According to the
Canon
(chapter four: “Vampires—Who’s on Top?”), by giving up your name, you began to learn the communitarian values of vampire society. Shared sacrifice. Leadership. Accountability—not to your previous human family, but to your new fanged one. Master vampires, of course, got to take their names back. That’s why it was Ethan Sullivan—not just Ethan—who held the reins of Cadogan House.
And speaking of Sullivan, that brings us to the most important communitarian value—kissing the asses of higher-ranked vampires.
I was on just such an ass-kissing mission now.
Well, I was on a delivery mission. But given the intended recipient, ass kissing went along with the territory.
Ethan’s office was on the first floor of Cadogan House. The door was closed when I arrived, bags in hand, post-procrastination. I paused a moment before knocking, ever delaying the inevitable. When I finally managed to do it, a simple “Come” echoed from the office. I opened the door and went in.
Ethan’s office, like the rest of Cadogan House, was elegantly decorated to just this side of pretentious, as befit the Hyde Park address. There was a desk on the right, a seating area on the left, and at the far end, in front of a bank of velvet-curtained windows, a gigantic conference table. The walls were covered by built-in bookshelves, which were stocked with antiques and mementos of Ethan’s 394 years of existence.
Ethan Sullivan, head of Cadogan House and the Master who’d made me a vampire, sat behind his desk, a sliver of cell phone at his ear, eyes on a spread of papers before him. There always seemed to be papers before him; Masterdom was evidently heavy on the paperwork.
Ethan wore an impeccably tailored black suit with a pristine white shirt beneath, the top button undone to reveal the gold medal that vampires wore to indicate their House affiliation. His hair, golden blond and shoulder length, was down today, tucked behind his ears.
Although it bugged me to admit it, Ethan was beautiful. Perfectly handsome face, ridiculous cheekbones, chiseled jaw, shockingly emerald eyes. The face complemented the body, the majority of which I’d inadvertently seen while Ethan entertained Amber, the former Cadogan House Consort. Unfortunately,
we’d discovered shortly thereafter that Amber had been assisting Celina in her attempt to take over Chicago’s Houses.
He glanced down at the bags in my hands. “You’re moving in?”
“I am.”
Ethan nodded. “Good. It’s a good move.” The tone wasn’t laudatory, but condescending, as if he was disappointed it had taken me as long as it did—not even two months—to make Cadogan House home. It wasn’t an unexpected reaction.
I nodded, holding back the snark in light of his grumpiness. I knew the limits of pissing off a four-hundred-year-old Master vampire, even if I pushed them sometimes.
I dropped the bags, unzipped the duffel, pulled out the confidential envelope, and held it out to him. “The Ombud asked that I deliver this to you.”
Ethan arched a brow, then took the envelope from my hands. He uncoiled the twine from its plastic disk, slipped a finger beneath the tab, and peeked inside. Something in his face relaxed. I wasn’t sure what the Ombud’s office had delivered, but Ethan seemed to like it.
“If there’s nothing else,” I said, bobbing my head at the bags on the floor.
I didn’t merit so much as a glance. “Dismissed,” he absently said, pulling the papers from the envelope and thumbing through them.
I hadn’t seen much of Ethan in the first few weeks. As reunions went, this one was pretty undramatic. I could deal with that.
Having done my familial duty, I headed to the suite of first-floor offices reserved for Cadogan staff. Helen was behind her desk when I arrived. She wore a tidy pink suit, apparently having been granted an exception from Cadogan’s all-black dress code. Her
office was just as pink. Materials were stored in colored binders along neat wooden shelves, and her desk was carefully set with a blotter, pen cup, and calendar, events and appointments neatly penned in colored inks.
She was on the phone, the earpiece of a princess-style handset tucked next to her perfect bob of silver hair, the fingers wrapped around the phone carefully manicured.
“Thank you, Priscilla. I appreciate it. Goodbye.” She placed the phone carefully back on her receiver, clasped her hands, and smiled at me. “That was Priscilla,” she explained. “Liaison for Navarre House. We’re planning a summer event between the Houses.” She cast a wary glance toward the open door, then leaned toward me. “Frankly,” she confided, “this relationship between you and Morgan has done wonders for inter-House relations.”
Morgan Greer was my would-be boyfriend and the new Master of Navarre House. He’d assumed the position when Celina had been captured, rising to the ranks of Master from his former position of Second. From what I’d seen, Second was a kind of vampire Vice President. A man named Malik served as Second of Cadogan House. He seemed to mostly work behind the scenes, but it was clear that Ethan relied on him, confided in him.
Thinking I owed it to Helen to be polite, I smiled and didn’t correct her assessment of our “relationship.”
“Glad I could help,” I said, bobbing my head toward the bags in my hands. “I’ve got my bags, if you’ll show me my room?”
She smiled brightly. “Of course. Your room is on the second floor, in the back wing.”
Luggage notwithstanding, my shoulders slumped in relief. The second floor of Cadogan House held the library, the dining room, and a formal ballroom, among other rooms. Those other rooms did
not
include Ethan’s apartments, which were on the third floor. That meant an entire floor would separate me and
Ethan. I wanted to jump for joy. But given where I was standing, I silently screamed my happiness.
Helen handed me a navy blue binder bearing the round, Cadogan House seal. “These are the residency rules, maps, parking information, cafeteria menus, etc. Most of the information is online now, of course, but we like to have something for the Novitiate vampires to hold on to.” She rose and glanced at me expectantly. “Shall we?”
I nodded, resituating my bags and following her down the hall, then up a narrow back staircase. When we reached the second floor, we turned, then turned again, and were soon before a door of dark wood, a small bulletin board hanging from it.
MERIT, SENTINEL, read a nameplate just above the bulletin board.
Helen reached into a pocket of her jacket, pulled out a key, and inserted it into the lock. She twisted the doorknob, opened the door, and stood aside.
“Welcome home, Sentinel.”
CHAPTER THREE
AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MONSTER
I stepped inside, put down my bags, and looked around. The room was small, square, and simply furnished. Wood paneling rose to chair-rail height, its color the same dark shade as the gleaming wood floors. Immediately facing the door was a window covered by a folding shutter. On the left side of the room was a bed with a wrought-iron frame. A small nightstand stood next to it, and an armchair sat beneath the window. On the right side of the room were two doors. A full-length mirror was attached to one. A bureau stood between them, and a bookshelf took up the wall to the right of the hallway door.
It was basically a dorm room.
For a twenty-eight-year-old vampire.
“Is there anything else you need?”
I smiled back at Helen. “No, thank you. I appreciate your arranging a room so quickly.” My retinas, already singed by the images of Catcher and Mallory’s liaisons, were also appreciative.
“No problem, dear. Meals are served in the cafeteria at dusk, midnight, and two hours before dawn.” She glanced down at her
watch. “You’re a little past second meal now, and a little early for third. Can I find you something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I grabbed something on the way over.” Not just something—the best homemade meat loaf this side of Chicago.
Heaven
.
“Well, if you find you need anything, the kitchens on each floor are always stocked, and there’s blood in the refrigerators. If you need something that you can’t find in the kitchens, tell the waitstaff.”
“Sure. Thanks again.”
Helen left and closed the door behind her. I laughed out loud at what she’d revealed. On the back of the door hung a poster for Navarre House, a life-sized image of Morgan in jeans and a snug black thermal shirt, black boots on his feet, his arms crossed, leather bands around his wrists. He’d been letting his hair grow, and it was wild in the picture, waving around his starkly handsome face, cut cheekbones, and cleft chin, his bedroomy navy blue eyes staring out beneath long, dark brows and ridiculously long lashes.
Apparently Helen had been coordinating with the Navarre Liaison on more than just a summer picnic. This required serious teasing, so I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and punched in Morgan’s number.
“Morgan,” he answered.
“Yes,” I said, “I’d like to speak to someone about ordering some Navarre porn, please. Maybe a six-foot-tall poster of that gorgeous Master vampire, the one with the dreamy eyes?”
He chuckled. “Found my welcome gift, did you?”
“Isn’t it a little weird for a Navarre vamp to leave a welcome gift for a Cadogan vamp?” I asked, while checking out the doors on the right side of the room. The first door opened to a small closet, inside of which hung a dozen wooden hangers. The second opened to a small bathroom—claw-foot tub with shower, pedestal sink.
“Not if she’s the prettiest Cadogan vamp.”
I snorted and closed the door again, then moved my bags to the bed. “You can’t think that line’s gonna work.”
“Did we finish off a deep-dish pie Saturday night?”
“That’s my recollection.”
“Then my lines work.”
I made a sarcastic sound, but the boy had a point.
“I need to go. I’ve got a meeting in a few,” he said, and the Master around here is a real administrative bastard.”
“Mmm-hmm. I bet he is. You enjoy that meeting.”
“I always do. And on behalf of Navarre House and the North American Vampire Registry, we hope your days in Cadogan House are many and fruitful. Peace be with you. Live long and prosper—”
“Goodbye, Morgan,” I said with a laugh, flipping my phone shut and sliding it back into my pocket.
It was fairly debatable whether Morgan had manipulated me into our first date, which was the result of a political compromise (in front of fifty other vampires, no less). But we’d passed that official first date a few weeks ago, and as he’d pointed out, we’d shared a pizza or two since then. I clearly hadn’t done anything to quell his interest; on the other hand, I hadn’t really tried to encourage it. I liked Morgan, sure. He was funny, charming, intelligent, and ridiculously pretty. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was dating him from behind a wall of detachment, that I hadn’t fully let my guard down.
Maybe it was chemistry. Maybe it was a security issue, the fact that he was from Navarre and that, as Sentinel, I was supposed to be always on guard, always on call, for Cadogan House. Maybe it was the fact that he’d gotten date number one because he’d forced my hand in front of Ethan, Scott Grey, Noah Beck (the leader of Chicago’s independent vampires), and half of Cadogan House.
Yeah, that could be it.
Or maybe it was something even more fundamental: However ironic, the thought of dating a vampire—with all the political and emotional complications that entailed—didn’t thrill me.
I guess any of those could have been the reason it felt strange, the reason I enjoyed his company but couldn’t seem to just sink it, Morgan’s enthusiasm notwithstanding.
Since I wasn’t going to find resolution today, I shook the thought from my head and headed back to my bags, still zipped atop the small bed. I opened them and set to work.
I began by pulling out books, writing supplies, and knick- knacks, then organized them on the bookshelf. Toiletries went into the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, and foldable clothes went into the bureau. Shirts and pants were hung from the wooden hangers in the closet, beneath which I unceremoniously dumped my shoes.
When I’d emptied the bags, I began zipping them up again, but stopped when I felt something in an interior side pocket of my duffel. I reached in and found a small package wrapped in brown paper. Curious, I slipped the tape and unfolded the wrapping. Inside was a framed piece of cross-stitched linen that read: VAMPIRES ARE PEOPLE, TOO.
Although I wasn’t sure I believed the message, as surprise housewarming presents went, it wasn’t bad. I certainly appreciated the thought, and made a mental note to thank Mal the next time I saw her.
I’d just folded the empty bags into the bottom bureau drawer when the beeper at my waist began to vibrate. Beepers were required gear for Cadogan guards, intended to ensure that we could quickly respond to fanged emergencies. Now that I was an official resident of the House—instead of twenty minutes north—I could respond in record time.
I unclipped the beeper and scanned the screen. It read: OPS RM. 911.
Not much for poetry, but the message was clear enough. There was some kind of emergency, so we were to mobilize in the House’s Operations Room, the guards’ HQ in the basement of Cadogan House. I reclipped my beeper, grabbed my sheathed katana, and headed downstairs.
“I don’t care if they’re taking your picture, asking for your autograph, or buying your drinks! This. Is.
Completely
. Unacceptable.”
Luc, the head of Cadogan House’s guard corps, growled at us. As it turned out, the emergency, although arguably of our own making, had passed during the daylight hours. This lecture was the unfortunate fallout.
There we were, sitting around a high-tech conference table in the equally high-tech, movie-ready Ops Room—Peter, Juliet, Lindsey, Kelley, and me, the guards (and Sentinel) responsible for ensuring the health and welfare of Cadogan’s Novitiate vampires.