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That was when I used my best weapon. I looked at him and faked a side kick. "I am but a common soldier," I said. He froze, his expression falling. And in that moment of discombobulation, I swiveled and offered up another butterfly kick. This time, I caught him square in the chest.
He flew backward, then hit the ground with a thud.
The room went silent . . . and then burst into raucous applause.
Chest heaving, sweat dripping from the exertion, I walked over and stared down at him, not entirely sure about the protocol. What do you do when you've finally beaten your teacher at his own game?
I decided to enjoy it. I let my mouth curl into a grin and arched an eyebrow at him. "Why, Sullivan, I think I just kicked your ass."
His eyes were wide, emerald, and decidedly shocked. But even there on the ground he smiled up at me with pride and a kind of boyish pleasure. When I'd stepped over his body, I offered him a hand. He took it, and I pulled him to his feet.
"Always remember," he whispered to me, "that you are an uncommon soldier, whatever they say. And you are quite a thing to behold."
I nodded, took the compliment, and glanced up at the crowd on the balcony. Lindsey and Katherine stood at the front, bodies pressed against the rail, both clapping along with the crowd. I grabbed the hems of an invisible skirt and curtsied, then held a hand in Ethan's direction. He chuckled but made a gallant bow.
"I believe we've had enough fun for today," he called up. "Back to work, vampires." There was grousing, but they headed for the exits, chatting with animation about what they'd seen.
That was when it hit me. My inability to best him, the sparring wall I'd had to work through, was mental, emotional. It was about letting go of all my human preconceptions about fighting, about movement. It was about, as Catcher had once told me, understanding my vampire body's strange new relationship with gravity. It was about remembering, as Ethan had said, what free dance was like - forgetting about whether the moves were perfect, whether they looked good, or whether they were "right," and remembering what it felt like to be truly in your body, to feel limbs move, hips sway, skin heat, heart pound, breath speed. I saw the covetous silvering of his eyes, and I knew that he'd realized the same thing I had.
Lacey Sheridan wasn't going to be the only Master vampire Ethan had made.
And speaking of the last girl who'd gotten training from Ethan, I glanced up and oh so slowly shifted my gaze to the one who came before me. Lacey stared back at me, some new emotion in her eyes. It wasn't friendship, certainly; Lacey and I would never be friends, not with Ethan between us. But there was something akin to respect in her expression. It was the recognition that she'd met an enemy on the battlefield and found her equal to the challenge. The old me wouldn't have wanted the confrontation.
But the new me liked the odds, even if I wasn't entirely sure the prize would be worth the fight.
I nodded, acknowledging the battle - the challenge. She arched an eyebrow - no doubt an imitation of Ethan, perfected after twenty years of service in his House - then nodded back.
Ethan leaned toward me. "Get dressed and changed," he whispered. "I'd like you to at least put in an appearance at her reception."
I managed not to growl at him. Instead, I offered Lacey a polite smile, then trotted up the stairs to shower and climb back into my Cadogan black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
KNOCK HIM (UN)DEAD
I didn't expect trouble during the cocktail reception, but my run-in with Jonah taught me a valuable lesson about heading out without any weaponry. I'd been lucky that the vampire stalking me outside the bar hadn't been out to get me - but that certainly wasn't true for everyone. So as I climbed into my Cadogan black, I slipped a dagger into one of my boots. My hair went up, my Cadogan medal went around my neck, and my beeper was clipped on. I was as ready as I could be - at least physically.
Sure. I'd oblige him. I'd clean up and walk downstairs, and I'd put in an appearance at a party held in honor of his former flame. But I wasn't going to do that without backup, at least in spirit. So I grabbed my phone from the bookshelf, took a seat on the edge of my bed, and dialed up Mallory. The first thing I heard was the clanking of pots and pans, and a bevy of faraway curses before she managed to right the phone.
"Oh, God, stop - stop - crap - crap - Merit? Are you there?"
"Mal? Are you okay?"
"I'm - seriously - stop it. Right now."
The din immediately quieted.
"What's going on over there?"
"Science experiments. I have to learn how to work with a cat; they're familiars, you know - and she's into everything. She's been here, like, four hours, and she thinks she owns my - Seriously, bad kitty!
Stop that! - she thinks she owns my house. She's destroying my kitchen. So, what's up with you? I saw your text about some drama at the convocation?"
"Violence broke out, but Gabriel's alive, and that's the most important thing."
"I totally knew that apotrope would work - like a charm!" she exclaimed, snorting through the phone. I rolled my eyes. "You did good, and I appreciate it. But I need a moment of best-friend butt-kissing."
"What's he got you doing now?"
Ah, she knew me so well. "He's hosting a cocktail party for Lacey Sheridan. He told me I had to put in an appearance."
"You know, I really dislike him in so many ways."
"That had occurred to me as well."
"Well, let's do the checklist - do you look fabulous?"
"I'm wearing my suit."
"Good enough. Are you going to follow him around at the party or kiss her ass?"
"No plans for either."
"Are you going to be your normally brilliant and funny self, reminding him by your very vivaciousness and joie de vivre how foolish he's being?"
And that was why I loved this girl. "I can certainly give it my best."
"That's all I can ask - Oh, God, bad kitty. Merit, I have to go. She's got my matches again. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Good night, Mallory."
"Good night, Merit. Knock him undead."
Like I told her, I'd give it my best.
Things were quiet when I emerged downstairs. I walked through the first-floor hallway to the back patio.
Ethan's door was open, his office dark, as were the other administrative offices I passed. I was halfway there - nearly to the kitchen - when I heard it.
Music.
Through the windows at the back of the House, I could see the glow of a fire in the backyard and the mass of vampires gathered around it. As quietly as I could, I opened the glass-and-iron back door, and stepped outside. Black-clad vampires stood in rings, surrounding the haunting strain of music. There was a single voice, a woman, accompanied by a violin. Her voice was clear and sad, the violin raspy, weeping. It sounded like a dirge, a low, sweet song of loss or love, the kind I'd run across in my own medieval studies.
