CHAPTER ELEVEN

BED OF ROSES

When I woke, I found Ethan standing near the desk, staring at me. His body was tensed like that of a soldier preparing for battle, his expression was ice-cold, and a chilly wash of magic had coated the air.

He lifted his hand, held up a small, slightly crumpled piece of paper.

Shit, I thought as recognition dawned.

“Sentinel.” Every syllable was as crisp as his tone, each sound tipped with anger. “What, exactly, is this?”

It was the note from Reed, the one I’d crumpled and thrown into the trash—or thought I had. I must have missed. Ethan had seen it, picked it up, and definitely read it.

“And more to the point,” he continued, taking a step forward, “why have I not seen it before?”

There was no way to avoid it now. “Reed slipped it into yesterday’s paper, or had someone do it. He was just being an asshole, so I threw it away.”

“He threatens you, and you threw it away?”

“He doesn’t care about me, and you know it. Not any more than he cares about any of us. But he loves drama, Ethan, and I’m sure he was hoping you’d give him some.”

Ethan strode to me. “Have there been any others?”

“What? No. Of course not. Look, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just more of the same. It’s the game he plays.”

With radiating fury, he moved back to the desk, threw the note onto it. “I can’t believe you hid this from me.”

I hadn’t, not very well. But if anything, this conversation proved I’d been right to try. “He’s baiting you, Ethan. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

“He’s threatening you. And I’m not going to let that happen!” He turned back to me. “Reed’s going to be at a charity event tonight at the Chicago Botanic Garden. We’re going. And we’re going to have a word.”

“No. Absolutely not. That’s the last thing—” I stopped, realizing what he’d confessed. “Wait. How do you know where Adrien Reed is going to be tonight?”

“That’s missing the point.”

“No,” I said, rising from the bed and walking toward him. “I think that’s exactly the point. How do you know where he’s going to be?”

Ethan’s eyes glinted like stolen emeralds. “I have friends in high places, too.”

My stomach sank, and I took a step backward. Took a step away from him. I only knew one other person he might have called who knew about charity events and hated Adrien Reed. “You called my father.”

Ethan didn’t respond.

“You called my father and asked him, what, to keep tabs on Reed? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? To involve him in something like that? He’s human, for God’s sake, and he’s already in Reed’s sights. Did you put a target on his back?”

“I made a single phone call to your father, and I understand he made a single phone call in turn. Your father has his own connections, Merit, and he’s eager to use them. He’s a man with a lot of ego, and he’s not happy about Towerline.” He closed the distance between us. “But more important, Reed already got too close to this House and to you. I won’t let it happen again.”

“By putting my family in danger?”

He looked baffled. “First, I did not put your family in danger. And second, I will use whatever tools are available to me to keep you safe.”

“And yet you’re pissed at Gabriel,” I said, shaking my head and walking to the other end of the room. When I reached the opposite wall, when space was a barrier between us, I looked back at him. “You’re pissed at Gabriel because he withheld information. That’s ironic.”

“I suppose we’re both guilty in that respect. And just as likely to apologize.”

The room went quiet.

My anger banked. “You named me Sentinel. You should trust me to handle myself, to understand whether my father would be the best source. To let me make that decision.”

“I do trust you. Implicitly. And I named you Sentinel because I knew what you could be. Who you could be. If I had it to do over again . . .”

It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested naming me Sentinel was a mistake. But it was the first time I really believed he meant it.

“Your skills, your brains, your heart. The fact that you always want to do more and better—”

“Are because you named me Sentinel,” I finished for him. “Because you gave me a position that let those parts of me grow and flourish.”

“I don’t disagree,” Ethan said, stepping forward. “But none of that matters if Reed puts a target on you. I won’t let that happen, Merit. Not when he’s already proven he knows how to get to me.” His eyes clouded with fury. He was thinking about the Imposter, about what he’d done to me and tried to do to Ethan.

“I can’t be less than what I am,” I said. “Not now. Not after all this time.” Because, after all that time, after feeling for so long that I’d only been playing Sentinel, putting on a costume that wasn’t entirely mine, I’d become her. I’d become the guardian and warrior he’d wanted me to be. It was too late for me to step back, to let others fight the battles I’d been trained for, that I was now eager to fight.

Maybe he should have been more careful in what he’d wished for.

“I know. And I can’t, either. I’m going to the event,” he said into the silence that followed his declaration, “and I’m going to talk to Adrien Reed because that’s what needs to be done. Reed expects us to play his game—to react to the stimuli that he throws at us.”

“You think he didn’t anticipate this? That you’d see the note and call him out?”

“Maybe,” Ethan said. “Probably. But I doubt he thinks we’ll do it in a public place.”

I didn’t think that was true, not at all. But there wasn’t a point in arguing with him. He’d go, even if he went without me. And I’d be damned if he did it without me.

“I want it on record that I don’t think this is the right course.”

His eyebrows lifted. I argued with him, sure, but that was ego and banter. It wasn’t often that I told him his strategy was flat-out wrong.

“But that doesn’t matter,” I said. “Because I’m going with you regardless.” And that was almost not the worst part. “What do I have to wear?”

“It’s black tie. I’ll find you something.”

That was just what I was afraid of.

•   •   •

I guess it could have been called a gown, although that might have been generous. Couture, definitely. Edgy, certainly. But “gown” just didn’t quite fit.

There were two pieces two it, both in the deep, rich black that Ethan preferred. The first was a stiff black romper—a heart-shaped sleeveless bodice that fit as snugly as a corset and ended in a pair of hot-pant-style shorts. They covered what they needed to cover, but just barely.

And that was where the second piece came in. It was a skirt made of layers of inky black silk, one of Ethan’s favorite fabrics. It connected to the romper at the waist but was open in the front. When I stood still, it looked like I was wearing a sleeveless black ball gown. But when I moved, the silk split, revealing the shorts, my legs, and the black, strappy stiletto sandals Ethan had also provided.

I walked to the other end of the apartment, did the full catwalk toward the floor-length mirror on the way back, watched the skirt flare around and behind me as I moved. It was going to be hard to stay pissed at him in a “dress” that looked this good. It fit like a glove, made my legs look a million miles long, and even managed to pump up my slender curves.

I pulled my hair into a knot at the nape of my neck, added delicate pearl earrings that were part of my own family’s legacy, and looked, as I often did when Ethan selected my ensemble, pretty fabulous.

He was an imperious ass, but he knew how to make an impact.

There were whoops of excitement coming from the open doors of the Ops Room.

When I looked in, Luc, tousled hair falling over his brow, was bent over the conference table. In front of him was a small bundle of paper folded into a triangle. Lindsey sat at the other end, elbows on the table, her fingers and index fingers arranged in a set of mock uprights. He balanced the tip of the triangle beneath one finger, then flicked.

While half a dozen guards looked on, waiting with bated breath, the paper football flew through the air, toward the uprights. The paper hit her right index finger, bounced, and hit the table, three inches short of the goal.

“It’s no good! It’s no good!” yelled Brody, a recent guard inductee, waving his long arms back and forth like an NFL ref. Lindsey stood up and high-fived Kelley and Juliet.

Luc raised his fists to the sky. “No!” he yelled dramatically. “I could have been a contender!”

On the Waterfront, I guessed silently. Luc was one for movie quotes.

Lindsey strutted up to him, chin jutted out with pride. “I believe you just got schooled,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.

“Best two out of three?” he asked, wincing.

“Not on your life.” She took his shoulders, turned him toward me. “You have other things to deal with.”

Luc glanced at me, and what would have been a smile faded when he took in the dress and the shoes. And then he looked downright pissed . . . and maybe a little bit sympathetic.

“Damn,” Kelley said, interrupting whatever tirade he’d been about to make.

“You look amazing,” she said, fingering a bit of the skirt. “Is this Valentino?”

I hadn’t even thought to look. “I don’t know. But I’m sure it was expensive.”

She snorted. “Uh, yeah. Very.”

When she walked back to her station, Luc dropped his voice. “What the hell is this?”

“Complicated. Can I speak to you outside?”

Luc didn’t look thrilled about the request. But he rose, followed me to the door, and closed it when we were outside again. And then he crossed his arms.

“You’re getting pretty good at that Master-to-Peon expression,” I said.

“I’ve been on the receiving end plenty of times. What the hell’s he doing?”

No need to explain who “he” was.

“Long story short, Reed wrote a note to me to inflame Ethan, and it worked perfectly. Ethan wants to confront Reed at a charity thing tonight at the Botanic Garden.”

He eyes flashed, and anger flooded the hallway on a wave of magic. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I know. I can’t stop him, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him go alone. And that’s not all.”

I told him about Ethan’s call to my father, watched his face for a sign he knew about it. I didn’t see it. Instead he looked surprised and a little appalled. “Not a good idea.”

“No, it wasn’t. But it’s done now. Is there something we can do? Protection we can offer?”

“Do you think your father would take it?”

“I don’t know. What about the human guards? Could we post a couple near his house?”

Luc put a hand on my arm. “Sentinel, considering how angry you are at Ethan for talking to your father without checking with you first, do you really think it’s a good idea to put guards on your father without talking to him first?”

I curled my lip. “Don’t try to use logic against me.”

“Perish the thought. Look, why don’t I talk to your grandfather, broach the issue with him? He might have a better sense of, let’s say, the proprieties.”

Some of the pressure in my chest loosened. “I’d appreciate it.”

Luc nodded. “This screws my plan for you to help Paige with the alchemy tonight. We need to focus on translating it.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. Unfortunately, using that metaphor, Ethan’s the bishop. He makes the rules, and I can’t just let him go by himself.”

“What do you think Reed’s got in mind?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure he’s got a plan. That’s the kind of man he is. Even when we’re aggressive, like with Hellriver, he’s still two steps ahead of us.”

“He’s the bad guy; they usually are two steps ahead until they’re caught.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “I’m going to try to keep Ethan out of trouble.”

“Do your best,” he said. “And I’m glad you came to me, told me about it. I’m pissed he didn’t, but he’s one of the more stubborn among us.”

“Stubborn barely scratches the surface,” I said, thinking of the night before at Little Red. “Have you heard anything from Gabriel? From the Pack?”

Luc’s expression darkened. “No, although we wouldn’t necessarily. I guess that’s Ethan’s complaint. At this point, not hearing anything is probably best. Means they haven’t declared war against us.”

“They wouldn’t do that.”

Luc didn’t look as convinced. “It wouldn’t be the first instance of internecine warfare.”

“I know. And I know Ethan’s pissed, and Gabriel’s probably pissed now, too. But they’re both adults. They both want what’s best for their people, and that can’t be war with each other, Luc. It can’t.” My voice had become pleading.

“Let’s hope not, Sentinel. Damn. What a night. Ethan’s probably talking to Malik, but I’ll throw myself onto that grenade if he hasn’t.”

Resigned, I nodded and began walking toward the door to the parking garage. But I glanced back at Luc. “Do me one more favor?”

“Anything, Merit.”

“Call the lawyers, and get them ready.”

•   •   •

The Botanic Garden had been—and still was—a beautiful place to visit. But I knew this trip wasn’t going to go well, and the paths and gardens were still shadowed by my memories.

My mother had held my sister Charlotte’s sixteenth birthday there. I’d been stuffed into a party dress and forced to join in. She was three years older, and I felt ugly and coltish beside her friends, who already knew their ways around makeup, clothes, and pretty hairstyles. I was already uncomfortable in starchy crinoline and a training bra. I felt even more so when matched against Charlotte’s beautiful friends.

More recently, I’d walked there after Ethan’s death, when I’d wanted solitude and solemnity. That hadn’t fostered happy memories, either.

The park had closed a few hours ago. But the large black gates at the entrance were open, a man in a dark suit checking invitations and waving expensive cars into the park.

He waved us in, and Ethan pulled into a parking slot backward, the car facing the front entrance in case we needed to make a quick getaway.

“You look beautiful and formidable,” Ethan said as he opened my door and offered a hand to help me out of the car.

“Let’s hope the latter more than the former.” Once out, I adjusted the skirt so it fell appropriately around my hips. Not that it wouldn’t make an impression regardless, which was surely part of the reason Ethan had chosen it.

The deep black tuxedo he’d selected for himself certainly made an impression. He’d brushed back his hair, tucked it behind his ears, and looked very much the rich magnate. Which was true, to a point.

He didn’t say anything, but offered me his arm, and when I slipped mine into it, we walked from the parking area to the main building, where a jazz ensemble played and Chicagoland’s wealthiest humans sipped champagne.

Just inside the door, two women sat behind a table with LADIES AUXILIARY printed across the tablecloth. Ethan offered our names, and one of the women provided small silver pins in the shape of tulips. No sticker name tags or Sharpies for this crowd.

The other woman gestured toward the door. “You’ll find the silent auction over there, cocktails and light snacks on the terrace. You’re welcome to explore the park. The lights of Evening Island are on, and it’s a lovely night for a walk.”

“That it is,” Ethan said with a smile, and handed me a pin as we walked inside. To the women and men who checked us out—or checked him out—he’d have looked cool and collected as he surveyed the room, evaluated his options. But I knew him better than most, and certainly well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders, the low-level buzz of irritated magic around him.

“Do you see him?” he asked.

“No.” But this vibe wasn’t right for Adrien Reed. The crowd here was mostly young couples with young money. Louboutin rather than Chanel. It was different flash for different generations, but flash all the same. Reed liked ostentatious wealth—his palatial house was as baroque as it got—all gilding and velvet and dark wood. But this wasn’t his particular brand of it.

“I don’t think he’d be in here,” I said. “You’re sure he’s coming?”

“I’m sure.”

I wanted to hound him, to ask how my father had been sure, to get the details of the singular “phone call” he’d made. But this wasn’t the time or the place.

“Champagne?” he asked as a waiter in black walked by with delicate flutes on a silver tray.

“No. I’d rather have my wits.”

“Fair point,” he said. “I think you’re right, and he’s not in here.”

“I don’t suppose that means you’re ready to return to the House?” The question was rhetorical, I knew, but my tone was cutting.

“No,” Ethan said, eyes flashing, a reminder that he hadn’t forgotten his mission.

“Are you up for a walk?”

I’d have preferred Pumas to the heels I was currently wearing for that particular activity, but I knew what I’d gotten into.

“Why not?” I said, and we made our way through the crowd.

•   •   •

The Chicago Botanic Garden was actually composed of several themed gardens with weaving paths between. Evening Island was on the opposite side of the basin pond and was linked to other gardens by paths and bridges. We passed a rose garden and a small walled garden before reaching the meadow that surrounded the basin.

The night was lovely and crisp, and there were plenty of people out for a stroll. It wasn’t often you could walk through the gardens after dark, which explained why so many people had donated a pretty penny for the opportunity. Unfortunately—or not—none of those people was Adrien Reed.

The lights on Evening Island made a glow, reflecting lights like stars across the dark water that surrounded it. On a different kind of night, with a different kind of purpose, it would have been incredibly romantic. The kind of spot I could imagine Ethan proposing in. He’d want some kind of production, had already hinted that he’d given thought to the how and where, although it certainly wouldn’t be on the agenda tonight.

We crossed a wooden bridge, passed beneath budding willow trees, and stepped onto the island’s footpath, took a moment to survey the humans who’d gathered there.

The first face I recognized didn’t belong to Adrien Reed. It was even more familiar.

My father stood at a crossroads where two paths met, chatting with two silver-haired gentlemen, all three of them in tuxedos that probably cost more than most Chicagoans made in a month. My father was gesturing to the building across the water, probably waxing poetic about architecture or development, two of his favorite subjects.

He looked up, realized we’d arrived. “Excuse me,” he said, and walked toward us. The expressions of the men he left mixed curiosity and hostility.

“Merit. Ethan.”

“Have you seen him?” Ethan asked.

“Not yet. Although I was assured he planned to attend.”

“Did it occur to you that gathering information about him might put you in danger?” I asked. My tone was as sharp with my father as it had been with Ethan.

“He’s dangerous whether I’m here or not,” my father said, straightening his jacket. “It’s better for me if I’m here, where I can at least keep an eye on him. And, frankly, it’s necessary.”

“Because being on the outs with Adrien Reed could put you in a pinch,” Ethan guessed.

“Financially and otherwise.” My father slipped his hands into his pockets. “Pinch or not, you have to be careful what you do here among these people. They are wealthy, and they are powerful.”

“As he’s threatened Merit in my own home, I believe I’m entitled to a conversation.”

My father’s brows lifted, his gaze shifting to me. “What kind of threat?”

“A note promising victory at any cost,” Ethan said. “I don’t tell you that to alarm you, as Merit is safe in the House, but to make you aware. Reed continues to play a game, and he won’t stop until he believes he’s won. You heard about Caleb Franklin’s death?”

That Ethan had to ask the question said he and my father weren’t working together that closely. That helped, at least a little.

“The shifter who was murdered? The news said it was random violence.”

“It wasn’t,” Ethan said. “We believe it’s related to magical symbols we found near where he was killed. And we have reason to believe Reed is involved.”

“That’s the alchemy?”

Ethan nodded.

“Merit’s grandfather mentioned that.” My father looked out over the water, which rippled with the evening breeze, sending lights shimmering across its surface. “The more I think about Reed, the more I have trouble deciding whether he is guided by narcissism or insanity.”

“The most successful evildoers are usually both,” I said.

Another man rounded the corner, two short glasses in hand. It was my brother, Robert, who shared my mother’s blond hair and pale green eyes. I wasn’t close to my family, and my brother was no exception. I’d always felt like the odd one out, and certainly hadn’t changed when I became a vampire.

Robert handed a glass to my father and took a sip of his own, which gave him a moment to look us over, pick his first volley.

When he lowered his drink again, he settled on “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Robert.” I kept my expression bland. “We were invited, just like everyone else. You remember Ethan?” I gestured between them.

Ethan offered a hand, and Robert shook it, but the act seemed distasteful. I was half surprised he didn’t wipe off his palm.

Ethan looked nonplussed. But then again, Robert wasn’t the target of his ire.

“This is an important night for Merit Properties, and an important event,” Robert said primly. He was being groomed to take over the family business. And while my father had undoubtedly helped us during our last go-round with Reed, it didn’t look as though his good faith would extend to Robert.

“And our being here risks that how?” Ethan asked, giving Robert a cool stare that would have iced over another man. But Robert was a Merit; the stubbornness was genetic.

“You tell me. Trouble seems to follow you everywhere you go.”

“Ah, but we aren’t the trouble. Through hatred and fear, it finds us.” Ethan let his gaze slip away to the other faces around us.

“Look,” Robert said. “Adrien Reed will be here, and I’ve been promised fifteen minutes to talk to him. He’s an integral part of our development plan in this fiscal year and next.”

I glanced at my father, saw his expression tighten. And I’d bet good money he hadn’t told Robert the truth about Towerline, why he’d lost it to Reed.

“Your business concerns are not mine,” Ethan said. “Your sister’s concerns are.”

Robert looked at me. “What concerns?”

“Reed isn’t a fan of ours. He’s decided we’re his enemies, and he’s taken a particular interest in Merit.”

Ethan was being circumspect—a wise course, given Robert’s apparent allegiances. Merit Properties was his lifeblood, his inheritance. I was the weird sister he suspected of inciting trouble and being overly dramatic.

“Then maybe spend a little less time trying to get news coverage,” Robert muttered into his drink.

“Would you like to say that again, and aloud?” Ethan’s eyes glittered. “Your convictions are wrong, but then I could at least say you had courage in them.”

Robert rolled his eyes, but before he could open his mouth to spew more invective—or say something Ethan would definitely make him regret—my father put a hand on his elbow.

“Why don’t we take a walk,” my father suggested, “before we all say something we might regret?”

“Too late,” Ethan said, watching them walk away. “It appears your father may no longer be a complete asshole, but your brother’s keen on taking his place.”

“High praise indeed.”

“For a man who tried to sell his daughter to vampires, yes.”

“We could leave,” I said. “We could leave right now.”

Ethan turned to face me, his expression fierce. “You heard what he said, what he believed, what others believe. Your father once believed you’d done something wrong; your brother still believes it. Despite all evidence, he believes Reed couldn’t possibly be evil because he’s rich, because he’s powerful, because he has what others want. And that’s bullshit. Adrien Reed will not stop until he is stopped. We will do our part in that.”

When I looked away, he tipped my chin back to meet his eyes. “I know our tactics are different. I can live with that, because it’s him. Because he will destroy this city if he can. And because it’s you, and I will be damned if he hurts you to get to me.”

I found I couldn’t meet his eyes, and that made me unbearably sad.

And the man who stood metaphorically between us emerged from the darkness, his wife at his side.

“Well, well, well,” said Adrien Reed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”