CHAPTER FOUR

A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE

Traffic on the Kennedy hadn’t been any better than Lake Shore Drive. We’d avoided the accident, but not the three-mile backup that kept traffic at a crawl, so it took an hour to get back to Hyde Park.

Cadogan House glowed in the darkness, a beacon of warm light and white stone. The House was three stories of imposing French architecture surrounded by rolling lawns and an enormous wrought-iron fence meant to keep out enemies, paparazzi, and curious passersby.

There was a gate in front, recently upgraded by Ethan and at present guarded by humans. Two at the door, and four more patrolling the House’s perimeter. Both were insurance against whatever mischief Adrien Reed might have planned.

We drove the SUV back into the House’s underground parking lot, entered the code on the door that led into the House’s basement floor.

“Ops Room to update Luc?” I asked. The House’s security operations room, along with the arsenal and training room, was located in the basement.

“You will. After you’ve been treated.”

“Treated?”

“Your arm,” he said.

Those two words were enough to remind me of the wound and send it throbbing again.

“Ah. Right.”

He crooked a finger at me, and I fell into step behind him as we took the stairs to the House’s first floor.

The first floor was as lush as the basement was utilitarian. The scent of peonies and roses filled the air from an arrangement on a gorgeous antique table, which complemented the gorgeous woodwork, expensive rugs, and priceless artwork.

There was a desk in the foyer now, where a Novitiate vampire dealt with the supplicants who now requested an audience with Ethan. As one of the twelve members of the Assembly of American Masters, they looked to him for help, advice, and arbitration of disputes.

Ethan acknowledged them before directing me to his office, which was as luxe as the rest of the House. There was thick carpet, an imposing desk, and a comfortable sitting area with leather club chairs. Bookshelves lined the left side of the room, and an enormous conference table spread across the back in front of a bank of windows. They were open now, and would be shuttered automatically when the sun began to rise.

At the moment, the room was full of vampires. Malik, Ethan’s second-in-command, leaned against Ethan’s desk. He was dressed in the Cadogan uniform—fitted black suit, white button-down shirt that contrasted against his dark skin and pale green eyes.

Luc, the House’s guard captain, had tousled blond hair and the face and body of a well-practiced cowboy. He’d been excused from the House’s black-suit dress code. He wore jeans, boots, and a T-shirt with CADOGAN HOUSE GUARD CORPS printed in a circle across the front, the image of a bacon rasher in the middle. SAVIN’ YOUR BACON SINCE 1883 was printed across it. He’d created the design because, to quote him, “nothing fuels a vampire like a good rasher.”

His girlfriend and fellow guard, Lindsey, stood beside him. She was pretty, blond, fashion-conscious, and a very good friend. Tonight, she’d paired neon yellow stilettos with her House uniform. Matched with the jaunty high ponytail and small neon earrings, she added a little flair to the otherwise unrelieved black.

Juliet, another House guard, stood nearby with a bottle of green juice in hand. She was petite and looked delicate, with cream and roses skin and red hair, but she was a ferocious and determined fighter.

She’d recently decided “juicing” would further enhance her butt-kicking abilities, and she’d tried to foist one of her liquid kale concoctions on me. I declined to drink anything that looked like lawn clippings. Besides, if I wasn’t pumping my body with trans fats, I wasn’t fully utilizing my immortality.

When we stepped into the doorway, the vampires took in my blood-spattered T-shirt and bandage and Ethan’s own ripped and bloodied T-shirt.

“You two can’t even go to a damn sporting event without trouble,” Luc said.

“I grabbed shirts for you,” Lindsey said, offering folded black cotton to me and Ethan. “Fresh from the swag room.”

“You aren’t technically a Guard,” Luc said to me, “but since you just took another shot on behalf of your House and Master, we figured you deserved one.”

“That, and the fact that I train and work with you guys?”

Luc winked at me. “That helps.”

“What’s the House record for gunshots?” I asked.

“Five,” Ethan said. He’d walked behind his desk, was scanning his computer screen. “Peter had that prize. Would that he’d been here for a sixth,” he muttered, undoubtedly angry that he couldn’t deliver that sixth shot.

Peter was a former Cadogan Guard who’d betrayed the House for Celina Desaulniers, the former Master of Navarre House.

Given the night we’d had, I was determined to keep the mood light. “And what’s the prize for beating the record?”

“House arrest,” Ethan said. He glanced up, smiled thinly. “And you wouldn’t enjoy that, Sentinel.”

No argument there.

“Am I late?” A woman with dark skin and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing pink scrubs stood in the doorway. Delia was the House’s doctor.

“You’re right on time,” Ethan said. “Your patient awaits.”

“Patient?” I asked.

“Treatment, Sentinel. Your wound should be addressed.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded, especially since my arm was already itchy with healing. “I’m fine.”

Delia walked toward me, a tray in her hands. “Hello, Merit. How are you?”

“Hello, Delia. I’m fine.”

“Got shot again, did you?”

“I did. Although I didn’t pass out this time.” The last time, I’d hit my head and been knocked unconscious.

“That’s something at least.” She put the tray on Ethan’s desk, then walked to the sink in the small bar in the bookshelves, washed her hands to the elbow. I appreciated the effort, even if it seemed unlikely a vampire would die of sepsis.

With cool and careful fingers, she lifted my arm, surveyed the bandage before glancing back at Ethan, taking in the ripped shirt. “Homemade bandage?”

“Make-do,” he agreed. “We were chasing a suspect.”

“Again,” Luc said, “only you, too.”

Delia looked at me. “Pulling away the bandage might hurt, so let’s get it over with.” Without waiting for me to object, she released my arm. “Would you mind stripping her?”

Lindsey winked at me. “Of course not.”

I pushed away her hands. “Hey, I don’t need stripping. It’s my arm that’s damaged.”

“The shirt is filthy,” Delia said. “It looks like you scraped off a few layers of a dirty street.”

That wasn’t far from the truth.

“Take it off, or I’ll cut it off.”

“Hard-ass.”

She snorted. “You deal with a few dozen humans in an emergency room in an evening and see how much of a hard-ass you become. Gentlemen, if you would, please turn away so that our impressively modest Sentinel can get momentarily naked.”

“Awwww,” Luc said pitifully, but he and Malik turned their backs. Ethan didn’t bother. He watched us, concern in his expression, as Lindsey helped me pull the shirt over my head, then over each arm in turn. She tossed it onto the floor.

“Bandage?” she asked, and at Delia’s nod, pulled away the fabric Ethan had used to keep the handkerchief in place, tossed it aside with the T-shirt.

“You can burn that when you’re ready,” Delia said with a smile, stepping forward to palpate my arm, inspect the remaining bandage from each angle. “Or keep it as a souvenir of your fourth bullet for the House.”

“Being shot four times isn’t such a big deal,” I muttered.

“Certainly not for people who’ve been shot five times,” she said with a grin. She picked up a pair of blunt-ended scissors from the tray she’d brought in. “You ready for this? I’ll be as careful as I can.”

I blew out a breath, nodded. And as I stood in Ethan’s office in jeans and a bra, I reached out for Lindsey’s hand. She took mine, squeezed it.

“On three,” Delia said. “One . . . two . . .”

As I tensed, waiting for three, she ripped the fabric away.

I nearly hit my knees from the rush of bright, naked pain. “Damn! I thought you were going on three!”

“Two gets you done faster,” she said, and began inspecting my arm. “Good. It’s a through-and-through, so we won’t have to drag fragments out of you.”

“There’s no way I’d let you come at me with a scalpel.”

“If I had a quarter,” she muttered, gaze narrowed as she poked and prodded. “The bullet damaged your muscle, tendon, but missed the bone. Might be sore for a couple of days, but you’re used to that.”

“You’re a cruel woman.”

She looked up at me and grinned. “I know. I’m a much better doctor.” She gently patted on a cooling gel, then turned me toward the light and inspected the arm she’d cleaned and medicated. “Much better. Let’s get the clean T-shirt on you, and you’ll want to keep that uncovered and clear for a little while. It’s nearly healed, and you don’t want to have to deal with this again.”

“No,” I said, wincing as Lindsey helped me pull the shirt over my head. “I do not. And thank you for the help. Even if I’d like to punch you a little bit right now.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

Delia’s phone rang, and she pulled it from her pocket and glanced at the screen. “And duty calls again. I need to run.” She glanced at Ethan and got his nod of approval.

“Thank you for the help,” I called out as she hurried toward the door. I looked back at Ethan. “In case that didn’t register, will you please thank her for me?”

“I will,” he said. “And she’s happy to help.” He smiled slyly. “But you should probably work on not getting shot again.”

It was on my agenda.

•   •   •

“Now that we’ve addressed Merit’s injury,” Ethan said, when we’d reset from a medical discussion to a strategic one, “she also made a rather significant discovery.”

“That’s why I brought that up here,” Luc said, pointing behind me. I followed the direction of his gesture, saw the enormous, wheeled whiteboard near the wall behind us. We used it when we needed to do investigating, identify facts, formulate theories. And lately, we’d been doing a lot of it. My grandfather’s influence, maybe.

“Two new marker colors, too,” Luc said, eyes gleaming. “So we can color-code as necessary.”

Ethan gestured the group to the sitting area while Luc arranged the board in front of the bookshelves and uncapped a marker, the scent of solvent filling the room.

“Also strong colors,” Lindsey said, wrinkling her nose as she sat in one of the club chairs in the sitting area. Malik took the other chair after offering it to Juliet. She declined with a wave of her hand, sat down on the floor, crossing her slender legs in front of her.

Ethan walked to the small refrigerator tucked into the bookshelves, pulled out two bottles of blood. He handed me one, then took a seat on the leather couch beside me.

I opened the blood, took a satisfying drink. In the company of vampires, it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

“Seriously,” Juliet said, waving a hand in front of her face, “that marker could clear a room.”

“Good,” Luc said, positioning himself in front of the board, marker in his fist like an expensive, bladed weapon.

“What am I always telling you about weaponry?” Luc asked, scanning the faces of the guards.

“Anything is a weapon, and a weapon is anything,” we parroted back like perfect pupils. But with more sarcasm.

“Good,” Luc said with an approving nod. “You need to clear a room, you now know how to do it.”

“Committed to memory,” Lindsey said, tapping a nail against her temple.

Luc grunted doubtfully but looked at us. “All right, Sentinel. You’ve got our attention. Give us the details of tonight’s trouble.”

“Dead shifter,” I said, “apparently killed by a vampire under the El tracks at the Addison Station. And nearby, alchemical symbols written on a concrete pedestal.”

Luc nodded, wrote the three headlines at the top of the board: vampire, shifter, sorcerer. Then he marked a line through “shifter,” killing him symbolically.

“That’s quite a variety of supernaturals in one place,” Malik said.

“No argument there,” Ethan said.

“Shifter had puncture marks on his left-hand side,” I said. “Blood near the body, blood near the pedestal.”

“The shifter’s name was Caleb Franklin,” Ethan put in. “An NAC member who defected.”

Malik’s eyebrows rose, and he looked up from the tablet on which he’d been writing notes. “Defected?”

“Defected,” Ethan confirmed. “Keene didn’t provide details, only said Franklin wanted more ‘freedom.’” Ethan used air quotes, which meant he’d found the excuse as questionable as I had.

“You buy that?” Luc asked, arms crossed.

“I do not,” Ethan said. “But one does not interrogate the Apex of the NAC Pack near the scene of his dead, if former, Pack mate and in front of several of his comrades.”

“A wise political course,” Malik said.

“What about the vampire?” Luc asked.

I gave them his description. “I didn’t see his full face, but what I did see didn’t look familiar.”

“Me, neither,” Ethan said.

But he might, I thought, look familiar to someone else. I pulled out my phone. “I’m going to see if Jeff can check security cams in the area. Maybe we can get at least a partial still of his face.”

“Good,” Luc said, and wrote Need photograph on the board. “We can send that to Scott and Morgan, see if he’s familiar to them.”

“I’ll also send it to Noah,” I said. Noah Beck was the unofficial leader of the city’s Rogue vampires. He’d hooked me up with the Red Guard, a secret vampire corps, and was a member himself, but I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“And the alchemy?” Luc asked, after adding Noah’s name to the board.

“There were a lot of symbols,” I said. “Jeff and Catcher took pictures, and they’re working on an analysis. Mallory and Catcher think it’s some kind of equation based on the way it’s written—neat rows and columns—but they’ve got to translate in order to know what kind.”

Luc glanced at Ethan. “Paige?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Ethan said with a nod. “When we receive the photographs, will you see if she can help? Mallory will assist, but there’s a lot to translate in order to figure out what was written there.”

“And that’s our biggest question,” Luc said, writing ALCHEMY in all caps across the board with a bright green marker even stinkier than the first.

“This reminds me that I knew an alchemist once upon a time,” Ethan said, his gaze on the board. “Or a man who called himself an alchemist, at any rate. He was in Munich in the employ of a baron who wanted more wealth. He was convinced turning lead into gold was possible.”

“When was this?” I asked. Ethan had nearly four hundred years under his belt, after all.

He frowned. “Mid–seventeen hundreds, I believe. Alchemy had its run, but as far as I’m aware, it hasn’t been popular in magical circles in a very long time.”

“I assume the purported alchemist wasn’t successful?” Malik asked.

“He was not. He supposedly had success using a meteorite discovered in the Carpathian Mountains, but, to no one’s surprise, he wasn’t able to repeat the results for an audience.” Ethan lifted a shoulder. “He was a charlatan. He lived off the baron for nine or ten years before the baron grew tired of tricks.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“Put the alchemist’s head on a pike to warn away anyone else who might have hoped to deceive him.”

Juliet glanced back at me. “Any chance this alchemy was practice, scribbles, the ravings of a madman, anything like that?”

“It was awfully precise to be scribbles,” Ethan said, glancing at me. “There were, what, a few hundred symbols there?”

I nodded. “At least that.”

“Someone has magic planned,” Malik said, and a heaviness fell over the room.

Luc tapped the plastic marker against the board. “Let’s talk through what that magic might be.”

“It was close to Wrigley Field,” I said, and all eyes turned to me. “Maybe the geography matters. Maybe they plan to hit it.”

“On the night of a game,” Juliet said, and I nodded, anger bristling beneath my skin. Supernaturals being violent toward one another was one thing. But targeting humans—those who didn’t have their strength, their power, their immortality—was something else entirely. It was a breach of the rules, whatever that game might have been.

Luc blew out a breath, wrote the idea on the board. “What else?”

“The El,” Ethan said. “The symbols were written on the trestle. Perhaps the magic was intended to disrupt service, to knock out a pedestal and derail the cars.”

“Like an explosion,” Luc said, and added that possibility to the list. He glanced back at me. “Only the one pedestal?”

“Yeah. We don’t know if he or she only meant to prep one and got interrupted, or only needed one in the first place.”

Luc uncapped the marker, drew three enormous question marks in the middle of the board. “So we need intel there. Translating the equation, hopefully, will fill in some of it.”

“We can also check the chatter,” Juliet said. “If it’s a big operation, there’s a chance someone is talking about it on the Web.”

“Good,” Luc said, adding the strategy to the board. “And how do the shifter and vampire fit into this?”

“If they’re friends with the sorcerer,” Juliet said, “they could have been entourage, buddy, bodyguard. Maybe a disagreement broke out.”

“Or, if not friends,” Lindsey said, glancing at Juliet, “maybe a rival or personal disagreement. Maybe the shifter was trying to interrupt the sorcerer.”

Lindsey nodded. “Doesn’t like what the sorcerer’s doing, doesn’t like how he’s doing it, so the vampire takes him out.”

“Or maybe the vampire was the antagonist,” Luc said. “Shifter and sorcerer are working together, vampire shows up, tries to head off the magic. Takes out the shifter, but the sorcerer gets away.”

“If that’s true,” I said, “and the vampire’s trying to avoid some big alchemical whatsit, why would he run away from us?”

“Maybe he’s on our side, relatively speaking, but didn’t want to be identified.” Luc glanced at Ethan. “Could have been a Red Guard member.” Luc was one of the few Cadogan vampires who knew I was involved in activities outside the House; he didn’t know that activity was the Red Guard or that Jonah, the Guard captain of Grey House, was my partner.

Or had been, anyway. Things were tense between us at present because I was sleeping with the presumed “enemy,” whom I refused to spy on.

“Could have been,” Ethan said with a slow nod. “But murder isn’t typically the RG’s MO. They aren’t normally that violent or that proactive. And killing with a bite isn’t their style.”

I’ll ask, I told Ethan silently, already brainstorming how, exactly, I was going to do that without making things worse. (“Hey, Jonah. I know we aren’t really talking right now, but did one of our RG colleagues kill a shifter near Grey House earlier tonight?”)

Ethan looked at Luc. “The shifter is our best lead at the moment. We have a name, a position, and a Pack. Find out what you can about his defection, and we’ll talk to Gabriel. He said they’ll host a wake tomorrow.”

Luc’s eyebrows lifted with surprise. “Even though he defected?”

“That was my question, too,” I said.

Luc nodded thoughtfully, considered. “We’ll do the research.”

“Discreetly,” Ethan said.

“I am nothing if not discreet.”

Lindsey snorted. “You walked down the hallway wearing nothing but a towel the other day.”

Luc grinned, stretched his arms. “I was hungry.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “You were showing off.”

Ethan laughed lightly, but then closed his eyes, rubbed his temples. Here, in front of his trusted staff, he could be vulnerable. “Alert the House just in case. If an unknown sorcerer is spreading magic around the city, and a vampire is killing shifters, that kind of trouble could find its way here.”

“Already has, arguably,” Luc said.

Ethan nodded. “Nothing so far indicates the man or woman who wrote these symbols is known to us. Until we figure out the reason for the magic, we treat it as antagonistic. We don’t need to lock down the House, but I want everyone on alert.”

“The House is already prepared because of Reed,” Malik said, comforting. “They’ll be careful.”

Ethan nodded at Malik, then looked around the room, meeting the gaze of each vampire in turn. “A shifter was killed by a vampire tonight. Gabriel trusts us to a point, but that trust will only extend so far. We don’t want to put our alliance at risk.” He rose. “I’d like a report at dusk with what we’ve learned about the defection, the shifter, the symbols.”

The other vampires understood the meaning of Ethan’s change in position, and they rose, too.

“On it, hoss,” Luc said, then nodded at me and headed toward the door, his guards behind him.

I rose to follow Luc, but Ethan put a hand on my arm. “Go upstairs. Take the rest of the night off.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ve only a few hours before dawn in any event, and tomorrow promises to be busy. I’d like you to help Mallory and Paige with the translation. I’ll clear it with Luc.”

He wouldn’t, actually. As Master, he’d inform Luc, which was a very different thing.

“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” I said. “I don’t really know much about alchemy, just recognized the symbols.”

“That’s why you’ll be their minion, and not the other way around.”

“Ha-ha.”

He pressed his mouth to mine. “I’m going to take care of a few issues here, including updating the AAM, and then I’ll join you in the apartments. Perhaps we’ll enjoy some wine in front of the fire.”

The AAM was the Assembly of American Masters.

“Is dealing with Nicole going to put you in the mood for wine drinking?” Nicole Heart was the Master of Atlanta’s Heart House, and the vampire who’d been elected leader of the AAM.

He chuckled. “It will certainly put me in the mood to want a drink.” He pressed his lips to mine, softly, tenderly. “Have a rest, Sentinel. I’ll see you soon.”

•   •   •

The Masters’ apartments were on the third floor of Cadogan House and were composed of a suite of rooms: sitting room, bedroom, bathroom, and enormous closet that held Ethan’s collection of suits and my leather fighting ensemble.

The rooms were as luxurious as the rest of the House, with beautiful furniture and art, fresh flowers, and, since the night was waning, the silver tray of snacks that Margot, the House chef, left for us every night. Tonight, it was here earlier than usual, but Ethan had probably told her how our evening had gone, requested she prepare it.

When I’d closed the door and kicked off my shoes, I unwrapped one of the gold-foiled chocolates she’d taken to leaving lately, a mix of chocolate, hazelnuts, and toffee that hit the spot.

As carefully as I could, I stripped off the rest of my clothes and headed for the shower. Ethan hadn’t spared any expense in the bathroom, with lots of marble, gleaming fixtures, and the fluffiest towels I’d ever used. And of course they were monogrammed with a curvaceous “C” in rich navy blue.

I turned on the enormous shower, let the water warm and the steam rise, and stepped inside. Eyes closed, I dunked my head and let the heat roll over me until I felt soothed again.

When I was dry and robed, I surveyed my pajama options in the bedroom’s chest of drawers. I usually opted for a tank or T-shirt and patterned shorts or bottoms. It was unlikely an emergency would occur during daylight hours—what could we do about it anyway?—but I liked being dressed just in case.

There were fancier things in the drawers—silk lingerie so delicate it felt like liquid between my fingertips, lacy and strappy things that weren’t built for comfort, but to excite. I couldn’t say I was feeling especially amorous, not with Caleb Franklin on my mind. I was feeling emotionally exhausted by supernatural drama.

The apartment door opened, closed, locked. Ethan appeared around the doorway, a leather portfolio in hand. He put it on the desk and glanced through the apartment, looking for me.

“Feeling indecisive?” he asked with a smile.

“Unsettled.” I pulled out a Cadogan tank, matching bottoms, placed them on the bed. Ethan had branded the House from top to bottom and everywhere in between. It wouldn’t have surprised me much to wake up one evening and find an inked “C” on my biceps. “I didn’t expect you to come up so early.”

“I decided I could also use a break.” Ethan walked closer, eyebrows drawn together in concern. “You’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Just tired and frustrated.”

His body tensed. Not much, but then I was attuned to it—and his moods—more than most. “Frustrated? About what?”

“About everything.” I walked back to the bed, sat down. “Ethan, every time we turn around, somebody wants to kill us, control us, put us out of business, put the Pack out of business. I guess I’m feeling burned out.”

He walked closer, pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You aren’t the only vampire to have these feelings.”

I looked up at him. “Oh?”

“Many Novitiates, many staff, have talked to me about their frustration, their fear, their stress.” He sat beside me, hands clasped in his lap. “We lived unmolested for many years before Celina decided to announce us. If we’d stayed quiet and let others handle the problems that arose, we wouldn’t have drawn as much attention. But we did. And so we face the consequences of our caring.”

And wasn’t that a kick in the ass? “I know,” I said. “It’s just . . .” I groped for words, pulled up my legs to sit cross-legged, and glanced at him. “I don’t want our child to grow up in a world like the one we’re facing right now. Where every night is a new battle.”

No vampire child had ever been carried to term, but Gabriel believed Ethan and I would change that, but only after we suffered some kind of unspoken “testing.”

Ethan’s expression went hot with protectiveness. “When the time comes, he or she will want for nothing, will know no fear, and will be protected by both of us.”

There was a ferocity in his eyes that surprised me. Not because I doubted he’d be a good father; to the contrary, it was easy to imagine him holding a child, protecting a child. But he’d been as surprised as I was when I told him about Gabriel’s prophecy. He’d come around.

And speaking of the prophecy, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. “We’ve got an hour before dawn. What would you like to do?”

My seduction game was on point.

“Fantasy football?”

Before I could even blink at the suggestion, which was bizarre coming from him, he pounced, covering my body with his and pinning me onto the mattress. The weight of him, of his sculpted and toned body, felt like a miracle.

“I don’t actually plan to immerse you in fantasy football,” he whispered, his lips tracing a line across my neck, his long and skilled fingers becoming acquainted with the knot in my robe.

“No,” I said, while I could still form words. “I don’t imagine you did.”

“Although the fantasy part—” he began, but before he could finish, his mouth was on mine again, teasing and inciting, igniting the slow burn that sent magic trickling across my skin and seemed to electrify the air.

“The fantasy part is well within my wheelhouse,” he finished, and set out to prove it.