Хлоя Нейл: Friday Night Bites

“You are not merely his daughter. You are a Cadogan vampire. You are Sentinel of this House. When you walk into a room filled with those people, you will know that you are not one of them—you are more than they are. You are a vampire, of an historic house, in an historic position. You are powerful and well connected, if not because of your father, then because of your grandfather. You are nothing more, and nothing less, Merit, than exactly who you are. The question is not can you do it, but will you choose to do it?”

I lifted my gaze, looked up at him. He arched a single eyebrow, a challenge, and kept talking. “You have accused me of not believing in you. If this story goes to press, and Chicago’s vampires are demonized as manipulative predators, we all lose. Who knows what we’ll face then—another Clearing? Perhaps not. But registration? Incarceration? Suspicion and regulation? Undoubtedly. But if you can get close to Jamie, become a source for Jamie, help him see who we really are, or, better yet, convince him to drop the story altogether, then we stand to fare better. If nothing else, we can put off the vitriol for a little while longer. I’m coming to you, Merit, because you have the connections to do this. Because Jamie knew you before, and he’ll be able to see that your goodness, your decency are still there, even though you’ve become one of us.”

“Christine has the connections to do this,” I noted, recalling one of my fellow Novitiate vampires, who’d taken the Cadogan House oaths on the same night as me. She was the daughter of Chicago attorney Dash Dupree, and while like every Novitiate vampire she’d lost the privilege of using her last name, she was still a Dupree, still a member of that family, which stood in the highest echelon of Chicago society.

“Christine cannot do this. You have the strength to defend yourself. She does not.” Arms still crossed over his chest, Ethan bent over, whispered in my ear. “I can order you to do it, to fulfill the role you accepted when I Commended you into this House, or you can accept the job willingly.”

He stood straight again, offered me a look that made clear exactly how much choice I had. He was allowing me the perception of choice, but he was right—I had given my oaths in front of him and Luc and the others to protect the House, even if it meant wearing Dolce & Gabbana and attending society dinners.

Ugh. Society dinners. Prissy people. Uncomfortable shoes. Butlers, and not even the monkey kind. But I said goodbye to my Friday nights, and I sucked it up. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“I knew I could count on you. And there is an upside, you know.”

I looked back at him, brows lifted in silent question.

“You get to take me with you.”

I nearly growled at him, kicking myself mentally for not guessing that was coming. What better way for Ethan to ingratiate his way into Chicago’s (human) social scene than to use me as his entry ticket?

“Clever,” I commented, giving him a dry look.

“A boy learns a thing or two in four hundred years,” he smartly said, then clapped his hands together. “Let’s strategize, shall we?”

We convened in the sitting area of Ethan’s office over a plate of vegetables and hummus I’d ordered from the kitchen. Ethan turned up his nose at the vegetables, but I was starving, and he found me petulant enough on a full stomach to avoid low-blood-sugar grouchiness. So I munched on celery sticks and carrots as we plotted over a map of Chicago locations believed to host raves. They included a club in Urbana, an expensive suburban home in Schaumburg, and a bar in Lincoln Park. Any spot would do for a bloodletting, apparently.

As we leaned over the spread of information, I wondered aloud, “If you had all this information about the raves, why not stop them?”

“We didn’t have all the information,” Luc said, flipping through some documents.

“So how do you have it now?” I asked.

The look of mild distaste that pinched Ethan’s features gave away the answer. Well, that and the fact that as Luc pored through the scattered documents, he revealed a manila folder that bore a tail of red twine. I could just make out the phrase LEVEL ONE stamped across the front. Bingo.

“You called the Ombud’s office,” I concluded. “They had the info on file, or they did the research. That’s the stuff I brought you earlier.”

Silence. Then, “We did.” Ethan’s answer was as clipped as his tone. Although he apparently wasn’t too proud to beg for information, and despite the fact that he and Catcher were friends (of their peculiar sort), Ethan wasn’t a big fan of the Ombud’s office. He thought they were tied a little too closely to Mayor Tate, whose position regarding “the vampire problem” was less than clear. Tate had all but refused to talk to the House Masters even after we became public, despite the fact that the city administration had known about our existence for decades.

The Celina fiasco hadn’t helped Cadogan-Ombud relations. The Greenwich Presidium didn’t recognize Chicago’s authority over Celina, no matter how heinous her acts. Since she was a member of the GP, the GP believed she was entitled to certain accommodations, including not serving an eternal sentence in the Cook County jail. It had taken no little diplomacy on my grandfather’s part to secure the administration’s support for her extradition to Europe. That meant my grandfather, who’d made his own oath to serve and protect Chicago, had been forced to release the vampire who’d tried to have his granddaughter killed. Needless to say, he felt a little conflicted. Ethan, on the other hand, was bound by his loyalties to the GP. Awkwardness, thy name is vampire.

“Whatever the source, Sentinel, we have the information now. Let’s use it, shall we?”

I bit back a grin, amused that I’d reverted back to “Sentinel.” I was “Merit” when Ethan needed something, “Sentinel” when he was responding to my snark. Admittedly, that was frequently.

“They’re going to be suspicious that Merit wants back in,” Luc pointed out. “Which means she’s going to need a cover story.”

“And not just a cover story,” Ethan said, “but a cover story that can make it past her father.”

We pondered that one silently. As head of Merit Properties, one of the city’s biggest real estate management companies, my father was enough of a salesman to know when he was being conned.

“How about a little familial gloating?” Luc finally asked.

Ethan and I both looked at him. “Explain,” Ethan ordered.

Luc frowned, scratched absently at his cheek, and relaxed back into the sofa. “Well, I think you laid it out earlier. She’s a member of a key Chicago family, and now Sentinel of one of the oldest American Houses. So she plays the youngest daughter making her triumphant return to the society that once scorned her. You start with her father—approach him first. She plays cool, confident, standoffish, like she’s finally come into that famed Merit attitude.” He clapped, apparently for emphasis. “Boom. The patriarch welcomes her back into the fold.”

Ethan opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “That’s an interesting analysis.”

“ Dynasty reruns have been rolling nonstop on cable,” Luc said.

Huh.

That was an interesting bit of information about our guard captain.

Ethan stared at him for a moment before offering, “Pop culture notwithstanding, your plan would require some considerable acting on Merit’s part.” He slid me an appraising (and none too flattering) glance. “I’m not sure she’s equipped.”

“Hey.” With a chuckle, and without thinking of who he was or the authority he held over me, I punched Ethan lightly on the arm. Fortunately he didn’t jump out of his seat and pound me, although he did stare at the spot on his tidy black suit jacket where I’d made contact.