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"Did he execute the warrant?"
"Not yet, but he - "
"Then you had options," Darius said, in a tone that brooked no argument and reminded us all that while Ethan was Master of the House, Darius was master of the Houses.
And then he turned his cold blue gaze on me.
"You're the Sentinel."
"I am, Sire."
"You look rather a mess."
I had to work not to smooth down my hair and my wrinkled tank top. I'd slept in my clothes, and while I'd cleaned up a little at Grey House, I'm sure I still looked pretty awful. On the other hand, I looked awful because I'd been working, not because I lacked basic hygiene skills.
"I was on an assignment, Sire."
"Such as it was," Darius muttered. "And you're just now returning to the House? You have traversed Chicago looking like this?"
I waited to give Ethan a chance to offer silent suggestions, to tell me what I was or was not supposed to tell Darius - although the cat was mostly out of the bag. When he stayed silent, I assumed that was permission enough and told the truth - and nothing more.
"It was late, Sire. We were running close to sunrise."
The cigarette in his fingers, Darius wet his lips, and slowly shifted his gaze to Ethan. "Now is the time to perfect the public image, to sweeten and sharpen it, not send it rumpled and trashed through the city like some kind of well-used party girl."
I went stiff at the insult; Ethan stirred in his chair. "She is a soldier. That her battlefield is unusual doesn't make it any less a battlefield, nor does it make the uniform any less a uniform."
I appreciated that he'd taken the hit for me, stood up for what some believed was my "mere" status as a soldier for the House. And, honestly, what more honorable service was there? Making decisions from a continent away in a dress shirt, smoking cigarettes from a silver box?
I lifted my chin and met Darius's gaze. "I am a soldier," I confirmed. "And I have no qualms about that."
His eyebrows lifted with interest. "And you've returned from a battle."
"In a manner of speaking."
Darius sat back in his chair again. "You said tonight's event, whatever it might have been, was unusually violent." He took another puff, the suspicion clear on his face. "You've been to another rave? You have a basis for comparison?"
"I haven't," I admitted. "The comparison is based on information from other sources, and the one site I visited after the fact. Our intelligence says raves in Chicago are few and far between, and that - perhaps to avoid risk of detection - they're usually very intimate affairs. A few vampires at most. That's not what we saw last night."
"Although I disagree with your conclusions, that's not a bad report." He turned to Ethan. "I can see why you like her, Ethan."
"She's more than capable," Ethan agreed.
"But I assume an update on our Sentinel's work is not what brought you across the pond?"
Darius leaned forward and mashed the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. "Matters in Chicago are, as you know, escalating. Shifters. Rogues. The attack on your House."
Ethan crossed one leg over another. "As you've seen, those things are in hand."
"Those things suggest a decided lack of organization and political control among the Illinois Houses. When Celina was removed, you became the most senior Master in Chicago, Ethan. It is your responsibility, your duty to the Presidium, to maintain stability within your domain."
And he would have, I thought, if you'd
managed to keep Celina in England where she belonged.
"What does that mean?" Ethan asked.
"It means there's a significant chance that Cadogan House will be placed into receivership by the Presidium until Chicago is under control."
I didn't need to know the details of a "receivership" to get the general idea - the GP was threatening to take over the House.
The room went silent, as did Ethan. The only sign he'd even heard Darius's threat was the telltale line of concern between his eyes.
"With all due respect, Sire, there's no need for impetuous action." Ethan's tone was carefully neutral, his words carefully modulated. I knew he was bursting with emotion - there was no way Ethan wasn't boiling over at the possibility that the GP was going to step in and take over his House. But he was doing an impressive job of keeping his emotions under control.
"I'm not entirely sure that was duly respectful, Ethan. And as I'm sure you'll appreciate, placing one of the American Houses into receivership isn't something the Presidium takes lightly. It raises uncomfortable memories."
"Uncomfortable?" I asked. I probably shouldn't have spoken, being the least-ranking vampire in the room, but sometimes curiosity won out.
Darius nodded. "The American Revolution was a difficult time for the British and American Houses, as you might imagine. The GP hadn't yet been formed - that was still decades down the road - and the Conseil Rouge retained power.
Being French, the Conseil supported the colonies' freedom. Being British, we did not."
I nodded my understanding. "And immortality being what is, some of those colonists are still alive in the American Houses."
"Indeed."
"An excellent reason," Ethan put in, "to preclude discussion of receivership."
"The discussion is already under way, Ethan. I know you don't approve of the Presidium or the actions we've taken, but we have rules and processes for a reason."
So Celina can ignore them? I wondered.
There was a knock at the door, which opened a little. A man tidily dressed in cuffed trousers, button-up shirt, and suspenders - only his wavy brown hair askew - looked inside. "Sire, your call with New York Houses is ready." His voice was equally British and posh; he must have been part of Darius's retinue.
Darius glanced up and over. "Thank you, Charlie. I'll just be a moment."
Charlie nodded, then disappeared through the door again. When he was gone, Darius stood up.
The rest of us did the same.
"We'll chat later," Darius said, then nodded at me. "Good luck with your continued training."
"Thank you, Sire."
When he was gone, and the door was closed again behind him, silence reigned. Ethan put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair.
"Receivership," Luc repeated. "When was the last time that happened?"
"Not since the financial meltdown before World War II," Malik answered. "Many, many years."
