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I put the phone in my pocket. Someday, hopefully, Mallory and I could get back on track.
CHAPTER SIX
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE REPLACEMENTS!
The Ops Room was the headquarters of Cadogan's guard crew, the place where we strategized about supernatural problems and looked for solutions. It was also the hub of House security, where guards at closed-circuit televisions and computer monitors kept an eye on the House and its grounds and any activities that might pose a threat.
The room was high tech, outfitted with computer stations, a large conference table, and state-of-the-art technology. It was also right down the hall from the House's training room and arsenal, giving us access to practice space and weaponry if the need arose.
I wasn't exactly a guard, but I generally played one when things went bad. And they'd been going bad with some frequency lately.
There were three veteran guards on staff - Juliet, Lindsey, and Kelley, Luc's temporary replacement. There were also a handful of temp guards, hired by Luc to fill the guard corps' vacancies.
Tonight, the Ops Room was quiet. Kelley was gone, probably on patrol, and Juliet, lithe and redheaded, sat at the bank of monitors that displayed the House's security feeds.
Lindsey sat at the table in front of a tablet, a cup of yogurt and a plastic spoon in hand. Luc sat at the end of the table, reading a newspaper, ankles crossed on the tabletop. It was like walking into their breakfast nook.
"We need to give you two a couple name," I said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Lucsey, perhaps?"
Luc didn't bat an eyelash; he simply turned a page of the newspaper. "Call us what you want, Sentinel. We already have a name for you."
That was alarming. Not that there was a way to avoid it, but I wasn't sure I wanted them discussing my relationship around the Ops Room table. "No, you don't."
"Yes, we do." Lindsey stirred her spoon noisily around the walls of the yogurt cup to get the remaining drops. "You're Methan."
"We're what?"
"Methan. Merit and Ethan. Methan."
"Nobody calls us that."
Every vampire in the room turned back to look at me, sardonic expressions on their faces. They nodded simultaneously, and I sank back into my chair a little bit.
"Yes, we do," Luc said, speaking for them. "I mean, we try not to talk about you constantly. We all have more important things to do than dissect your relationship - "
Lindsey held up her spoon. "I don't."
"Okay, everyone except Lindsey has more important things to do, and I'm not going to take that personally. Anyway, since we skipped over it before, good evening, Sentinel."
I humphed. "Good evening. The security auditor's here. Ethan's talking to him. He said you'd already spoken with him?"
"We talked," Luc confirmed. "Frankly, I think his suggestions are unnecessary - not dangerous, but even more conservative than best practices would be - but if they make the big man feel better, so be it."
"I met him earlier tonight," Lindsey said, tossing her yogurt cup and spoon into a wastebasket across the room. Her aim was perfect, and the shot echoed into the trash. "He's hot," she said, wiping off her hands. "Tall, dark, and a little bit dirty."
"I'm right here," Luc said.
"Yes, you are, even as I admit a man wholly unconnected with you is hot."
Luc grumbled, but let her get away with that. "Sentinel, what's new in your neck of the woods?"
"Not much," I said, then told them about Oliver and Eve, the mourning Rogues, and what we'd found in the warehouse.
As I talked, Lindsey got up and pulled over our favorite standby - a giant whiteboard on which we could track our leads and thoughts - and began filling in what we knew.
"The wood slivers, if they're aspen, will lead back to McKetrick," I concluded.
Lindsey stilled and looked at Luc, and there was nothing pleasant in the exchange.
"What?" I asked.
"We have something you need to see." He tapped a bit on a screen built into the tabletop until an image appeared on the projection screen on the wall beside us.
He'd selected an Internet video of a news broadcast from earlier in the day.
On-screen, Diane Kowalcyzk, Chicago's mayor, appeared behind a podium. Beside her stood McKetrick. We'd seen him in this position before, sucking up to Kowalcyzk and standing nearby like a malicious human Sentinel.
He wore a suit, a change from his usual brand of military fatigues. The scars he'd received from his encounter with his aspen gun were unavoidable. His face was cratered, crossed with scored and bubbled skin from neck to hairline. One of his eyes was milky white; the other eye was clear and alert, and there was no denying the obvious malice in his stare.
Luc adjusted the tablet. "Let me get the audio up."
The volume slowly increased, marked by the growing green bar across the bottom of the screen and the rising volume of Kowalcyzk's beauty pageant voice. She was a handsome woman, tidy and attractive, but her anti-sup politics were hateful.
"This city was founded by humans," she said. "We live here; we work here; we pay taxes."
"We live here, work here, and pay taxes," Luc muttered. "And we've been here doing those things longer than she or any other human being in the city has been alive."
"Chicagoans deserve a city that is free from supernatural drama. Violence. Rabble-rousing. But Chicagoans don't cower away from our problems," she said, her accent suddenly thick and Midwesterny.
"We face them head-on. Once upon a time, the former mayor thought it was important to have an office where 'supernaturals,' as they're known, could call the city with their problems. It was called the Ombudsman's office, and I'm proud to say I closed it. We didn't need it then, and we don't need it now. What we do need - what the city of Chicago needs - is an office for humans with supernatural problems."
"Oh, God," I said, anticipating what was coming next.
"That's why today I'm pleased to announce the creation of the Office of Human Liaisons, or OHL. I'm also pleased to announce that I've asked John Q. McKetrick to lead that office and serve as the head liaison."
Oh, this was very, very bad. She'd hired as her new "liaison" a man whose goal was to rid the city of vampires by any means necessary. She'd given him a title, an office, a staff, and total legitimacy. Which meant that if he was behind Eve's and Oliver's killings, he was now politically untouchable.
My grandfather was going to lose it.
"Not all supernaturals are criminals; we know that. But this man wears the scars of his interactions with the undesirable element, and I believe he has much to teach us about those with whom we share our city."
