Biting Bad

VAMPIRES, ASSEMBLE!



We descended into the low - and thankfully empty - ditch that bordered the road, and we walked toward the building. We stopped when we were a football field away. From this distance, it looked utterly innocuous. It was an unremarkable building in an unremarkable part of the city, remarkable tonight only because it had become a bastion of hatred.



When we reached the parking lot, we separated into our groups and ran full out, dodging lampposts and ruts in the concrete. We separated from the sorcerer/shifter crew, running toward the back of the building.



"Luc, you and Lindsey take the door on the west," Ethan said. "We'll take the east. Don't let anyone out of the building."



"On it," Luc said. He kissed Lindsey, her eyes darting with surprise, and they ran low across the back of the building to the other side.



Ethan looked at me and Jonah. "You ready?"



We both nodded.



"Then let's go."



We moved around to the door, which was rusted and a couple of steps above the ground. We lined up against the wall, Jonah on one side, me and Ethan on the other.



Jonah moved closer, pressing an ear to the door, listening for anything on the other side of the wall. After a moment, he shook his head, then pulled two dangerous-looking knives from his jacket. Ethan and I drew our swords.



Ethan signaled us to move . . . and the battle began.



Jonah kicked open the door, and we rounded it, swords drawn.



The door led into an enormous open space dotted by processing equipment just like we'd seen at Bryant Industries - an assembly line of gleaming silver tanks and conveyor belts, currently still but clearly ready for action.



Yelling sounded from various points around the room. The people he'd employed to guard or work at his facility had seen us. They rushed forward, wearing Clean Chicago T-shirts.



"Something's wrong," Jonah said.



He meant with the attackers. They looked like mostly humans, but their eyes were nearly white, as if they'd lost all pigment, and their features were oddly stretched, as if someone had attempted to sculpt a human from clay and hadn't quite gotten the features right.



For a moment, we stared at them.



"I presume they've been given the serum," Ethan murmured, gripping his sword and preparing to strike.



"We'll find out," Jonah said.



They screamed at us, rushing forward, the attack begun. Ethan, Jonah, and I separated, driving them apart.



Three came toward me, waving arms and legs but with no obvious weapons in hand. McKetrick wanted to build them, but maybe he hadn't believed in them enough to give them weaponry.



I dropped my sword to the ground, thinking it only fair that we fought on the same terms. The first one to make a move ran toward me, hand already fisted for a punch. I grabbed his wrist, twisted, and sent him to the ground, then used an elbow at his neck to knock him unconscious.



The next one launched, airborne and ready for a fight. I ducked to the ground, letting him sail above me and land behind. I swung around, offering him a kick to the ribs that sent him skidding across the room. He landed flat on his back.



I looked back at the third and smiled, just a little. "Ready?"



She bared her teeth and came running. I expected a strike, but she pummeled me like a linebacker, knocking me to the ground. She pulled my hair, and screamed into my ear - "Vampire whore!" - before clamping her hands around my neck.



Suddenly, I couldn't get oxygen, which made me panic.



I kicked beneath her, trying to roll and dislodge her away, but I couldn't get enough oxygen to make my limbs move.



I punched her in the stomach, then the ribs, but she ignored the pain. Was she human, but with the strength of a vampire? That, I thought, as my vision began to dim at the edges, was disturbing.



And then her weight was bodily lifted from me, and she was thrown across the room.



Before I could crawl to my feet, I was hauled upright and saw green eyes staring back at me.



I huffed for air and put a hand around my neck, feeling for the bruise I imagined had already popped up.



I saw the worry in Ethan's eyes, but his sarcasm masked it. This was a battle, after all. "Let's try to stay on our feet, shall we, Sentinel?"



I nodded weakly and got to my feet again. "Doing my best, Liege."



I glanced around, ensuring Jonah was all right. He pushed the hair from his eyes and seemed healthy; the floor was littered with minions we'd dealt with handily. But where, I wondered, was the main course?



A boom sounded in the other section of the warehouse.



"That's the sorcerers," Ethan said. "Let's go!"



I grabbed my sword. Ethan in front, me behind, we ran through the door and into an even larger space. This one held stacks and stacks of boxes. They contained syringes, if the box closest to me was any indication, and a lot of them.



A wall of blue smoke had divided the space in two. The smoke shifted, and Mallory, Catcher, and Jeff ran toward us through the smoke.



"They're behind us," they said, and we backed up.



"Make a line," Ethan said, and we did.



And when the smoke cleared, we could see the enemy. The protohumans, with their milky white eyes, had assembled into a line, probably forty strong. We stood against them, our cadre of supernaturals.



They'd corralled us together.



Jeff whistled. "He's built his own army."



"The only kind he could stomach," Jonah said. "Vampires who aren't vampires any longer."



Jeff blew out a nervous breath. "At the risk of playing Anti - Little Mary Sunshine here, there are a lot of them over there."



Nervously, I adjusted my fingers on the sword. "Remind me why you didn't appoint me House librarian?" I asked Ethan.



"Because, Sentinel, you're so very good with a sword."



McKetrick emerged from the shadows in black fatigues, his face scarred and one eye milky white.



I didn't wait for him to speak first. "What have you done to them?"



"Has it ever occurred to you that not everyone chooses to be a vampire? That some, after becoming vampires, realize they have become monsters, and they want to go back?"



"We aren't monsters," Jonah said. "And they don't look entirely human."



"The catalyst is a work in progress," McKetrick said. "All science requires experimentation, mistakes. They were willing to sacrifice for the coming revolution."



"The coming revolution?" Ethan asked.



"When humans finally tire of your antics. Your demands. Your insistence that you be treated like everyone else, when we all know exactly what you are. Genetic rejects."



"Is that what you told Brooklyn?" Jonah asked. "Did you convince her she was a genetic reject?"



"Brooklyn wanted to live a mortal life. I respected her wish and provided her with a solution."



"Your solution poisoned her," Jonah said. "She's in a hospital bed right now, a sacrifice to your 'progress.'"



McKetrick didn't look moved.



"All this because of Turkey?" I asked.



His expression steeled. "Because of Turkey? That's how you refer to the sacrifices made by men who served this country, who were some of its finest warriors? You freaks killed them, and you know what I got? A citation for letting you get away. For not bringing vampires back so you could be studied and used as weapons." He slapped a hand to his chest. "My brothers were killed because of your greed, your insatiable appetites."



"We are sorry for your loss," I said, "but we weren't there. I wasn't even a vampire when that happened. How can you blame us for something we weren't even involved in?"



"I blame you," he gritted out, "because you carry the disease. And this city will not be safe from your appetites, your treachery, until you've been swept from it, wholly and completely."



McKetrick pulled a long-bladed knife from the utility belt on his pants and tossed the knife from hand to hand.



His army moved closer toward us, the circle growing tighter.



My stomach knotted with nerves, already taut from the spill of nervous magic that permeated the room.



"Catcher?" Ethan prompted.



"We're out of mojo at the moment," he said. "Currently refueling." Sorcerers had a limited amount of magical draw at any one time.



"Then I think we do this the old-fashioned way," Ethan said. "Novitiates?"



"Ready," we said together.



"Jeff, you want to get busy?" I asked.



"Done and done," Jeff said, and a blinding flash of light shot across the space, as human man turned into gigantic, stalking white tiger.



It was just the distraction we needed.



"Go!" Ethan said, and like the soldiers in a centuries-old battle, we rushed toward each other, weapons raised.



Ethan ran toward McKetrick. I took the minion closest to me. Creatively, he dodged immediately for my feet. Unfortunately for him, I brought the butt of my sword down onto his head, sending him flat to the floor.



Two former vampires, both in snug T-shirts and stylish sheepskin boots, came at me from either side, both with box cutters in hand. There was something pitiful about the weaponry, not just because McKetrick hadn't trusted them enough, but because he also clearly hadn't cared enough to make them anything other than expendable.



"You don't have to fight us, you know," I said, dodging one strike and sending my sword wheeling around to try to catch the other girl off-kilter.



"You're the enemy," she said, dodging the strike and kicking me in the ribs. "You think I wanted to be a monster? My family kicked me out. I got fired. You think this is any way to live? Crawling around in the dark like a snake?"



"You have immortality," I reminded her, as the other girl tried to box my ears. I got her in the stomach with the butt of the sword, a classic move, and offered the mouthy one a spinning crescent kick. She moved backward but stumbled over a box and hit the ground, skittering away. . . . Unfortunately, she skittered right into the face of a Siberian tiger, who dared her to move.



She fainted dead away, which saved us both the trouble.



But her friend wasn't impressed. "Vampire whore!" she screamed out, jumping on my back and wrapping her arms around my neck. I tried to shake her off, but she was strong and nimble.



"Mouth!" I warned her, maneuvering backward toward a stack of the boxes, and mashing her backward into them until she finally fell away.



Then she got a kick to the head for her trouble.



Sirens suddenly wailed outside, audible because the doors had been thrown open. A swarm of men and women in black uniforms with guns moved inside.



I guessed our time was up. The CPD had arrived.



"Chicago Police Department!" cried the leader. "All weapons on the ground!" they said. "Right now, all weapons on the ground. Hands on the back of your heads. All of you!"



To a one, humans and sups alike dropped their weapons.



Except for one man.



Ethan stood over McKetrick, sword in hand. "It would be so easy, you know. So easy for me to do this, to take your life as you've taken the lives of so many others."



"Do it," McKetrick gritted out. "Do it." McKetrick dared him to murder, expecting, of course, that Ethan would oblige him. McKetrick might be dead, but his vengeance and his plan would be utterly validated. He'd have proved that vampires were merciless killing machines.



"The problem is," Ethan said, "I'm not you."



He tossed his sword away and stepped back, raising his arms as the CPD surrounded McKetrick.



"It's over," Ethan said. "And good riddance to you."



Detective Jacobs had given us a head start, just enough to work out some aggression against McKetrick and the others, but not so long that we'd have to make too many excuses.



Detective Jacobs whistled when he saw the processing equipment in the back. But despite the equipment, there wasn't a single syringe in sight. Apparently, McKetrick hadn't actually been able to get the assembly line working. He'd manufactured the serum a syringe at a time, and Brooklyn had gotten the last one.



A top-of-the-line computer sat on a top-of-the-line desk, and when Jacobs's tech guys booted it up, they found information aplenty: e-mails to and from McKetrick and the rioters, a copy of the chemical analysis Alan Bryant had given him, copies of the materials he'd stolen from Bryant Industries, and years of records regarding his attempts to sabotage and assassinate vampires across the country.



When the debriefing was over, with its very satisfying result, we were officially dismissed; we walked across the warehouse floor to the front door.



I happened to glance down, where a glint of silver caught my eye. There on the ground, resting halfway beneath a wooden pallet, was a single syringe, filled with a pale green fluid. It gleamed like a jewel and promised things I hadn't thought to ask for in a very long time.



Humanity.



The allure was stronger than I would have imagined, as memories plucked at my heartstrings: Sunshine. Summer boat rides on the lake. Morning jogs in the chill of spring. Shopping at noon on a Saturday. Spending my remaining human years with my family, instead of living long past them. Finishing my dissertation, becoming a professor.



Having children.



Generally, leaving my life as a vampire behind.



Leaving Ethan behind. For even if we stayed together despite our differences, I would age and die, and he would not. I would leave him alone to face the centuries, to find another. I would leave him in the hands of another Sentinel, someone who would have the responsibility of watching over him, of keeping him safe.



And not just Ethan. My grandfather. Mallory. My nieces and nephews. Their children, and their children's children.



I wasn't leaving their lives to chance. Not when I had the choice.



I had a choice . . . and I took it.



I picked up the syringe and hurried to catch up with the rest of them.



"Jonah," I said, getting his attention and handing it to him.



He looked quizzically up at me.



"For Brooklyn," I explained. "Maybe Dr. Gianakous can use it to find a cure for her condition."



He smiled. "Thanks, Merit."



The deed done, I took Ethan's hand, and walked into the life I'd chosen.



Malik met us in the foyer when we walked into the House.



"Congratulations on a successful mission," he said. "And Lakshmi Rao is on the phone."



"I swear to God, it never ends!" Ethan roared.



"Not when you're immortal," Malik agreed. "That's actually the point."



I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, but Ethan got the gist and gave me a withering look.



"Better she call you than show up at your door unannounced," I reminded them, then glanced at Malik and pinched two fingers together. "Could you stall her for just a minute?"



He smiled. "For you, Sentinel, of course," he said, then disappeared down the hallway again.



Ethan looked at me expectantly. "Well, Sentinel?"



Ethan and I were both coming to grips with the fact that we weren't human, that our relationship would never be as simple as human relationships were. That we were supernaturals, and for the foreseeable future, drama would be an inevitable part of our lives. But that didn't mean it wasn't important to remember the little things, to make time for ourselves and our relationship, and to cherish what we had.



"We missed Valentine's Day," I said. "Even if we're vampires, I wanted to give us something special. I thought I'd arrange dinner before dawn."



"Meaning you'll have Margot order pizza."



I rolled my eyes. "No. Something better. Something special."



He looked at me for a moment.



"Benefit of the doubt," I dryly said.



"All right, Sentinel. You have your second chance at Valentine's Day. But I'll warn you in advance. I'm starving . . . and not just for food."



That comment made me light-headed enough that it was a miracle I didn't fall over in the foyer. That would not have helped the dinner planning, which was going to require a bit of teamwork.



I raced upstairs to the third floor and knocked on Lindsey's door. I found her toweling off from the shower.



"What's up, toots?"



"I need a favor."



"Oh?"



"I'd like to salvage Valentine's Day. But I need to do it within the next couple of hours. I've already decided on dinner - I can handle that on my own. I need something else. A treat."



Lindsey frowned, walking around her room a bit as she pondered the question. "Stores are closed, so there's no time for that. You've already planned dinner, so that's out, unless we can spice dinner up a bit?"



She turned back at me and winged up her eyebrows suggestively.



"He already gets that," I said.



She chortled. "Empathic, remember? Well aware of the twists and turns of your romantic life."



My cheeks warmed.



"No," she said. "I have something else in mind. Something Margot can help us with?"



"Oh?"



"It's simple," she said with a wink. "We'll let him eat cake."



Lindsey got dressed, after which I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. Ethan's door was still closed, but the magic seeping beneath the door didn't seem too crazed.



When she pushed open the kitchen door, we found the room empty but for Margot, who stood in front of one of her giant stoves in her chef's whites, her dark bob of hair peeking beneath her hat. She stirred a small saucepot with a tiny whisk, her gaze darting between the contents of the pot and the electronic tablet propped up beside her.



"What's cooking, toots?" Lindsey said, putting her bag on the counter and sidling up to Margot.



"Bearnaise," Margot said, frowning as she looked back at the sauce and began to stir furiously. "The sauce I cannot master."



"Can you buy it in a bottle?"



Margot gave her a skewering look. "A trained chef does not buy bearnaise in a bottle." She stared down at the sauce for a moment before letting out a sound of utter exasperation. She flipped off the heat and stepped back, rubbing her hands over her face.



"What happened?" I asked.



"The sauce broke. Again." Her expression forlorn and shoulders bent, she looked up again. "I could probably try to salvage it, but I have been beaten down by the French today, and I just can't do it." She glanced at me and Lindsey. "What are you up to?"



"Merit has a dilemma, and I think a cake might fix it."



It was like a light had turned on in Margot's eyes. Her entire expression changed, from defeat to the excitement of a new challenge.



"A cake will undoubtedly fix it," Margot said. "What's the occasion?"



"Valentine's Day. Well, belated, anyway."



Margot pressed a hand to her chest, "Oh, cute!"



"Right?" Lindsey said. "Isn't it, like, so normal of them?"



"They're such a cute couple," Margot remarked, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the counter.



"That's why I love it. It's adorable."



"You know I'm standing right here," I reminded them.



"I was thinking you could make that chocolate torte," Lindsey said.



Margot's mouth formed an "O." "Oh," she said, "the torte."



"What's the torte?" I asked.



Margot glanced at me. "It's a very decadent, flourless chocolate cake. Velvety chocolate with just a hint of raspberry ganache. Very appropriate for Valentine's Day. It's a very sexy cake," she said. "And Ethan loves it. It's one of his favorites."



I had definitely come to the right place for help. "Is this possibly something we could do tonight? I was hoping for a meal before the sun came up again. It's been a long night."



She checked her watch and nodded. "It comes together really quickly. We've got just enough time to bake it off and let it cool. How does that sound?"



"Like a phenomenal plan," I said, beginning to smile a little. "Thanks."



"Oh, honey, I'm not actually making it for you. I'm just giving you directions." With a wink, she pointed toward a set of aprons hanging from a wall hook. "Grab your gear, and let's get started."



Start, we did. I'd thought, if just for a moment, that helping bake a cake would be a way to relax. And in a sense, it was. We were three girlfriends in a kitchen, mixing and measuring as we discussed boys and their various issues. But Margot took pride in her work. And just like every other vampire with the same trait, she was exacting in her methods and very, very particular.



The cocoa had to be measured in a very particular way. ("Sweep and scoop! Sweep and scoop!")



The cocoa had to be placed in the bowl in a very particular way. ("Sift it first!")



The sugar and butter had to be creamed just so, until the mixture was light and fluffy. ("It looks like concrete! Keep stirring!")



The pan had to be perfectly buttered, then dusted with cocoa, in preparation for the cake. ("If I can see metal, you're not done!")



The oven rack had to be placed just so, neither too high nor too low, to ensure consistent baking. ("Lower it! Lower it!")



Somehow, miraculously, we came through it still friends. And I must admit, I learned a lot. I hadn't done much baking in the past and really didn't have an urge to start now - I preferred dodging a katana slash to pressing the lumps out of cocoa powder - but in the short amount of time we worked with her, Margot taught us a lot.



The timer sounded, and Margot pulled a dark cake from the oven. She set it on a cooling rack, then stepped back to admire our handiwork.



"Ladies," she said, "it doesn't look awful."



It wasn't much of a compliment, but I'd take what I could get.



"You are the best." I checked my watch. "I have to run an errand. I'll be back in about twenty minutes. Is that okay?"



"Absolutely. I'll prep the raspberry glaze, and you'll be good to go. I'll make it work," she promised.



I had little doubt. She always did.



I'd missed my last chance to provide Ethan with the best pasta Chicago had to offer. So when the opportunity came around again, I didn't miss it. I drove to Tuscan Terrace, picked up aluminum containers of pasta, and hightailed it back to the House.



I found Ethan in his office, the door open, the aura relatively mild.



I stepped inside and held up the paper bag of food. "Dinner?"



He didn't look impressed. "In a paper bag?"



But I kept smiling, because I knew this man. I knew what he'd enjoy, and I knew that even if the packaging didn't impress him, the food would.



"In a paper bag," I confirmed. I closed the door and carried the bag to his conference table, where I opened the contents and set out a meal for each of us. Pasta, bread, and olive oil for dipping.



"You're sure about this?" Ethan asked, sidling behind me and putting a hand on my waist.



"Absolutely positive. I didn't steer you wrong about pizza, and I won't about this, either."



Of course I was right.



Dinner was glorious. Because the food, even in aluminum pans, was delicious. Because Ethan moaned with joy nearly every time he took a bite. Because we shared napkins and laughs and bread at the conference table in his office. Because we didn't need thousand-dollar champagne or caviar to prove our affection or the validity of our relationship.



"There is something to be said about the satisfaction that comes from a full belly," Ethan said.



"Couldn't agree more. We'll sleep well after this feast. Or we'll have weird carb coma dreams. Hard to tell."



Ethan chuckled, wiped his mouth, and tossed his napkin into the pile.



"So, the GP," I said, when I'd taken my last bite. "What did they want?"



"A tithe," he said. "Darius, through Lakshmi, has requested that we donate a sum to the GP in penance for our bad behavior."



"Is it a lot?" Bankrupting the House seemed like something the GP would want to do.



"It is surprisingly little."



"Little?" I asked. "Why?"



"Because, apparently, that's only the first half of their plan for our contrition."



"What's the second half?"



"I'm not sure. But Lakshmi is traveling here to tell us in person."



Before I could dive into the paranoia that upcoming event was going to foster, there was a knock at the door, and Margot peeked inside. "Special delivery?"



"Oh?" Ethan asked.



She opened the door fully and wheeled in a cart.



"Margot, how thoughtful. But you didn't need to go to the trouble."



"Oh, I didn't," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Merit made the cake."



Ethan's eyes went dinner-plate huge. "Merit made it?"



"Sir, your tone is not flattering," I advised him.



"She did. For you, on Valentine's Day, because she's got a thing for you, I think." With that, she winked, and rolled the cart out again.



Ethan looked over the cake. "It looks surprisingly delicious."



"I am not above hitting you, you know," I said.



He chuckled. "I have something for you as well. Put on your shoes."



"My shoes? But there's cake."



He gave me a look that didn't allow argument. "Just do it."



I slipped my boots on again, then followed Ethan silently to the door.



The rest of the House was quiet, and when Ethan opened the front door, the eastern sky was beginning to pinken with the first light of dawn.



But the sky was hardly the point.



On both sides of the front lawn, in the crisp, white snow, an enormous heart had been drawn in the snow with a thousand rose petals, a shock of crimson against the snowy ground.



"What is this?" I asked, putting a hand over my heart.



"A heart," Ethan said. "For you. My heart, which is very much yours."



He took my hand and led me through the snow, pausing at the edge of the heart. I picked up a petal and ran my fingertips across its surface, as soft as velvet, so soft it barely felt like I'd touched anything.



"I don't understand," I said, glancing back at him with wonder in my eyes.



"We aren't human," he said. "Nor are we average. We take on challenges and obligations that, arguably, are not our burdens to bear. We do it because it's right. Because it matters, and we've decided - you've decided - to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. That means, unfortunately, that we don't always have the opportunity to enjoy human rituals."



"Valentine's Day?"



Ethan nodded. "Valentine's Day. But even if the rituals can't be the same for us, the symbolism is important." He cleared his throat. "You've asked about the tattoo on the back of my calf."



I smiled. "I have asked," I confirmed. "More than a few times."



"It was actually Amit's fault. We were in India, on a night train to Varanasi, and I lost a bet. A small bet, but a bet nonetheless."



I was stunned. That was so unlike him. "You got a tattoo because you lost a bet?"



"I did," he said, "and in Sanskrit, because those were the terms I'd agreed to. He graciously allowed me to select the phrase."



"What does it say?"



"Eternal life, undying passion."



"Oh, that's very nice." It was a beautiful phrase, and particularly appropriate for immortal vampires.



Ethan nodded and took my hands. "I had a sense of your passion when we met, Merit. When you first stormed into my House with fire in your eyes."



"That wasn't fire. That was sheer, unmitigated fury."



He chuckled. "Acknowledged. But a soul without passion doesn't feel fury. Or love. And there was definitely passion in your soul. I selected the phrase because I thought it lovely. Now, I feel lucky that I can deem it true."



Tears gathered at my lashes.



"I have eternal life," he said. "But you are my undying passion." He put his hands on my cheeks and kissed me deeply. There was passion in his kiss, in the nip of his tongue, but this kiss was about promise. About tenderness.



About love.



He drew back and pressed the softest kiss to my lips. "I love you, Caroline Evelyn Merit. Happy Not Valentine's Day."



"Happy Not Valentine's Day, Sullivan." I moved into his arms, surrounding myself with his body, his warmth, his crisp cologne.



The wind began to lift, then rushed toward us in a gust. As I glanced back, it scattered the heart, lifting the rose petals into the sky. I watched in awe as they circled around us, love rendered aloft by forces outside our control. A fitting metaphor, I thought.



"There is actually one more small thing."



"Is it diamonds? I like diamonds."



"No," he said. "It's actually about Moneypenny."



I perked up immediately. "Oh?"



"I talked to Gabriel. I was hoping against hope that he'd consider letting me buy her. Unfortunately, he wouldn't allow it."



My heart fell a bit. It's not that I'd been expecting it, but it certainly would have been nice to drive her more.



"He wouldn't let me buy her," Ethan said. "But he would let me buy her for you."



It took me a moment to realize what he'd said. "For me?" My voice came out in a squeak. "Are you serious?"



"Aspen serious," Ethan said. "She is parked in the garage, in her newly assigned parking spot. Gabriel is awaiting your direction as to the Volvo. It's an unkillable machine, it seems, so he'd considered donating it to a charity that accepts vehicles. If that's all right with you, of course."



The charity bit was awesome, but this was Chicago. "You're serious about the parking space thing? Like really?"



Ethan chuckled, then cast a glance at the sky, which was now marked by stripes of indigo, crimson, and orange. "The sun will be rising soon. Let's go inside."



He took my hand, squeezing it gently, and together we walked back into the House, the crimson wind swirling behind us. For night would come soon enough again.



Also, there was cake.



We made it to the front door before trouble found us again.



"Ethan. Merit."



We glanced back and found Detective Jacobs on the sidewalk. He was tall, with dark skin and short hair. He wore a suit and overcoat against the chill, a fedora placed just so on his head. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, his coat pushed aside for them.



Ethan frowned and walked back down the sidewalk. I followed behind him.



"Detective Jacobs. What brings you here?"



"Bad news, I'm afraid."



Panic set in. "My grandfather?" I asked, but he shook his head.



"He's fine, Merit. This is unrelated." He looked at Ethan. "This actually involves events that transpired here a few days ago - the death of Harold Monmonth."



Ethan's gaze widened, and my heart began to rush again, but for a different reason. "What about it?"



"The prosecuting attorney has determined you are responsible for his death. I'm afraid a warrant has been issued for your arrest."



I guess the GP's silence hadn't meant they were okay with Ethan's handling of the attack. To the contrary: They were angry enough - at least some of them - that they'd actually brought humans into vampire affairs. And made Ethan, a four-hundred-year-old vampire, subject to their justice.



"Harold Monmonth is no gentleman," Ethan assured. "As the CPD is well aware, he attacked this House and killed two human guards. We called the CPD, and officers took statements from everyone. They concluded it was self-defense."



"It doesn't matter what they think," Jacobs said frankly. "It matters what the prosecuting attorney thinks. But perhaps there is some flexibility here. Perhaps I came to the House and found you gone?"



Ethan and Jacobs looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.



"I understand you have powerful friends who live outside the city," Jacobs said. "Friends with strong connections?"



Jacobs meant the Breckenridge family.



Ethan moistened his lips, and nodded. "And if we did?"



"Then perhaps you pay them a visit for a few days until the appropriate conclusions can be reached, the appropriate reports filed. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to take you into custody."



"Hardly a choice," Ethan muttered. "But I appreciate your hypothetical advice. And I'm sorry you came to the House and found me absent."



"In that case, my report will reflect that," Detective Jacobs said, touching the brim of his hat. He turned and walked out the gate, leaving Ethan and me silent in his wake.



"What do we do now?"



"Apparently," Ethan said, "we call Nick Breckenridge, and we ask him for another favor . . . and we hope to God he agrees to help."