Biting Bad

NOTABLE NOSTALGIA



Eventually, the boys' and girls' clubs came back together, meeting in the dining room at an enormous table (also new) for a meal of roast beast (undetermined origin), mashed root vegetable (undetermined origin), and other assorted dishes. The children were seated at a smaller table in the next room. While we dined on fine china, they got plastic plates decorated with robots and were probably discussing the latest toys and electronic gadgets. I guessed I could have pretty happily integrated into that conversation.



What did not make me happy was the mild buzz of irritated magic that flowed from Ethan as he came back into the room, my father and brother in tow.



I grabbed two glasses of wine from the buffet - my mother hadn't stocked Blood4You - and took one to Ethan.



"Are you all right?" I quietly asked.



He took the glass but didn't drink from it.



"Business was discussed," he said without elaboration. He sounded, frankly, a bit mystified.



"Do we need to step out and discuss anything?"



"No need," he said, squeezing my hand and, when he realized I still wasn't satisfied, glancing down at me.



"All is well, Sentinel. Your father made a business proposal of a kind. It was . . . unexpected."



I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that my father had cornered Ethan and made a business play. I shouldn't have been surprised that we'd probably been called to the house on this February night just for that purpose, because I'd once agreed to talk to my brother about family business, and my father was collecting on the debt.



"Never mind," Ethan said, taking a sip of his wine. "How about you? How was girls' time?"



"It was odd. Unusually drama free."



He chuckled. "What had you expected? Hair pulling?"



I shrugged. "I've always been the odd one out. I just figured the transition would be harder than it is."



"The transition to society dame?"



That narrowed my eyes. "I am not a society dame."



"All right," my mother said, interrupting the parrying. "I think we're ready for dinner!"



Right on cue, women and men in black pants and crisp white button-downs emerged from the kitchen. That explained the food; she'd hired caterers. They took up positions behind the buffet and drink station, tools in hand, ready to meet our every culinary whim.



I wasn't sure I would ever understand my parents. But I understood dinner, so I let the caterers place food on my plate and sat down at the table beside Ethan, the tension between him and my father nearly palpable when everyone took seats.



"A toast," Robert said, holding his glass aloft. "To a family united, to our health and well-being, to our prosperity and happiness."



We said, "Cheers," and clinked together our very expensive glassware, and then began our meal.



The conversation was typical. My father and brother argued about politics and money, and my mother and sister discussed neighborhood gossip. Each set tried to draw me into the conversation, but I generally preferred to watch and listen. That was probably what made me a good research and graduate student: I was fascinated enough by other people and their drama that people watching kept me pretty entertained.



The family had better luck engaging Ethan. He wasn't shy with his opinions, and although he was respectful, he was a man secure in his skin and in the world. He didn't bother with waffling or sycophancy, not when there was honesty to be had.



So this is a family meal, he said after a while.



I speared a bit of asparagus with my fork. Indeed. Welcome to the Merit home.



They're very formal, aren't they?



They like to be fancy, I agreed. It's part of my father's plan to distance himself from his upbringing. That upbringing being his lot as the son of a cop. Fancy is as fancy does.



My sister caught my light smile and gave me a sly one. "What's so funny over there?"



"Nothing," I said. "Just enjoying my asparagus."



"Mm-hmm," she said, but clearly didn't buy it.



"Hush, Charlotte," my mother said. "They're in love. Let them have their moment."



Wearing my expensive heels and my designer dress, and sitting next to the most handsome man I'd ever seen, I stuck my tongue out at my sister.



"Enjoy the thrill of young love," my father said, as if suddenly an expert on emotional fulfillment. "Youth is fleeting. Well, perhaps not in your case."



My sister raised her glass. "Here's to never needing, shall we say, facial enhancement procedures."



"Amen to that," my mother said, flicking a delicate gaze to Ethan. "If it's not impolite, may I ask how old you are?"



"It isn't," he said, "and you may. I'm three hundred and ninety-four years old. Oh, and approximately three-quarters."



The table went silent.



"That such a thing could even be possible . . . ," my mother mused.



"The things you must have seen - experienced," Elizabeth said, eyes shining with curiosity. "World wars. New technologies. The advent of modern medicine. It's staggering."



"I have been lucky to sample much that is laudable among humans," he said. He reached out and put a hand on mine. "And to find a prize awaiting me at the end of four centuries."



I might have sighed, but for the glint in his eye that told me Ethan was playing his crowd, and with success. My mother, sister, and even pragmatic sister-in-law got dreamy expressions at the sentiment.



Kiss-ass, I mentally accused.



How dare you think the sentiment is anything less than genuine?



The sentiment was intended to woo my family. So much for thinking him not sycophantic.



Ah, Sentinel. So suspicious. He picked up my hand and pressed it to his lips in full sight of the rest of the table, leading to even more sighs and puppy dog expressions.



For a pretentious Master vampire, Darth Sullivan was pretty dreamy.



-



An hour later, we finished the evening in the sitting room, a warm and pliable Olivia asleep in my arms.



"It's amazing how limp she goes, isn't it?" Charlotte remarked.



"It really is," I said, wincing a little as I tried to gently shift my arms, which were stiffening from the sack of potatoes in my lap. And a beautiful sack of potatoes at that.



Olivia was as pretty as her parents; she'd leave any number of broken hearts in her wake. Teenage boys who dreamed of her from afar; frat boys too cool to approach her.



Not that her appearance would define her. She was the granddaughter of one of the most powerful men in Chicago, the daughter of a heart surgeon and a philanthropist. Ivy League schools would vie for her attention. That would be a pretty fun battle to watch.



But as I smiled down at her, I couldn't help but feel saddened by my own limitations. Vampires couldn't have children. I wouldn't be a mother, and Ethan wouldn't be a father. And despite Gabriel's once-upon-a-time prediction, it wasn't possible that a child with eyes as green as Ethan's could be in our future.



Suddenly struck by melancholy, I felt my eyes fill with tears, and I stared down at Olivia until I was sure I'd blinked them back, and they wouldn't spill across my face like etchings of grief.



After a moment, I glanced up at Ethan and found sadness in his eyes. We hadn't spoken, but he'd watched me hold a sleeping child - and mourn for a future we couldn't have.



Olivia woke, her eyes suddenly wide and staring up at a person who wasn't her mother. She began to cry, and Charlotte rose and lifted her from my arms, leaving behind wrinkled silk and a bit of sadness.



"Stranger danger," Elizabeth said.



"No kidding," Charlotte said, hoisting Olivia onto her hip. She wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and plunked her head down, her eyes drifting shut almost immediately.



"I think that's our cue to get home," she said.



"We should probably be going as well," Ethan said. "We've some matters at the House to attend to."



My mother nodded and rose. "I'll get your coats."



My father stood and reached out to shake Ethan's hand again. "Nice seeing you again. And do remember our conversation."



Ethan nodded tightly and escorted me back to the door, where my mother had readied our outerwear. We slipped on our coats, and I pulled on my galoshes. The mood was suddenly somber, having shifted from awe of vampire longevity to sadness about our other physical shortcomings.



"It's lovely seeing you so happy," my mother said, embracing me, apparently oblivious to the change in mood.



"Thanks, Mom. You, too."



We exchanged hugs and promises to do dinner again soon, then Ethan and I walked down the sidewalk, our hands linked together.



I picked carefully across the ice to the car's passenger side and climbed in. Ethan started the Ferrari with a tantalizing purr, and his phone began to ring almost immediately.



"It's Luc," he said, then put the phone on speaker.



"Ethan and Merit," he answered.



"You're on speakerphone in the Ops Room."



Luc's voice was tight, which put my nerves on edge. He wouldn't have called unless it was important, but Luc's brand of important was rarely good news.



"What's wrong?" Ethan asked.



"The CPD is done with Robin Pope. They've released her."



"Released her?" I repeated, panic rising in my voice. "Why?"



"Because she's alibied for both riots," Jonah said. "She wasn't at either."



"But her complaint against Bryant Industries?" I asked. "Her relationship with the Grey House vamp? Those couldn't have been coincidence."



"They were," Luc said. "She hasn't so much as sent an e-mail to anybody arrested in the riots, surfed a Web page, anything. I realize it's not much of an update, but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible."



"Thank you, Luc. We'll be back to the House shortly."



Ethan hung up the phone and glanced at me. "Ideas?"



"Not a single damn one. I was certain she was involved, and now we're back at square one."



"We will deal with this just as we've dealt with everything else. The solution is there, waiting for us to find it."



I nodded. "We have to go back to the start. Visit Bryant Industries and see if there's anything to be learned. See what we missed."



"We spend enough money on their products that they could probably afford to give us a factory tour."



"It's late," I said. "Will they still be around? At least without a riot to attend to?"



Ethan nodded. "Bryant Industries works with us, so Charla tends to keep vampire hours. I'll send her a message and see if it can be arranged."



He did so, then updated Luc and pulled into the road and then into traffic. When we'd gotten some distance from my parents' house, I voiced the question I'd been pondering since Ethan had emerged from my father's study.



"Out of curiosity, what did you and my father talk about?"



For a moment, Ethan didn't answer, and I wasn't sure if he'd heard me.



"Your father wants to become an investor in Cadogan House."



"He what?" I boggled at the request. I presumed my father had wanted to discuss Ethan's putting in a good word about Merit Properties with other Houses. This was in an entirely different orbit.



"He has money and connections. He wants to offer us a rather considerable amount of money to join the House's board of directors."



I frowned. "We don't have a board of directors."



"No, we do not. Which is one of the smaller of many, many problems with his proposal."



"He wants to pay us to let him control the House?"



Ethan nodded. "Your father has demonstrated very questionable decision making in the past. Which means that power might be used in questionable ways."



I nodded. "We'd be trading one GP for another."



"I'm glad to hear you think so." There was relief in his voice that I didn't find flattering.



"You can't think I'd have supported the idea? Giving my father the key to your kingdom?"



"Your father is a powerful man, and with power comes protection. I wasn't afraid you'd support the idea, but I wondered if you'd find it attractive."



"I find peace and serenity attractive. Bringing my father into our House is not the way to accomplish either of those. No," I concluded. "There's no way."



I looked out the window, wondering how things had gone so sideways.



-



Charla Bryant agreed happily to another meeting; Ethan was one of her customers, after all. The police tape was gone, the debris had been cleaned away from the lawn, and new wooden studs and plastic sheeting were in place. Charla was definitely a woman of action.



We stood in front of the building for a moment and scanned the scene.



"The damage looks mostly superficial," Ethan said.



"I think it was. The fire didn't go very deep into the building, but they spread across the front."



Ethan nodded. "Let's go see what kind of trouble we can get into."



"Actually, Luc would prefer you not get into any trouble."



Ethan smirked. "Then you shouldn't have let me out of the House, Sentinel."



I guess I couldn't argue with that. But I could keep an eye on him, so I followed him to the make-do front door, now guarded by a beefy man in a security guard's uniform.



He looked at us suspiciously when we approached. "Can I help you?"



"I'm Ethan, and this is Merit. We're here to talk to Ms. Bryant."



The guard smiled, his grin wide, toothy, and completely disarming, and nodded at Ethan. "I know who you are, Mr. Sullivan. I'm a Rogue myself, but I'm acquainted with your House and your tribulations with the GP. I hope you come out on top."



Ethan offered him a hand. "We just hope to come out of it," he said, "but I appreciate the thought."



The guard lifted the plastic and we walked inside, where the coppery tang of blood filled the air.



At least I'd actually eaten this time.



A woman with short brown hair peeked in from a door that led farther into the building. "Can I help you?"



"We're here to see Charla Bryant."



"I'll just notify her," she said brightly, then disappeared again.



Ethan, apparently not content to stand by and wait, walked to the end of the hallway, which ended in a large window.



"Come here," he said over his shoulder, and I joined him.



The window looked in on the bottling room. There were giant vats and long conveyors of bottles being washed, filled, capped, and cleaned. Everything was automated, and the entire line moved so fast my brain could barely keep up.



"Very cool," I said.



"And very crucial," said a voice behind us.



We turned to find Charla in the hallway in a fitted navy sheath dress and kitten heels. Her hair was tucked behind a couple of thin navy headbands. She looked like the perfect businesswoman - whether or not that business was supernaturally related.



"We supply the vampires of Chicago and much of the upper Midwest. We're one of the largest facilities in the country." She smiled at us and stepped forward. "Ethan," she said, extending a hand, "it's lovely to finally meet you in person."



"Charla, a pleasure. And I understand you've met Merit."



Charla nodded, then clasped her hands in front of her. "It looks like you've had an evening out. Except for the galoshes, perhaps."



"We've tried," Ethan said. "Per my note, we're here about the riots. We'd believed Robin Pope might have played a role in selecting Bryant Industries as her first target. But it appears she's unconnected to the crime."



"I see," Charla said, frowning. "So you're looking for another cause?"



"We're trying to identify the source of the riots so we can stop them from happening again," Ethan said.



Charla smiled, just a little. "Like the Supernatural Justice League?"



"Something like that," he said. "I don't suppose you've thought of any other reason you might have been targeted?"



"Honestly, I've been racking my brain. I wasn't convinced Robin had the capacity to organize people - she just doesn't think anyone is as intelligent as she is - but she is a very angry person. So from that perspective, the theory fit. But I cannot think of any other reason people would be upset with us, other than because we're associated with vampires, of course. No grudges, no family disputes."



My gaze kept flicking back to the production line, the blur of bottles streaming by.



"This is pretty amazing to watch," I said. "And it's so clean. Not that I expected it to be dirty, but when you're bottling a liquid, you expect spills. That room looks spotless."



"Oh, it is," Charla said. "We had a city inspection last week, so we've been extra careful about pretty much every detail around here, including security."



Ethan looked suddenly interested. "A city inspection?"



Charla nodded. "Department of Public Health. They inspect our facility as part of our arrangement with the city. They've known who we are and what we do for a very long time. They had to - it was the only way we could get operational permits." She frowned. "Although, come to think of it, this inspection was a little less than routine."



"How so?" Ethan asked.



"Normally, our inspections are scheduled a month in advance. We might have an unscheduled drop-in, of course, but the top-to-bottom reviews are planned. This last time, they gave us two days."



Ethan and I exchanged a glance.



"You said the inspection was a week ago," I said. "Just a few days before the riot?"



"I hadn't thought of that," Charla said. "But now that you mention it, yes. They did. Do you think that matters?"



"It's difficult to tell," Ethan said. "Perhaps it's coincidence."



Or perhaps, I thought, someone wanted inside the facility.



"Did anything weird occur during the inspection? Did they take anything, or look at anything they don't usually inspect?"



"I actually wasn't here that day," Charla said sheepishly. "I take a spa day twice a year, and I'd had it scheduled for months, so when they called about the inspection, I let my brother handle it."



I smiled politely. "Completely understandable."



She nodded but clearly wasn't convinced she'd done the right thing. "No one reported anything odd to me afterward, and the inspection report was fine. Do you suspect foul play?"



"We suspect the timing," Ethan said, gesturing toward the front door. "You might want to check with your brother, ask if anything unusual occurred he might not have thought to mention."



"I appreciate the suggestion," Charla said, her expression changing to the same all-business mode I'd seen in Ethan's. She wasn't a vampire, but she was a leader of humans, and a protector of her particular house.



"Also, you'd mentioned your brother might have security videos he could share?"



Charla pointed at me and pulled a phone from an invisible pocket at her hip. "Thank you for the reminder. I'll send him a note right now." She paused for a moment, looking at the phone, which then beeped in acknowledgment.



"Got it," she said. "He promises to send them tonight." She put the phone away and smiled at us. "I love my brother, but he's not quite as . . . organized as I am, if you catch my drift."



"We do," Ethan said. "And we thank you again." He put a hand at my back. "We'll get out of your hair so you can get back to work. Thank you for your time."



"You're very welcome. Thank you for paying attention." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I know I shouldn't say this, but we talk, you know. The distributors. Most of us are human, but we like to keep an eye out, and not just because you're clients. It's a tough time to be a vampire in Chicago, especially when thugs like McKetrick are about. And we know about the GP, about how you stepped forward when others didn't. Being the leader can be a thankless job," she said. "It often just makes you a bigger target. But we see. We notice."



Ethan took her hand in his and patted it collegially. "Thank you, Charla. I appreciate that very much."



We said our good-byes to Charla and the guard, and walked back across crunchy sidewalks to the car.



"A last-minute city inspection?" I wondered aloud.



"It could be related," Ethan said. "But don't get too excited. We don't have any evidence yet."



"Okay," I said. "But I will say this. If the city administration knew this place was a bottling facility for vampires, there's a good chance McKetrick did as well."



After my Robin Pope disappointment, I was hedging my bets. But smoke usually meant fire.



"Perhaps," Ethan agreed. "Perhaps we can tie him to these riots, and this will be the thing that brings him down. Your task, Sentinel? Find me some evidence."



-



Security was tight - and rather bored-looking - when we returned to the House. Luc generally considered bored security to be ineffective security, but I'd take bored over "overwhelmed by marauders" any day.



Ethan went to his office to get back to business. I didn't bother changing clothes but went directly to the Ops Room.



I found Jonah and Luc at the conference table, mulling over materials. The temps were at the computers, but the rest of the guards were gone, probably on patrol.



Luc and Jonah looked up when I entered.



"Sentinel," Luc said. "What's the good word? How's the family?"



"It varies by person," I said, taking a seat at the table. "The children are adorable. The adults grow more ornery with age. . . . It does not appear the rioters have shown up."



"Not even a hint of a drive-by or look-see," Jonah said. "But there are hours to go before sunrise."



"That's actually something that's been bothering me," Luc said.



"What's that?" Jonah asked.



"The riots have only been occurring at night, when we're awake. But why? If you want to damage vampires, hurt vampires, why not riot during the day when we're unconscious? Talk about maximizing damage . . ."



That point echoed many others I'd heard over the last few days. If the rioters really meant to get media attention and do damage, they'd done a pretty bad job of it.



"I've been thinking the same thing," I said. Counting on my fingers, I offered my concerns: "They don't hit the most obvious House. They don't hit us during the day. They don't hit us as hard as they probably could, and they don't even show up to protest afterward. All that buildup, and for what?"



"Maybe they just aren't very good rioters," Luc said.



"Maybe," I said. "But I can't help thinking there's something else afoot here, and we're only seeing the symptom, not the real illness."



"Like what?"



"I don't know," I said, deflated. "I miss having a suspect."



"Indeed," Luc said. "Robin Pope, we hardly knew ye. And while we did, we thought you were a crazy weirdo." He shook his head in faux grief. "What did you learn from Bryant Industries?"



"We talked to Charla. No new information about possible threats per se, but she did pass along a very interesting tidbit."



I waited for a moment before the big reveal, giving everyone a chance to lean forward in anticipation. But no one did.



"Seriously? What's a girl gotta do to build a little tension around here?"



"Firebombs," Luc and Jonah simultaneously said, then congratulated their single-mindedness with a fist bump.



"The Chicago Department of Public Health scheduled a last-minute inspection at the facility."



Still, no reaction.



"Really? Nothing?"



"Their facility was firebombed," Jonah said. "Probably they just want to look things over, make sure the product isn't tainted."



"The last-minute inspection was before the riot," I clarified.



Finally, there was a pique of interest in their eyes.



"Before the riot?" Jonah asked.



I nodded. "The city of Chicago has taken an oddly timed interest in a vampire-service facility. Maybe the riot occurred at Bryant because they didn't get something they wanted at the inspection."



"Like what?" Luc asked. "If they wanted blood, they could buy it."



He was right. Anti-vamp sentiment or not, humans were more than happy to stock Blood4You in their stores. I guess profit trumped conviction for the store owners who didn't really like vampires.



"Maybe it wasn't blood," I said.



"Then what?" Jonah asked. "What else do you want at a Blood4You facility?"



"I don't know," I admitted. "But consider this - if Robin Pope isn't the one organizing the riots, maybe someone else from the city administration is. Maybe McKetrick is."



"You've got evidence of that?"



"Why does everyone keep harping on 'evidence'?" I whined. "And no, I don't have any. But we've got a vamp hater in a new position of power, and a sudden interest in a facility that's been providing blood to vampires for decades. The rioters hit Bryant Industries first; they must have had a reason for it. Why else that place? Why else now?"



"I'm not saying you're wrong, Sentinel," Luc said. "But you don't have anything yet to confirm you're right."



"I'll find something."



Luc checked his watch. "You'd better find it quick. You've got a turn on patrol coming up, and that dress isn't going to cut it. Go upstairs and get dressed. I'll call Jeff and Catcher, see if your grandfather has any connections at the health department."



"What time is Saul arriving?" Jonah asked.



Somehow, I'd forgotten it was pizza night at Cadogan House, the food thoughtfully delivered during vampires' prime eating hours. Not that I needed any more food. Dinner at the Merit house had been plentiful.



"Half hour or so," Luc said.



"In that case, I'll walk Merit upstairs," Jonah said. "All this discussion of blood is making me thirsty. I want to grab some before the pizza arrives."



Probably not a bad idea for me, too, since I hadn't had any yet today. And other than the few minutes at Bryant Industries, I hadn't even had a craving for it. The emergency drink Ethan had given me last night must have satisfied the lust.



When Jonah and I were alone in the hallway, I broached the topic I hadn't had time to discuss with my RG partner.



"So, I met Aubrey," I said.



"Yeah? She's great. Relatively new to the House. Not compared to you, of course, but new compared to the rest of us. She was one of the first women sworn in as a special agent in the FBI."



"Neat," I said. That was actually pretty awesome, but I was on a mission here. "The thing is, she seemed to think I'd somehow wronged you."



"Wronged me?"



"Regarding our relationship. Or the relationship that should have been?"



Jonah stopped in the middle of the hallway and blinked . . . like a vampire in headlights. "Oh?"



I screwed up my face. "So, did you tell all your guards that I broke your heart? 'Cause I gotta say, that's kind of awkward."



"No," he said loudly. "No," he repeated, a little softer this time, his stance growing more awkward. "I didn't say that at all."



"We don't need to get into the details; it's just - they clearly have some strong opinions about me, and if we have to work together . . ."



Jonah grimaced. "Aubrey is . . . protective."



"So I noticed."



"In all seriousness, I mentioned you, but also that you weren't interested, and there weren't any hard feelings. Maybe she took my disappointment as, you know, a pretty severe heartbreak. But it wasn't. I swear it." He shrugged charmingly. "Just ordinary heartbreak."



I believed him, especially about Aubrey being the protective type. She was a guard, after all. It was her job to protect her House, including her captain of the guards from all enemies. Living or dead, as the oath went.



"See? This is why work and romance don't mix."



"We're the only RG partners who aren't dating each other."



"And this is why," he said. "See the drama it causes? You just can't win."



"There's drama because we're vampires," I pointed out as we rounded the stairs to the first floor. "Or because we used to be human, or more likely both."



"You mean your life hasn't been simplified now that you're fanged?"



"Ha," I said mirthlessly. "You're hilarious."



We stopped at the first floor. He was headed to the kitchen; I was headed upstairs to find clothes.



"Do you really think McKetrick is involved in this?" he asked.



"I don't know. But I know I really, really don't like having two nights of riots with no suspect at all. He's got the motive. He's got the opportunity. We just have nothing tying him to the crime."



"You have an anti-vampire motive," Jonah said.



"That's true," I said. "So we're thinking, what, that McKetrick tipped someone off about the building, maybe seeded a little anti-vamp rhetoric, and let the chips fall where they may?"



"It's within his MO," Jonah said. "On the other hand, the theory's got an inconsistency. Why half-assed riots? If McKetrick wants us out of town, he's already shown that he's willing to commit murder."



"True," I said, putting a hand on the banister and tapping my fingers on the finial. "And, McKetrick's allegedly got a facility, and we know he's got weapon development capabilities. Molotov cocktails aren't exactly professional."



"Nor were the rioters," Jonah said.



He had a point. The rioters hadn't looked like soldiers - too much facial hair and not enough muscle mass. More like hipsters than soldiers of fortune.



"Since this isn't going to resolve itself in the next five minutes," I said, "I guess I should get upstairs and change."



"Hey, for what it's worth, you do look pretty good in that dress." He winked at me. "You clean up good, Merit. Ethan's a lucky man."



Jonah gave me a nod, then walked down the hallway to the kitchen, auburn hair bouncing on his shoulders.



Luck and dresses were going to be irrelevant if we didn't stop these riots soon.