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"We are shifters, and some of my number are responsible for this attack on Cadogan House - an attack on a band of citizens who have done nothing but assist and protect us. This attack was unjustified. We have already submitted the organizer of this attack into the custody of the Chicago Police Department.
As he has violated the trust between our peoples, you may deal with him as you deem fit." He paused, letting the weight of that statement sink in.
And when he was ready, he looked into the crowd and found Ethan and me. "And may God have mercy on us all."
A few minutes before dawn, I found Ethan in his office, poking through rubble. The ruined curtains had already been replaced by shabbier models, the switch necessary to block the coming sunlight.
He glanced up when I walked in, then scanned my face and body. "You're all right?"
I nodded. "As much as anyone can be. I'm sorry about the Novitiates you lost today." Ethan nodded, then righted a chair that had been flipped onto its side. "It's not unforeseen that we would face violence. But that doesn't make the violent act any less shocking." He put one hand on his hip, then rubbed his temple with the fingers of his free hand. "I spoke with your grandfather about the events at the bar. Nick filled him in."
I waited for the inevitable lecture about leaving campus, or engaging in shifter-vampire dialogue without permission, or putting the House at risk.
"Well," he philosophically said, "Adam isn't the first narcissist to have put us in a bind. Has everyone been resettled?"
It took me a moment to realize I hadn't been chastised. "Scott and Morgan sent buses to pick up everyone. There's about a dozen vampires at each House. The rest of them are tucked in and accounted for. The front wing of the second floor needs airing out, but the fairies have agreed to keep guard so workmen can get started at dawn."
He nodded officially, but didn't meet my eyes. It was clear he had more to say, but he hadn't quite gotten around to it.
"Is there anything else?" I asked, giving him the chance to voice his thoughts.
Ethan opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut again. "We can talk tomorrow. Find a spot to rest.
Get some sleep."
I nodded. "Good night, Sullivan."
"Good night, Sentinel."
My evenings were beginning to have the same endings, it seemed.
EPILOGUE
THE BEST OFFENSE ISN'T A GOOD DEFENSE - IT'S A GOOD OFFENSE
When I woke the next evening, my assorted cuts and scrapes were gone.
But the House, I knew, would still wear scars.
I got up and showered, scrubbing off soot and dried blood I'd been too exhausted to clean at dawn.
Expecting to help rehab and reorganize the House, I dressed down - jeans, T-shirt, and Pumas; my hair in a ponytail; the ever-present Cadogan medal around my neck. In case I suddenly forgot whom my allegiances were to.
But there was no chance of that. Whatever our personal issues, Ethan and I had proven we worked well together. We even fought well together. I'd had enough jobs - and glimpses of my father butting heads with his staff - that I knew what a rarity that was. Our personal issues notwithstanding, we were good colleagues. And just as he had chosen not to risk the professional by dabbling in the personal, I had my own sacrifice to make. I couldn't leave my House without a Sentinel in the middle of a war.
So I found Noah's phone number and dialed. He answered after two rings.
"Beck."
"It's Merit."
"Sentinel," he said, his voice gravelly, "how are things at the House?"
"We're pulling things back together."
"I'm glad to hear it. It's going to take time, but I'm glad to hear it."
"I can't thank you enough for what you did last night. For showing up, for sacrificing your anonymity.
For helping us fight."
"The time comes when we all have to sacrifice."
He was almost too right. "About your offer - I'm declining." There was silence for a moment. "I'll be honest - I'm surprised to hear that."
"My loyalty is to the House," I explained. I'd chosen, as my grandmother once taught me, to dance with the one who brought me.
"Things can always change," Noah said. "But we may not have a slot if you wait."
"I understand the risk," I assured him. "And thank you for making the offer, even if I have to say no."
"Well, it would have been interesting. Good luck with the renovations."
"Good evening, Noah." I hung up the phone, then squeezed it in my hand. "Well," I murmured, "I suppose that's that."
There was a knock at the door. I assumed it was Lindsey, coming to gather me up for breakfast and rehab work, so I opened it without hesitation. It was Ethan. He was back in jeans, paired again with a T-shirt and dark boots. I guessed our Master was ready for work, as well. "How are you feeling?"
"Well healed," I told him. "You?"
"So far so good."
"Excellent."
"Mmm-hmm."
We stood there for a moment, the pink elephant dancing around us as we studiously worked to avoid her. Ethan held out his hand. In his palm was a glossy blue box with a silver "C" engraved in the top.
Brow furrowed, I took it from him.
"What's this?"
"An apology, of sorts."
I made a moue, but slipped the lid from the top . . . and then my breath left me.
Inside the box sat a baseball, its well-worn white leather marked by the signatures of every Cubs player from the team. It was just like the one I'd had - just like the one I'd told him about the night we made love.
I blinked down at the box, trying to take in the gravity of the gift. "What - where did you get this?" Ethan slid his hands into his pockets. "I have my sources."
"You shouldn't have - "
He stopped me with his hand at my jaw, thumb against my chin. "Sometimes, people must adapt.
Immortality doesn't make the things we love less important; it means we must learn to treasure them.
Protect them."
I swallowed hard and made myself lift my gaze to him, fear and joy and more fear bursting in my chest.
"It is an apology," he said, "for not believing in you . . . or in us. Yesterday, I thought I'd lost you, and then we fought together," he said. "I pushed you away for fear of what our relationship would do, could do, to this House. And then we protected this House together. That is the true measure of what we could do."
He paused, then tapped a finger against the box. "This is a wish," he said quietly, "that even after four hundred years of existence, a man can be strong enough to accept the gifts he's given."
