“I will,” she promised.

* * *

She went to sleep before I did. When I opened the door, I found her sprawled on her bed like a four-legged starfish. She’d started leaving on a radio during the day as white noise, and someone with a deep voice crooned softly while she snored.

Part of me wanted to watch her sleep—creepy as that sounded—as if that might ensure she was sleeping well and I could rest easily, too. And part of me wished the sun wouldn’t rise, that I could sit in the quiet and the dark and just . . . be.

I left Lulu to sleep and went to my room next door, closed the door against the rising sun, and wished peace for us all.

ELEVEN

Dinner, we were informed by my mother, would be at 10:00 p.m. Fortunately, sorcerers, vampires, and shifters all kept the same hours. Connor and I would bring wine, which made me feel very adult. Lulu offered to bring a side. Since she didn’t cook, I was betting on potato salad from the deli down the street. But she’d surprised us before.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t found anything else in the archives, nor had Paige had much luck with the old documents they’d located. She thought the writers had used alchemy as a sort of magical cipher, but she hadn’t been able to decipher much yet. I had to pin that hope on Mallory and Catcher. Paige had contacted the Order, but they’d burned any materials relating to Chicago’s sorcerers and had no records from any other supernaturals in the city at that time. Uncle Malik was trying to track down two vampires he’d known in Chicago, but vampires historically changed their identities every few decades to avoid detection, so he hadn’t yet had luck.

So I had basically nothing to offer the team as I badged my way into the former brick factory that served as the Ombuds’ headquarters, nodding at Mr. Pettiway, the guard who’d done his duty at the door for years, and heading down to our administrative offices. Theo, Petra, and I shared an office between Roger’s and a conference room. Where the conference room was sleek, the designers had kept some of the original features of the building—brick walls and hardwood floors—for our office. We had a couple of long work tables with screen stations, a large overhead wall screen, and a couple of tables that held snacks and equipment—usually gadgets Petra was working on.

“Good evening,” Roger said. He leaned a hip on the edge of Theo’s desk.

“Hi. How are you?”

“Still trying to readjust my mindset.”

I nodded, squeezed his arm in support, then glanced at Theo. “How’s the arm?”

“Itchy. But less achy.”

I took off my leather jacket, slung it on the back of my chair. “That’s something, at least.”

“Your foot? Your hip?”

“Foot is fine. Hip is achy but better than yesterday.” I gestured toward Theo’s cast. “So that still makes me feel a little bit guilty.”