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“Sure. Just a second while I get this where it needs to be.” She swirled the pan for another moment or two, and when she decided it was done, she poured the contents—caramel-colored liquid—into a nearby glass dish.
“I’m browning butter,” she said, then put the pan in the sink, walked to the fridge, and pulled out a small take-out container. “Ham and a very nice white cheese on baguette. Sides of Dijon and mayo, pickle, chips.”
I took it from her, smiled. “You made me a to-go box?”
She closed the refrigerator again. “Ah. You must not know about Executive Order Two Hundred Eleven.”
“What’s that?”
“Basically, we’re required to keep sack lunches ready for you. Ethan thinks you get hangry.”
I was torn between irritation and admiration, as the order was both incredibly apt and utterly insulting. “That’s ridiculous. I do not get hangry.”
“Are you hangry now?”
I paused. “Maybe,” I said with resignation.
She flicked a hand toward the box. “And there you go. Eat your regulatory sandwich and be happy about it. I threw in two chocolate chip cookies.”
That was something anyway.
* * *
I was hungry/hangry enough that I didn’t think company was a good idea. It also wasn’t often I found myself with a few moments to sit quietly, so I sat in the dark cafeteria for a few quiet minutes, eating my take-out dinner with bottles of blood and water I’d grabbed from the cooler.
One wall of the cafeteria was composed of windows that looked out over the Cadogan grounds. The landscape lights were on, highlighting a group of trees just beginning to bud, tulips just beginning to blossom. I could see the yard’s French fountain from there and, if I was quiet enough, could hear the gurgling water. While I ate, I kept my gaze on the sculpted yard, my mind on trickling water, on gently blowing limbs, on the fresh possibilities that spring would bring to Chicago.
By the time I’d finished my meal, my mind was quiet again, and my sense of perspective was restored. I cleaned up, walked toward the bright hallway, and prepared to enter chaos again.
* * *
The Ops Room was buzzing with activity and alert magic, as per usual. Temps sat at the computer stations and Luc sat at his desk, pulling a handful of popcorn from the tin as he stared at his laptop and tapped one key at a time with an index finger. Kelley and Juliet were at the conference table, working busily on laptops and tablets. Lindsey was gone, probably patrolling the grounds.
He glanced up when I walked in. “Ah, the prodigal Sentinel returns. Ethan upstairs?”
“Meeting with supplicants. They’d been waiting for him.”
Luc nodded. “We hooked two up with your grandfather yesterday. Intersup conflict stuff that’s out of our jurisdiction.” He fixed his gaze on my cheek. “It looks like you had a very interesting evening. Internet confirms that.”
I stopped. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Kelley,” he prompted with a grin, and Kelley, mouth pursed into a smile, filled the wall screen with videos of me chasing down our suspect.
“Son of a bitch,” I murmured, although I did look pretty kick-ass running down the street in leathers, ponytail streaming behind me. My “Serious Vampire Warrior” face was fairly convincing.
On the other hand, “Did any of the assholes who had time to take these videos consider stopping the guy who’d just assaulted a vampire?”
“Evidently not,” Luc said. “But they had ample time to contact the news channels and sell the footage.”
I walked over and grabbed a handful of Luc’s popcorn, leaning a hip on the edge of his desk while I munched. “Any word from the Ombuddies?”
“Yes. Jeff was able to run a photo search. On-screen,” Luc ordered in his best Picard, pointing a finger at Kelley.
It wasn’t an especially good Picard, so I gave Kelley a sympathetic look. “Has he been like this all night?”
“Unfortunately,” she said, eyes on her tablet. “‘Make it so’ has made several appearances.”
“Make it so!” Luc said again with verve and a very bad British accent. No matter how dire the world outside, we could count on Luc for a bit of levity.
