Drink Deep

PAPER TOWERS



The library was on the second floor of the House, not far from my room. It had two floors - the first held the majority of the books and a balcony wrapped in a wrought-iron railing held another set. It was a cavalcade of tomes, al in immaculate rows, and with study carrels and tables thrown in for good measure. It was my home away from home (away from home).



I walked inside and paused for a moment to breathe in the scent of paper and dust - the perfumes of knowledge.



The library was empty of patrons as far as I could tel , but I could hear the rhythmic squeal of a library cart somewhere in the rows. I fol owed them down until I found the dark-haired vampire shelving books with mechanical precision. I knew him only as "the librarian." He was a fount of information, and he had a penchant for leaving books outside my door.



I cleared my throat to get his attention. He looked up, eyes narrowed, probably prepared to give me a lecture about making noise in the library. (A set of rules inside the door warned, among other things, that cough drops were required for patrons with scratchy throats. The librarian wanted no aural interruptions within his domain.) But when he realized it was me, he held up a hand and ducked down to the bottom shelf of his cart. He popped up again with a bundle of books, which he hefted toward me.



"For you," he said. I scanned the titles; they were, unfortunately, more books of vampire politics. He'd already given me lots of books on vampire politics, which seemed to barely scratch the surface of the number of books actually written on vampire politics. We were a political bunch, and we apparently liked to ruminate on that particular obsession.



But he was a man who could help me with my current problem, so I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth.



"Thank you," I said, and took the books from him. "A question - what can you tel me about the lake siren?"



The librarian made a disdainful sound, then abandoned his cart to head down the aisle.



I stuck the books into an empty spot on a shelf and trailed him down the aisle and across the room to the staircase that led up to the balcony.



I fol owed him up, the staircase so narrow and steep my nose was practical y in the back of his knees. When we reached the N/dite1em">



Thankful y, this wasn't a treatise on politics. It was a book of art, a catalog of paintings of lovely, russet-haired maidens near streams and pools of water.



"These are nymphs and sirens," the librarian explained, flipping through some of the paintings. "Nymphs reside in the rivers. Sirens reside in the lakes. They're the governing supernaturals for those areas. They are embodiments of the essences of the bodies of water. Intimately connected to them, part of them."



"And River trol s do the enforcing for the nymphs?"



"Very good, Sentinel," he said, then frowned absently.



"No known enforcers for the sirens. Both tend to keep to themselves - except for their odd relationships with shifters."



"Powder keg," I suggested.



"A chemical reaction of some kind, certainly. In any event, while the nymphs and shifters have a connection, the nymphs and sirens most definitely do not. Cal it a matter of competition. Nymphs believe rivers are better than lakes: the water's constantly flowing, they move commerce, et cetera. Sirens believe lakes are better than rivers. They hold more volume. They're better for recreation; they support more fishing."



"Lakes versus rivers seems like a minor issue. The nymphs acted like they hated Lorelei."



"It isn't a minor issue when you're a supernatural being tied to the body of water. The nature of that body of water matters."



"And if that water is currently sucking away the city's magic?"



"Then you've got a problem that threatens to destabilize supernatural relations in the city even more."



That wasn't exactly news. "I'm supposed to go visit Lorelei tomorrow. What should I expect?"



The librarian closed the art book again and slid it back onto the shelf, then walked a few feet ahead and slid out a wide, flat drawer that held large sheets of paper. He flipped through them, then beckoned me forward. He'd selected a map of the Great Lakes region, but unlike normal maps, only the bodies of water were labeled.



"The island's rumored to be woody," he said, pointing to a green dot in the middle of Lake Michigan, "but the house wil have to have some kind of water feature. A pool, a waterfal , et cetera. Water isn't just important to a siren - it's a necessity."



"Aquariums?" I wondered. I imagined a wal -sized aquarium fil ed with a rainbow of tropical fish, or maybe a koi pond in the backyard.



The librarian shook his head. "Never aquariums. Water spirits are strong believers that animals should be left in their natural habitats."



"What about strengths? Weaknesses?"



"Both water related. Both nymphs and sirens need to stay in relatively close contact with water, either geographical y or chronological y."



"You mean, they can go for a little while without touching water, or they can go a little bit away from the water, but not for very long."



He nodded. "Exactly. As for powers, they are regulators of the water, which means they can feel it. They understand its health, its problems."



"So if the river's pol uted, it affects S, i feel ithe nymphs?"



"Exactly. I assume this water sickness is affecting them keenly."



I nodded. "They're very upset. They're also getting weaker, and proximity to the water seems to make it worse."



"That's bad news."



I agreed, but didn't yet have a solution. "Anything else?"



"Sirens also have the typical power of water women." He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.



"Seducing and capturing men? Yeah, I feel like I'm pretty safe on that one. That's why I'm flying solo on this one."



With a matter-of-fact nod, he slid the map drawer closed, then pointed back to the shelf of art books. "Grab a few of those and flip through them. Pay attention to the characteristics of the women in the paintings. Their expressions. Their clothing. Are they holding weapons?"



"But these are art books. Are they reliable?"



The librarian snorted. "Al artists have models, Merit. If you're a water spirit, to whom else would you rather reveal yourself than an artist who wil make you immortal? Just keep one thing in mind."



"What's that?"



"If it takes too long to turn the waters back, you may not be able to bring any of them back from the brink."



Not that there was any pressure.



I spent the next few hours doing what any mature adult would do - hiding out in the library so I didn't have to face down the receiver. It's not just that I didn't want to play justify-your-existence with Frank - I didn't want to play justify-your-existence with a man charged with cataloging Ethan's failures.



That was a threshold I didn't want to cross - a bridge between my life with Ethan and my life without him. Not just emotional y, but because Ethan had initiated me into his House and taught me to stand Sentinel.



Frank, on the other hand, was an interloper, an interruption. When I met with him, I'd no longer be able to deny how different things in the House had become. That wasn't an admission I was ready to make.



I also wasn't ready to talk about the night Celina and Ethan had been kil ed. I didn't think it possible that Frank, a GP representative, wouldn't mention my role in the death of two Master vampires. I'd been waiting for the day the GP laid their deaths at my doorstep, blaming me for what had happened even though Tate had been control ing Celina, and Celina had kil ed Ethan. I wasn't looking forward to debriefing him on those events.



So I was seated at a desk in a perfect hiding place, a carrel tucked back in the stacks at the end of a row - almost completely hidden from view.



I was scanning a book of Waterhouse paintings and scribbling notes about the spirits' characteristics when I heard the efficient clip-clap of plastic-soled shoes heading in my direction.



I glanced up.



Helen, the House liaison for new vampires and a den mother for the House, came into view. She was a taskmaster, and she was dressed for the part tonight in a boxy gray suit paired with sensible heels and classic X-shaped earrings that probably cost a fortune. Since she was staring down at me, I assumed she was here on a mission.



"Yes?" I prompted.



"Mr. Cabot is ready to speak with you. Please join him in the office." She didn't wait for a reply, but turned and walked back toward the door.



Ugh. Busted.



Helen was the type who ran only hot or cold, and offered no warning about which temperature might be in the pipes on any given day. She could fawn over a new pair of shoes one day and treat you like a stranger the next, barely acknowledging your existence. She was an odd duck, but since I didn't usual y interact with her, I didn't worry too much about it.



Frank, on the other hand, apparently used her as an errand girl.



I dropped my forehead to the library table, gearing myself up for a meeting I knew I wasn't going to enjoy. After a moment, I shut the book, then rose and scooted my chair beneath the table. I offered the librarian a nod as I passed him, then headed back to the stairs and Frank's first-floor abode.



Why did I do al those things? Because sometimes, especial y for vampires, drama was unavoidable. And on those days, a girl just had to suck it up.



For some reason, my favorite game as a child had been playing school. Except that I didn't pretend to teach a class or be a student. I played class administrator. I put GREAT



JOB! stickers on fake homework. I penned students' names and attendance records in old-fashioned class rol books. I organized papers into piles, including ticket stubs and hotel letterhead from my father's business trips.



I'm not sure why, but I loved paper and pens, markers and stamps, al manner of ephemera. As an adult, that translated into an appreciation for fancy pens and slick-papered notebooks. But as vast as my love of paper was, it was nothing compared to Frank's.



He'd fil ed Ethan's office with piles of paper. Trees would have wept from the sight. The sheer abundance made me wonder if Frank imagined the reams to be the source of some secret power - as if his ability to push paper (and stack it into tidy columns) were the keys to the Cadogan kingdom.



I was standing at the threshold, staring at the forest of white, when Frank waved me in from the conference table that fil ed the back half of the office.



He wasn't unattractive, but his features were aristocratical y pinched, like being born into wealth had sharpened them. His brown hair was short and careful y combed. He wore khakis and a tucked-in white dress shirt.



An expensive gold watch was wrapped around his right wrist. I guessed if I peeked under the table I'd find brown loafers with tassels on the top.



"Come in," Frank said. "Have a seat."



I did as I was told, taking the chair across from him. He didn't waste any time.



"You left the House this evening under order of the Captain of the Guards to investigate the" - he paused to look down at a sheet of paper on the table - "incident of Lake Michigan turning black?"



"Yes," I said. "Out of concern humans would automatical y blame the city's supernatural populations."



He just made a vague sound that indicated he found the notion ridiculous. "I understand Darius previously ordered you not to involve yourself in city affairs."



"It's not just a city affair if vampires are blamed," I pointed out. "And that dictate was issued before we lost another guard. The guard corps is short-staffed, and I'm next in SI of the of line to help out."



He made that sound again. "Merit, as you know, I've been tasked by the GP to evaluate the stability and sanctity of the House, both in terms of its financial accounting and its staff. In doing so, I'm interviewing every member of the House to better understand their roles." He shuffled through a few papers, then pul ed out a document to which a picture of me had been clipped.



He scanned it for a moment, then placed it back on the table and linked his fingers together on the tabletop.



"You stand Sentinel," he said. His voice carried the distinct impression of disapproval.



"I do."



"And you became a vampire in April of this year?"



"Yes." I saw no reason to elaborate.



"Mmm," he said. "And you were appointed Sentinel at your Commendation, after you'd been a vampire for a matter of, what, essential y a week?"



"Approximately."



"Were you in the armed services before you became Sentinel?"



He was asking questions to which he undoubtedly knew the answer. He wasn't confused about what I'd done prior to becoming Sentinel; he was gathering evidence of Ethan's mismanagement. Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out a way around the game.



"I was not," I answered. "I was a graduate student working on my doctoral degree in English literature."



He frowned, feigning confusion. "But you serve as Sentinel - a warrior for the House. A protector. Surely Ethan would have fil ed the position with someone trained and ready to take on the chal enge?" Frank tilted his head, his brow stil furrowed, but a gleam of "Gotcha!" in his eyes.



And now it was time to elaborate . . . and throw back this farce he was perpetrating.



"I'm sure you've seen my file. I'm sure you know I'm rated a Very Strong Phys, a Strong Strat, and a Strong Psych because I can resist glamour. I was strong on the day I was made a vampire, and I've only become stronger since then.



I've been trained with a katana, I have political and financial connections throughout this city, and I'm strong enough to have bested Ethan in training. I'm wel educated and take seriously the oaths I gave to this House. What else would you have me do?"



"You aren't an infantryman. You aren't trained in combat."



"I'm the Sentinel of the House, charged with protecting the House as an entity. I am not captain of the House guards, and it's not my job to create military strategy. I fight only as a last resort, when al other options have failed. I find that people too wil ing to jump into the fray usual y have an ulterior motive for doing so."



Frank sat back in Ethan's chair, brow pinched as he considered his next tack. "Your ties to Mayor Tate did nothing to help this House."



"Mayor Tate was intent on using vampires for his own purposes. He created an empire of il egal drugs using the imprimatur of his office. There was nothing I could have done to stop that. But I discovered it, and I put an end to it.



And because of my work, he's no longer manufacturing drugs or using those drugs to control vampires."



"Your involvement led to the deaths of two Master vampires."



I considered a variety of res Sarir iponses - throwing a fit; offering back evidence of my innocence, that I'd done al I could; complaining about the GP's lack of support when things were going bad in Chicago. But I disregarded al those options.



I knew what had gone down in that room, and I had a fairly good sense the GP did, as wel . They may have supported Celina, and they may have hoped for quiet assimilation in Chicago, but they weren't stupid. I wasn't going to play their game, and I wasn't going to give them the aspen to stake me with.



"I am sure you've been wel briefed on what occurred at the mayor's house," I politely said. "Is there any specific information you need me to provide?"



Frank looked at me for a long moment. No, not looked at  - regarded. He considered me, evaluated me, estimated who I was and what I might be capable of.



He wasn't just an accountant of Houses. He was an accountant of vampires.



"Merit, I'm going to be frank."



I had to bite my lips to keep from making an inappropriately snarky comment about his name.



"The GP exists to ensure no individual vampire or House tips the balance against the rest of us. Cadogan House, however, is a problem child. You already have a demerit in your file, which means you know ful wel the GP's feelings about the chaos this House has wreaked."



I'd "earned" that demerit because I'd intervened in a drug-induced fight that put Cadogan House on the front page. It was coincidence that I'd been there, but the GP had been looking for someone to blame. And wasn't that what al this was about?



"I imagine the GP is not pleased with the fact that vampires are now out of the closet," I al owed. "But that was Celina's doing. Neither Ethan nor Cadogan House had anything to do with that. If you want to blame someone, pay a visit to Navarre House."



"Ah, but it's not as if I can speak with Celina, can I?"



My chest tightened, and I threw back some vitriol. "Since I staked her after she kil ed my Master, no. You can't speak with her."



"That's your side of the story, of course."



The hair on the back of my neck stood up. "That's my side of the story? That's what happened."



Frowning, Frank shuffled in his chair. "We've received other information."



"From who? There were only five of us in the room, and two of them are dead."



He looked at me for a moment, just long enough for the lightbulb to pop on.



"You spoke with Tate."



"We did. And he tel s an interesting tale about your barging into his office and threatening him and his associate. According to Tate, al the drama that occurred was your doing, the deaths your responsibility."



I borrowed an Ethanism and arched a sardonic eyebrow at Frank. "I interrupted Tate harboring a fugitive and control ing Celina with drugs and magic. Celina tried to kil me." The next part was hard to say and harder to admit.



"Ethan jumped in front of the stake to save me, but Celina kept coming, and I kil ed her in self-defense."



"That sounds terribly convenient to me. I don't suppose you have any notion to move up in the chain of command in the House?"



I took a moment to col ect myself, and then looked up at Frank again. "I have no interest in being Master of Cadogan House."



"That's not what Tate suggested. He suggested, in fact, that you had a specific plan to deal with the rest of the House hierarchy."



My blood boiled. Seth Tate and I were definitely going to have words. "Tate lied, and I have nothing but respect for Malik. Tate is the one with the secret agenda. And with al due respect, Ethan's death happened two months ago. If you had any legitimate doubts about the events of that night, the GP would have staked or excommunicated me by now."



Frank's expression steeled, his eyes flattening in disgust.



I'd cal ed his bluff, daring him to show his cards. He was a GP representative, but maybe he had even less evidence against me, Ethan, and the House than I thought.



"The GP wil act as it deems appropriate."



Like never before, I had a sudden empathy for Jonah, Noah, and everyone else involved in the Red Guard. That was precisely the attitude they were battling against - the GP's sense that it was infal ible, and the very real fact that there was no other check on its power.



"I'm sure it wil ," I told him.



Frank clenched his jaw for a moment before returning his attention to the pile of papers in front of him. He gathered them up and tapped them together, then slid them aside, another tower of paper.



"The GP is very disturbed by the actions of this House.



Under my authority, it wil operate as it was meant to - as one House of twelve. It wil not make a spectacle of itself. Is that understood?"



"Perfectly."



"We'l speak again," he assured me, and waved a dismissive hand.



I took that as my cue to exit; I rose, pushed back my chair, and headed for the door.



"Merit."



As I had on so many other occasions, I glanced back from the doorway of the office that had once been Ethan's.



But the room, with its towers of paper and ignorant interloper, was different now.



"One way or the other," Frank said, "the truth wil come out."



"I hope so," I told him. "I real y do."



Dawn was on its way, but the sun hadn't risen yet. I found the books I'd left in the library outside my door, so I carried them into my room. Hunger gnawed at me, the pad thai having left me with the munchies, so I wandered to the kitchen to take stock of whatever free-range, shade-grown munchables Frank had al owed.



Out of curiosity, I also checked the refrigerator, which was usual y ful y stocked with blood. This time, there were only three sad-looking Blood4You pint bags on the top shelf. The fact that Frank thought it was just to deprive vampires of blood - making them aware with every breath how beholden they were to him - fil ed me with a surge of anger. It was downright sadistic.



Gnawing my lips, I contemplated diving into one of the bags. My hunger hadn't yet ful y arisen, but it was beginning to gnaw in my chest. I was also going to have to face down the lake siren tomorrow, and God only knew what that might involve. I needed the blood - but I hated to take a pint away from someone else. On the other hand, a blood-crazy Sentinel wasn't going to help anyone.



I grabbed a p SI glse. Onint from the fridge and set about sating my other hunger. I pul ed open a random cabinet and grimaced at the sight. Just as Lindsey had predicted, the munchables were al free-range and shade-grown, ful of organic goodness and without a single saturated or hydrogenated whatnot in sight.



"Miserable, isn't it?"



I glanced behind me. Margot, the House's head chef, stood in the doorway with a dour expression. She wore her chef's whites and rubber clogs, her sleek bob of dark hair gleaming, the pointed bangs resting just between her catlike amber eyes. Her eyes, though, looked a little watery, and they were marked beneath by dark circles.



Was that an effect of blood rationing?



"It is miserable," I agreed.



Margot pul ed a smal cart into the kitchen, its top and bottom shelves laden with healthy snacks and the crunchy sorts of vegetables that only tasted good when drowned in creamy dil dressing.



I know I wasn't a model for healthy eating. But I'd been careful about my weight my entire life. Now, because of my vampire metabolism, I couldn't gain a pound. I considered that a chal enge.



"I like to bake," she said, opening a cabinet and stocking the shelves, "and I enjoy my fruits and veggies, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy plastic-wrapped carbs now and again."



"I'm sure he thinks he's doing the right thing."



Margot paused, hand on a bag of al -natural dried fruit snacks that probably tasted like Styrofoam, and looked over at me. "Do you real y believe that?"



"Unfortunately, yes. I think he truly believes he's doing the right thing for the GP."



She lowered her voice. "Then maybe it's the GP we should be arguing with."



I made a sound of agreement.



Margot stocked the cabinet, then opened the refrigerator door. "Not much blood," she said, frowning as she looked over the bags that were left.



"Rationing, I assume."



"You'd be right. He's reduced our Blood4You delivery by forty percent."



"I think he's hoping someone loses it," I quietly predicted.



"That someone goes after a human, or goes crazy from hunger in front of a camera."



"So he can prove to the GP how flawed the House is.



Convince them to turn it over to him for good."



I nodded. Margot and I shared a worried look, before she suddenly brightened.



"I might have a little something that wil cheer you up, actual y," she said, kneeling down to dig around the bottom shelf of the cart. When she stood up again, she had a gleaming box in her hands.



"Mal ocakes!" I whispered, my eyes probably lighting up like roman candles. It wouldn't have surprised me if my fangs had descended out of sheer excitement. Mal ocakes were my favorite snack-cake delight, chocolate bars of spongey goodness stuffed with marshmal ow creme.



"Contraband," she corrected, then pul ed the paper strip off the box and pul ed out a Mal ocake. With much reverence, she handed it to me. "I'm only brave enough to sneak these in one box at a time," she quietly said, hiding the box again in the jumble on the bottom shelf. "But we al need a little something to get through the day. And if Se de," she this is what it takes, so be it. You find me when you need a fix."



And so it began, I thought, the first wave of a revolution against oppression, fought with corn syrup and chocolate.



"I appreciate it," I said. "And your secret is safe with me."



Margot rol ed her cart back down the hal way. I headed back to my room and downed the blood immediately. I stared at the Mal ocake in my hand for a moment, but ultimately stuffed it into a drawer. There would undoubtedly be a moment when I needed it even more than now.



Chicago - especial y with vampires - just seemed to work that way.