Хлоя Нейл: Friday Night Bites

“This isn’t exactly the approved Cadogan uniform,” Luc pointed out.

“But those jeans are sweet,” I whispered.

“I know, right?” She grinned back at me. “Seriously on sale.”

“Seeing your tiny ass on the cover of the Weekly isn’t the way to my heart, Blondie,” Luc said.

“Then my plan worked.”

Luc growled, his patience obviously thinning. “Is this truly the best you can do for your House?”

Lindsey’s chronic irritation with Luc was equaled only by what I imagined was her deep-seated passion for him, although you wouldn’t know it from the menace in her glare. She popped up her index finger and began counting.

“First of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Second of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Third, I didn’t ask to be photographed.” She raised brows at Luc. “Are we getting the point here? I mean, really. That not-showing-up-in-photographs deal is a total myth.”

Luc muttered something about insubordination and ran a hand through his hair. “Folks, we’re at a crossroads here. We’ve been outed, we’ve been investigated by Congress, and now we’ve got the paparazzi breathing down our necks. We’ve also learned that in a few weeks’ time, the head of the North American Central, Gabriel Keene himself, will be visiting our fine city.”

“Keene’s coming here?” Peter asked. “To Chicago?” Peter leaned forward, elbows on the conference table. Peter was tall, brown-haired, and thin, and looked to be thirty. He also had the just-so clothing and serene attitude of a man who’d seen a lot of money in his lifetime (human or otherwise).

“To Chicago,” Luc confirmed. “Humans may not know shapeshifters exist, but we do, unfortunately for everyone.”

There were a couple of snickers among the guards. Vampires and shifters weren’t exactly friendly, and those tensions were increasing—I’d heard Gabriel was coming to town to scope out the city as a future conference site for his shifters. News related to that visit, and the possibility that shifters would assemble en masse in Chicago, had made the dailies—daily news updates for the Cadogan guards—more than once.

“Look, let’s not be naïve and pretend this celebrity deal is going to last forever, all right? Humans, and no offense to you, Sentinel, since you’re the recently fanged, are a fickle bunch. We’ve seen what happens when they get pissy about us.”

Luc meant the Clearings, the vampire version of witch hunts. There’d been two in Europe, the First in Germany in 1611, and the Second in France in 1789. Thousands of vampires, a big chunk of our European population, were lost between the two—staked, burned, gutted and left to die. Shifters had known about the Second Clearing but hadn’t stepped in; thus the animosity between the tribes.

“And here’s the punch line,” Luc said. “We’ve learned that the Weekly is planning a multipart, in-depth exposé on underground vamp activities.”

“Underground?” Kelley asked. “What do we do that’s so underground?”

“That’s exactly what I’m about to find out,” Luc said, pointing up at the ceiling. “I’m meeting your Master and mine in a matter of minutes. But until I’ve had a chance to liaise with the big man on campus, let me remind you of some things you apparently need reminding of.

“We are here,” Luc continued, “to make our Master happy, not to increase the weight on his shoulders. Henceforth, because you were apparently not doing so in the first place, you will consider yourselves representatives of Cadogan House within the human world. You will conduct yourself accordingly, as befitting Cadogan vampires.” He narrowed his gaze in Lindsey’s direction. “And if that means no carousing into the early-morning hours with newbie vamps, so be it.”

She gave him a look that was both evil and pouty, but managed not to comment.

Apparently believing that he’d made his point to her, he returned his gaze to the rest of us. “Any action that you take out there, outside the House, reflects on all of us, especially now that our asses are, apparently, news. That means you may be called upon to discuss House or vampire matters.”

He opened a folder in front of him, slid out a sheaf of papers, then passed the stack to Lindsey, who sat closest to him. She took one, then passed the remainder along.

“ ‘Talking Points’?” Kelley asked, repeating the title that spanned the top of the document. Kelley had a kind of exotic beauty—pale skin, coal black hair, slightly uptilted eyes. Eyes that looked decidedly unimpressed with the paper she held gingerly between the tips of her fingers.

“Talking points,” Luc said with a nod. “These are answers you are authorized—and when I say ‘authorized,’ I mean ‘required’—to give if a reporter tries to engage you in a politically sensitive dialogue. Read this, memorize this, and verbalize appropriately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we answered, a chorus of obedience.

Luc didn’t bother with a response, but stood up and began shuffling the rest of the materials that were spread on the table before him. Taking the hint—meeting adjourned—we pushed back our chairs. I rose, folded the talking points sheet, and was preparing to head out when Luc called my name.

He stood, moved to the door, and beckoned me to follow with two crooked fingers.

Damn. I knew what was coming, and twice in one day, too.

“Sentinel, you’re with me,” he said, and I blew out a slow breath, the beginning of my mental preparation for interacting with the world’s most stubborn vampire.

“Sir,” I said, stuffing the talking points into a pocket of my suit and straightening the katana belted at my waist. Lindsey gave me a sympathetic smile, which I accepted with a nod, then followed him. We took the stairs back to the first floor, headed down the hallway to Ethan’s office, and found the door shut. Luc, without preliminaries, opened it. I tugged at the bottom of my black suit jacket, and followed him in.

Ethan was on the phone. He nodded at Luc, then me, and raised his index finger as if to signal the call wouldn’t take long.

“Of course,” he said. “I understand completely.” He pointed at the two chairs in front of his desk. Obediently, Luc took the one on the right. I took the one on the left.

“Yes, sire,” he said. “The information is before me as we speak.” As Master of Cadogan House, Ethan got the honorific “liege,” but “sire” was a mystery. I looked at Luc.

He leaned toward me. “Darius,” he whispered, and I nodded my understanding. That would be Darius West, head of the Greenwich Presidium.

“We’ve considered that,” Ethan said, nodding his head and scribbling something on a tablet on his desk, “but you know the risks. Personally, I advise against it.” There was more nodding, then Ethan’s shoulders stiffened and he looked up.

And looked directly at me.

“Yes,” Ethan said, hauntingly green eyes on mine, “we can certainly explore that route.”

I swallowed reflexively, not comforted by the possibility that I was a “route” to “explore.”

“Whatever this is,” Luc said, leaning over again, “you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m really not going to like it,” I quietly agreed. There were a few more minutes of nodding and validating before Ethan said his goodbyes. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and then looked at us, a tiny line between his eyes. I’d seen that tiny line before. Generally, it wasn’t a good sign.

“The Chicago World Weekly ,” he began, “with its apparent interest in vampire activities, will be investigating the raves. They’ll publish a three-part series, one story per week, beginning next Friday.”