Friday Night Bites (15 page)

I blew out a breath, not eager for the skirmish—Merit versus the world she left behind.

“It’s going to be fine,” Ethan said, and I glanced over at him with surprise. Both that he’d read me so well and that he’d responded supportively.

“I hope so,” I told him. “I’m not thrilled about the possibility of running into Nick again, and you know how I feel about my father.”

“But not why,” Ethan softly said. “Why the animosity? This breach between you?”

I frowned out the window, unsure how much I wanted to share with him. How much ammunition I wanted to give him.

“I wasn’t the daughter my father wanted,” I finally said.

Silence. Then, “I see. Are you close to Charlotte and Robert?”

“I wouldn’t say there’s animosity there, and we stay in touch, but they’re not on speed dial.” I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t talked to my siblings in a month. “We just don’t have that much in common.” Robert was preparing to take over my father’s business; Charlotte was married to a physician and populating the world with tiny new Merits. Well, Mrs. Dr. Corkburger-Merits.

Oh, yeah.
Corkburger
.

“Do they share your animosity toward your father?”

“Not really,” I told him, looking out the window. “I didn’t acclimate well to the socializing. Charlotte and Robert did. We were all born into it, but they thrived. They’re, I don’t know, equipped for it. For that kind of lifestyle, that kind of attention, for the constant competition. I think because of that there was less friction between them and my father. Their relationship was, I don’t know, easier?”

“And what did you do while they were enjoying the Merit advantage?”

I chuckled. “I spent a lot of time in libraries. I spent a lot of time with books. I mean, my home life was peaceful. My parents didn’t fight. We had, materially, everything we needed. I was fortunate in many ways, and I realize that. But I was a dreamer, not much interested in the societal goodies.” I laughed. “I’m a reader, not a fighter.”

Ethan rolled his eyes at the admittedly lame joke. “And clearly not a comedian,” he said, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. He guided the Mercedes off the freeway and onto a divided highway. I watched neighborhoods pass, some houses lit, others dark, human families engaged in the act of living.

I glanced over at him. “We’re getting close. What’s the plan?”

“Ingratiation and groundwork,” he said, eyes scanning the road. “You reintroduce yourself to these people, let them know you’re back and that you belong. That everything due to the Merits—the respect, the access, the approbation—is due to you as well. We determine what we can about this supposed story, Jamie’s involvement, Nick’s involvement.” He shook his head. “Your news of Nick’s visit muddies the water somewhat, and we need to know where we stand. And based on that information, if your father is there, we consider whether there are ways he can help.”

My stomach twisted in unpleasant anticipation. I was more than willing to give up what was “due” to me as a Merit in order to avoid my father. But this was about access, about neutralizing a threat. I was a big enough girl to take one for the team.

“And we’re the bribe?” I asked.

Ethan nodded. “Your father is an ambitious man, with ambitious goals for his business and his family. You provide him access to a certain segment of the population.”

“A fanged segment,” I added. “Let’s not doubt his real interest: I’m delivering him a Master vampire.”

“Whether it’s one or both of us he wants to see, remember who you are. Neither a Master nor merely a Merit, but a powerful vampire in her own right.”

We passed into rural, wooded acreages, a sign we were nearing our destination. We’d just turned onto a tree-lined road, dark in the absence of streetlights, when Ethan—without warning—slowed and pulled the Mercedes onto the shoulder. When the engine was off and the car silent, he flicked on the overhead light and looked at me.

I watched him, waiting, wondering why he’d stopped the car.

“Celina’s release concerns me,” he finally said.

“Concerns you?”

“As you know, in the past, the GP’s focus has been the protection of Housed vampires and assimilation into human society. Ensuring our immortality.”

I nodded. The precursor to the GP had been created in the aftermath of the First Clearing. Survival was the directive.

“And you’re concerned that Celina’s release signals what, a new era?”

Ethan paused, ran a hand through his hair, and finally nodded. “Humans will die. Vampires will die. I can’t imagine any other end to the story.”

He quieted again, and this time when he looked at me, his expression was different—full of determination. Motivational speech on its way, I assumed.

“We have reminded humans about our existence. Tonight, we remind them of our connections. We will need every advantage we can get, Merit. For whether her plans are long term, short term, some sort of minor insurrection, outright rebellion, the demand of political rights—something is coming.”

“Something wicked.”

Ethan nodded. “The thumbs have been pricked, at least proverbially.”

I raised a hand to my neck, now healed and free of scars, once torn out by a vampire she’d convinced to kill me. “Not proverbially,” I said. “Whatever spell she’s ‘conjuring,’ she’s already spilled blood, turned vampires against their Masters, convinced the GP—and treasonous or not, I’ll admit I’m not impressed so far—that the death of humans is merely collateral damage.”

He made a sound of agreement, but gripped the wheel again, thumbs tapping nervously against the leather wrap. Since we were still parked, I assumed there was more to it.

I looked over at him, tried to ferret out his motivation, some clue as to what else remained. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I’ve talked to Malik and Luc,” he said, almost defensively, as if I was questioning his adherence to his own chain of command.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“You’re Sentinel of my House.”

Too easy an answer, I thought, and too quick a response. “Why, Ethan?”

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to say no to her.”

This time, it took me a moment to respond. “To say no?”

Voice softer, words slower, he said, “If she tries to convince me to join her cause by using blood or glamour against me, I’m not sure that I can say no.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the car. I stared forward, shocked at the admission, that he’d share this info—this
weakness
—with me. The girl he’d asked to be his Consort. The girl who’d refused him. The girl who’d witnessed, firsthand, his betrayal by Amber. The girl who’d seen the look on his face when Amber confessed her sin, her involvement in Celina’s conspiracy.

The girl who’d felt the thrust of Celina’s glamour, and powered through it. But so had he.

“You said no in the park,” I reminded him. “When she confessed her involvement in the murders, when she wanted you on her side, you said no.”

Ethan shook his head. “She wanted to be caught, to play martyr. That was hardly the extent of her glamour, the tools she’s using against the GP.”

“And Malik and Luc?”

“They aren’t as strong as me.” The unfortunate implication being that if Ethan was worried about his ability to withstand the glamour, Luc and Malik had little hope.

“Glamour,” Ethan said, “is about convincing someone to do something they wouldn’t ordinarily do. It’s not like alcohol—
Celina didn’t lower the inhibitions of the GP members. She has controlled them.”

Psychic manipulation, all but undetectable. Thank God the CIA hadn’t gotten wind of that yet.

“And because the power is a psychic one, the only trace that she has used her power in this fashion is the magic that leaks when she performs it. Vampires who can glamour can convince the subjects of their glamour that they have an altogether different desire. It’s easier, of course, on weaker minds, on those who could have been convinced with but a little pushing. It’s harder on those with firmer minds. On those more used to finding their own paths.”

Ethan looked at me and lifted his brows, as if willing me to understand.

“You think I repelled her glamour because I’m stubborn?”

“I think it is, perhaps, part of the reason.”

The general absurdity of the conversation aside—debating the metaphysics of vampire glamour—I got a kick out of his admission, and couldn’t stop my grin. “So, you’re saying my stubbornness is a blessing.”

With a snort, he started the Mercedes and pulled it smoothly back onto the road. I guess I’d humored him out of his mood.

“You know, vampires are exhausting,” I told him, parroting one of Catcher’s favorite complaints.

“This time, Merit, I won’t disagree with you.”

The Breckenridge estate, nestled in the Illinois countryside, was a massive would-be French château, modeled on Vanderbilt’s Biltmore after one of the Breckenridge forefathers, swollen with profit, took a serendipitous trip to Ashe ville, North Carolina. Although the Breck estate didn’t nearly rival the size of George Vanderbilt’s home, the pale stone mansion was a massive asymmetrical homage, complete with pointy spires, chimneys, and high windows dotting the steeply pitched roof.

Ethan pulled the Mercedes down the lengthy drive that ran through the park-sized front lawn to the front door, where a white-gloved valet signaled him to stop.

When an attendant opened my door, I carefully stepped out, the blade and holster an unfamiliar weight on my thigh. As the Mercedes—my getaway vehicle—zipped away, I craned my neck to look upward at the house. It had been six or seven years since I’d been here. My stomach knotted, a combination of nerves from the thought of reentering a life I’d escaped at the first opportunity and the possibility of a confrontation with my father.

Gravel scratched as Ethan stepped beside me. We headed
for the front door, Mrs. Breckenridge visible in the foyer through the open door in front of us, but before we stepped inside, Ethan stopped and put a hand at my elbow.

“We need an invitation,” he quietly reminded me.

I’d forgotten. Unlike the bit about crucifixes and photographs, this vampire myth was actually true—we weren’t to enter a home without an invitation. But this myth wasn’t about magic or evil. It was, as so many other vampire issues were, about rules and regulations. About the vampire paradigm.

We waited a minute or so, long enough for Mrs. Breck to finish shaking hands and chatting up the couple that had arrived just before us. When they walked away, she looked up. I saw a blink of recognition as she realized that we were waiting outside. Her face lit up, and I hoped it was because she was pleased to see me darkening her doorway again.

She walked toward us as elegant and slender as Princess Grace, everything feminine despite having raised a brood of rowdy boys. Julia Breckenridge was a beautiful woman, tall and graceful in a simple champagne sheath, blond hair in a tidy knot at the back of her neck.

Ethan bowed slightly. “Madam. Ethan Sullivan, Master, Cadogan House. My companion and guard, Merit, Sentinel, Cadogan House. Upon your invitation”—he flicked the invitation I’d given to Luc from his pocket and held it between two long fingers before her, his proof of our legitimacy—“we seek admission to your home.”

She held out her hand, and carefully, gracefully, Ethan lifted it, eyes on hers as he pressed his lips to her hand. Mrs. Breck, who’d probably dined with heads of state and movie stars, blushed, then smiled as Ethan released her hand.

“Upon this night,” she said, “you and your companion may enter our home with our blessing.”

Her answer was interesting, her invitation formal and specific
to one night in the Breckenridge house, as if intended to limit our access.

“I had my people research the appropriate protocol,” Mrs. Breck said, moving aside to allow us entry. When we were just inside the foyer, she reached up and cupped my face in her hands, the scent of warm jasmine rising from her wrists. “Merit, darling, you look beautiful. I’m so glad you could join us tonight.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

She placed a kiss on my right cheek, then turned to Ethan, a glimmer of feminine appreciation in her eyes. I could sympathize. He looked, as was his irritating way, good enough to bite.

“You must be Mr. Sullivan.”

He smiled slowly, wolfishly. “Ethan, please, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

“Ethan, then. And you’ll call me Julia.” She gazed at Ethan for a few seconds, a kind of vague expression of pleasure on her face, until a shortish, bald man with round spectacles approached us and popped her on the elbow with his clipboard.

“Guests, Julia. Guests.”

Mrs. Breck—I hadn’t called her Julia when I was running through her hallways as a child, and I wasn’t going to start now—shook her head as if to clear it, then nodded at the man at her elbow.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to excuse myself. It was lovely to meet you, Ethan, and it’s lovely to see you again, Merit. Please enjoy the party.” She indicated the way to the ballroom and then moved back to the door to greet a new cluster of guests.

I made a guess that the vacant expression on her face had been Ethan’s doing. “Ah,” I whispered as we walked away, “but can he charm the humans without resorting to glamour?”

“Jealous?”

“Not on your life.”

We were just outside the ballroom when he stopped and looked at me. “It’s a tradition.”

I stopped, too, frowning as I tried to puzzle out the context. “Glamouring the host is a tradition? That explains why vampires were in hiding for so long.”

“The blade. Your blade. The dagger I gave you. Malik researched the
Canon
. It’s tradition for the Master to present a blade to the Sentinel of his House.”