House Rules

THE CASE OF VAMPIRE VS. VAMPIRE



There were two parts to the training room at Cadogan House, which sat next door to the Ops Room: the tatami-covered floor where the participants fought, and the balcony that ringed it, a place for spectators to watch the proceedings below.



The fighters hadn't yet stepped into the ring, so I found a seat on the balcony beside Lindsey, Luc, and half the Ops Room temps.



"How did your meeting go?" Luc asked.



"McKetrick didn't try to kill me, but I'm not sure he's involved in the killings, either. He didn't much care they were dead, but he did seem surprised about the aspen gun."



Luc looked surprised. "He claims someone stole it from him?"



"He didn't say, but I'm wondering."



The balcony erupted into applause, and we peered over the railing as Ethan walked inside, wearing black martial arts pants and a top belted at the waist. He was shoeless, and his hair was pulled tight at the nape of his neck, all but a lock of golden blond that fell across his face.



A burst of pride filled my chest. The man was walking power and confidence, and he was all mine.



"Seriously," Lindsey whispered, "well done."



"I know, right?"



Ethan walked onto the mat and bounced on his toes, stretching his arms above him as he not-so-subtly scanned the balcony for me. He met my eyes, and I offered a supportive wink.



Go get him, tiger, I silently told him.



Shouldn't you be working? he asked.



Yes, I said frankly. But the world outside these walls is depressing, and I need the distraction. You may begin impressing me now.



He smiled wickedly, his expression public, but the reasons - and the conversation between us - for our ears only.



Michael stepped into the room to the good-natured clapping of the vampires in the balcony. He'd opted for white martial arts gear, the same styling as Ethan's. But the color contrast was notable. They were both tall and fit, but their coloring and mannerisms were noticeably different. Michael had dark hair and a casual, athletic bounce to his step. Ethan, golden haired and green eyed, made clear that every move was precise and calculated.



Michael pressed his hands together and bent forward at the edge of the mat, bowing toward Ethan. Ethan did the same, his expression unreadable, and they met in the middle.



The battle started almost instantaneously.



Michael jumped into a high spinning kick that sent Ethan to the floor, and he rolled away before Michael could attempt contact again.



"Not bad," Ethan said.



"I'm only worth your House's money if I can teach you a trick or two," Michael said, executing a side kick that Ethan neatly blocked, then moving forward with a jab-slash-punch combination. Ethan dodged him, flipping backward out of the way - and at least ten feet into the air - before Michael could hit him again.



"Clearly four hundred years of practice has its benefits," Michael said, grunting as he used his right forearm to block a crescent kick that Ethan landed perfectly, the sound of bone on bone ringing across the room.



We winced sympathetically. That couldn't have felt good for either of them.



They kept at it, the advantage switching back and forth as they worked through what seemed like every weapon in their arsenals: strikes, punches, kicks, and flips.



Michael was good. His form was strong and he made quick decisions, although his responses weren't as creative as Ethan's. Maybe Ethan was helped by the years of practice, of experiencing the "special" relationship with gravity that helped vampires stay airborne.



But what Michael lacked in creativity, he made up for in pure strength. He was brawnier than Ethan, lean, but broader in the shoulders compared to Ethan's lithe frame.



They separated and paused for a moment, both breathing heavily, each watching the other carefully. Assessing and calculating their skills.



After a moment, Michael broke the silence. "If you want to improve, you've got to be willing to get dirty."



"That's what she said," Luc whispered beside us, Lindsey coughing to hide an obvious snort.



"Dirty?" Ethan asked. Hands on his hips, a single eyebrow arched in aristocratic doubt, he gazed back at Michael.



"Dirty," Michael repeated. "You fight like a prince. Honorably. And that's all well and good in the sparring room, but if you're fighting for real, there's a good chance they don't give a rat's ass if you're following vampiric etiquette. They won't be checking the Canon later. You have to be willing to fight back the way they're fighting you. Otherwise you risk losing a fight - being killed or injured - or not disabling a foe when you have a chance. And that puts the burden on someone else."



For a moment, the training room was silent as we all watched Ethan, waiting for his reaction to the advice. Ethan wasn't frequently corrected, especially when it came to fighting. But he held out a hand toward Michael.



"I appreciate your candor. As often as we train in the traditional methods, it's easy to forget the purpose of the learning - protecting ourselves and those we love."



"Precisely," Michael said, nodding as they shook hands.



They separated just as Malik walked through the door and headed for Ethan, not bothering to wait for an invite.



"Good lord," Lindsey muttered. "And just when I was enjoying myself. What is it now? Robots? Monsters? Is McKetrick outside with a torch, ready to light the House on fire?"



"Possibly worse," Luc said, checking his phone, then raising his gaze to me. "Kelley just messaged me. Lacey Sheridan is nearly here."



The vampires in the balcony around me went silent, all eyes on me as if waiting for my reaction, their questions obvious: Will she throw a tantrum? Scream and cry? Pout and storm out of the room?



My cheeks burned at the apparently universal belief that I was an insecure basket case. "I already knew she was coming."



"Thank sweet Christ," Luc said with much drama and obvious relief. "I did not want to drop that bomb right now."



I gave him a flat look. "I'm not that bad."



"Yes, you are," said most of the vampires in my vicinity.



I managed not to give them all an obscene gesture, but followed suit when Luc stood up. "Let's go downstairs and make nice." He pointed a finger at me. "And no staking the guests."



Unfortunately for Luc, it wasn't the guest I was thinking about staking.



* * *



We walked upstairs again and waited for a few moments while Lacey completed her journey and Ethan changed into business attire again. The senior staff milled about in the foyer, although Michael was nowhere to be found. Ethan had probably stashed him in an office or the library to keep things moving forward.



I'd been prepared. I knew she was coming, and I knew she'd look like a supermodel ready for a strategy session - blond hair and makeup perfect, her lean frame draped in an expensive suit that hugged her body like it had been made especially for her. And it probably had.



But this . . . this I had not been expecting.



"What is she wearing?" Lindsey asked. "Why isn't she in a suit? She's always in a suit."



"Jeans," I quietly said. "She's wearing jeans."



More specifically, jeans, knee-high riding boots, and a very chic caramel-colored sweater. She had dressed down - casually even - despite being Master of a House, returning to serve Ethan, her own Master, as he managed the transition of his House.



Certainly she wasn't the first vampire to wear jeans. Most Cadogan House vamps did when we weren't on duty, and even Ethan had made the transition. But Lacey Sheridan wasn't any vampire.



The clothes weren't the only change. Her hair was short like it had been before, but she'd angled her blond bob into a cut that fell to points at her jawbone. The look was modern and daring, and it accentuated her blue eyes and perfect cheekbones.



"She's . . . changed," Lindsey whispered. "She looks good, but it's weird to see her dressed so normally."



"Weird," I said, "and probably completely intentional."



"A makeover to bring her a little more in line with Ethan's current tastes?" Lindsey whispered, glancing at me. "The probability is high."



Lacey picked that moment to look through the crowd and meet my eyes, and there was an unmistakable dare in her gaze. I assumed she knew Ethan and I were in a relationship, although it appeared she didn't much care. She meant to have him, and she wasn't going to let me stand in her way.



I sighed.



"That was a pretty sad sigh," Juliet said.



"I really, really hate drama," I said. "And I'll bet you twenty dollars she's bringing a load of drama with her."



"Not in those jeans," Lindsey said. "She's not getting anything else in that two-hundred-dollar skintight denim."



I elbowed her, which made me feel a little better.



Ethan gestured toward me, beckoning me forward.



"Rock her socks off," Lindsey whispered.



I made a vague sound of agreement and moved forward. When I reached them, Ethan put a hand on my back. "Lacey, you remember Merit."



"The Sentinel," she said. "Of course. Nice to see you again, Merit."



Ethan had a habit of calling me "Sentinel" when he was in work mode. I guess Lacey had picked up the same habit. It made sense, since she seemed to view me more as an employee than a colleague. But I could take the high road.



"You, too," I said. "I appreciate your coming out to help Ethan."



Her expression momentarily faltered. My comment had been polite, but it had also been a subtle reminder of my position in the House - at Ethan's side.



Ethan smiled and looked at Lacey. "Do you need time to freshen up? I know it was a long night's travel."



"Maybe for just a few minutes. Perhaps I could take my bags upstairs and get settled, and then join you in your office?"



"Please," he said.



Helen appeared at Ethan's side, taking one of Lacey's suitcases and holding out a hand toward the stairs.



"You're in the guest suite," she said.



Helen escorted Lacey up the stairs, and the rest of the vampires - except the guards - dispersed.



"A moment, Ethan?" Luc asked.



"My office," he said, and we funneled inside, as if we were simply going about our evening . . . and the head of a vampire House thousands of miles away hadn't just shown up dressed like me.



It was undoubtedly going to be one of those nights.



* * *



Since we'd been on the first floor to greet Lacey, Ethan's office became an assemblage of senior staff. We gathered in a huddle, waiting for someone to break the bad news to Ethan. I was happy to let Luc take that one.



He got immediately to the meat of it. "The mayor has appointed McKetrick the city's new Ombudsman. He's got a different title, of course, but the job seems the same."



Ethan's eyes went wide. "She did what?"



"He's got an office and a staff," Luc said. "Which makes him, if not untouchable, a lot harder to touch."



Ethan looked skyward. "God save me from ignorant humans." He looked at me. "Do we have anything linking him to the vampires' deaths?"



"Jeff has confirmed the wood in the warehouse was aspen. But that's not enough to link him to Oliver and Eve. Not really. He also has flatly denied he's involved."



Ethan stilled. "And you know this because . . . ?"



"Because Jeff and I paid a visit to his office, which we believed was the safest possible location to confront him about his involvement."



Ethan made a vague sound that suggested we weren't finished discussing this particular topic, but he wouldn't push it in front of present company.



Also, interesting how I was learning to interpret male clicks and grunts.



"Have you heard anything from Paige?" Malik asked.



"He's about to."



All heads turned to the doorway. Paige - a lithe redhead with brilliantly green eyes - stood there, the librarian beside her, a file box in his hands. Neither looked happy.



"You were right," she said, joining us as the librarian dropped the file box on Ethan's conference table. "The contract is the key. The GP doesn't care if they lose you as a House; they care if they lose you as a set of assets."



I said a silent thank-you that Jonah had shared that tidbit and we'd been able to lead Paige to the right spot.



"And they don't use traditional mechanisms," the librarian said. "They look through the House's contracts with the GP for loopholes, and they exercise them."



"What loopholes?" Ethan asked. "Peter negotiated the House's contracts himself. There were no loopholes. I've read them."



"Not in the main contracts," the librarian said, pulling from the file box a red leather folio and extending it toward Ethan. "But there are other documents."



Frowning, Ethan took the folio and carried it to the conference table, where he placed it atop the other stacks of materials and untied the silk ribbon that bound it shut. Malik at his side, they perused the documents.



Luc and I exchanged a worried glance.



"What's in there?" I quietly asked Paige.



"The aforementioned loopholes," she said. "Extra 'parts' of the contract that were supposedly signed by Peter Cadogan."



Ethan turned back to us. His face was expressionless, but it was easy to see he was concerned. "The documents are signed. The terms are unconscionable and lopsided, but there is little doubt the signature is Peter's."



"What do they say?" I asked.



"In essence," Paige said, "that the bulk of any material gain obtained by the House since its creation belongs to the GP. That the House leave the GP with what the House brought to the GP - virtually nothing."



The room dropped into stunned silence. We'd believed the House had generally been in good financial shape because Ethan and Malik had made solid investments since the House's founding. We also lived in some luxury: The House was in immaculate condition; our rooms were simple but well furnished; food was always available; and our stipends were more than sufficient for personal necessities.



But it sounded like the GP was arguing that nearly all our funds belonged to them.



Ethan cursed. "We'll have to pay them off. And even if we negotiate down the figure, the check will be substantial. It will clear out a significant portion of our saved funds. We won't be bankrupt," he said. "But if the worst-case scenario holds, we could lose the nest egg that we've built."



"How does it serve their long-term purposes to put vampires on the street?" Paige asked. "That would only create public panic."



"Because it would strongly discourage any other House from attempting to leave," I predicted, and Ethan nodded his agreement.



"They're using you as an example," Paige said.



Ethan rubbed his temples. "That's likely correct. But for now, it's irrelevant. We focus on what we presently know, and whether we can negotiate a different result. It's quite possible the GP will be satisfied with hobbling us a bit, rather than destroying us altogether."



Given what I knew of the GP, I wasn't sure I'd put "destroying us" past them. For an organization created to help vampires survive human hatred, they weren't doing much to keep the Houses whole and healthy.



"I'll turn in the Bentley," Ethan absently added. "It was an extravagance, and certainly something I can do without." He looked at me. "I may need to borrow your car until we can replace it with something more . . . suitable."



"How 'bout a Schwinn with a saddle pack?" Luc asked.



"Denied," Ethan said.



"Hey," Luc said with a chuckle that was still tinged with insecurity. "We can do this. We've been through hard times before. The Great Depression? The 'seventy-three oil crisis? Capone's reign of terror?"



Ethan nodded. "We will survive and be stronger as a result. We merely have to get through this bit first." He picked up the folio again and passed it to Malik. "Have these materials messengered to the lawyers. I want them reviewing the documents first thing in the morning."



Malik nodded. "Liege."



"Is there any chance they can fix this?" Luc quietly asked.



"Not without a court battle, and the last thing we need is protracted litigation on a contract issue American courts don't have the precedent to deal with."



In the silence that followed that statement, he looked up at us and smiled mirthlessly. "Sorry. I've already talked to the lawyers tonight. It means there's no other law on the issue, so the courts would have to interpret a contract between vampires that was written centuries ago. The effort would be expensive, and the results unpredictable."



Ethan looked at Malik, and they shared a long, silent look. Perhaps they were communicating telepathically.



Malik nodded, and headed for the door, folio in hand. Whatever they'd discussed was a done deal.



Ethan looked at his watch. "I'm speaking to the House in an hour. We'll address it then. You're dismissed," he said, and the vampires filed out.



Cashing in my "girlfriend's prerogative" chip, I stayed behind, waiting until we were alone again before looking at him.



"You're all right?"



He ran his hands through his hair, which fell in a halo of golden blond around his face. "I will manage. We all will." He crooked a finger at me. "Come here, Sentinel."



I walked into his arms, and he embraced me with relief, as if the act of touching me removed the weight from his shoulders. That might have been the most flattering compliment I'd ever received from him, nonverbal as it was.



We stood there in his office for a long moment, until a loud grumble echoed across the room.



I stood back and grinned at him. "That was your stomach growling, wasn't it?"



He put a hand against his abdomen. "I have Merititis. Gnawing hunger," he clarified, which made me roll my eyes. "We've a bit of time before I speak to the House. Perhaps a bite to eat?"



"Are you asking me out on a date?"



He glanced around the shambles of his office - normally pristine, now covered in boxes, binders, and stacks of paper. "In these humble surroundings, yes."



"For you, I can manage 'humble.'"



"You actually meant 'for food,' of course, but I'll take what I can get." This time, his back was turned when I rolled my eyes.