House Rules (11 page)

Michael looked at me for a moment, his expression perfectly neutral.

“Very well,” he finally said.

“Was that a test?” I wondered. “To see how I’d react?”

“In part. And partly simple curiosity. Ethan often stands alone. To hear that he’d
chosen someone to share his life with was a surprise.”

Ethan walked back into the room.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” Ethan said, but he stopped and looked between us. He must have caught the
hint of tension in the air. “Is everything okay here?”

“Everything’s great,” Michael said. “We’re just testing each other’s defenses.”

So we were
, I thought.

“It’s in your natures,” Ethan said, then put a hand on my arm. “We’ve got work to
do, Sentinel, if you’d like to head to the Ops Room and update Luc on the Rogues.”

I could tell when I was being dismissed. I gave him a mild salute. “Of course, Liege.”

Ethan rolled his eyes.

“Merit,” Michael said. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

If he was here to guide Cadogan House through the final stages of the transition,
there seemed little doubt of that.

* * *

On the way to the stairs, I found a message from Mallory on my phone, asking if I
wanted to grab pizza.

I missed her, truly. Lindsey was a great girl, and I was glad I had friends in the
House to commiserate with. But Mallory and I had history, and the comfortableness
that had come from a long friendship.

I was suddenly struck with melancholy, missing my former life, when my only worry
would have been whether I was ready for the next day’s classes at U of C. I’d worried
about due dates and dissertation chapters and grading papers, about whether my car
would last through another Chicago winter (it had) and the Cubs would win another
pennant (they hadn’t).

These nights, I worried about murder, the safety of my House, and whether my best
friend could keep her hands out of the black magic cookie jar.

But with those supernatural hassles came Ethan and the thrill of knowing I was truly
helping the vampires of my House.

Tonight, that House came first.

CAN’T TONIGH
t, I texted back.
MIDINVESTIGATION. RAIN CHECK?

OF COURSE
, she said.

I put the phone in my pocket. Someday, hopefully, Mallory and I could get back on
track.

CHAPTER SIX

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE REPLACEMENTS!

T
he Ops Room was the headquarters of Cadogan’s guard crew, the place where we strategized
about supernatural problems and looked for solutions. It was also the hub of House
security, where guards at closed-circuit televisions and computer monitors kept an
eye on the House and its grounds and any activities that might pose a threat.

The room was high tech, outfitted with computer stations, a large conference table,
and state-of-the-art technology. It was also right down the hall from the House’s
training room and arsenal, giving us access to practice space and weaponry if the
need arose.

I wasn’t exactly a guard, but I generally played one when things went bad. And they’d
been going bad with some frequency lately.

There were three veteran guards on staff—Juliet, Lindsey, and Kelley, Luc’s temporary
replacement. There were also a handful of temp guards, hired by Luc to fill the guard
corps’ vacancies.

Tonight, the Ops Room was quiet. Kelley was gone, probably on patrol, and Juliet,
lithe and redheaded, sat at the bank of monitors that displayed the House’s security
feeds.

Lindsey sat at the table in front of a tablet, a cup of yogurt and a plastic spoon
in hand. Luc sat at the end of the table, reading a newspaper, ankles crossed on the
tabletop. It was like walking into their breakfast nook.

“We need to give you two a couple name,” I said, taking a seat on the opposite side
of the table. “Lucsey, perhaps?”

Luc didn’t bat an eyelash; he simply turned a page of the newspaper. “Call us what
you want, Sentinel. We already have a name for you.”

That was alarming. Not that there was a way to avoid it, but I wasn’t sure I wanted
them discussing my relationship around the Ops Room table. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” Lindsey stirred her spoon noisily around the walls of the yogurt cup
to get the remaining drops. “You’re Methan.”

“We’re what?”

“Methan. Merit and Ethan. Methan.”

“Nobody calls us that.”

Every vampire in the room turned back to look at me, sardonic expressions on their
faces. They nodded simultaneously, and I sank back into my chair a little bit.

“Yes, we do,” Luc said, speaking for them. “I mean, we try not to talk about you constantly.
We all have more important things to do than dissect your relationship—”

Lindsey held up her spoon. “I don’t.”

“Okay, everyone except Lindsey has more important things to do, and I’m not going
to take that personally. Anyway, since we skipped over it before, good evening, Sentinel.”

I humphed. “Good evening. The security auditor’s here. Ethan’s talking to him. He
said you’d already spoken with him?”

“We talked,” Luc confirmed. “Frankly, I think his suggestions are unnecessary—not
dangerous, but even more conservative than best practices would be—but if they make
the big man feel better, so be it.”

“I met him earlier tonight,” Lindsey said, tossing her yogurt cup and spoon into a
wastebasket across the room. Her aim was perfect, and the shot echoed into the trash.
“He’s hot,” she said, wiping off her hands. “Tall, dark, and a little bit dirty.”

“I’m right here,” Luc said.

“Yes, you are, even as I admit a man wholly unconnected with you is hot.”

Luc grumbled, but let her get away with that. “Sentinel, what’s new in your neck of
the woods?”

“Not much,” I said, then told them about Oliver and Eve, the mourning Rogues, and
what we’d found in the warehouse.

As I talked, Lindsey got up and pulled over our favorite standby—a giant whiteboard
on which we could track our leads and thoughts—and began filling in what we knew.

“The wood slivers, if they’re aspen, will lead back to McKetrick,” I concluded.

Lindsey stilled and looked at Luc, and there was nothing pleasant in the exchange.

“What?” I asked.

“We have something you need to see.” He tapped a bit on a screen built into the tabletop
until an image appeared on the projection screen on the wall beside us.

He’d selected an Internet video of a news broadcast from earlier in the day.

On-screen, Diane Kowalcyzk, Chicago’s mayor, appeared behind a podium. Beside her
stood McKetrick. We’d seen him in this position before, sucking up to Kowalcyzk and
standing nearby like a malicious human Sentinel.

He wore a suit, a change from his usual brand of military fatigues. The scars he’d
received from his encounter with his aspen gun were unavoidable. His face was cratered,
crossed with scored and bubbled skin from neck to hairline. One of his eyes was milky
white; the other eye was clear and alert, and there was no denying the obvious malice
in his stare.

Luc adjusted the tablet. “Let me get the audio up.”

The volume slowly increased, marked by the growing green bar across the bottom of
the screen and the rising volume of Kowalcyzk’s beauty pageant voice. She was a handsome
woman, tidy and attractive, but her anti-sup politics were hateful.

“This city was founded by humans,” she said. “We live here; we work here; we pay taxes.”

“We live here, work here, and pay taxes,” Luc muttered. “And we’ve been here doing
those things longer than she or any other human being in the city has been alive.”

“Chicagoans deserve a city that is free from supernatural drama. Violence. Rabble-rousing.
But Chicagoans don’t cower away from our problems,” she said, her accent suddenly
thick and Midwesterny.

“We face them head-on. Once upon a time, the former mayor thought it was important
to have an office where ‘supernaturals,’ as they’re known, could call the city with
their problems. It was called the Ombudsman’s office, and I’m proud to say I closed
it. We didn’t need it then, and we don’t need it now. What we do need—what the city
of Chicago needs—is an office for humans with supernatural problems.”

“Oh, God,” I said, anticipating what was coming next.

“That’s why today I’m pleased to announce the creation of the Office of Human Liaisons,
or OHL. I’m also pleased to announce that I’ve asked John Q. McKetrick to lead that
office and serve as the head liaison.”

Oh, this was very, very bad. She’d hired as her new “liaison” a man whose goal was
to rid the city of vampires by any means necessary. She’d given him a title, an office,
a staff, and total legitimacy. Which meant that if he was behind Eve’s and Oliver’s
killings, he was now politically untouchable.

My grandfather was going to lose it.

“Not all supernaturals are criminals; we know that. But this man wears the scars of
his interactions with the undesirable element, and I believe he has much to teach
us about those with whom we share our city.”

Unmitigated fury flashed through me. McKetrick bore his scars because he was a killer
with a vendetta against vampires. He’d done those injuries to himself—quite literally.
I’d been the intended victim of his misanthropy.

McKetrick smiled at the mayor and replaced her at the podium. “The city is not what
it seems. We live in a world of light and sun. But at night a darker element emerges.
For now, we are still in control of this city, but if we are not vigilant, if we do
not stand tall and strong, we will become the minority in our own town.”

I gaped at the prejudice McKetrick had apparently been hired by the mayor to spew
on supernaturals. Was this what public discourse was coming to?

“This administration aims to shine the light on Chicago. That’s my job: to protect
humans from supernaturals’ whims and to ensure this city continues to be, not the
Second City, but the best city in the world.”

There was a smattering of polite, probably scripted applause until Luc turned off
the video.

“That guy,” Lindsey said, “is a douche. Asterisk, I hate him. Footnote, he can suck
it.”

“We got it, hon,” Luc said, not unkindly. “Although I don’t disagree with the sentiment.
And, man, I do not want to tell Ethan.”

“As if he needs anything else to worry about right now,” I said, my heart aching for
him. “Now he has a fearmonger with a title. We’d better hope McKetrick didn’t kill
Oliver and Eve, because if he did, the mayor just appointed a killer to her cabinet.”

Whether she did or didn’t, the wood slivers still implicated him and had to be investigated.

“Once I’ve talked to Ethan, I’ll advise the other guard captains,” Luc said. He swore
out a curse. “And John Q. McKetrick? As in ‘John Q. Public’? How does she not know
that’s not his real name? It’s obviously fake.”

“Because she’s ignorant,” I said. “She’d have to be in order to believe giving this
guy power was a good idea.”

My phone buzzed with a message, and I plucked it up. It was from Jeff.
DET. JACOBS SAYS NO PRINTS OR OTHER MATERIALS ON EVE’S PHONE,
it said.
BUT WOOD WAS ASPEN
.

That was all the information I needed. I stood up and headed for the door.

“And where are you going?” Luc asked.

I glanced back at him, fire in my eyes. “Two vampires are dead, and the crime has
McKetrick’s stamp on it. Since I now know how to find Mr. McKetrick, whatever his
first name, I think it’s time we had a little chat.”

* * *

It was late, nearly midnight, and most city offices would be empty. But McKetrick
had been assigned to the supernatural beat, and since most sups were nocturnal, I
figured the odds were in my favor that he’d still be around.

Besides, I suspected the man of murder; I wasn’t going to visit him at home or at
the “facility” we’d once heard he operated. The city’s administration might not have
been huge fans of vampires, but an office visit seemed much safer than the alternative.

I found his number on the Web, then picked a quiet spot on the first floor and dialed
him up.

“John McKetrick.”

“It’s Merit. I hear you’ve been promoted.”

There was a pause, although I’d have sworn I heard the quickened beating of his heart.
“So I have,” he finally said. “What can I do for you, Merit?”

“I thought we might meet. Maybe you could give me a tour of your office?”
And
, I silently thought,
explain to me exactly why you decided killing innocent vampires was justifiable?

He hesitated for a moment, perhaps considering the outcome of our last encounter—when
he’d walked away with scars. But he must have decided the risk was worth it.

“What a good idea,” he said, and his tone sounded like it. That wasn’t exactly comforting,
but I didn’t think he’d hurt me in his office, not this soon into his job. He didn’t
have the political capital yet to kill a vampire in the Daley Center.

Or so I hoped.

“I can be there in half an hour,” I guessed.

“I’ll let security know you’re on your way. And, Merit? I look forward to seeing you.”

The man made my skin crawl. And even though I didn’t think he’d commit vampiricide
in his office, I texted Jonah to let him know where I was headed, and then Jeff. Just
in case.

I paused for a second, glancing at Ethan’s office. Luc knew where I was going, so
I didn’t have to tell Ethan about my plan. Which was good, because I didn’t think
he’d approve of a late-night trip to visit our primary political enemy on his home
turf.

This was one of those situations in which it was better to forge ahead and seek forgiveness
later than get permission in the first place.

Sometimes being an underling meant managing up.

* * *

I drove downtown and found a parking spot on a side street. The Loop was dark and
quiet, most of the neighborhood’s business traffic having gone home for the night—probably
on the El back to the suburbs—hours ago. Anticipating guards and metal detectors,
I left my sword and dagger in the car.

Outside the building I looked up, and my nerves kicked into overdrive. The Daley Center
was an intimidating building—a huge Federal-style structure marked by columns that
ran halfway up the building like a stone crown.

“Come here often?”

My heart skipped a beat at the break in the silence, until I looked beside me at the
man who’d made it. It was Jeff, hands in his pockets and a rather large grin on his
face.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I decided you needed backup.”

Jeff was a shape-shifter and undoubtedly strong; I’d seen him fight, although I’d
never actually seen him shift. Not that I was hoping for a zoological throwdown between
Jeff and McKetrick inside the Daley Center.

We walked around the building to the plaza alongside it, where an enormous sculpture
by Picasso stared out into the night. The steel glowed rust-red in the spotlights,
and arced into the sky like a robotic insect. Behind it stood three huge flagpoles
that had already been stripped of their canvas for the evening.

As we walked across the plaza, I felt suddenly small: a single impotent vampire in
the midst of a human empire that wasn’t much concerned about my survival.

“You’re okay?” Jeff asked.

I nodded. “I’m fine. Just nervous.”

“I can go up with you, if you want.”

I shook my head. “It’s better if you stay here. I don’t want him to feel like he’s
been cornered, and I don’t want to put you in his line of fire. I’ll be fine. It’s
just the anticipation. I’m sure my gumption will kick in once I get to his office.”
It had better, because McKetrick had things to answer for, and this wasn’t the time
to be a shrinking violet.

Nerves on edge, we walked into the marbled main lobby, past the various homages to
Richard Daley and toward the security desk. A man and woman with tidy hair and wearing
security ensembles looked up.

“I’m Merit,” I said. “I’m here to see John McKetrick in the Office of Human Liaisons?”

If my name rang a bell, they didn’t seem to care. The man read off a floor number,
then directed me to metal detectors, X-ray machines, and security gates. Good thing
I hadn’t brought my weapons.