I glanced at Ethan. “Is that possible?”
“Incubi do not exist,” Ethan said flatly. He sat on a corner of the console table. “But vampire strengths—psych, strat, phys—can have their own flavor. Like Lindsey’s being empathic.”
Ethan glanced over, arranged three of the objects on the console table—a rune stone, a small stone figure of a bear, and the autographed baseball he’d once given me, now home among the knickknacks—in a straight line, the objects spaced equally apart.
“Most vampires have moderate strength.” He pushed the rune above the others and out of alignment. “Occasionally, a vampire will be moderately strong in two categories, extra strong in one.” Now he pushed the bear together with the rune. “And sometimes the vampire will have two strong attributes—strength and psych—and sometimes the flavor of those attributes runs toward the sexual.”
“And that’s really the origin of the incubus idea,” Catcher said.
“Precisely,” Ethan said with a nod. “Balthasar enjoys all things carnal, sexual or otherwise. His ability to glamour has always been strong, as we saw in my office, but I wouldn’t have considered him a Very Strong Psych.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Ethan frowned, as if trying to explain his hunch. “I suppose I’ve always considered him more of a physical actor, not a metaphysical one. He prefers seducing a woman with his charms—and the ego boost that comes from success.”
“Maybe it wasn’t just the force of his personality,” Mallory said. “Maybe there was some magic or glamour in there, too.”
“Or maybe I just never wanted to see it,” Ethan said, then glanced at me. “I was still learning to be a vampire at his hand. Especially during the earlier years, vampires didn’t think overmuch about strength or categorization.”
I nodded. “So, if he’s got this skill, or developed it while he recuperated, what do we do to keep him out?” I looked at Mallory. “Can you adjust the wards somehow?”
They looked at each other, brows furrowed as if they were engaged in silent deliberation.
“I don’t know why that wouldn’t be possible,” Catcher said. “If we can create a physical barrier, why not a psychic one?”
Mallory twirled a lock of blue hair. “Yeah, I’ll need to think about it, poke around the library for a bit, if that’s all right?”
“Fine by me,” Ethan said. “Do you think you could prepare something tonight? By dawn?”
“I won’t know until I know,” Mallory said. “But I’ll get started and keep you updated.”
Ethan nodded. “We have to go to Navarre to discuss the Circle.”
“That’ll be a good time,” Catcher said.
“If by good time, you mean something akin to a fang root canal, then yes, it will be.”
I looked at Ethan. “That’s not a thing—fang root canals.”
He smiled. “It’s not, no. But it makes a very good metaphor. And it made you smile.”
“Aw,” Mallory said. “That’s so cute. Work on boosting each other’s moods, because you probably shouldn’t kill Morgan in frustration. Navarre has enough problems at the moment without adding vampiricide.”
She reached out, hugged me before I could stop her. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I assured her, but the hug—the breach of my personal bubble, even if it would normally have been fine—still lifted a clammy sweat at the back of my neck.
Another score for Balthasar.
* * *
They left us alone, but the apartments were still crowded with emotion, with memories, with the repercussions of what Balthasar had done.
Ethan’s fury had faded, replaced by grief. “I am so sorry this happened. I wouldn’t have had you know him, Merit. Not like this, not ever like this, or any other way.”
“I know.”
“There is such childishness in his narcissism.”
I nodded. “If you don’t play the way he wants,” I suggested, following the logic, “he’ll destroy your toys.”
“That is, and was, Balthasar to a tee.”
“The attack really sucked,” I said. “But I think there was one benefit.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“He’s told us what he wants—drama. He thrives on it. Feeds from it. And he wants more of it. He wants the House, Ethan, and he wants revenge. He’ll expect you to confront him about this—about me. To find him, give him your time and attention, fight him. You shouldn’t do that. Not yet.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed savagely. “And why, precisely, shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I find him and rip every limb from his body? Why shouldn’t I leave him for the sun to find, scatter his ashes, and salt the earth behind him?”
“Because that’s what he wants.”
“I doubt that.”
“Well, not the earth-salting or limb-ripping, but the theater. He wants you to come after him. He wants to, I don’t know, feast on your outrage. So don’t feed him. Don’t give him the satisfaction—at least, not on his terms.” I paused, considered. “Like you said before, we’ll draw him out. We’ll give him an audience, but in a setting we control and manage.”
Ethan tilted his head. “What setting? We’ve essentially ruled out disavowal.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ll have to think about that. But if we do something big, I promise you he’ll show up and cause trouble.”
“And force our hand.”
I nodded fiercely. “Exactly that. We’ll write the story,” I said. “And he’ll write the end.”
* * *
He let me shower, get dressed in my traditional black Cadogan suit. I paired my suit with a tank that matched the blue-gray of my eyes. Ethan had paired a perfectly fitted jacket and trousers with a white button-down, the top button open and revealing his glinting Cadogan medal. We’d both donned our professional best, a good thing since we were due at Navarre House—and the twilight drama had already made us late.
“You don’t have to go,” Ethan said as I checked the blade of my katana, slid it home again.
“Not after what you’ve been through. I’ve already sent Malik over to get started on the books—and I sent Juliet with him as a precaution. He’ll be better with the numbers than either of us.”
As much as I appreciated having an excuse to avoid bookending a visit from Balthasar with a visit to Morgan, locking myself in the House wasn’t going to do either of us any good. For one, I couldn’t just chill out there. I’d be pacing the halls, worrying about Ethan because Balthasar was out there. And avoiding Morgan would only make me feel more cowardly.
“Thank you, but I should go. I’ll feel better if I have something to do. Something else to think about.” Someone else’s drama to focus on.
“I called Luc,” Ethan said. “I didn’t give Luc all the details about the attack, but told him enough so that he’ll be prepared. Guards were posted at the condo all night; he didn’t return.”
“He’ll have to find somewhere to bed down and stay out of the sun,” I pointed out.
Ethan nodded. “Luc’s going to contact the rental company, see what he can find out. Or have Kelley do it.” He paused. “I don’t want you alone. Not when he could get to you.”
“Okay.”
He clearly expected a fight, looked shocked and suspicious that I wasn’t arguing.
“I don’t have any desire to be alone with him. But I can’t ask Jonah right now.”
“Then I’ll be with you.”
“You have a House to manage. And a vampire congress to build. You’re a fanged founding father. You don’t have time to babysit me.”
His eyes flashed hot. “You’re my future wife and the mother of my future child. I will well protect you against any threat, living, dead, or undead, just as I promised
in my oath to this House.”
The reminder of marriage and children set an entirely different set of nerves on edge. Gabriel Keene, the leader of Jeff’s Pack, had prophesied a vampire child was in our future. And since no vampire child had ever been carried to term, that was a Very Big Deal for vampires, and for Ethan.
“I don’t want to play into his hand,” I said. “Or give him an opportunity to get to you because you’re sticking too closely to me.”
“Do I seem like the type of man who forces others to take my hits, handle my battles for me?”
“Of course not. But things are what they are.”
“Things are what they are,” he agreed. “But Balthasar will not stand between us.” Silence fell. “We could be married.”
My heart galloped. “What?”
“Like Catcher and Mallory. We could be married. Now. Quickly. For the practicality.”
My heart sank at the phrase. “For the practicality.”
Oblivious to my tone, Ethan nodded. “He is an old vampire with old values, however fresh his memories. As it stands, he’ll see you as a Consort.” He frowned, as if choosing his words carefully. “You declined the position quickly enough that we didn’t discuss it, but it is—was—not entirely dishonorable. A Consort has power, prestige, the ear of his or her Master. She can choose those with whom she consorts; the power is hers. If he believes you stand as Consort now, he may believe you can be swayed.”
“Even while I sleep,” I suggested, and Ethan nodded.
“Giving you my name, securing our relationship, would give you security. Safety. Day or night.”
I knew Ethan had planned to propose; he’d made that clear enough. That proposal would have been for love, for companionship, for me. But tonight, he looked so earnest. So practical. And that was too much a reminder of Mallory’s situation.
I appreciated the sentiment, and his obvious concern for my welfare. But his offering a marriage of convenience wasn’t my ideal proposal. I’d been imagining him on his knees in a tux with a book of Byron’s poetry and a ring box, reciting the first stanza of “She Walks in Beauty” while his green eyes glinted in the moonlight.
It might have been fantasy, but it was my fantasy, and I preferred it to cold practicalities.
I shook my head, glanced up at Ethan. “As flattered as I am that you’d offer me your name to protect me, I don’t want our lifetime together to start like this.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “At least you appear to acknowledge we will have a lifetime together.”
“One step at a time,” I said in a warning tone.
“All right, Sentinel. I’m not going anywhere. Nor, I believe, are you. And if you need a proposal with candlelight and poetry, probably one of the Romantics, so be it.”
When my eyes widened at the reference, he smiled.
“I told you that I pay attention, Merit. I always have.”
Chapter Thirteen
SUIVRE L’ARGENT
We’d reached a personal accord, but Ethan was still silent as Brody drove us north to Gold Coast and Navarre House, where another round of drama awaited us.
The silence wasn’t all because of me, or Balthasar. Ethan had left a cadre of unhappy supplicants in the Cadogan lobby, men and women whose problems he once again wouldn’t have time to address because we had other vampires to protect. Most of those waiting had accepted his apologies with grim resignation. A few had grumbled under their breath about his obligations, how he’d forgotten the vampires who got him where he was. (Since he hadn’t been elected, and he didn’t actually know these non-Cadogan vampires, I questioned the logic.) One had made a move toward him, tried to step toe-to-toe and blame Ethan for making things worse, for bringing new CPD attention to vampires, and causing them to constantly harass him.
He hadn’t looked stable, and he certainly hadn’t appreciated my stepping between him and Ethan. But we’d had to leave, so we’d dispatched Luc to make sure he was escorted off Cadogan property.
Nicole had warned me that dissolving the GP wouldn’t solve our problems, but create new ones. Put a new and different kind of target on Ethan’s back. As much as I hated to admit it, she’d been right. But we still had to try, and that meant handling one problem at a time.
Sometimes triage wasn’t just the best you could do—it was the only thing you could do.
As if Ethan could sense my worrying, he reached out to touch me, to put his hand on my knee, and I hated that I flinched. It was instinct, a reaction to my attack, to the personal barriers that Balthasar had so obviously violated.
Ethan froze.
I’m sorry, I said silently. I just . . . I need time.
I could feel the wall rising between us. It was a wall Balthasar had prompted, and it was wholly unfair to both of us. But there it was. I needed time to regain my control, to feel that I was the one in charge of me, and not that someone else was running rampant inside my head.
He nodded sharply, seemed to battle between fury and hurt. I’ll give you time, as I always have. But he will not stand between us.
I hoped he was right.
* * *
Despite the drama, we found Navarre House unchanged. It was still a beautiful dame of a building with a turret on the corner, pale stone on the exterior, and a view of Lake Michigan that even my father would have admired. Perfectly manicured boxwoods in terra-cotta pots were placed at intervals in the small strip of (also perfectly manicured) grass in front of the building, while hydrangeas that hadn’t yet bloomed marked each corner of the building. Celina had undeniably good taste. But then, that was part of the problem.
“Katanas?” I asked, with a hand on the door.
Ethan looked at my scabbard, then his. “You’ve got your dagger?”
“In my boot.”
He likely compared politics to risk. “I’ve got mine as well. Let’s leave them in the car for now. Brody, stay close.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured him.
We walked up the stairs and opened the front doors, found the interior also the same, with a pale, museumlike chill. Marble floors, spare furnishings, and the occasional bench or piece of artwork arranged and lit as if part of an exhibit. I couldn’t help wondering how much the Circle had paid for Celina’s carefully curated home. And how much her vampires would have to pay for that now.
The House’s demilune reception desk, previously staffed by three brown-haired beauties, was manned tonight by three brawny men I pegged instantly as off-duty cops. They had the broad shoulders and flat eyes of men used to seeing all manner of inappropriate behavior. So Morgan had upgraded his security, but that might have been due to the last round of Navarre House dramatics: A killer had gained access to Navarre House a few months ago and killed two Navarre vampires.
The man in the middle looked up as we approached, scanned us. “Name and business?”
Ethan looked mildly irritated by the question, but answered, “Ethan Sullivan and Merit, Cadogan House. We’re joining Malik, also of Cadogan House. We’re here at the behest of Morgan Greer.”
They looked duly unimpressed by the explanation and that the Master of Cadogan House was visiting. But that was the point of having cops at the security desk. No fangirling, and no famous vampires sneaking into Navarre House without permission.
“One moment,” the middle guy said, then confabbed with his colleagues, checked clipboards, surveyed lists. After a moment, he rolled his chair back to the middle position, pulled two Navarre House lanyards and security badges from a drawer, and pushed them and a clipboard across the counter. “Sign in.”
Ethan looked up at him, opened his mouth to give what I guessed would be a dressing-down. I knew what he thought, because my thoughts were the same—that this was a power play by a Master who wanted to remind us he was in charge within his halls.
If Navarre’s situation
was as bad as we suspected, that hardly seemed to matter.
“I’ll sign us in,” I said, and scribbled our names on the clipboard, plucked up the lanyards, and handed one to Ethan.
“Someone will be out in a moment,” the guard said, then picked up a handset and dialed up a number, whispered into the receiver.
By the time he put the phone down again, footsteps were clipping on marble toward us. Nadia, Navarre’s Second and Morgan’s paramour, emerged from a hallway.
She was gorgeous in an exotically European way, with generous features and golden brown hair. She wore slim-cut black pants, a flowy black top, and laser-cut high-heeled booties. And tonight she looked thinner, her cheekbones sharper, dark circles beneath her eyes, and a deep sadness still set there. Her sister, Katya, had been one of the murdered Navarre vampires. It appeared she was still in mourning.
“Nadia,” Ethan said. “It’s lovely to see you again, although I’m sorry the circumstances are what they are.”
Nadia nodded but didn’t say a word. She gestured us to follow her up the staircase that flowed to the first floor. The stairs were also marble, the handrails gleaming brass. And as beautiful as the House was, she was the only Navarre vampire we’d seen enjoying it. Maybe the others were locked in their rooms, lest the Circle should come calling.
We rounded a corner and walked down a hallway with marble floors and white walls covered in black strokes and slashes. Not graffiti, but woodcut prints blown up and reproduced on the wall. They were images of Navarre House through history, I realized, from an elaborate French chateau to the Gold Coast graystone. Had the Circle funded the artwork?
“In here,” Nadia said, pausing by an open door. Ethan nodded at her, and I followed him inside. It was a large room dominated by a glass conference table with leather and chrome chairs. There were separate seating areas on both sides of the enormous room, and a wall of mirrors along one end.
I wasn’t an expert on home décor, but living with Joshua Merit had taught me enough to know the furniture in this single room was probably worth tens of thousands of dollars.