Biting Cold (14 page)

“Oh, sweet God,” I said appreciatively, my eyes all but eating the food.

“Omaha’s finest,” Ethan said with a smile. “For a good night’s work.”

The man procured steak to reward me. Say what you might about Ethan Sullivan, but he knew just how to butter me up. On the other hand, I wasn’t convinced I’d done anything right. “When we arrived here, we had one Tate and one book. We now have two Tates and zero books.”

“The book is a move in the right direction.”

“And the Tates?”

There was fear in his eyes. “If you have a preferred god, Sentinel, I suggest you start praying. And soon.”

I couldn’t fault the ride on a multimillion-dollar jet. It was even smoother than a hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes, and a helluva lot faster.

We flew out across the dark waters of Lake Michigan before landing at O’Hare, my delightful meat coma giving way to relief as the steward unlocked the door and we prepared to descend the stairs.

The weather was miserable—the ground wet from earlier rain, the air cold and damp. Not exactly a warm greeting from my hometown, but that didn’t make me any less glad to step down onto the tarmac. It was good to be home, even though the trip was short and there was no doubt we’d find just as much drama in Illinois as we had in Nebraska.

Hopefully, this time, it would be
our
kind of drama.

A sleek, silver sedan with a grill like a wide grin was waiting for us a few steps away from the plane. A guy in a Windbreaker and khakis stood beside the car, a set of keys in hand.

“Is that an Aston Martin?” Paige asked.

I slid Ethan a glance, but his gaze was already caressing the car’s lines and curves.

“You’ll recall my car was quite totaled,” he said, without taking his eyes off his new ride.

“And how much did it cost to have this nice gentleman bring a new ride to you at the airport?”

“A drop in the bucket compared to the overall cost, Sentinel.”

“I’ll bet.”

He checked his watch. “Gabriel won’t have made it back to
Nebraska, even as fast as they likely drove.” He looked at me. “We can go to the House. You can shower and get changed, and we can get Paige settled.”

“A shower sounds glorious,” I agreed.

“For me, too,” Paige said.

Ethan held out a hand toward the car. “In that case, ladies, let’s be on our way.”

There was no faulting
that
ride, either. On the way, in the smooth comfort of Ethan’s new Aston Martin, I texted Jonah again to let him know more GP trouble was brewing. I didn’t know what the
shofet
had decided, but it didn’t portend anything good that they were coming here to announce it. That was just the kind of thing the Red Guard needed to be prepared for.

It also didn’t surprise me that Darius wanted a look at Ethan, to assure himself that Ethan was the vampire who’d earned the Masterdom of the House. There were only twelve vampire Houses in the United States. That meant Ethan had, relatively speaking, a good bit of power. I’d have wanted a look at the reincarnated vamp, too. But I didn’t think it wise to voice that particular opinion to Ethan.

We drove to Hyde Park, where the pale stone of Cadogan House emerged from darkness. It was a large, three-story mansion with features from another time—an arched entrance, a turret, and a widow’s walk around the roof. The grounds were even larger than the House and offered a bit of the gated outdoors for itchy vampires who needed fresh air and space from vampire drama.

The sidewalk in front of the House was peppered with protestors; they’d become a fixture over the past few months, and Mallory’s recent shenanigans certainly hadn’t helped. They were citizens of all ages and genders and ethnicities, but the hatred in
their hand-painted signs was similar:
GO HOME, VAMPS. NO VAMPS IN ILLINOIS. WINDY CITY, NOT VAMPIRE CITY.
What they lacked in creativity, they made up in good old-fashioned discrimination.

They sat in lawn chairs, bundled up against the cold, many eating dinners like they’d pulled up to a drive-in movie instead of a vampire hate fest.

Normally, I’d have squeezed my car into a spot on the street and faced them all down as I strode into the House, but Ethan had a coveted basement parking spot. No snow, no parking permits, no dibs. Just a few steps to the stairs, and a few stairs to the lush first floor…and a few backward glances from a Master vampire clearly smitten with his new purchase.

“She’ll probably still be here when you come back,” I reminded him.

He huffed but still gave the sedan one last look. “She is a beauty.”

“She is a
car
,” Paige reminded him.

“And he is a man,” I said, pointing her toward the door. “Let’s not dig too deeply into it.”

We took the stairs, and I couldn’t fight the relief of feeling like I was home again. Which was pretty weird, since I was returning to a vampire frat house I hadn’t even lived in for a year.

Tonight, the House smelled like cinnamon, and much to my surprise, the interior had been decorated for the holidays. Malik had been busy while we were gone. Fragrant garland hung from doorways, mantels, and the railing of the wooden staircase that led upstairs. Sugared fruit and sparkling candleholders stood on tables and bookcases, and silver bowls of old-fashioned ribbon candy sat on side tables.

It would be a Cadogan House Christmas—and it made a nice change from the swaths of black fabric that had wrapped the
House while we were in mourning. The House deserved it. Grieving was exhausting, and two months of mourning took a physical and emotional toll.

A few of the House’s ninety or so live-in vampires, all dressed in traditional black, were busy in the foyer. They nodded and waved as we passed, which didn’t make me nearly as uncomfortable as it once would have. I’d become part of the House, of the family of Novitiates who lived there.

“Ladies, I’m going to leave you here,” Ethan said. “I believe I could use a bit of a cleanup myself.” He gestured toward the foyer, where Helen, the House’s new vampire liaison, waited. “Paige, Helen will get you a room key and some basic necessities. Merit, drop by later so we can talk about next steps.”

I nodded and did my duty, escorting Paige to meet Helen.

“Merit,” Helen said, “lovely to see you again. And you must be Paige.”

She probably wasn’t thrilled to see me again, since we hadn’t exactly hit it off the first time we’d met, but she was all politeness today. Helen handed Paige a laminated Cadogan House guest pass on a lanyard and a key on a Cadogan House key ring.

We were all about the branding.

“You’ll be staying in the guest suite,” Helen said, then smiled at me. “Perhaps you could show her the way?”

“Of course. Where is it?”

“Third floor, three doors down from Ethan’s. There’s a star on the door.”

I nodded. “I’ll find it.”

Helen looked at Paige. “There are some clothes upstairs and, as Ethan noted, ‘necessities’ for you until you have a chance to get your own things.”

Paige looked relieved. “I don’t even have a toothbrush. Thank you.”

“Of course.” With that, Helen smiled and marched back through the House.

We walked upstairs to the third floor and then down the quiet hallway past half the House’s bedrooms; the rest were on the second floor. Each of the ninety-ish vampires who lived in the House (of three hundred total House members) had his or her own room. They were all small and dormlike: hardwood floors, simple furniture, small bathroom. Each room was just large enough to afford the vampire a place to sleep and a little privacy at the end of the night.

Near the end of the long hallway, three doors down from Ethan’s, was the star-marked guest room, which looked from the outside like the dressing room of a television guest host.

“This must be it,” I said.

Paige unlocked the door and stepped inside. I also peeked inside to get a look. It was a nice suite—a little bigger than our dorm rooms, but a lot smaller than Ethan’s three-room apartment. The decor was neutral, like a midrange business-class hotel. This was definitely a place for guests—to keep them comfy for a little while, but not so comfy that they overstayed their welcome.

Paige put her books on the bed and glanced back at me. “I’m going to clean up. And I might rest a little bit. I’m pretty exhausted, and I have a lot of Order business in front of me.”

“Of course. When Gabriel calls, I’d like to go see Mallory. I can let you know.”

“That would be great. I’ll want to get a sense of where she is so I can tell the Order.”

I nodded. “If you need anything before then, feel free to call Helen.”

We said polite good-byes, and I closed the door behind me and nearly ran back to the stairs, where hot-water oblivion awaited. I wanted a long, steamy, environmentally irresponsible shower that wrinkled my skin and fogged the bathroom mirror.

My room was on the second floor of the House. One floor up from the main, one floor down from Ethan’s apartments. In another time, I’d appreciated having space between us.

A note was tacked to the bulletin board on the front of my door. It was from Lindsey, my best girlfriend in the House.

Unfortunately, there was decidedly no “nasty,” and I doubted Ethan was in a better mood—not when he was returning to political spite and double the number of enemies he’d had when he left.

When the door was locked behind me, I peeled off my leather jacket and filthy clothes and climbed into the shower.

It was even better than I’d imagined. I scrubbed the soot from my face and let the heat push the remaining pain from my presumptively broken rib and twisted ankle and the green-purple bruise on my arm where Ethan had grabbed me. There was no doubt they were healing, but the residual aches hadn’t yet gone away.

When I was pink and clean, I climbed out again and dried my hair. I returned to my basic fall uniform—jeans, boots, a snug long-sleeved T-shirt, and my leather jacket.

Since Paige was resting, I took the time to check my e-mail and the news of the world, then gave my sword a wipe-down with rice
paper and oil. A good thing, too—it was filthy. Catcher would not have been impressed that I’d carried it back from Nebraska without cleaning it. Hygiene, sword or otherwise, took an unfortunate backseat in a crisis.

When we were both clean again, I made a trip across the hall to the second floor’s small kitchenette.

There’d been an unfortunate lack of deliciousness in the House when Franklin Cabot, the receiver, had been here; he was a fan of green and organic. I was a fan of cellophane wrapped and seriously processed. Now that Cabot was gone, sugar was back in play. The kitchen was stocked with treats, including Mallocakes and bags of blood from Blood4You, our delivery service.

I nuked a bag for a few seconds, poked in a straw, and drained it dry. Even steak only went so far. I drank another pint just to be on the safe side, and because I was being mature, I skipped the Mallocakes for a granola bar that I ate while reading flyers posted to a newly hung bulletin board in the kitchen.

Unfortunately, they weren’t exactly cheery. There were instructions for registering with the city and an article about the attack on the vampires and humans Jeff had mentioned.

If no news was good news, was all news bad news?

My stomach (temporarily) sated and Paige (temporarily) out of service, I decided to check on Lindsey. I wasn’t sure she’d be in her room in the middle of the night, but since I hadn’t seen her since before we left for Nebraska, I figured it was worth the time to knock.

There was silence for a moment, and I almost turned to walk away.

Oh, if only I’d walked away.

I heard a bout of giggling, and then the door opened. Lindsey
stood in the doorway, blond hair in all directions, wearing only a sheet and, of course, her Cadogan medal.

And behind her, on her small bed, was Luc. He was also wrapped mostly in a blanket, except for the tooled leather cowboy boots on his feet. He waved collegially, as if I hadn’t just interrupted him midcoitus.

“I am…clearly interrupting…something,” I said, taking a step away from the door. “And I don’t want to keep doing that, so I am going to just go on about my business.”

Lindsey pressed her lips together, then slipped out the door and into the hallway, closing the door behind her. “You good?”

“Me? Oh, sure. I’m—I’m great. I’m just going to go…find something else to do.”

“Didn’t want to see your other boss half-naked, did you?” she asked.

“Or wearing cowboy boots,” I agreed. “But I’m glad to see you’re getting along so well.”

“I’m doing what I can for House solidarity.”

“I can see that. Okay. You two have fun. Find me…when you’re dressed.”

Without waiting for her reply, I walked down the hallway again.

“Home sweet home,” I murmured.

E
than may not have been officially Master of the House, but that hadn’t stopped him from reclaiming his old office on the first floor. It was big, with a handsome desk, a seating area, and a giant conference table. He sat behind the desk, dressed in a button-up white shirt, his hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He stared down at a spread of papers, a single lock of golden hair falling across his brow.