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Catcher glanced back over his shoulder and lifted a brow.
"The sword," I corrected. "The sword."
"We'll see."
We trained for two hours, skipping the fitness evaluation and moving right into the basic moves Catcher had begun to teach me the day before. I'd always been a fast learner, a skill honed from the necessity of picking up dance routines quickly, but my muscle memory solidified even faster now, and the moves were nearly automatic by the time the session was done. That didn't mean I was elegant or graceful, but I'd learned what to do, at least.
Catcher made halfway good on his promise to let me hold the sword. He wouldn't let me touch the unsheathed blade, but he allowed me to strap on the belt that held the scabbard, before taking it away again to demonstrate how to draw and sheath the sword from a kneeling position. The moves he taught me, he explained, were similar to those in Iaido, and were designed to allow the sword bearer to react to a surprise - and thus dishonorable - attack. I almost asked why, if a surprise attack was so dishonorable, he needed to teach me how to defend against it. But I guessed the chip on his shoulder would color his answer, and I'd get a response about dishonorable vampires. So I didn't bother to ask.
When Catcher was done with me, I changed back into street clothes and said my goodbyes. He left for my grandfather's South Side office, while I opted to play the good little Cadogan vamp. I drove to Hyde Park with the intention of updating Ethan on the events of the day before. I wasn't thrilled about seeing him again, not after our last encounter, but I had no doubt he'd come to hear about our activities at Red. And that tale, I thought, would be better coming directly from me. I wasn't sure how to broach the issue of Morgan, of the fact that I'd flirted with a Navarre vamp not even twenty-four hours after our shared kiss and Ethan's ignominious proposal, and decided as I walked into Cadogan House, his domain, that it was probably best not to mention it at all.
Ethan, the guards informed me, was in his office. I walked directly back and knocked on his door, although I was sure he'd been informed of my arrival. He barked out a Picard- worthy "Come," and I walked inside and closed the office door behind me. Ethan, in his uniform a la Armani, was behind his desk, an open file folder in front of him. He stared intently at its contents, his eyes tracking across the page as he read.
"Look who's come willingly into my den of iniquity."
I relaxed incrementally, more than happy to accept sarcasm as the prevailing mood, and stopped in front of his desk. "Can I have a minute?"
"What have you done now?"
Evidently we were going to avoid the topic of our kiss altogether. Fine by me.
"Nothing, but thanks for that ringing vote of confidence. My ego's all swelled up."
"Hmmm," he muttered with obvious doubt, his gaze still on the papers on his desk. "If you're here willingly, and I didn't hear any screaming from Malik's having dragged you down the hallway, I assume you've" - he paused contemplatively - "resigned yourself to your fate?"
"I'm working on accepting the fact that I'm a vampire," I said, perching on the edge of his desk.
"Our hearts are simultaneously aflutter," Ethan responded, finally looking up, those haunting green eyes on me. He relaxed into his chair. "Although I can't see that your wardrobe has improved."
"I was training with Catcher Bell. He's introducing me to the katas."
"Yes. We've spoken about that. What brings you by?"
"An unpleasant run-in with Navarre vamps."
Ethan watched me quietly for a moment, then folded his arms across his chest. "Explain."
"I went to Red last night. You know the place?"
He nodded. "It's the Navarre club."
If only Catcher had mentioned that going in, I ruefully thought. But no sense in dwelling. "They let us in, Mallory, Catcher and me, but kicked us out when a Navarre vamp discovered I was from Cadogan."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "Since I doubt you spread the information yourself, how did they find out you were from Cadogan?"
"I met a vampire from Navarre - Morgan?"
A careful pause; then Ethan nodded again.
"He introduced himself, offered his House affiliation, and I did the same."
"Introduced himself?"
I nodded. "That's when he found out I was from Cadogan, and when he became a complete jackass. Celina and some other vamps were called out, and they kicked us out of the club. I wanted to tell you in case you heard about it from someone else and assumed I'd been out - I don't know - wreaking vampire havoc and giving Cadogan a bad name." Or a worse name, I mentally corrected.
Ethan's gaze narrowed. "Would I assume that?"
"Why lay blame where it belongs when you can use me as a scapegoat?"
"Touche," he allowed, one corner of his mouth tipped into a smile. I inclined my head.
Ethan rose from his chair, hands linked behind his back, and walked to the conference table at the end of the room. Then he turned and leaned back against it between two of its matching chairs. The move put distance between us, and I found it interesting that he was so eager to get away.
"And yet they let you into the club in the first place. Why?"
"They may have known who I was. We found flyers, Catcher and I, for Red on our cars. He suggested we give it a whirl, and they let us in at the door."
"She wanted a look at you."
I nodded. "That was Catcher's theory."
"Celina likely knew your family name, saw the registry list in the paper, and arranged a very passive-aggressive hello."
"She sounds like a treat."
"Celina isn't the most . . . philanthropic of vampires," Ethan said. "But she's smart. She's focused, determined, and very, very protective of her vamps. Navarre has flourished under her leadership, and the GP loves her. Added to that is the fact that she's one of the most powerful vampires in the U.S."
I met his gaze, and thought about the test she'd given me, thought about the fact that I'd withstood enough of it to put a sulky look on her face.
"Her psychic skills are particularly noteworthy," he continued. "She has an amazing ability to glamour. It's rather like the stories of old about mortals who go dopey-eyed after ill-timed eye contact."
He cocked his head at me, gave me an appraising look. I felt - just as I'd felt with Celina the night before - the subtle flow of a testing magic. But where Celina's investigation was pushy, aggressive, Ethan's moved like water over rocks - slipping, trickling, checking the shape of what lay beneath.
