Chicagoland Vampires - Friday Night Bites Part 9

"On the other hand, you'd break Luc's heart. Maybe let's skip the mixer for now."

"You're such a mommy."

I snorted. "Can I ground you?"

"Unlikely,"she said, drawing out the word. "Now shut up and watch the b.i.t.c.hy humans."

I stayed until the show was done, until the pizza was done, until the vampires on the floor stood and stretched and said their goodbyes. I was glad I'd made the trip, glad I'd been able to spend time in the company of a Cadogan vampire other than the House's 394-year-old Master. I'd missed out on a lot of college socializing, more focused on reading and studying than was probably healthy, always a.s.suming there'd be time for making friends later. And then graduation arrived, and I didn't know my cla.s.smates as well as I might have. I had a chance to do that over now-to invest in the people around me instead of losing myself in the intellectual details.

I rounded a corner to head for the stairs, so lost in my thoughts that I nearly forgot that Ethan, too, was a resident of the third floor.

But there he was.

He stood in the doorway of the apartment that had once been Amber's-his former Consort and the woman who'd betrayed him for Celina. He glanced up as I neared, but two burly men carrying a sizable chest of drawers stepped between us and broke the eye contact.

"Couple more loads," one said to Ethan in a thick Chicagoland accent as they hobbled down the hallway.

"Then we're done."

"Thank you," he replied, half turning to watch them struggle under the weight of the furniture.

I wondered at the arrangements. Vampires could have managed the bulk much easier than the humans, and wouldn't have required Ethan's supervision at five o'clock in the morning. Humans or not, Ethan didn't look thrilled to be supervising them, and I also wondered why he hadn't let Helen coordinate.

Maybe, I realized, he needed this. Maybe this was his catharsis, his chance to clean the room, clear the air, and prepare for a changing of the lascivious guards.

I wanted to say something, to acknowledge the pain he probably felt, but had no idea how to say it, how to form words he wouldn't find insulting. Words he'd find too emotional. Too sentimental. Too human. I caught his gaze again, grudging resignation in it, before he looked away and slipped back inside the room.

I stood there for a moment, torn between following him and trying to offer comfort, and letting it go, giving him back the same silence he'd given me, a.s.suming the silence was what he needed. I pushed on toward the stairs, decision made, and dropped headfirst into bed just before Homer's "rosy-fingered Dawn" appeared, just as the horizon began to pinken. It was a little less rosy, I thought, when that dawn could fry you to ashes.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE BELLE OF THE BALL.

I woke suddenly, raps on the door jolting me from unconsciousness. I tried to shake off the dream I'dbeen having about moonlight over dark water, sat up, and rubbed my eyes.

The knock sounded again.

"Just a second." I untangled myself from the blankets I'd pulled up during the day and cast a glance at the alarm clock beside my bed. It was just after seven p.m., only an hour or so before the beginning of c.o.c.ktails at the Breckenridge party. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. A second to stand up, then I shuffled to the door, still, I realized, in yesterday's wrinkled s.h.i.+rt and suit pants.

I flipped the lock and opened it. Ethan stood in my doorway, tidy in suit pants and white b.u.t.ton-up. His hair was pulled back, the Cadogan medal at his neck. Where I was rumpled, he was pristine, his eyes bright emerald green, alert. His expression was some cross between bemus.e.m.e.nt and disappointment, like he couldn't decide which emotion to choose.

"Long night, Sentinel?"

His voice was flat. It took me a moment to realize the conclusion he'd reached, that a rendezvous had kept me out late and prevented me from changing out of yesterday's uniform. His Sentinel, the woman he'd pa.s.sed over to the Master of Navarre House to secure an alliance, was still in yesterday's clothes.

Of course, I hadn't seen Morgan in days. But Ethan didn't need to know that.

I hid my grin and answered back provocatively, "Yes. It was, actually. One eyebrow arched in disapproval, Ethan held out a black garment bag.

I reached out and took it. "What's this?"

"It's for this evening. Something a little more . . . apropos than your usual options."

I nearly snarked back-Ethan was not keen on my jeans-and-layered-T-s.h.i.+rts fas.h.i.+on sensibilities-but decided I appreciated the gesture more than I needed the last word. Tonight I was returning to the fold.

Returning to Chicago's most elite social circle. This was my chance to don a dress and an att.i.tude, to act like I belonged. To use my name as the entry ticket it truly was. But that name or not, that task would be a h.e.l.luva lot easier in a nice dress than in anything I had in my closet at the moment.

So, "Thank you," I said.

He looked down and flicked up the cuff at his wrist, revealing a wide, silver watch. "You'll find shoes to match in your closet. I had Helen drop them off last night. As I'm sure you know, it's quite a drive to Loring Park, so we need to leave directly. Be downstairs in half an hour."

"Forty-five minutes," I countered, and at his raised eyebrow, offered, "I'm a girl."

His gaze went flat again. "I'm aware of that, Sentinel. Forty minutes."

I saluted crisply after he turned and walked down the hallway, then shut the door behind him. Curiosity getting the best of me, I went to the bed and spread the garment bag upon it, then clasped the zipper.

"Five bucks says it's black," I bet, and unzipped it.

I was right.

It was black taffeta, a c.o.c.ktail dress with a fitted bodice and just-above-the-knees swingy skirt. The taffeta was pleated in well-constructed tucks, turning a cla.s.sic little black dress into something much sa.s.sier.

Sa.s.sy or not, it was still fustier than my usual jeans and Pumas. It was the dress I'd successfully avoided wearing for ten years.

I pulled it from the bag and slipped it off the hanger, then held it up against my chest in front of the full-length mirror. I looked, at twenty-eight, almost exactly as I had at twenty-seven. But my straight hair was darker, my skin paler. Barring some ill-advised trip into the sun or a run-in with the wrong end of a katana or an aspen stake, I'd look the same as I did now-the twenty-seven years I'd owned when Ethan changed me-for the remainder of my life. For an eternity, if I managed to last that long. That, of course, would depend on how many enemies I made, and how much I was asked to sacrifice to Cadogan House.

To Ethan.

That thought in mind, I blew out a slow breath and offered a silent prayer for patience. The clock ticking, I spread the dress back on the bed and headed for the shower.

Maybe unsurprisingly, it took time for the water in the antique House to heat. I slipped into the claw-foottub and pulled the ringed shower curtain around me, then dunked my head beneath the spray, relis.h.i.+ng the heat. I missed daylight, being able to stand in the warmth of a spring day, my face tilted toward the sun, basking in the heat of it. I was relegated to fluorescent lights and moonglow now, but a hot shower was a surprisingly good subst.i.tute.

I stayed in the tub huddled beneath the water until the tiny bathroom was fogged with steam. Once out, I toweled off and turbaned my hair, then arranged my ensemble. The shoes Ethan had mentioned were in the closet, carefully wrapped in white tissue paper and nestled inside a glossy black box. I unwrapped them. They were evening pumps, an arrangement of spaghetti-thin straps atop three needle-sharp inches of heel.

I pulled them out by the straps and dangled them in the air, giving them a once-over as they twirled. I used to danceen pointe , but during my grad school days, I'd gotten used to Converse and Puma, not Louboutin and Prada. I'd do Ethan a solid and wear them, but I truly hoped I wouldn't have to make a run for it at the Breckenridge estate.

I arranged undergarments, prepped and dried my hair, and applied makeup. Lip gloss. Mascara. Blush, since it was a special occasion. When my dark hair gleamed, I pulled it into a high ponytail, long bangs across my forehead, which I thought looked modern enough to match the kicky c.o.c.ktail dress and heels.

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, gla.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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 relations.h.i.+p with Ethan, no need to fan those flames. But I could do one thing . . .

"Listen, Mallory starts her sorcery interns.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 outs.h.i.+ning 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 c.o.c.ked 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 a.s.sumed that I pa.s.sed.

"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, das.h.i.+ng 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. a.s.suming I was to follow, I did. We headed for the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs.

"I'm not antic.i.p.ating problems," Ethan told him. "Not tonight anyway."

Malik nodded. "The dailies are clean. Should Celina attempt to cross the border, she'll be flagged."

"a.s.suming she doesn't glamour the TSA," Ethan said.

And a.s.suming she wasn't already here, I thought.

Ethan rounded the corner at the foot of the bas.e.m.e.nt 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 s.p.a.ces. 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 ent.i.ty, of the vampires."He opened the pa.s.senger 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 theCanon that the organization of the Houses was feudal in origin, heavy on the liege-and-va.s.sal 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 fas.h.i.+on.

"If the king left his castle," I offered, "he'd leave instructions for her defense with his successor."