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The wine was crisp and fresh, and it provided a nice, sharp contrast to the flaky, buttery croissant.
"You aren't wrong," I said, nibbling the edge of it.
"Here," Ethan said, holding out a hand for my glass. "Let's have a seat by the fire."
I glanced back at the onyx fireplace in one corner of the room, which I'd rarely seen lit. "I don't think we have time to get a fire going."
"Of course we do," he said. He walked to the corner of the room and flipped a switch behind one of the curtains. The fireplace roared to life, and Ethan looked back at me with a grin.
"Yes, yes, and yes," I said, joining him and sitting cross-legged on the floor. He handed my wineglass back, then did the same.
For the second time tonight, I watched a fire rage. But this time, I was safe at home, with guards outside to keep the monsters away. And, best of all, Ethan was beside me.
"Tell me more about this Scottish estate of ours," I said.
It took him a moment to remember the conversation we'd had earlier. "Ah, yes. Well, there would be much old wood and tall windows. And maybe a hound or two. We'd watch the wind race across the moors like Catherine and Heathcliff might have."
"But with a happier ending, I hope?"
"Absolutely. And without your Sentinel duties to attend to, you could learn to knit. Or embroider. Or perhaps tatting."
"I'll stick to reading, thank you very much. You could learn those things. Or how to cook."
"I can cook, Sentinel."
I looked at him, obviously suspicious. "You've never cooked for me."
"I've not yet done a number of things for you. That doesn't mean I'm not capable of doing them." He put an arm around me.
"We've many years to go yet, Sentinel. And many things to learn about each other. He clinked his glass against mine. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Ethan," I said.
Chapter Eighteen
ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FANGED TO PRINT
I was awakened by the shifting of weight in the bed; Ethan took a seat on the edge as he finagled cuff links into shirtsleeves. He was forever adjusting cuff links. Maybe that was a potential belated Valentine's Day gift. Monogrammed hearts? Tiny silver katanas? Little male figures with tiny arched eyebrows?
"Good evening, Merit," he said.
"Grbarfulgorph," I said, pulling the covers over my head. "I'm not leaving this room tonight."
"That's unfortunate, as I think you'd get an inspirational kick in the ass."
I pulled down the blanket just enough to peek out with one eye. Ethan looked back at me with mild amusement.
"How so?" I asked.
"Your father just called. Your grandfather is out of intensive care and in a regular room. He's awake - sore, but awake - and they expect he's got a solid chance at a good recovery."
I closed my eyes in relief and put my hands on my face, shielding the tears that I knew would inevitably come. My eyes already ached from the anticipation, so it was almost a relief when they began coursing down my cheeks.
Ethan looked utterly flummoxed. "Isn't this good news?"
I wiped the tears away and smiled at him. "It's the best news."
"Then why are you crying?"
"Because sometimes women cry when there's good news. Tears of relief. You know, catharsis."
His expression was utterly blank.
"Haven't you ever cried when you, I don't know, you get a new batch of that fancy stationery you like with the watermarks on it?"
He looked bewildered. "That's what you think I'd cry tears of relief about?"
"You do like your office supplies."
Ethan closed his eyes and shook his head. "This conversation has taken an indecipherable turn. Nevertheless, I actually have more good news. Nick managed to get his story finished and online during the day, and it's been picked up by media outlets across the country." He reached out and picked up a folded Tribune from the nightstand. "They issued a special edition on the Houses."
I accepted it from him and flipped open the paper, which was sized like a magazine but on newsprint paper. VAMPIRES: THE COST OF OUR IGNORANCE read the headline, a shot of Grey House burning beneath it. I flipped it open and found the interior pages full of discussions about our financial and other benefits to the city.
"This is quite a coup," I said, folding it up and handing it back to him.
Ethan nodded. "I've no idea how much of it he actually believes, but it helps us either way. Perhaps he still feels guilty about the blackmail."
"Or he still has feelings for me," I said, putting a hand on my chest. "Ours was a forbidden love. . . ."
Ethan rolled his eyes and swatted me playfully on the leg with the newspaper. "That's enough egotism for you today. Get up. It's another night, which means another riot is possible, and we're running out of Houses to burn. Call Catcher. See if Detective Jacobs found out anything about that syringe. And follow up again with Charla Bryant and the videos of the facility. I want this solved!"
There was a knock at the door. Ethan and I looked at each other.
"They usually don't start rioting this early," I said.
"I was serious about the 'solving' bit, Sherlock," he said, and walked to the door.
While Ethan chatted with the visitor, I climbed out of bed and gathered up clothes. After a moment, Ethan closed the door again.
"Who was it?"
"Helen," he said. And when he stepped around the wall again, he looked confused.
"Well, don't leave me in suspense."
"Charla Bryant is downstairs, and Helen says she's inconsolable."
I stood up straight. "Inconsolable? About what?"
"I don't know. Apparently she waited outside on the portico until the sun went down, then started knocking until Margot opened the door. She's waiting for us in my office. Perhaps you'll want to get dressed."
"On it," I said, grabbing the pile of clothes and heading to the bathroom. "I apologize for the ensemble ahead of time," I yelled from the bathroom. "My leathers are toast."
When Ethan didn't respond, I assumed he'd decided to deal with it.
-
Eight minutes later, I was in jeans, boots, a black shirt, and the black jacket from my official Cadogan House suit. It seemed likely I'd have to leave the House for some ornery errand or other, and while I'd put on the suit jacket to make a good show while I was still here, I wasn't going to investigate crimes in a suit.
Only fifteen minutes had passed since dusk, and I already missed my leathers. They fit perfectly, and obviously had saved my skin in a number of battles.
