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"And it would be formal," I added, pointing for emphasis. "With fancy food and cocktail attire. We'd have to use salad forks."
"Instead of eating a sandwich out of a napkin, you mean?"
I elbowed him but smiled. I hadn't exactly adopted my family's formalisms. I appreciated the advantages I'd had growing up as a Merit in Chicago, but unlike Charlotte and Robert, I'd found the lifestyle - and the strictures of wealth - completely stifling. Pumas and jeans and Chicago red hots were much more my style than Emily Post manners and crystal goblets.
"I'm unfussy," I said.
"I know. And I appreciate that about you. But try as you might, you cannot choose your family or give them back. I think we should do it."
"I don't know."
"You could wear a cocktail dress."
"You're not selling this very well."
"I could remove the cocktail dress afterward as a reward for good behavior."
I paused. "You're getting warmer."
"I'll throw in a sneak peak at the new House pendants."
I sat up. "They're done?"
"They are. And they're quite lovely."
Now that was an interesting offer. When we left the GP, we'd turned in our House medals, the gold pendants that provided our House position and number. They were the equivalent of vampiric dog tags, and I felt naked without one. (Granted, I had an inadvertent backup copy in the bottom of a drawer, but since I couldn't let anyone else know it existed, much less wear it, it didn't really count.)
Ethan had promised us a replacement, something to mark our House membership, even if we were no longer members of the GP. He and Malik, his second in command, had been researching and pricing options, but they hadn't yet announced their decision. And he was offering to let me be the first to see? Granted, I'd get to see the pendants eventually, but as he well knew, I was not a patient person.
"Throw in a box of Mallocakes and you've got a deal."
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Mallocakes? That's the best you can do?"
Mallocakes were a favorite snack cake. "World peace is out, Gabriel probably won't let you buy Moneypenny for me, and I've already got these sweet digs."
"Moneypenny?" Ethan's lips twisted in amusement.
"She looks like a James Bond car. I think it's only appropriate that she get a James Bond name."
"Notwithstanding that, you're correct. I cannot give you, ahem, Moneypenny. But a box of Mallocakes is a manageable deal."
"When is this nightmare supposed to occur?" I asked, glancing back at the invitation. "Oh good. Tomorrow. So I have plenty of time to emotionally prepare."
Ethan ignored that. "Shall I arrange for a dress?"
"I can dress myself."
He gave me a flat look.
I punched him in the arm, deservedly. "I can dress myself," I reiterated. "But we also know that you're unusually good at picking out formalwear." He'd arranged dresses for me - all in classic Cadogan black - on other occasions, when he still doubted I was mature enough to select an appropriately formal ensemble for a fancy party. This for a girl who'd had an official coming out and debutante ball.
"I believe the word you used was 'stodgy.'"
"And I meant it," I said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm getting up. Feel free to ask Margot to bring up breakfast. Croissants? Crepes? Cafe Americano?" I suggested, with exaggerated accents.
"You are officially spoiled."
"I prefer to think of it as honoring the system."
Ethan laughed, and loudly. "That was unusually politic."
I faked a look of dismay. "Maybe we've been spending too much time together."
He pinched my waist, which made me yelp.
"Kidding," I said. "Kidding. I clearly could do no better than to learn from your fine example of what it is to be a vampire."
"I don't like where this is going."
"An earnest vampire," I said, continuing to spread the love. "A leader of vampires. And one, perhaps, that is open to unusual arrangements."
"What do you want, Merit?"
"So, while we're discussing uncomfortable things, I had an unusual conversation with Mallory."
He looked at me, clearly waiting for the shoe to drop.
"She wants to work for Cadogan House."
Ethan stiffened. "No."
"I know," I said, holding out my hands in detente. "I know. It's worrisome. I'm only passing the idea along. That said, we'd be able to keep an eye on her, and we're still looking for guards."
"No," he repeated, just as firmly.
"I'm not going to mention you said that. Not until we can give her an alternative idea." I climbed off the bed and glanced back at him. "At some point, the shifters will be done with their intern, and the Order has proved they can't handle her. We need a backup plan."
Ethan scrubbed his hands over his face. "I hate it when you're right."
I bit back a grin that only would have gotten me into trouble, and let my mouth do it for me. "Then you must hate me often."
I disappeared into the bathroom before Ethan could throttle me.
-
The bathroom, like the bedroom, was a bit of a shambles. I picked up clothes from the floor before getting dressed for the night, brushing my fangs like a good little Sentinel, and ensuring my weapons - my thirty-two-inch-long tempered-steel katana and the smaller, double-edged dagger Ethan had given me - were clean and ready for battle.
Not that I planned on a battle, but since a visit to a crime scene was on my agenda, I was damn well going to keep my weapons in good shape.
The bedroom was empty, but the croissants had been stocked, by the time I was dressed and armed. I grabbed a pastry and nibbled the edge while I checked my phone for messages from Jeff, Catcher, or Jonah.
I had no messages, but the phone was bristling with warnings and alerts from Luc's newest invention - an app that sent House notifications and updates for news around the city.
Most of the notifications were mundane - information about House deliveries and visitors, traffic snarls, and weather reports. But tonight there was another little reminder - a news flash sent out by the Sun-Times reminding readers that the Office of Human Liaisons was hosting its first town hall meeting tonight at the Marquesa Theater.
Now that was intriguing. The Marquesa was in Lincoln Park, a neighborhood on the north side of Chicago. It also wasn't terribly far from Wicker Park and the crime scene I'd be visiting.
My phone beeped again, and I found a text message from Catcher: VISIT TO ROBIN POPE, THEN BRYANT INDUSTRIES?
