Friday Night Bites (39 page)

“Then perhaps,” Ethan said, “we could reach a compromise.”

Silence, then, “I’m listening.”

“The information regarding both the perpetrator and the individual we believe issued the orders is very precious to us.” He linked his fingers together on the table, then glanced up at Nick. “That said, in the interest of goodwill between our respective organizations, we are willing to consider a trade. We will provide this information to you, upon your word that this information does not leave the room. That the information would not be provided to other shifters, other humans, advisors, officials, etc. Nor, of course, would it be provided to the press in any form.”

Nick barked out a laugh and looked away before raising his gaze to Ethan’s again.“I’m a journalist. Do you honestly expect me to agree to that?”

“I expect that if you agree to that, we will have no need to further investigate why the Breckenridges generally, and Jamie specifically, were targeted for this particular incident. We will have no reason,” Ethan said, “to further investigate why your family was so eager to jump to young Jamie’s defense.”

Nick’s nostrils flared. Clearly, even if we didn’t know the details, something was amiss with Jamie. “Blackmail, Sullivan?”

Ethan smiled back at Nick, with teeth. “I learn from the best, Breckenridge.”

There was silence in the room.

“Agreed,” Papa Breck said into the silence, “on the terms you specified.” When Nick opened his mouth to speak, Papa Breck silenced him with a finger. “We will close this down,
Nicholas,” he said. “We will close it down, and we will close it down tonight. We have lived peacefully in Chicago for three generations, and while I love you, I will not allow your pride as a journalist to bring that to an end. Family wins this one, not career.” He returned his gaze to Ethan. “This is done.”

Ethan nodded. “In that case, we are all witnesses to the terms of the agreement that we have reached.”

There were nods around the room.

“Before we end this ridiculous lovefest,” Nick said, sarcasm thick in his voice, “could we get to the meat of it? Who sent the e-mail?”

Ethan looked at him. “Peter,” he said. “One of our House guards. As to the instigator, we have circumstantial evidence, albeit only circumstantial at this point, that the scheme itself was concocted by Celina.”

“Celina?” Nick asked, eyes suddenly wide. I gave him points that he understood having Celina as an enemy was a cause for concern. “How did—”

“She was released,” Ethan smoothly finished. “And in light of the fact that she has unfinished business”—he bobbed his head toward me—“we expect that she will return to Chicago. We have, however, no evidence that she bears any particular ill will toward your family. You appear to have been chosen because you were, let’s say, strategically convenient.”

“What evidence do you have that she’s involved?” Scott asked, his head tilted curiously to the side.

“E-mails were sent from an address we believe to be her alias. And Peter confessed to the fact,” he matter-of-factly added.

Scott made a low whistle. “This does not bode well. Not well at all.”

The room went silent. Morgan, surprisingly, kept quiet, but a glance in his direction showed an abnormally pale cast to his cheeks. His eyes were wide, his gaze intense and centered
on the tabletop in front of him, as if he contemplated grave things. I supposed more crimes perpetrated by your former Master, the vampire that made you, were pretty grave things to contemplate.

“Well,” Papa Breck said, rising from his chair, “I believe that concludes this matter.”

Nick interrupted the silence. “Wait—I want to say something.”

We all looked in his direction.

“Chicago has three Houses,” he said. “More than any other city in the United States. It is where vampires announced their existence to the world, and it is becoming the center of vampire activity in the United States. Chicago is the locus, the focus, of American vampires.

“I know about the raves,” Nick continued, and the room went quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “Maybe you had an excuse before. When you were still in hiding, when vampires were myth and horror-movie fodder, maybe it was appropriate to pretend that raves were nothing more than the subject of some lonely human’s overactive imagination. But things have changed. This is your city. The Presidium knows it. The vampires know it. The nymphs know it. The fairies know it.

“Shifters know it,” he quietly, gravely, said, then lifted his blue eyes to mine. I don’t know exactly what I saw there; I’m not sure I have words for the emotion. But it was bottomless—a well of experience, of life, of love and loss. A wealth of human history, or maybe shifter history, and a resulting world-weariness, in the depth of it.

Nick rose and stood before the table, hands on his hips. “Clean up your goddamned city, or someone else will do it for you.”

With that pronouncement, he pushed back his chair and walked away. Papa Breck followed, the vampires silent until Luc had escorted them out of the room and the door was closed again.

Ethan put his palms flat on the table. “And with that,” he said, “I believe we’ve brought this particular crisis to its resolution.”

“I’m not sure how much resolution we’ve gotten,” Scott said, pushing his own chair back, rising, and returning it to its spot at the conference table. “I wasn’t ready to go a round with the
Trib
or with Tate, but this Celina news isn’t exactly comforting, either. I mean, nice work in getting this thing wrapped up so quickly, but I’d rather Peter had acted on his own.”

“Although I’d have preferred that Cadogan not serve as Celina’s recruiting ground,” Ethan darkly said, “I take your larger point. I would also propose that we stay in contact in the event that information regarding Celina’s return to Chicago—or any future schemes—comes to light.”

“Agreed,” Scott said.

“Agreed,” Noah said.

We all looked at Morgan. He still stared absently at the table, pain in his eyes. Maybe he’d finally taken to heart the truth about Celina—about the havoc she was apparently willing to wreak. That couldn’t have been an easy pill to swallow.

“Agreed,” he finally—and quietly—said.

Ethan rose and walked to the office door as the rest of the vampires did the same. He opened it, offered polite goodbyes to Noah, Scott, and Morgan, and when Luc, Malik, and I were left in the room, released us.

“I believe we’ve had enough drama for a few days,” Ethan said. “Take the night, enjoy your evening. We’ll speak at dusk tomorrow.”

Luc, Malik, and I grinned at one another, smiled at Ethan.

“Thanks, Hoss,” Luc said, and went for the door.

“What he said,” I offered with a canny smile, and followed him out.

 

I made it around the corner of the hall before Morgan called my name. He stood in the foyer, hands in his pockets, some mix of anger and defeat in his expression and his stance.

“Can we talk?”

I nodded, my stomach suddenly knotted in anticipation of the coming battle. He opened the door, and I followed him out. Mist rose from the streets, a cool breeze blowing through Hyde Park.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked when we’d reached the sidewalk, his voice awkwardly loud in the quiet of the night. “About the threat, the story? You could have come to me with any of this. You could have told me when we were at your parents’ house.”

I looked around, realized any vampire near the front windows would be able to hear our conversation, and took his wrist. I led him down the sidewalk and through the gate, then to the street corner, which was empty of paparazzi. Maybe they melted in the rain like so many wicked witches.

“I was acting as Sentinel,” I told him, when it seemed we were far enough from canny-eared vampires to afford some privacy. “This was Cadogan business.”

Morgan crossed his arms. “It was
House
business. We all had a right to know.”

“Right or not, that was Ethan’s call, not mine.”

“You stand Sentinel. You act in a manner that’s best for your House. And what’s best for your House is your determination, not Ethan’s.”

I didn’t disagree with the sentiment in principle, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Morgan.

“Even if it was my decision to make,” I said, “it was
my
decision, not yours. I understand this is information you would have liked to have, but that’s not my problem. I don’t stand Sentinel for Navarre House.”

“Oh, I think we’re all
real
clear on that, Merit.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s pretty obvious where your loyalties lie.”

I was tired of taking hits for the team, so I hit back. “And your loyalties didn’t lie with Celina?”

A flush of crimson crossed his cheekbones.

“Look me in the eye and tell me your Master didn’t make decisions that involved ‘House business.’ And if you knew anything, about what she’s done or how completely off her rocker she is, you sure didn’t share that with the rest of us.”

He glowered. “I knew nothing that would have put anyone in danger. I did what I thought was best.”

“And I did what I thought was best.”

“Yeah, by acquiescing to Ethan.”

I rolled my eyes. “Jesus, Morgan. He’s the Master of my House. What do you want me to do? Start a rebellion? If you were having this conversation with one of your Novitiates about disobeying your orders, would you still suborn mutiny?”

Morgan shook his head. “This is completely different.”

It was my turn to snort out disdain, and I threw up my hands, fueled by sheer irritation with the conversation. “How is that different?”

This time, he answered with fury, in loud, angry words. “Because it’s
Ethan
, Merit—that’s why!”

Thunder boomed in the distance, a bolt of spectacular lightning zigzagging its way across the sky.

I stared at him, felt the responsive trip of my own heart, and saw the sudden narrowing of his pupils. “He’s my Master. And I know what you think. You’ve made clear what you think.” It’s what everyone thinks, I silently added. “But he’s my Master, my boss, my employer. Period.”

Morgan shook his head, looked away. “You’re naïve.”

I closed my eyes, put my hands on my hips, and tried counting to ten so as not to commit vampiricide here on the nice sidewalk the city of Chicago worked so hard to keep free of ash. “Do you not think I’m capable of judging for myself if I’m having a relationship with someone?”

He turned back to me again, and looked at me with eyes that pulsed, for a moment, silver at the edges. “Frankly, Merit, no.”

I missed the subtext, the fact that he’d circled back around to us, and answered with sarcasm, irony. “What do you want me to say, since you aren’t going to believe what I tell you? That I’m in love with him? That we’re going to be married and start pumping out vampire children?”

“Vampires can’t have children,” was the only thing he said, and the flatness of his voice—and the fact that I hadn’t yet considered the impact of the change on my becoming a mother—sucked the wind from my sails. Deflated, I looked at the ground, and when another peal of thunder rolled across Hyde Park, I wrapped my arms around myself.

“What are we doing, Merit?”

I blinked, looked up at him. “You were insulting me because you think I mishandled House business.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. “That’s not what I meant.” He uncrossed his arms, stuck his hands in his pockets. “I meant us. What are we doing?”

I found I couldn’t answer him.

As if on cue, the rain began to fall again, began to pour in sheets, a silvery curtain that mirrored the emotional barrier between us. The rain came hard and fast, and soaked us in seconds.

I didn’t have an answer for his question, and he didn’t speak, so we stood there, silently together, our hair matted by water, raindrops trickling down our faces.

Drops clung to Morgan’s lashes, and the shine of the water seemed to sharpen his already sculpted cheekbones. Hair plastered to his head, he looked, I thought, like an ancient warrior who’d been caught in a storm, maybe after the fall of some final enemy in battle.

Except, in this case, the last warrior standing looked . . . defeated.

Minutes passed while we stood there in the rain, silently facing each other.

“I don’t know?” I finally said, trying to give the words the cant of apology.

Morgan closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he wore an expression of grim resolution. “Do you want me?”

I swallowed, stared at him with eyes I knew were wide and remorseful, and hated myself for not being able to answer with all the conviction I knew he deserved, “My God,
yes
, I want you.” I opened my mouth to give a pat response, then closed it again, deciding to honestly consider the question.

I wanted what most people wanted—love, companionship.

I wanted someone to touch. I wanted someone to touch me back.

I wanted someone to laugh with, someone who would laugh with me, laugh at me.

I wanted someone who looked and saw
me
. Not my power, not my position.

I wanted someone to say my name. To call out, “Merit,” when it was time to go, or when we arrived. Someone who wanted to say to someone else, with pride, “I’m here with her. With Merit.”

I wanted all those things. Indivisibly.

But I didn’t want them from Morgan. Not now. Maybe it was too soon after my conversion to vampire to try a relationship; maybe it would never be the right time for us. I didn’t know the why of it, but I knew I didn’t feel the kind of emotions I ought to have.

I didn’t want to fail him, but I couldn’t lie to him. So I answered, quietly, “I want to want you.”

It was as insulting a cop-out answer as I’d ever heard, and it had fallen from my own inconstant lips.

“Jesus Christ, Merit,” he muttered. “Way to be equivocal.”
He shook his head, rain streaking down his face, and stared at the ground for what felt like an eternity. Then he lifted his gaze and blinked water from narrowed blue eyes.