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I searched the shelves for something readable and decided on a book of urban fantasy from the popular fiction shelf. I left the library after a geekily wistful goodbye, promising the stacks that I'd return when I had more time, then headed downstairs and toward the back of the House. I followed the long central hallway to the cafeteria area, where a handful of vampires munched on predawn snacks, their gazes lifting as I walked to the back door. I slipped outside to the brick patio that spanned the end of the House, then followed a path to the small formal garden. In the middle of the garden was a fountain illuminated by a dozen in-ground lights, and the light was just strong enough to read by.
I picked a bench, curled my legs into the seat, and opened the book.
Time passed, the grounds quiet and empty around me. Since the night was waning, I dog-eared and closed the book and uncrossed my legs. As I stood, I glanced up at the back of the House. A figure stood at a window on the third floor, hands in pockets, facing the garden.
It was a window in Amber's former room, the Consort suite beside Ethan's, the rooms he'd cleaned out. She was gone, and so was the furniture; I couldn't imagine that anyone but him would be in the room, much less staring into the garden.
I stood there for a moment, book in my arms, watching his meditation. I wondered what he thought about. Did he mourn for her? Was he angry? Was he embarrassed that he hadn't predicted her betrayal? Or was he ruminating on the things that had happened tonight, worrying about Nicholas, Celina, and whatever war she might be leading us into?
The horizon began to purple. Since I had no urge to be caught in the sun, reduced to ashes because I'd been curled up with a paperback in the garden - or spying on my Master - I returned to the House, occasionally glancing up at the window, but he never changed position.
Peter Gabriel came to mind, his lyric about working just to survive. Ethan did that. Day in and day out, he kept watch over more than three hundred Cadogan vampires. We were a kind of kingdom, and he was the lord of the manor, the figurative and literal Master of the House. Our survival was a responsibility that fell upon his shoulders, and had since Peter Cadogan's death.
It was, I realized, a responsibility I trusted him with. Ethan's biggest fault, at least so far as I was aware, was his inability to separate that responsibility from everything else in this life.
Everyone else in his life.
And so, on a night in late May, I found myself standing on the lawn of a Hyde Park mansion of vampires, staring up at the stone-framed visage of a boy in Armani, an enemy who'd become an ally. Ironic, I thought, that I'd given up one ally today, but gained another.
Ethan ran a hand through his hair.
"What are you thinking about?" I whispered up, knowing he couldn't hear me.
Where was a boom box when you needed one?
Chapter Eleven
IN WHICH OUR HEROINE IS SENT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE
I woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. The sun had finally set, allowing me the few hours of consciousness I'd be afforded each day during my first summer as a vampire. I wondered if life would be different in the winter, when we had hours and hours of darkness to enjoy.
On the other hand, we also had lake-effect snow to enjoy. That was going to make for a lot of cold, dark hours. I made a mental note to find a warm spot in the library.
I got up, showered, ponytailed my hair, and put on the training ensemble I'd been ordered to wear today. Although I wasn't officially on the clock, and had Mallory's not-going-that-far-away party and a follow-up date with Morgan to look forward to, the Cadogan guards and I were scheduled for a group training exercise so that we could learn to be better - or at least more efficiently violent - vampires.
The official workout uniform was a black mid-torso sports tank with crisscrossing straps and snug hip-waisted, yoga-type pants that reached mid-calf. Both, of course, in black, except for the stylized silver C on the upper left-hand side of the tank.
It might not have been a terribly interesting ensemble, but it covered a lot more skin than the outfit Catcher forced me to wear during his training sessions; sand volleyball players got to wear more clothing.
I slid on flip-flops for the walk downstairs, grabbed my sword, and shut the door behind me before making my way through the second floor to the main stairway, and then up to the third.
Lindsey's door was open, her room as loud as it had been two days ago, an episode of South Park now blaring from the tiny television.
"How do you sleep in here?" I asked her.
Lindsey, in the same outfit as me, her blond hair in a low ponytail, sat on the edge of her bed and pulled on tennis shoes. "When you're forced unconscious by the rising of the sun, it kinda takes care of itself."
"Good point."
"How was your date with Ethan last night?"
I should have known that was coming. "It wasn't a date."
"Whatevs. You're hot for teacher."
"We were in the library."
"Oh, nookie in the stacks. Figures you're the type to have that fantasy, grad school and all." Her feet clad in running shoes that had seen many, many better days, she hopped off the bed and grinned at me. "Let's go do some learnin'."
Downstairs in the Operations Room, Lindsey and I took a peek at our folders (empty) before filing toward the gigantic room at the end of the hall. This was the Sparring Room - the place where I challenged Ethan during my first trip to Cadogan House. It was high-ceilinged and boasted fighting mats and an arsenal of antique weaponry. The room was also ringed by a balcony, giving observers a firsthand view of the action below.
Today, thankfully, the balcony was empty. The room, however, was not. Guards milled about on the edges of the fighting mats, and a pissed-off-looking sorcerer stood in the middle in white martial arts-style pants, the circle tattoo blue-green across his abdomen.
In his hands was the handle of his gleaming katana, overhead lights glinting from the pristine blade.
I was behind Lindsey and nearly stumbled into her when she stopped short and gave a low whistle in Catcher's direction. She glanced back at me. "Speaking of being hot for teacher. He's still dating Carmichael, right?"
"Very much so."
She muttered an expletive that drew a chuckle from Juliet and a low, possessive growl from Luc. "That is a damn shame."
"Can you at least pretend to be professional today?"
Lindsey stopped, glanced back at Luc. "You show me professional, and I'll show you professional."
Luc snorted, but his expression was gleeful. "Sweetheart, you wouldn't know professional if it bit you on the ass."
