner-Moxner campaign went down in advertising history as one of the most successful household product rollouts of the century. Unfortunately, Junior Moxner spent the company’s newfound money on call girls and cocaine, and Meisner-Moxner Home Brands, Inc., went bankrupt soon after that. Mallory slept for another two straight days after learning about that.
    So if her exam prep was even close to Meisner-Moxner, I felt for Mallory . . . and Catcher.
    “God bless you, man. But at least Simon has to take the brunt of the stress. Since he’s seeing her during the testing part, I mean.”
    Catcher’s expression went flat. “I’m sure he’s seeing plenty of her.”
    The squint in his eyes had all the hallmarks of a jealous boyfriend. But how was that possible? This was Catcher . Six-pack-abs-and-ridiculous-body-and-brilliant-wielder-of-magic Catcher. He who took gruff from no one. Maybe I misread him. Maybe he just didn’t like Simon. I’d had a sense of that before, but curiosity killed the cat, not the vampire, so I pushed ahead.
    “Bad blood between you and Simon?” I wondered.
    “I don’t trust him.”
    When he didn’t elaborate, I almost asked if he meant he didn’t trust Simon with Mallory, but thought better of it. Catcher was a man’s man, and suggesting he was jealous would not go over well.
    Instead, I gave him a supportive pat on the back. “When this is all over, I’ll buy drinks for you and your newly minted official sorceress.”
    Catcher grumbled something I didn’t catch, but I assumed it was related to his hatred for the Order. He’d been excommunicated, and it couldn’t have been easy for him to watch Mallory struggle so hard to gain membership. What Chicago giveth, Chicago taketh away.
    We made our good-byes to Catcher, and Jonah and I headed back toward our cars.
    “I know you’re bummed you won’t be able to visit the siren tomorrow,” I offered.
    “Clinically depressed,” he agreed. “Do you think her skirt will be shorter than the nymphs’, or maybe a bit longer?”
    I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t keep from smiling. He was funny. But I wasn’t going to contribute to what I’m sure was already a healthy ego.
    “Since