by Хлоя Нейл
That stopped both Ethan and me in the middle of the staircase.
“What business with Tate?” he asked.
Mallory gave Catcher a pointed look. “You didn’t tell them?”
“Other business to attend to,” Catcher responded, hitching a thumb at the second floor behind us. “One crisis at a time.”
Catcher continued down the stairs. With no other choice, we followed, the silence thick enough to cut through. Ethan practically trotted down the staircase. When we reached the front door, then the porch, then the sidewalk, Ethan stopped, hands on his hips. Mallory made a low whistle of warning. I prepared for Ethan’s outburst, predicting quietly, “And the shit will hit the fan in four . . . three . . . two . . .”
“What business with Tate?” Ethan repeated, an edge of anger in his voice.
I bit back a smile, glad Catcher was the one Ethan was about to light into. That made a nice change.
Catcher stopped and turned back to Ethan. “Tate’s staff has been calling the office,” he said. “He’s been asking questions about vampire leadership, about the Houses, about the Sentinel.”
Since I was the only Sentinel in town, I perked up. “About me?”
Catcher nodded. “The General Assembly agreed to forgo vamp management legislation this year in lieu of investigation, to ensure that nothing too prejudicial was passed. But that wasn’t too hard a choice, since greater Illinois doesn’t have to deal with vampires in their midst—all the Houses are in Chicago. The City Council’s getting antsy, though. I know you and Grey talked to your aldermen”—Ethan nodded at this—“but the rest of the council has concerns. There’s talk about zoning, about curfews, regulations.”
“And what’s Tate’s position on that stuff?” I asked.
Catcher shrugged. “Who the hell knows what Tate thinks?”
“And he still hasn’t come to any of us,” Ethan muttered, eyes on the ground, brow furrowed. “He hasn’t talked to Scott or Morgan or me.”
“He’s probably not ready to talk to you in person,” Catcher said. “Maybe doing his groundwork before he sets up that meeting?”
“Or he’s keeping his distance on purpose,” Ethan muttered. He shook his head in reprobation, then glanced at me. “What does he want to know about Merit?”
“Likes, dislikes, favorite flowers,” Mallory put in.
“So not helping,” I whispered.
“I’m not kidding. I think he’s totally crushing you.”
I snorted in disbelief. “Yeah. The mayor of Chicago is crushing on me. That’s likely.” Unlike Ethan, I had met Tate, and though he’d seemed likable enough, there was no way he was crushing on me.
“He just wants information,” Catcher said. “I think at this point it’s a vague curiosity. And frankly, his interest could be related to her parentage, rather than her affiliation.”
Ethan leaned toward me. “At least I know you aren’t feeding Tate information, or you’d surely have ferreted that out.”
I clenched my jaw at the insinuation, which he’d made before, that I was some kind of informational spigot between the House and Tate’s office. I decided I’d been on the receiving end of one too many speeches and snarky comments today. I glanced at Catcher and asked the same favor he’d asked of us earlier. “Would you two give us a minute?”
Catcher looked between us, grinned cheekily. “Knock yourself out, kid. We’ll be in the car.”
I waited until the car doors were shut before I stepped forward, stopped within inches of Ethan’s body. “Look. I know why you gave me that speech earlier today. I know you have an obligation to protect your vampires. But irrespective of the way that I was made, I have done everything that you’ve asked of me. I’ve taken training, I gave up my dissertation, I moved into the House, I got you in to see my father, I got you into the Breckenridge house, and I’ve dated the man you asked me to.” I pointed at the house behind us. “And even though I was supposed to get a few hours free from the drama of Cadogan House tonight with said man, I followed you here because you requested it. At some point, Ethan, you might consider giving me a little credit.”
I didn’t wait for him to answer, but turned on my heel and went to the car. I opened the back door, climbed inside, and slammed it shut behind me.
Catcher caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Feel better?”
“Is he still standing there with that dumbstruck expression on his face?”
There was a pause while he checked, then a chuckle. “Yes, he is.”
“Then, yes, I feel better.”
The car was quiet on the ride north to Wicker Park, Ethan pissed at Catcher for not sharing information about Tate within his preferred time frame (i.e., immediately), Mallory napping in the backseat, apparently worn out by her magical exertions, and Catcher humming along with an ABBA marathon he’d found on an a.m. radio station.
We reached the brownstone and said our goodbyes. Catcher reminded me that I was scheduled to practice with him first thing tomorrow evening, and Mallory and I teared up at her transition to Apprentice Sorceress, at the fact that my time with her for the next six weeks would be largely limited to phone calls. But I trusted Catcher, and given that Celina was on the loose, I was glad Mal would be learning more about her gifts, her skills, her ability to wield magic. The more protection she had, the better I felt, and I was pretty sure Catcher felt the same.
Since we’d arrived separately, Ethan and I drove our respective cars back to Cadogan House—him in the sleek Mercedes, me in my boxy Volvo. I parked the Volvo on the street, glad I’d completed my round of obligations for the night so I could have at least a few hours to myself. But he met me in the foyer, cream-colored envelope in his hand. I adjusted my own armfuls of stuff—mail, shoes, sword—and took it from him.
“This was messengered to you,” he said.
I opened it up. Inside was an invitation to a gala at my parents’ house the next night. I made a face. Tonight had been long enough; it didn’t look like tomorrow would afford much relief.
“Lovely,” I said, then showed him the invite.
He read it over, then nodded. “I’ll arrange for a dress. You have katana training with Catcher tomorrow?” At my nod, he nodded back. “Then we’ll leave shortly after.”
“What’s on the agenda?”
Ethan turned and began walking back toward his office. I followed him, at least as far as the staircase.
“The agenda,” he said when we paused, “is to continue our investigations. Your father is aware that we are interested in a threat involving the Breckenridges. Given what I know of him, it’s likely he’ll have done some checking of his own.”
“You planned it,” I said, thinking of the seeds he’d planted with my father. “Told him just enough about the Breckenridges, about the danger facing us, to make him want to ask questions.” Although I wasn’t thrilled about the thought of going home, I could appreciate a good strategy when I heard one. “That’s not bad, Sullivan.”
He gave me a dry look before turning toward his office. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Until dusk,” he said, and walked away.
Once in my room, I dumped my sword and my pile of mail, then kicked off my shoes. I’d left my cell phone in my room, since I’d planned to spend the evening with the only people likely to call me, but found a voice mail waiting.
It was from Morgan. He said he was checking in, ensuring that I’d gotten home safely. But I could hear the questions in his voice—where I’d been, what I’d been doing, what had been important enough to motivate Ethan to pull in a few-months-old Sentinel for duty. I still wasn’t sure I had an answer to the last one.
I checked the clock; it was nearly four in the morning. I guessed Morgan would still be awake, but after a moment of hesitation, I opted not to call him back. I didn’t want to dance around issues, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his less-than-veiled animosity toward Ethan. The night had been long enough, contentious enough, without that.
Wit
h dawn threatening, I stripped out of my date ensemble and got into pajamas, then washed my face, grabbed a Mole skine journal and a pen, and climbed into bed. I scribbled random notes as the sun rose—about vampires, the Houses, the philosophy of drinking—and fell asleep, pen in hand.
CHAPTER 14
THE CENTER CANNOT HOLD
I woke happy, at least until I remembered what the evening had in store. I grumbled and grabbed the invitation to the party at my parents’ house. This one was a gala for a teen mentoring program. It’s not that the cause wasn’t legitimate, but I always wondered about my father’s motivations. His interest in making connections, in shaking hands, was at least as big as any interest he had in actually helping the organization.
Rising tides lift all boats, I thought, and put the invitation on the bed. I sat up and pushed the hair out of my eyes, then uncurled my legs and hit the floor. I didn’t bother to shower, knowing I’d just get sweaty again during my training session, but changed into my Catcher-approved ensemble—bandeaux bra and barely there shorts, throwing a track jacket over the top so I’d be decent during the drive.
Just as I zipped up the jacket, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and found Helen in the hallway in a tidy tweed suit.
“Hello, dear,” she said, holding out a royal blue garment bag emblazoned with the logo of a chic-chic store in the Loop. “I was just dropping off your gown.”
I took the bag from her hands, the weight not as heavy as I’d have expected given the size of the bag. Her hands free, she pulled a small pink notebook from the pocket of her nubby pink suit jacket. Nodding, she read it over.
“Tonight is a black-tie event. The color theme is black and white,” she read, then lifted her gaze to mine. “That helped my selection process, of course, but it took no small bit of finagling to obtain a gown this quickly. It was delivered moments ago.”
It bothered me, more than it should have, that she’d picked out the dress. That Ethan hadn’t picked out the dress.
That it bothered me was just wrong in so many ways.
“Thank you,” I told her. “I appreciate the effort.” More’s the pity she couldn’t have taken my place.
“Of course,” Helen said. “I need to get back downstairs. Plenty of work to do. Do enjoy the party.” She smiled and tucked the notebook back into her pocket. “And be careful with the dress. It was rather an investment.”
I frowned down at the garment bag. “Define ‘investment.’ ”
“Near twelve, actually.”
“Twelve? Twelve hundred dollars?” I stared at the dress bag, horrified at the thought that I was going to be responsible for four figures of Cadogan investment.
Helen chuckled. “Twelve thousand dollars, dear.” She dropped that bomb, then headed back down the hallway, completely missing my look of abject horror.
Ever so carefully, as if carrying the Gutenberg Bible, I laid the dress bag on my bed.
“Take two,” I murmured, and unzipped the bag.
A soft sound escaped me.
It was black silk, a fabric so delicate I could barely feel it between my fingers. And it was, indeed, a ball gown. A square strapless bodice that dropped to a spill of the luscious, inky silk.
I wiped my hands on my shorts, pulled the dress from the bag and held it up against my chest, spinning just to watch the skirt move. And move it did. The silk flowed like black water, the fabric the darkest shade of black I’d ever seen. It wasn’t the kind of black that you confused with navy in the dressing room. It was black. Moonless, midnight black. It was stunning.
My cell rang, and I hugged the dress to my body with my free hand, scanned the caller ID, and flipped it open.
“Oh, my God, you should see this dress I’m wearing tonight.”
“Did you just say something complimentary about a dress? Where’s my Merit? What have you done with her?”
“I’m serious, Mallory. It’s amazing. Black silk, this ball gown thing.” I stood in front of the mirror, half turned. “It’s beautiful.”
“Seriously, I’m totally weirded out by the girly nature of this conversation. And yet, it’s kinda like you’re growing up. Do you think Judy Blume made a book about adolescent vampires? Are You There God, It’s Me, Merit?” Mallory snorted, obviously pleased with herself.
“Ha, ha, ha,” I said, placing the dress carefully on top of the garment bag. “I got an invitation to a deal at my parents’, so we’re heading back to Oak Park in a bit.”
“Oh, that’s classy, vampire. Forget about your old friends now that you’re all high society.”
“I’m torn between two answers. First, the obvious one: I just saw you last night. Also acceptable: Were we friends? I thought I was using you for rent and gratuitous branding.”
“My turn to laugh,” she said, instead of actually laughing. “Seriously, I’m on the road, driving to Schaumburg, and I wanted to check on you. I assume you and Darth Sullivan got back to Cadogan okay?”
“We didn’t get chased by raving vampires, so I’d call it a successful return trip.”
“Was Morgan okay about having to leave last night?”
Phone pinched between shoulder and ear, I tightened my ponytail. “He probably wasn’t thrilled about being replaced by Ethan, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”
“What do you mean you haven’t talked to him? He’s practically your boyfriend.”
I frowned at the disapproval in her voice. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re still just . . . dating. Kind of.”
“Okay, semantics, whatever, but don’t you think you should have called him?”
I’m not sure if it was because I thought she was being nosy or because, on some level, I agreed with her, but the direction of the conversation bothered me. I tried laughing it off. “Are you lecturing me about my boyfriend choices?”
“I just . . . He’s a great guy, Merit, and you guys seem to have a great time together. I just don’t want you to pass that up for . . .”
“For?” I didn’t need to prompt her, didn’t need to ask it. I knew exactly what she meant, exactly whom she was referring to. And while I knew she cared about me as much as anyone did, the comment pricked. A lot.
“Merit,” she said, my name apparently standing in for the one she didn’t want to say aloud.
“Mallory, I’m really not in the mood for this right now.”
“Because you have to run off and play with Ethan?”
We were doing this, I thought to myself. My best friend and I were actually going to have this argument.
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
“He’s manipulating you into spending time with him.”
“That’s not true, Mallory. He hardly even likes me. We’re just trying to deal with this rave problem right now.”
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
Ire rising, vampire rising, I kicked my closet door closed with enough force to rattle a silver-framed picture of Mallory and me that sat on the top of the bureau next to it. “You know I’m not Ethan’s biggest fan, but let’s face facts. I’d be in the ground if it wasn’t for him. And for better or worse, he’s my boss. I don’t really have a lot of room to maneuver on this.”
“Fine. Deal with Ethan on your own terms. But at least be honest about Morgan.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Merit, if you don’t like Morgan, then fine, break it off. But don’t lead him on. It’s not fair. He’s a good guy, and he deserves better than that.”
I made a sound that was equal parts shock and hurt. “I’m leading him on? That’s a really shitty thing to say.”
“You need to make up your mind.”
“And you need to mind your own business.”
I heard the sharp intake of breath, knew that I’d hurt her. I immediately regretted it, but was too angry, too tired of having no control over my body, my life, my time, to apologize. She’d hurt me, and I slapped back.
“We need to end this conve
rsation before we say something we’re going to regret,” I quietly said. “I’ve got enough to deal with, not to mention the fact that I have to be at my father’s in a couple of hours.”
“You know what, Merit, if your dating life isn’t my business, then your daddy issues aren’t, either.”
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t fathom how to respond to that. And even if I’d wanted to, emotion tightened my throat.
“Maybe it’s the genetics,” she continued, apparently unwilling to abandon the argument. “Maybe it’s the person he’s asking you to be. We both have different lives now, bigger lives, than we did a few months ago. But the Merit I knew wouldn’t push this boy away. Not this boy. Think about that.”
The phone went dead.
The windshield wipers slapped against the glass as I drove, the summer night wet and humid, fast-moving clouds whipping through the sky below a darker, ominous mass that pulsed with branching threads of lightning. I parked directly in front of the architecturally austere building that held the gym where I trained with Catcher, and ran inside to avoid the falling rain.
Catcher was already there. He stood in the middle of the blue gymnastics mat that filled the training room, wearing a T-shirt and warm-up pants. His head was bowed, eyes closed, hands pressed together prayerfully.
“Take a seat,” he said, without opening his eyes.
“Good evening to you, too, sensei.”
He opened a single eye, and the look he gave me left no doubt about how unfunny he’d found the retort. “Take a seat, Merit.” This time his words were biting.
I arched a brow back at him, but stripped off my track jacket and took a seat in one of the orange plastic chairs near the door.
Catcher remained in his pose of quiet concentration for a few minutes, finally rolling his shoulders and opening his eyes.
“Done with meditation?” I lightly asked.