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“Oh, most definitely, Sentinel.”
“Did you manage it?”
Ethan squinted into the darkness around us, as if checking the outlines of the zone of magic he’d created. “I believe I did.” There was quiet amazement in his voice. Perhaps there’d been some silver lining from the trouble the Imposter had caused.
“What will they see when they look at me?”
“Marilyn Monroe.”
His answer was remarkably quick. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a Marilyn type.”
“I’m joking. I haven’t changed your appearance. Merely softened it so you’re unrecognizable.”
“These are not the vampires you’re looking for.”
Ethan just looked at me. “I don’t know what that means.”
well, Ethan said.
La Douleur, I said. That’s French for “pain.”
La Douleur is a supernatural bordello that caters to a very particular audience. Sex is one of the tamer things on the menu. It must have moved; it had been in Little Italy.
I slid my gaze to him. And you’re familiar with this particular supernatural bordello with “pain” in its name?
I’m Master of my House, and I’ve been in Chicago for many, many years. It behooves me to be aware of my vampires’ surroundings.
Mm-hmm, I said noncommittally, but was secretly intrigued. If Ethan was familiar with a place like La Douleur, I wondered what else he’d “mastered” before we met.
His eyebrows lifted. Are you implying something?
I smiled slyly at him. Not at all. At a more appropriate time, however, I will be questioning you about the depth of your knowledge of La Douleur. For now, we were on an op and need to stay focused. There’s magic in the neighborhood, I said. A supernatural bordello might be the type of place a sorcerer would enjoy.
Ethan narrowed his eyes at me, probably skeptical that I was really changing the focus. But I was. For now.
Yes, it does, he finally agreed, and we surveyed the building.
They’ll recognize us if we just walk in, I said. There were probably few supernaturals in Chicago who wouldn’t have recognized Ethan as the Master of Cadogan House. And my photograph in the Tribune wouldn’t have helped, either.
Likely. Although . . . , he added, and glanced at me, giving me an up-and-down appraisal. I wasn’t sure I’d like whatever he had in mind.
“Although” what?
I can use glamour.
Glamour was the classic vampiric power, a way of inducing someone else to do or see what you intended. You couldn’t convince someone to do something they wouldn’t otherwise do, but you could encourage them to see things your way. Glamour was, to my mind, one of the primary reasons vampires had been feared throughout history—because they could unlock a human’s deepest desires.
I’d initially had immunity to glamour. Faux Balthasar had managed to knock that loose. Like a hound toying with its prey, he’d terrorized me with my newfound sensitivity.
I’d lost that defense, but I’d gained something, too. Glamour was part of the intimate psychic connection between vampires, and something Ethan and I hadn’t been able to share before. When he was finally able to “call” me, to reach inside with that powerful magic, it had been one of the most stirring experiences of my life.
It had also been one of the few times since Balthasar that I’d come into contact with glamour without panic.
I looked back at Ethan, realized he’d been watching me. Probably working through the same mental gymnastics, and wondering how I’d handle it.
How, exactly, could you do that? I asked him.
He glanced at the building. I believe I’d create a band of magic around us.
