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She blew hair out of her face. “Because they don’t enjoy the healing effects of yoga?”
“Because they don’t like being called ‘dogs.’”
She humphed as we moved our body weight forward into a modified plank, then lowered our legs, arms still stretched and chins lifted. “You’re on their side now.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m supernaturally neutral.”
“Then you’re a perfect candidate to attend and witness a Pack event. It’s a very sociological thing to do.”
We moved backward, settling on our knees, foreheads on the floor and arms stretched in front of us.
“You’re going to call me,” she said. “I want updates about the shifters, including Connor, and proof of life.” She adjusted her elastic headband. “A stack of empty coffee cups would suffice.”
“I’m more than the sum of my caffeine addiction.”
“Yes. You’re also a lot of blond hair and sarcasm, and a big chunk of ‘crush on the guy you’ll be traveling with.’”
“That’s quite a profile, Lulu.”
“I probably need to paint you.”
I decided to let that one go.
***
Lulu had been right—about the trip, not the painting. There was still no need for that.
I showered and dressed, threw a few things into a backpack, grabbed my scabbarded katana, and requested an Auto to my ancestral home.
Cadogan House sat on lush and green grounds in Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood, a gracious building of white stone in which nearly a hundred vampires had lived since the late eighteen hundreds. I’d lived there until I’d moved to Paris at nineteen, had explored the dozens of rooms and hallways, every inch of the rolling lawns and gardens, and even a few of the tunnels that ran beneath the House to access points across Chicago.
The Auto dropped me off in front of the imposing black fence, and I walked to the gate, smiled at the guards.
“Elisa Sullivan, here to see my parents.”
“Parents?” asked the guard on the right, a pale young man who looked dubious at my claim. He was young and human, as the House guards often were, and maybe hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Seriously, Curt?” asked the other guard dryly, a curvy woman with dark skin and shorn hair. “She’s the bosses’ kid.”
“Vampires can’t have kids,” Curt said.
The woman looked at me apologetically, flipped the switch to open the gate. “Please excuse him. He’ll be more familiar with the family history when you come out again.”
“What are you—” he began, but the woman cut him off.
“Thank you,” I called out, and slipped through the opening gate. A sidewalk and stairs led to the arched portico that guarded the front door, and I walked inside to the reception desk, added by my parents after one too many security breaches.
“I’m—”
“Of course you are,” said the man at the desk before I could respond. “Your parents have been advised of your arrival, Ms. Sullivan. They’re in his office.” He gestured grandly down the hallway.
Very efficient, but it made Cadogan House feel less like a home than like a hotel. It also reinforced my decision to live outside the House. I loved my parents, but Cadogan just felt stifling.
I walked into my father’s office, ready to pitch the idea of my attending the initiation as a kind of diplomatic attaché, and found him and Roger Yuen talking, drink bottles in hand, and both wearing running shorts, singlets, and sneakers.
“Hey,” I said, meeting their eyes, because that was less traumatizing.
“Lis,” my father said. He was tall and lean, with blond hair that nearly reached his shoulders, currently tied back. His eyes were the same green as mine. “I’d give you a hug, but we’ve just finished a run.”
