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With a whip of sound, I unsheathed it, the light pouring down its honed steel. It looked pristine, but out of caution I pulled a sheet of rice paper from a drawer in the table - the sword-cleaning drawer, as I'd named it - and wiped down the blade. Better safe than sorry, especially when a gruff sorcerer might demand an inspection. It wouldn't be the first time.
"You're going to see Catcher, I presume?"
I looked up. Ethan stood in the doorway in unbuttoned slacks, scrubbing a towel through his hair.
It was not an unpleasant sight.
"Yes," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I'm going to call him as soon as I grab some blood and breakfast."
"And Jeff?"
There was a funny little twinge in Ethan's voice. Surely not jealousy, as he'd sworn he was so sure of our relationship that he wasn't capable of it. Jeff did, admittedly, have a pretty obvious crush on me. But since he was in some kind of on-again/off-again relationship with a shifter named Fallon - the only sister of the head of the North American Central Pack - I didn't think Ethan had much to worry about. Even if I weren't in love with him, and even if I did have a thing for Jeff, I was not about to cross a shifter, much less one in line for the Pack throne. I hoped to squeeze at least a few years out of my immortality, thank you very much.
"Yes, and Jeff. I enjoy seeing him, and he enjoys seeing Fallon," I reminded Ethan.
"Fair enough. Keep your wits about you, Sentinel."
"I will. And I'll be back in time to say hello to our guests." I might have wanted to refuse Lacey's entrance into the House, but Ethan wanted her here, so I could take one for the team.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said with a wink.
But before I could make my brilliant exit, there was a knock at the door.
"Likely Helen," Ethan said, "with information about ceremony planning."
He was partially right. Helen, who was basically the House's den mother, stood in the hallway when I opened the door, but she didn't look pleased about it. She stepped inside, her gaze searching for Ethan, with a cloud of floral perfume and nervous magic about her.
Ethan stepped into the room, hair still damp, but now dressed. "What is it?" he asked, concern in his expression. He must have picked up the same magical notes.
"They're here. Early."
Ethan's expression went stone cold. "They" could only have been the GP, and their arrival a day early couldn't have signaled anything good.
"Sentinel," he said, grabbing his suit coat and heading for the door.
I pushed my sword into its scabbard and tied the belt around my waist. "Right behind you," I said, and followed him down to the House's first floor.
In addition to Malik and Luc, seven men and women stood in the foyer in an inverted V, with Darius West, head of the Greenwich Presidium, directly in the middle. These were the members of the GP, some of the most powerful vampires in the world.
Darius - tall, with a shaved head and an aristocratic manner - had the personality of an egotistical hall monitor.
The other GP members, four men and two women, didn't look familiar. I knew their names, and that they'd wreaked havoc in our House from an ocean away. But I could identify only one of them - Harold Monmonth, a class act who'd once helped Celina Desaulniers, the former Master of Navarre House, dispatch a woman who'd stood in her way. Celina had tried to kill me on several occasions, and when she threw the stake that killed Ethan, I returned the favor. Morgan Greer, whom I'd dated for approximately five minutes, took over as Master of the House after her bad behavior.
There was a gap in the V between the last two individuals on the left-hand side. That was the spot, I guessed, that had once been held by Celina. But she was gone, and that was no doubt another reason why the GP didn't care much for me.
Ethan smiled thinly at Darius. "You're early."
"But not unwelcome, I presume," Darius said. Ironically, the statement was incredibly presumptuous.
Before Ethan could get himself into any more trouble, Helen stepped beside us.
"I've spoken with the manager at the Dandridge," she said. "Your rooms have been prepared and are ready at your convenience."
The Dandridge Hotel was one of the most exclusive luxury hotels in Chicago, small but chic, and apparently the only place good enough for the GP to stay this time around.
Darius nodded. "We'll settle in and be in touch about the ceremony."
"As you say," Ethan said.
Like a flock of birds, the vampires turned in unison, then filed back through the gate to waiting limousines.
For a moment we all stood there.
Ethan muttered a curse, but when he turned back to us, he slipped his hands into his pockets, his body tight with the swagger and confidence of a Master vampire. He might not have been official Master of Cadogan House, but he was a Master vampire all the same.
It was comforting to see him confident, even if he was bluffing.
"They will think of us what they think of us," he said. "That doesn't matter. What matters is what we are together, and that is stronger than we could ever be as GP automatons and subjects of a would-be king."
He looked at Malik. "Assemble the House tonight. We'll wait until an hour before dawn."
"To assure Darius is tucked in at the Dandridge and can't spy on us?" Luc asked.
"Precisely," Ethan said. "I'll speak to the Decert at the ceremony, so whatever the night brings, plan to be back at the House by then." He nodded at Luc. "Call Paige and the librarian. He's up to something, and I want to know what it is. Now."
"Liege," Luc acknowledged.
"Go on about your business," Ethan said. "I'll see you all soon enough."
* * *
I wouldn't be a vampire if Ethan hadn't changed me, and I wouldn't survive without regular doses of blood. Even though the process had become a fairly routine endeavor, I still needed it. So I dropped by the House cafeteria and plumbed for snacks. A bag of blood from our retail supplier, Blood4You, was a necessity, as was a mini chocolate candy bar that I stashed in my jacket pocket for later. For now, I grabbed a bagel with a smear of peanut butter and took a bite as I nuked the blood and poured it into a travel mug, just another Chicagoan on her way to the office.
There was something about the first bite of food in the morning - maybe the relative absence during sleep, maybe the reawakening of the taste buds - that made my simple breakfast seem nearly majestic.
I am only barely exaggerating. The depth of my relationship with food is no doubt thrilling to some and strange to others. It probably has something to do with the fact that I grew up feeling removed from the rest of my very wealthy, very fancy family. I'd entertain myself with my other great love - books - during a hot Chicago afternoon, usually with something to nibble on. I was especially fond of foods that could be dipped - tortilla chips, celery sticks, apple wedges, chocolate drops. Eating them was an activity in itself, a repetitive movement that was almost Zen-like.
