Хлоя Нейл: Friday Night Bites

It was basically a dorm room.

For a twenty-eight-year-old vampire.

“Is there anything else you need?”

I smiled back at Helen. “No, thank you. I appreciate your arranging a room so quickly.” My retinas, already singed by the images of Catcher and Mallory’s liaisons, were also appreciative.

“No problem, dear. Meals are served in the cafeteria at dusk, midnight, and two hours before dawn.” She glanced down at her watch. “You’re a little past second meal now, and a little early for third. Can I find you something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I grabbed something on the way over.” Not just something—the best homemade meat loaf this side of Chicago. Heaven .

“Well, if you find you need anything, the kitchens on each floor are always stocked, and there’s blood in the refrigerators. If you need something that you can’t find in the kitchens, tell the waitstaff.”

“Sure. Thanks again.”

Helen left and closed the door behind her. I laughed out loud at what she’d revealed. On the back of the door hung a poster for Navarre House, a life-sized image of Morgan in jeans and a snug black thermal shirt, black boots on his feet, his arms crossed, leather bands around his wrists. He’d been letting his hair grow, and it was wild in the picture, waving around his starkly handsome face, cut cheekbones, and cleft chin, his bedroomy navy blue eyes staring out beneath long, dark brows and ridiculously long lashes.

Apparently Helen had been coordinating with the Navarre Liaison on more than just a summer picnic. This required serious teasing, so I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and punched in Morgan’s number.

“Morgan,” he answered.

“Yes,” I said, “I’d like to speak to someone about ordering some Navarre porn, please. Maybe a six-foot-tall poster of that gorgeous Master vampire, the one with the dreamy eyes?”

He chuckled. “Found my welcome gift, did you?”

“Isn’t it a little weird for a Navarre vamp to leave a welcome gift for a Cadogan vamp?” I asked, while checking out the doors on the right side of the room. The first door opened to a small closet, inside of which hung a dozen wooden hangers. The second opened to a small bathroom—claw-foot tub with shower, pedestal sink.

“Not if she’s the prettiest Cadogan vamp.”

I snorted and closed the door again, then moved my bags to the bed. “You can’t think that line’s gonna work.”

“Did we finish off a deep-dish pie Saturday night?”

“That’s my recollection.”

“Then my lines work.”

I made a sarcastic sound, but the boy had a point.

“I need to go. I’ve got a meeting in a few,” he said, and the Master around here is a real administrative bastard.”

“Mmm-hmm. I bet he is. You enjoy that meeting.”

“I always do. And on behalf of Navarre House and the North American Vampire Registry, we hope your days in Cadogan House are many and fruitful. Peace be with you. Live long and prosper—”

“Goodbye, Morgan,” I said with a laugh, flipping my phone shut and sliding it back into my pocket.

It was fairly debatable whether Morgan had manipulated me into our first date, which was the result of a political compromise (in front of fifty other vampires, no less). But we’d passed that official first date a few weeks ago, and as he’d pointed out, we’d shared a pizza or two since then. I clearly hadn’t done anything to quell his interest; on the other hand, I hadn’t really tried to encourage it. I liked Morgan, sure. He was funny, charming, intelligent, and ridiculously pretty. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was dating him from behind a wall of detachment, that I hadn’t fully let my guard down.

Maybe it was chemistry. Maybe it was a security issue, the fact that he was from Navarre and that, as Sentinel, I was supposed to be always on guard, always on call, for Cadogan House. Maybe it was the fact that he’d gotten date number one because he’d forced my hand in front of Ethan, Scott Grey, Noah Beck (the leader of Chicago’s independent vampires), and half of Cadogan House.

Yeah, that could be it.

Or maybe it was something even more fundamental: However ironic, the thought of dating a vampire—with all the political and emotional complications that entailed—didn’t thrill me.

I guess any of those could have been the reason it felt strange, the reason I enjoyed his company but couldn’t seem to just sink it, Morgan’s enthusiasm notwithstanding.

Since I wasn’t going to find resolution today, I shook the thought from my head and headed back to my bags, still zipped atop the small bed. I opened them and set to work.

I began by pulling out books, writing supplies, and knick- knacks, then organized them on the bookshelf. Toiletries went into the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, and foldable clothes went into the bureau. Shirts and pants were hung from the wooden hangers in the closet, beneath which I unceremoniously dumped my shoes.

When I’d emptied the bags, I began zipping them up again, but stopped when I felt something in an interior side pocket of my duffel. I reached in and found a small package wrapped in brown paper. Curious, I slipped the tape and unfolded the wrapping. Inside was a framed piece of cross-stitched linen that read: VAMPIRES ARE PEOPLE, TOO.

Although I wasn’t sure I believed the message, as surprise housewarming presents went, it wasn’t bad. I certainly appreciated the thought, and made a mental note to thank Mal the next time I saw her.

I’d just folded the empty bags into the bottom bureau drawer when the beeper at my waist began to vibrate. Beepers were required gear for Cadogan guards, intended to ensure that we could quickly respond to fanged emergencies. Now that I was an official resident of the House—instead of twenty minutes north—I could respond in record time.

I unclipped the beeper and scanned the screen. It read: OPS RM. 911.

Not much for poetry, but the message was clear enough. There was some kind of emergency, so we were to mobilize in the House’s Operations Room, the guards’ HQ in the basement of Cadogan House. I reclipped my beeper, grabbed my sheathed katana, and headed downstairs.

“I don’t care if they’re taking your picture, asking for your autograph, or buying your drinks! This. Is. Completely . Unacceptable.”

Luc, the head of Cadogan House’s guard corps, growled at us. As it turned out, the emergency, although arguably of our own making, had passed during the daylight hours. This lecture was the unfortunate fallout.

There we were, sitting around a high-tech conference table in the equally high-tech, movie-ready Ops Room—Peter, Juliet, Lindsey, Kelley, and me, the guards (and Sentinel) responsible for ensuring the health and welfare of Cadogan’s Novitiate vampires.

All of us were mid-upbraiding by a blondish, tousle-haired cowboy-turned-vampire who was berating us for the “lackadaisical attitude” our newfound popularity had spawned.

So, yeah. We weren’t exactly feeling the love.

“We’re doing the best we can,” pointed out Juliet, a feylike redhead who had more years as a vampire under her belt than I had years of life. “Reporters followed Lindsey around last week,” she said, pointing at another guard. Lindsey was blond, sassy, and, thankfully, in my corner.

“Yes,” Luc said, lifting a copy of the Chicago World Weekly from the conference table, “we have evidence of that.” He turned it so we could all get a glimpse of Lindsey, who’d been honored with a full-page photograph on the cover. She was decked out in her traditional blond ponytail, as well as a pair of designer jeans, stiletto heels, and oversized sunglasses, her body in motion as she smiled at someone off camera. I happened to know that the individual she’d been smiling at was, like me, one of Cadogan’s newest vampires. Lindsey, much to Luc’s dismay, had started seeing Connor just after the ceremony initiating us both into the House.