I looked at myself in the mirror, pleasantly surprised at the result. I glowed beneath the makeup, my blue eyes a nice contrast to pale skin, my lips a bee-stung pink. When I was human, I’d been called “pretty,” but I’d been too busy with books and library stacks, glasses and Chuck Taylors to play up my more feminine attributes. Ironically, now that I’d been made a predator, I’d become more alluring for it.
Satisfied that I’d done what I could, I went to the bureau and pulled out a small box of indigo velvet that I’d brought with me from Wicker Park. It held the Merit pearls, one of the first purchases my father had made with his newfound fortune, bought for my mother for their tenth anniversary. My sister, Charlotte, had worn them for her debut, and I’d worn them for mine. Someday, I would pass them to Mary Katherine and Olivia, Charlotte’s daughters.
I fingered the silk-soft globes, then glanced over at the thin
gold chain that lay across the bureau’s top. Hanging from it was my own gold Cadogan medal, the thin, stamped disk bearing the Cadogan name, Cadogan’s North American Vampire Registry number (4), and my name and position.
It was an interesting decision—should I accessorize according to the dictates of my father or my boss?
I dismissed both choices and picked a third—I opted to dress for Merit, Cadogan Sentinel. I wasn’t going to the Brecks’ because I had an urge to see my father, or out of some misdirected sense of family obligation. I was going because that’s what I’d promised to do—to act in Cadogan’s best interests.
Decision made, I fastened the medal around my neck, pulled on the dress and slid into the heels, arranging the straps. I filled a small clutch purse with necessities, then grabbed my sword. I was working, after all.
I checked the clock—two minutes to get downstairs. Since I’d run out of time for procrastination, I plucked my cell phone from the bureau, and as I left the room and shut the door behind me, dialed Morgan’s number.
“Morgan Greer.”
“Merit, um, well, Merit. ’Cause I only have the one name.”
He chuckled. “For how long remains the question,” he said, which I took as a compliment regarding my future Master status. “What are you up to?”
“Work,” I quickly answered, unable and unwilling to give him more details than that. I had the sense that Morgan had questions about my relationship with Ethan, no need to fan those flames. But I could do one thing . . .
“Listen, Mallory starts her sorcery internship on Sunday, so we’re having a kickoff dinner thing tomorrow night. Her and Catcher and me. Can you join us?”
There was brightness in his voice, relief at having been asked. “Absolutely. Wicker Park?”
“Yeah, I mean, unless you’re eager to lunch in the Cadogan cafeteria. I hear it’s chicken fingers and a Jell-O cup tomorrow.”
“Wicker Park it is.” He paused. “Merit?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you called. Glad I get to see you.”
“Me, too, Morgan.”
“Good night, Mer.”
“Good night.”
Ethan was downstairs, golden hair shining as he adjusted the cuff of one starched sleeve. Vampires milled around him, all in their Cadogan black. But while he wore the same shade—a crisp black suit and impeccable silver tie—he stood out. He was, as always, ridiculously handsome, easily outshining the immortals around him.
My heart tripping a bit at the sight of him, I clenched the banister harder, scabbard and purse in my free hand, and eased my way down the stairs in the stilts he’d called shoes.
I caught the hitch in his gaze when he saw me, the tiny flinch, the bare acknowledgment. His gaze went from incredulous to obviously appraising, eyebrow cocked as he looked me over, no doubt ensuring that I satisfied his mental checklist.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of him.
Given the glow in his emerald eyes, I assumed that I passed.
“You’re wearing your medal,” he said.
I grazed the gold with my fingertips. “I wasn’t sure if I should, if it was dressy enough?”
“You should. Consider it your dog tag.”
“In case I get lost?”
“In case you’re fried to ash and that sliver of gold is all that’s left of you.”
Vampire tact, I thought, left something to be desired.
Malik emerged from the hallway, dashing in his own Cadogan black (no tie), and handed Ethan a glossy black gift bag with handles of black satin rope. I couldn’t see what was in it, but I knew what it held. Steel. A weapon. Because of the connection I’d made to my own katana—a tempering wrought by my sacrificing a few drops of blood to the blade—I could feel out steel, could sense the change in magical currents around someone who carried it.
“As you requested,” Malik said, then bobbed his head in my direction. I smiled a little at the acknowledgment.
Bag in hand, Ethan nodded and began walking. Malik fell in step beside him. Assuming I was to follow, I did. We headed for the basement stairs.
“I’m not anticipating problems,” Ethan told him. “Not tonight anyway.”
Malik nodded. “The dailies are clean. Should Celina attempt to cross the border, she’ll be flagged.”
“Assuming she doesn’t glamour the TSA,” Ethan said.
And assuming she wasn’t already here, I thought.
Ethan rounded the corner at the foot of the basement stairs, then walked toward a steel door, beside which was mounted a small keypad. This was the door to the garage, providing access to Cadogan’s few coveted off-street parking spaces. I was nowhere near high enough in the ranks to get one.
Ethan and Malik stopped before the door and faced each other. Then I witnessed a surprising moment of ceremony.
Ethan held out his hand, and Malik took it. Hands clasped, and with gravity, Ethan said, “The House is given into your care.”
Malik nodded. “I acknowledge my right and obligation to defend her, and await your return, Liege.” Gently, Ethan cupped the back of Malik’s head, leaned forward, and whispered something in his ear. Malik nodded, and the men separated. After
another nod in my direction, Malik headed for the stairs again. Then Ethan punched in a code, and we were through the door.
“Is he Master while you’re gone?” I asked.
“Only of the environs,” Ethan answered as we walked steps to his sleek black Mercedes roadster, which was parked snugly between concrete support columns. “I remain Master of the House as an entity, of the vampires.”
He opened the passenger door for me, and after I lowered myself onto the red and black leather upholstery, he closed the door and moved to his side of the car. He opened his door, placed the glossy black bag on the console between us, and climbed in. When he’d started the engine, he maneuvered the roadster through the columns and toward a ramp and security door that rose as he took the incline.
“The ceremony,” he said, “is an anachronism of the influence of English feudalism on the vampires who formalized the House system.”
I nodded. I’d learned from the
Canon
that the organization of the Houses was feudal in origin, heavy on the liege-and-vassal mentality, the sense that the Novitiate vampire owed a duty to his liege and was obliged to believe in his liege lord’s paternal goodness.
Personally, I wasn’t comfortable thinking about Ethan in a paternal fashion.
“If the king left his castle,” I offered, “he’d leave instructions for her defense with his successor.”
“Precisely,” Ethan said, swinging the car onto the street. He reached between us, lifted the gift bag, and handed it to me.
I took it, but arched a brow in his direction. “What’s this?”
“The sword needs to remain in the vehicle,” he said. “We will be spectacle enough without the accoutrements.” Leave it to Ethan to refer to three and a half feet of steel, leather, and rayskin as “accoutrements.”
“The bag,” he said, “is a replacement. At least in some way.”
Curious, I peeked inside and pulled out the contents. The bag held a black sheath, which held a blade—a thin, fierce dagger, mother-of-pearl covering the tang.
“It’s beautiful.” I slipped the dagger from its cover and held it up. It was an elegant and gleaming wedge of polished steel, sharp on both edges.
We passed beneath a streetlight, and the reflection caught the end of the pommel, revealing a flat disk of gold. It looked like a smaller version of our Cadogan medals, this one also bearing my position. CADOGAN SENTINEL, it read.
It was a dagger created for me. Personalized for me. “Thank you,” I said, thumbing the disk.
“There’s one more item in the bag.”
Brow arched, I reached in again and pulled out a holster—two leather straps attached to a thin sheath.
No, not just a holster—a
thigh
holster.
I glanced down at my skirt, then over at Ethan. I really wasn’t eager to strap on a thigh holster, much less in front of him. Maybe because I didn’t want to flip up my skirt for my boss. Maybe because a few-inches-long dagger wouldn’t be nearly as effective in a rumble as my katana. Not that I anticipated an attack by society mavens, but stranger things had happened. Especially recently.
Besides, I was Ethan’s only guard for the event, and I’d be damned if I was going to return to Cadogan House with a wounded Master in tow. Even if I lived through the attack, I would never live down the humiliation.
I sighed, knowing when I’d lost, deciding that the dagger would be better than nothing.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” I ordered, then unfastened the buckles.
“I’m not going to look.”
“Yeah, well, keep it that way.”
He made a disdainful sound, but kept his gaze on the windshield. He also gripped the steering wheel a little harder. I enjoyed that crack in his facade probably more than I should have.
I was right-handed, so I slipped the poufy skirt of my dress up a little on the right side and extended my right hand, trying to figure out where I’d want the blade positioned if I needed to grab it in a hurry. I settled on a spot about midway up my thigh, the sheath just to the outside edge. I fastened the first buckle, then the second, and twisted a little in the seat to make sure it was secure.
The sheath had to be tight enough to stay taut when I pulled out the blade. That was the only way to ensure that I could release the knife quickly and safely. On the other hand, too tight and I’d cut off my own circulation. No one needed that, much less a vampire.
When I was satisfied it was secure, at least as sure as I could be in the front seat of a roadster speeding toward the suburbs, I inserted the blade. A tug brought the dagger out in a clean swipe, the holster still in place.
“Good enough,” I concluded. I straightened my skirt again, then looked over at Ethan. We were coasting through relatively light traffic on the interstate, but his expression of blandness looked a little too bland. He was working very hard to look very uninterested.
Since we were heading into an enemy camp, I figured I’d pique his interest—and give him the dutiful Sentinel update. “You’ll never guess who was camped out on photographers’ row last night,” I said, baiting him.
“Jamie?” His voice was sardonic. I think he was kidding. Unfortunately, I wasn’t.
“Nicholas.”
His eyes widened. “Nicholas Breckenridge? At Cadogan House.”
“Live and in person. He was on the corner with the paparazzi.”
“And where was Jamie?”
“That was my question, too. I’m beginning to think, Sullivan, that there is no Jamie—I mean, I know there’s a Jamie, but I’m not sure Jamie is the real threat here. At the very least, we don’t have the entire story.”
Ethan made a dry sound. “This wouldn’t be the first time for that, as you’re well aware. Wait—did you say last night? You saw Nick Breckenridge outside the House and you didn’t tell anyone? Did you think to mention this to me? Or Luc? Or anyone else with authority to handle the situation?”
I ignored the near panic in his tone. “I’m mentioning it now,” I pointed out. “He asked some pretty pointed questions about the Houses, about Celina. He wanted to know if we thought her punishment was sufficient.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Party line,” I said. “You guys were very timely with the talking points.”
“Did you know he was back in Chicago?”
I shook my head. “I also didn’t know that he was curious about us. It’s like a disease working its way through that family.”
“I suppose it’s doubly fortuitous that we’re heading to the Breck estate.”
Or doubly troublesome, I thought. Double the number of would-be rabble-rousers in residence.
“Ethan, if the raves could cause us such a problem—negative attention and backlash—why are we focused on the story, whoever is writing it? Why are we driving to Loring Park, trying to work the press instead of trying to stop the raves?”
He was quiet for a moment until he asked gravely, “We aren’t trying to stop them?”
That made me sit up a little straighter. I’d assumed, being House Sentinel, that if some kind of mission was going down I’d be a part of it. Clearly that wasn’t the case.
“Oh,” I said, not happy to discover there were secret plans afoot and I hadn’t been included.
“Stopping the story isn’t controversial, not for vampires anyway,” Ethan said. “Stopping the raves is. Raves happen outside the House establishment, but that doesn’t mean the Houses don’t know they occur. And I have no authority over other Masters, over other Houses’ vampires, any more than I do the city’s Rogues.”
Much to your own chagrin, I thought.
“Frankly, although plans are in the works, largely through your grandfather’s efforts, it’s unlikely we can put a stop to them completely. Your grandfather has excellent connections, strong mediating skills, and a loyal staff. But vampires, being vampires, will drink.”
“And so we spin,” I said.
“The first front is the press,” he agreed. “It’s not the only front, but it’s the battle we fight tonight.”