Biting Cold

LOST AND FOUND



If there was murder to be solved, might as wel make the best of it. It was logical to presume that I'd be spending the remainder of the evening at work - either in the Ops Room or in the library.



Caling in takeout for the crew was the least I could do.



Fortunately, the House's foxy chef, with tiger brown eyes and a bob of dark hair that curved into a point across her forehead, was a friend of mine. Margot was pinup curvy and a lot of fun, and as head of the House's culinary department, the one to ask for food-related favors.



She was also responsible for stocking the kitchens with Malocakes. How could you not like a girl who did that?



The kitchen was located at the back of the House's first floor, just past Ethan's office. I found Margot leaning against a commercial-sized stainless-steel refrigerator, arms crossed over her white chef's jacket as she watched the activities in her kitchen with amusement.



The gril and prep areas were alight with activity, as the rest of the staff cheered on a man and woman who were sweating over saute pans filed with what looked like asparagus.



I sidled up to Margot. "What's going on?"



She smiled. "We're having an entree competition. T.J. and Alice get two ingredients, and they have to make an edible entree we could actualy serve in the cafeteria. Edible," she repeated, slowly and loudly, so the staff and contestants could hear.



She glanced at me. "What can I do for you?"



"Darius is here. Are you making a big dinner for him and Ethan?"



Margot grinned at me. "Wouldn't you know better than anyone what Ethan's plans are?"



Not tonight, I thought. "Actualy, I don't, but this isn't about Ethan. It's for the guard crew. I was thinking we might cater in, if you're not whipping up something exotic for Darius."



She snorted. "When it comes to food, he doesn't want exotic.



He wants simple and very, very specific." She reached out and grabbed a clipboard that hung from a wal peg. "Charlie faxed this over last night. It's Darius's hospitality rider."



Charlie was Darius's majordomo, and a hospitality rider was a list of demands and snacks a band required at a concert venue.



"How long is Darius going to be here that he needs a hospitality rider?"



"Too long if you ask me." She handed over the clipboard and I scanned through the rider. Some of the stuff was innocuous - type A blood, bottled water, mint gum, Earl Grey tea. (He was British, after al.)



But the list was two single-spaced pages long. Darius was particular about everything from the thread count of his sheets (six hundred) to the content of his meals (preferring raw foods and green juices).



I handed back the clipboard. "Did he do this the last time he was here?"



"He did not," Margot said, hanging it up again. "It's no skin off my back - I can cook anything. It just doesn't bode wel if he's setting up house, you know? Anyway, he's going to Navarre House tonight."



More power to Morgan Greer, the Master of Navarre House.



Morgan threw tantrums that would impress a two-year-old, but I stil wouldn't wish a GP dinner on him.



"In that case, how many favors would I need to owe you for a good Chicago-style meal for the Ops Room? Is that something you can whip up?"



"I can whip up anything," she said with a cocky expression.



"I'l send it down when it's ready."



I thanked Margot and left her to her refereeing. I could admit dinner was a distraction, something to keep me occupied while I let my subconscious rol around the status of my relationship with Ethan and Tate's recent rampage. But I stil had to function - including eating - even with Tates on the loose. Besides, it wasn't like I had any better idea where to look for them. I walked back through what we did know.



1. Seth Tate was a magical being of unknown origin. He was possibly an old creature and smeled like lemon and sugar.



2. He'd split into two "things" when he touched the Maleficium and Malory triggered the spel.



3. One of those two "things" kiled a former accomplice and those unfortunate enough to be around him, but not with magic.



I stopped. If the spel had triggered his split into two creatures, maybe learning more about the spel would give us some clue to his identity and how he could be stopped. I ducked into the back staircase and puled out my cel phone. I wasn't sure if Malory had even been alowed a phone or anything else from the outside, but I knew one person who had.



"Catcher Bel," he gruffly, but quietly, answered.



"It's Merit. You heard about Paulie?"



"I did. Jeff texted me."



"Listen, we're at a dead end. I need to know what kind of spel Malory used to trigger the Maleficium this time. Can you find out?"



"She's actualy not supposed to be talking about it. She's supposed to be focused on the here and now, not the magic that went down."



I took a seat on the stairs. "I get that. But Tate's already shown a wilingness to kil, and I don't know who he'l go after next."



Silence, then, "I'l find out what I can."



"Thank you. Catcher, are you doing okay?"



That question took him longer to answer. "I'm coping. With her failures. With mine."



When he didn't elaborate, I assumed we were at the end of our conversation. "Okay. Cal me when you know something."



He grunted, then hung up.



I put my phone away and rubbed my hands over my face, then sat in my self-made darkness for a few moments. Vamps didn't use the back stairwel often, so it was quiet and empty, a bit of solitude from the rest of the House. It wasn't much to look at - warm beige wals and neutral carpet - but I could take a moment to myself and just be. I didn't get a chance to do that very often.



With the place to myself, I gave myself another little break. I let my guards down - the mental and emotional blocks I erected against al the random noise in the world. Sights. Smels. Sounds.



My improved vampire senses made it al accessible to me, but the sheer volume of information became quickly overpowering.



But here, in the dark and silence, I could risk a bit of a slip.



Eyes closed, I blew out a slow breath and let the world envelop me. Smels from the kitchen - hot oil and acidic green vegetables. The feel of carpet fiber under my fingers, each discrete knot of yarn meticulously wound together.



And sounds...coming from Ethan's office next door.



My eyes flashed open. The back stairway bordered Ethan's office, and the wal separating the two was evidently fairly thin.



I heard Ethan, his tone clipped, and Darius, his careful words and British accent easily recognizable.



At first, I could hear only vague bits of noise, but the more I opened my mind to the sounds, the clearer the words became.



And from the sound of it, they'd moved past the pleasantries and things weren't going wel.



"I feel like I've been caled to the principal's office like a child," Ethan said.



"I've flown to Chicago, if you recal, but I don't object to the analogy. My visit here was necessitated by acts of late in this House. There is the matter of the chain of succession, and the uproar that's been generated in the city more generaly."



"My House did not generate that uproar."



"It's not your House," Darius reminded him. "You are not Master of it."



"That is a matter of circumstance, as you are aware, Sire."



That was Malik. I guessed Darius wouldn't settle for berating only one Master of Cadogan House.



"Malik stil holds this House. Ethan has not been reinvested by the GP."



"He acted in my stead while - "



"While you were dead," Darius finished. "You were dead and gone and a new Master was heralded in your place. That is the manner of such things." There was shifting in the room, and I imagined Darius crossing his legs. "While I appreciate your steadfast loyalty," Darius said, "the GP does not exist to satisfy the whims of Cadogan House. The GP exists to protect the interests of al vampires in the United States and Western Europe. Our territory is vast, and our concerns are numerous.



They are not limited to a smal square of ground in Hyde Park.



This House isn't even our only concern in Chicago, much less the Western Hemisphere."



Darius paused. "Ethan, Malik, I wil be frank. The GP is seriously concerned. We sent the receiver here to investigate this House, to assure ourselves that the House was stable and things were wel in hand." He meant Cabot - the GP's receiver. "I understand his efforts were respected for a time. But ultimately those efforts were rejected and, in essence, so was our oversight."



"He limited the blood supply," Malik said. "He made our guards stand in the sun just to prove a point - and to see our Sentinel removed. He was patronizing on his best night, and abusive on his worst."



"So you assume," Darius said. "He was testing, as he is authorized to test, whether your vampires can withstand the sun and if they wil obey the chain of command. One, Juliet, did both. Another did not."



He didn't say my name; he didn't need to. I forfeited the contest while I was stil in the shade because Juliet was stuck in the sun, and she'd been too stubborn to give up her position. I wasn't wiling to watch her burn to a crisp just to satisfy a GP rule.



"The GP should be their protector," Malik said, "not their torturer."



"And as for Merit," Ethan added, "he clearly wanted her out of the House. He set up the contest so she'd have to forfeit or risk Juliet's life."



"Perhaps. But that does not negate the validity of the test. If someone else, anyone else, had been in Merit's position, would you feel the same?"



"Yes," Ethan and Malik said simultaneously.



"Wel, at any rate, the blood rations tested whether your vampires could sustain a shortage. It's not impossible to imagine that they may face something similar in the future, particularly if your politicians' opinions of vampires remain the same. They need to be prepared, and we needed to know how much assistance we'l be asked to provide."



I was probably the last person who wanted to agree with Darius. The problem was, I couldn't fault his logic. Things were bad in Chicago, and it wasn't impossible to believe they'd get worse before al was said and done. Were we spoiled vampires not afraid enough of what might happen? Had we become too soft?



I may have wondered, but Ethan definitely wasn't convinced.



"It can be dressed in pretty language," Ethan said, "but neither Chicago nor the Houses are to blame for Cabot's actions. He rationed blood in a time of crisis. He put an already stressed guard crew through brutal testing. I understand the need for testing - and make use of it when necessary. But I do not sanction exacerbating the crises already faced by this House's vampires. You test when the waters are smooth; you support when the waters are rough. The GP is adding to our problems, not helping fix them."



"The GP is aware of your position."



"And what do they propose to do about it?" Malik asked.



There was silence for a moment, and even when Darius answered, he didn't realy answer. "The shofet had voted to remove Cadogan House's accreditation."



There was silence except for the sudden rush of blood in my ears.



"The GP cannot disband this House," Ethan quietly said.



"The GP can and wil do what it deems appropriate. Tonight I need to speak with Morgan and Scott. I'l interview you two and Keley tomorrow."



"For what purpose?" Malik asked.



Adding insult to injury was my best guess.



"Because I am head of the GP, and I'd like to see the data for myself." The sound of his voice changed, and I guessed he'd stood up. "Ultimately, the GP wil make the decision that is best for al its vampires. The cal is not yours to make. Is that understood, gentlemen?"



"Sire," they both said.



And that was apparently the end of that.



I heard the office door open and shut. I snapped my guards back into place and jumped to my feet, then peeked into the halway. Darius - tal, rangy, and impeccably dressed in dress pants and a pin-striped shirt - walked down the halway with Malik toward Malik's office.



When they were out of sight, I walked to Ethan's office. This was going to require serious damage control. Although I wasn't entirely sure I was up to the task, someone had to do something.



It might as wel be me.



I wished myself good luck and opened the door.



Ethan was behind his desk. The room vibrated with furious energy.



"Wil they actualy kick us out?" I asked, earning me a flash of green eyes.



"You spied on us?"



"I strategicaly gathered evidence."



"They've effectively done so," Ethan said. "We've been impeached. Now we see if they can make it stick." He rose from his desk, then walked across the room to the bar tucked into the built-in bookshelf. He opened a cabinet, puled out a bottle, and twisted off the top, then poured two fingers into a short glass.



He took a sip, then glanced back at me. "Beverage?"



I walked toward the bar. "What are you drinking?"



"Forty-year-old Scotch."



I whistled. That couldn't have been cheap, and it probably didn't bode wel for the House that he'd cracked it.



Ethan didn't show fear often. That he was worried now about what the GP might do made my stomach flutter with nerves. He was supposed to be the House's rock; the rock wasn't supposed to be nervous.



"No, thanks," I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the cabinets. "What now?"



"Contingency planning," he said darkly. "We have some backup plans in place, and if the House isn't long for GP membership, they'l need executing soon. Malik and I are going to finalize them."



"The GP hasn't done us any favors lately. Is it such a bad thing if we're gone?"



He didn't answer, and he wouldn't meet my gaze.



I guessed it was worse than I'd thought. "Tel me."



He took another sip. "The GP's general philosophy is that if we are not aligned with them, we are against them."



"That doesn't make any sense. There are Rogue vampires in Chicago. I haven't heard Noah mention any kind of GP harassment."



Noah Beck was the unofficial leader of Chicago's un-Housed vampires; he was also a member of the Red Guard, like me and Jonah.



"For now, it's only a cold war," he said. "The GP believes Rogue vampires wil sabotage the Houses; the Rogues believe the Houses exist solely to perpetuate the more fascist tendencies of the GP. The current peace isn't the usual state of affairs."



"So the GP might actualy attack us?"



"Should circumstances cal for it, yes. Both the GP and the Houses within it."



"Even Sheridan House? You made Lacey Sheridan a Master.



She's from Cadogan House, and her aliance insignia is hanging over our front door." Also, Lacey Sheridan had a crush - or more - on Ethan, which made it unlikely she'd take up arms against him.



Glass in hand, Ethan walked to one of the club chairs in the seating area and leaned against it. "Haven't you ever wondered why we bear other Houses' aliance insignia if we're al members of the GP? It's a promise not to take up arms in the event worse comes to worst - or the GP orders them to act."



"Good grief," I said, moving to the chair beside him. No wonder Jonah had joined the RG.



Ethan finished his glass. "Vampires existed long before the GP was formed, and they wil exist long after it's gone. We can survive. We just might need to remind our Housed brothers and sisters of that."



And some would take more convincing than others. "Morgan wil be a terror."



"Quite possibly. Scott Grey, less so."



And Scott's crew, including the RG member masquerading as a guard captain, even less than that. But that wasn't information Ethan needed right now.



"Maybe we should beat the GP at its own game," I suggested.



"How do we do that?"



"We could jump ship."



He laughed mirthlessly. "The vampires of Cadogan House do not 'jump ship.' "



"Not even if they get dumped?"



"Not even if," he said. "What's the phrase? You should dance with the one who brought you?"



"Not if you found out the one who brought you made out after third period with the head of the chess club, who was totaly not as cute as you." I felt my cheeks warm. "But that's a personal issue we don't need to discuss here. The thing is, we can do better. If they don't want us, we find someone who does."



He chuckled a little, and I felt the wal of tense magic in the room crumble a bit.



"He said he wants to interview you. Do you think he can be convinced to back off?"



"I don't know. Darius would prefer an official House policy of 'shut the fuck up,' which we aren't particularly skiled at. I hardly think he'd waste time on interviews if they weren't for a purpose, but I can't imagine him standing down a decision of the shofet."



"Are you going to tel the House?"



"I doubt it. I'm not sure there's any point in raising a flag until the decision is firm and final."



Until then, we'd al have to wait and see what happened, which wasn't a comfortable position for anyone. And speaking of which, for the sake of my own sanity, it was time to discuss the thing we were steadfastly avoiding...



"Are we okay?" I asked.



Ethan brushed a lock of hair over my shoulder. I glanced at him, but when our eyes met, he froze and looked away.



My stomach twisted. Now he wouldn't touch me at al?



"I can't have you. Not now."



I could hardly form words. "What? Is this about the bruise?"



He stood up straight. "The mark I put on your body because I was upset? Yes, Sentinel, it is about that."



"That wasn't you," I insisted. "It only happened because of Malory, because she was close and upset and her emotions were affecting you."



"And we're back in Chicago together," he said. "She's close enough. What if she's upset? What if she becomes angrier than she's been before? What if a bruise is the least harm I could do?"



I understood his point, understood wel the risk he was trying to avoid. But he'd saved my life twice. I trusted him implicitly, and not because I feared him or what he might do. "I'm not afraid of you."



"You should be." Ethan walked back to the bar and put his glass on the counter, putting space - an obstacle - between us.



After a moment, he turned around, and his eyes had gone cold.



My stomach did the same.



"I've been thinking..."



"That's dangerous," I lightly said, but he didn't laugh.



"I think we should halt our personal relationship for the time being. Until we resolve things with Malory."



My heart fel to my knees, and I found I couldn't speak a single word. This couldn't be happening. Not after al we'd been through. Not after I'd lost him and found him again.



"And if things aren't ever resolved with Malory? If you can't ever be one hundred percent sure that you're free of her? What then?"



He looked up at me, and he didn't answer.



Apparently, four hundred years did a lot of damage to a man's psyche, and Ethan's defense mechanism was to throw up barriers to every emotion he didn't care to feel. A few months ago, I'd have walked away from this conversation, and from him. I'd have taken the emotional punch like a trouper and left the room without a parting shot. But he was facing down a demon of his own making, and I wasn't going to help him with the ilusion.



I fought back tears. "You'd just give me up?"



"This isn't about giving you up. I can't - I'm not in control of myself, Merit."



"Then it's about not trusting me enough to help you when you're in a bad situation."



"It's about keeping you safe until this problem is resolved. I didn't save your life so that I could tear it down again, Merit. I wil not put me or you in the position of hurting you again. God wiling we can find a way to separate Malory and me before our immortality has passed us by."



There were times I secretly enjoyed Ethan's alpha-male posturing. But this wasn't one of them. My anger began to rise, spurred by his irritating stubbornness and blind desire to control every situation.



"You're resolving this problem by pushing me away. You're a four-hundred-year-old vampire and avoidance is the best solution you've got?"



"Until you're at the mercy of someone else's thoughts and whims, I'm not looking to you for advice."



That bulet was aimed right at me, but I kept up my guard.



"Ah," I said, nodding. "So you're going to take shots at me until I walk away? You know, we've been down this road before. It ended with your apologizing."



"This is different."



It wasn't. Not realy. But if he believed it, what could I do?



He thought he was protecting me; how was I supposed to convince him his instincts were wrong?



Tears threatening to spil over my lashes, I strode to the office door. I would not cry in front of him.



"We weren't done here," he caled out.



I risked a glance back, and I could see the panic flaring in his eyes. Maybe the consequences of his ridiculous position were finaly occurring to him. Good. Maybe he'd come to his senses.



But I wasn't going to waste time arguing with someone who needed to be convinced I was an asset.



"According to you," I said, "we are done here."



Rarely had slamming a door felt so good.