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"You think I'm dumb?" Cermak asked, eyes wild. "I have tapes, you ass**le. I recorded every conversation we've ever had because I knew - I just knew - that if worse came to worst, you'd throw me to the wolves."
Tate blanched, and everyone in the room froze, not quite sure what to do.
"You have tapes, Mr. Cermak?" my grandfather said.
"Dozens," he said smugly. "All in a safe-deposit box. The key's around my neck."
One of the uniforms fished inside Cermak's shirt, then pulled out a small flat key on a chain.
"Found it," he said, holding it up.
And there was the evidence we needed.
All eyes turned to Tate. He adjusted his collar.
"I'm sure we can clear this up."
My grandfather nodded at Catcher, and they both stepped toward Tate. "Why don't we discuss this downtown?"
Four more officers appeared at the office door.
Tate took them in and nodded at my grandfather.
"Why don't we?" he said politely, eyes forward as he strode from the room, a sorcerer, an ombudsman, and four CPD officers behind him.
The first two uniforms led Paulie away.
Silence descended.
Probably only minutes had passed since I'd thrown the stake. But the minutes felt like hours, which felt like days. Time became a blur that moved around me, while I - finally - had become still.
I stayed on my knees on the lush carpet, hands loose in my lap, completely helpless before the remains of two vampires. I was vaguely aware of the grief and hatred that rolled in alternating waves beneath my skin, but none could penetrate the thick shell of shock that kept me upright.
"Merit." This voice was stronger. Harsher. The words - the base, flat, hopeless sound of Malik's words - drew up my eyes. His were glassy, overlaid with an obvious sheen of grief, of hopelessness.
"He's gone," I said, inconsolable. "He's gone."
Malik held me as the ashes of my enemy and my lover were collected in black urns, as they were sealed and carefully escorted from Tate's office.
He held me until the room was empty again.
"Merit. We need to go. There's nothing more you can do here."
It took me a moment to realize why he was there. Why Malik was on the floor beside me, waiting to escort me home.
He'd been Second to Ethan.
But he was Second no longer.
Because Ethan was gone.
Grief and rage overpowered shock. I'd have hit the floor if Malik hadn't put his arms around me, holding me upright.
"Ethan."
I struggled, tears beginning to stream down my face, and pushed against them to get away.
"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!" I whimpered, cried, made sounds better suited to the predator than the girl, and thrashed against him, skin burning where his hands clamped my arms. "Let me go!"
"Merit, stop. Be still," he said, this new Master, but all I could hear was Ethan's voice.
Chapter Twenty-five
LETTING GO
That night we mourned publicly: eight enormous Japanese taiko drums lined the sidewalk outside the House, their players beating a percussive dirge as Ethan's ashes were moved into the House.
I watched the progression from the foyer. Out of respect, and to guard Ethan's progression into the afterlife, Scott and Morgan took the lead, Malik behind them, a new Master engaged in his first official act - transporting the remains of his predecessor into a secured vault in the Cadogan basement.
When the urns were placed inside and the vault was closed and locked again, the rhythm of the drums changed from fast and angry, to slow and mournful, covering the range of emotions I slipped through as the night wore on.
The grief was heavy and exhausting, but it was equally matched by anger and fear. As much as I grieved Ethan's loss, I was afraid that he'd communed with my father, sold me into a life of vampirism to ease some financial concern.
I wanted to rail at him. Scream at him. Cry and yell and bang my fists against his chest and demand that he exonerate himself, take it back, prove his innocence to me.
I couldn't, because he was gone.
Life - and mourning - went on without him.
The House was draped in long sheets of black silk like a Christo sculpture. It stood in Hyde Park like a monument to grief, to Ethan, to loss.
We also mourned privately, in a House-only ceremony by the shores of Lake Michigan.
There were circles of stones along the trail beside the lake. We gathered at one of them, all wearing the black of mourning. Lindsey and I stood beside each other, holding hands as we stared out at the glassy water. Luc stood at her other side, his fingers and hers intertwined, grief breaking down the walls Lindsey had built between them.
A man I didn't know spoke of the joys of immortality and the long life Ethan had been fortunate enough to live. Regardless of its length, life never quite seemed long enough. Especially when the end was selected - perpetrated - by someone else.
Malik, wearing a mantle of grief, carried bloodred amaranth to the lakeshore. He dropped the flowers into the water, then looked back at us. "Milton tells us in Paradise Lost that amaranth bloomed by the tree of life. But when man made his mortal mistake, it was removed to heaven, where it continued to grow for eternity.
Ethan ruled his House wisely, and with love. We can only hope that Ethan lives now where amaranth blossoms eternally."
The words spoken, he returned to his wife, who clutched his hand in hers.
Lindsey sobbed, releasing my hand and moving into Luc's embrace. His eyes closed in relief, and he wrapped his arms around her.
I stood alone, glad of their affection. Love bloomed like amaranth, I thought, finding a new place to seed even as others were taken away.
A week passed, and the House and its vampires still grieved. But even in grief, life went on.
Malik took up residence in Ethan's office. He didn't change the decor, but he did station himself behind Ethan's desk. I heard rumblings in the halls about the choice, but I didn't begrudge him the office. After all, the House was a business that he needed to run, at least until the receiver arrived.
Luc was promoted from Guard Captain to Second. He seemed more suited for security and safety than executive officer or would-be vice president, but he handled the promotion with dignity.
Tate's deputy mayor took over for the city's fallen playboy, who was facing indictment for his involvement with drugs, raves, and Celina.
Navarre House mourned her loss. The death of Celina, as a former Master and the namesake of the House, was treated with similar pomp and circumstance.
I got no specific rebuke from the GP for being the tool of her demise, but I assumed the receiver would have thoughts on that, as well.
