House Rules

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE REPLACEMENTS!



The Ops Room was the headquarters of Cadogan's guard crew, the place where we strategized about supernatural problems and looked for solutions. It was also the hub of House security, where guards at closed-circuit televisions and computer monitors kept an eye on the House and its grounds and any activities that might pose a threat.



The room was high tech, outfitted with computer stations, a large conference table, and state-of-the-art technology. It was also right down the hall from the House's training room and arsenal, giving us access to practice space and weaponry if the need arose.



I wasn't exactly a guard, but I generally played one when things went bad. And they'd been going bad with some frequency lately.



There were three veteran guards on staff - Juliet, Lindsey, and Kelley, Luc's temporary replacement. There were also a handful of temp guards, hired by Luc to fill the guard corps' vacancies.



Tonight, the Ops Room was quiet. Kelley was gone, probably on patrol, and Juliet, lithe and redheaded, sat at the bank of monitors that displayed the House's security feeds.



Lindsey sat at the table in front of a tablet, a cup of yogurt and a plastic spoon in hand. Luc sat at the end of the table, reading a newspaper, ankles crossed on the tabletop. It was like walking into their breakfast nook.



"We need to give you two a couple name," I said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. "Lucsey, perhaps?"



Luc didn't bat an eyelash; he simply turned a page of the newspaper. "Call us what you want, Sentinel. We already have a name for you."



That was alarming. Not that there was a way to avoid it, but I wasn't sure I wanted them discussing my relationship around the Ops Room table. "No, you don't."



"Yes, we do." Lindsey stirred her spoon noisily around the walls of the yogurt cup to get the remaining drops. "You're Methan."



"We're what?"



"Methan. Merit and Ethan. Methan."



"Nobody calls us that."



Every vampire in the room turned back to look at me, sardonic expressions on their faces. They nodded simultaneously, and I sank back into my chair a little bit.



"Yes, we do," Luc said, speaking for them. "I mean, we try not to talk about you constantly. We all have more important things to do than dissect your relationship - "



Lindsey held up her spoon. "I don't."



"Okay, everyone except Lindsey has more important things to do, and I'm not going to take that personally. Anyway, since we skipped over it before, good evening, Sentinel."



I humphed. "Good evening. The security auditor's here. Ethan's talking to him. He said you'd already spoken with him?"



"We talked," Luc confirmed. "Frankly, I think his suggestions are unnecessary - not dangerous, but even more conservative than best practices would be - but if they make the big man feel better, so be it."



"I met him earlier tonight," Lindsey said, tossing her yogurt cup and spoon into a wastebasket across the room. Her aim was perfect, and the shot echoed into the trash. "He's hot," she said, wiping off her hands. "Tall, dark, and a little bit dirty."



"I'm right here," Luc said.



"Yes, you are, even as I admit a man wholly unconnected with you is hot."



Luc grumbled, but let her get away with that. "Sentinel, what's new in your neck of the woods?"



"Not much," I said, then told them about Oliver and Eve, the mourning Rogues, and what we'd found in the warehouse.



As I talked, Lindsey got up and pulled over our favorite standby - a giant whiteboard on which we could track our leads and thoughts - and began filling in what we knew.



"The wood slivers, if they're aspen, will lead back to McKetrick," I concluded.



Lindsey stilled and looked at Luc, and there was nothing pleasant in the exchange.



"What?" I asked.



"We have something you need to see." He tapped a bit on a screen built into the tabletop until an image appeared on the projection screen on the wall beside us.



He'd selected an Internet video of a news broadcast from earlier in the day.



On-screen, Diane Kowalcyzk, Chicago's mayor, appeared behind a podium. Beside her stood McKetrick. We'd seen him in this position before, sucking up to Kowalcyzk and standing nearby like a malicious human Sentinel.



He wore a suit, a change from his usual brand of military fatigues. The scars he'd received from his encounter with his aspen gun were unavoidable. His face was cratered, crossed with scored and bubbled skin from neck to hairline. One of his eyes was milky white; the other eye was clear and alert, and there was no denying the obvious malice in his stare.



Luc adjusted the tablet. "Let me get the audio up."



The volume slowly increased, marked by the growing green bar across the bottom of the screen and the rising volume of Kowalcyzk's beauty pageant voice. She was a handsome woman, tidy and attractive, but her anti-sup politics were hateful.



"This city was founded by humans," she said. "We live here; we work here; we pay taxes."



"We live here, work here, and pay taxes," Luc muttered. "And we've been here doing those things longer than she or any other human being in the city has been alive."



"Chicagoans deserve a city that is free from supernatural drama. Violence. Rabble-rousing. But Chicagoans don't cower away from our problems," she said, her accent suddenly thick and Midwesterny.



"We face them head-on. Once upon a time, the former mayor thought it was important to have an office where 'supernaturals,' as they're known, could call the city with their problems. It was called the Ombudsman's office, and I'm proud to say I closed it. We didn't need it then, and we don't need it now. What we do need - what the city of Chicago needs - is an office for humans with supernatural problems."



"Oh, God," I said, anticipating what was coming next.



"That's why today I'm pleased to announce the creation of the Office of Human Liaisons, or OHL. I'm also pleased to announce that I've asked John Q. McKetrick to lead that office and serve as the head liaison."



Oh, this was very, very bad. She'd hired as her new "liaison" a man whose goal was to rid the city of vampires by any means necessary. She'd given him a title, an office, a staff, and total legitimacy. Which meant that if he was behind Eve's and Oliver's killings, he was now politically untouchable.



My grandfather was going to lose it.



"Not all supernaturals are criminals; we know that. But this man wears the scars of his interactions with the undesirable element, and I believe he has much to teach us about those with whom we share our city."



Unmitigated fury flashed through me. McKetrick bore his scars because he was a killer with a vendetta against vampires. He'd done those injuries to himself - quite literally. I'd been the intended victim of his misanthropy.



McKetrick smiled at the mayor and replaced her at the podium. "The city is not what it seems. We live in a world of light and sun. But at night a darker element emerges. For now, we are still in control of this city, but if we are not vigilant, if we do not stand tall and strong, we will become the minority in our own town."



I gaped at the prejudice McKetrick had apparently been hired by the mayor to spew on supernaturals. Was this what public discourse was coming to?



"This administration aims to shine the light on Chicago. That's my job: to protect humans from supernaturals' whims and to ensure this city continues to be, not the Second City, but the best city in the world."



There was a smattering of polite, probably scripted applause until Luc turned off the video.



"That guy," Lindsey said, "is a douche. Asterisk, I hate him. Footnote, he can suck it."



"We got it, hon," Luc said, not unkindly. "Although I don't disagree with the sentiment. And, man, I do not want to tell Ethan."



"As if he needs anything else to worry about right now," I said, my heart aching for him. "Now he has a fearmonger with a title. We'd better hope McKetrick didn't kill Oliver and Eve, because if he did, the mayor just appointed a killer to her cabinet."



Whether she did or didn't, the wood slivers still implicated him and had to be investigated.



"Once I've talked to Ethan, I'll advise the other guard captains," Luc said. He swore out a curse. "And John Q. McKetrick? As in 'John Q. Public'? How does she not know that's not his real name? It's obviously fake."



"Because she's ignorant," I said. "She'd have to be in order to believe giving this guy power was a good idea."



My phone buzzed with a message, and I plucked it up. It was from Jeff. DET. JACOBS SAYS NO PRINTS OR OTHER MATERIALS ON EVE'S PHONE, it said. BUT WOOD WAS ASPEN.



That was all the information I needed. I stood up and headed for the door.



"And where are you going?" Luc asked.



I glanced back at him, fire in my eyes. "Two vampires are dead, and the crime has McKetrick's stamp on it. Since I now know how to find Mr. McKetrick, whatever his first name, I think it's time we had a little chat."



* * *



It was late, nearly midnight, and most city offices would be empty. But McKetrick had been assigned to the supernatural beat, and since most sups were nocturnal, I figured the odds were in my favor that he'd still be around.



Besides, I suspected the man of murder; I wasn't going to visit him at home or at the "facility" we'd once heard he operated. The city's administration might not have been huge fans of vampires, but an office visit seemed much safer than the alternative.



I found his number on the Web, then picked a quiet spot on the first floor and dialed him up.



"John McKetrick."



"It's Merit. I hear you've been promoted."



There was a pause, although I'd have sworn I heard the quickened beating of his heart. "So I have," he finally said. "What can I do for you, Merit?"



"I thought we might meet. Maybe you could give me a tour of your office?" And, I silently thought, explain to me exactly why you decided killing innocent vampires was justifiable?



He hesitated for a moment, perhaps considering the outcome of our last encounter - when he'd walked away with scars. But he must have decided the risk was worth it.



"What a good idea," he said, and his tone sounded like it. That wasn't exactly comforting, but I didn't think he'd hurt me in his office, not this soon into his job. He didn't have the political capital yet to kill a vampire in the Daley Center.



Or so I hoped.



"I can be there in half an hour," I guessed.



"I'll let security know you're on your way. And, Merit? I look forward to seeing you."



The man made my skin crawl. And even though I didn't think he'd commit vampiricide in his office, I texted Jonah to let him know where I was headed, and then Jeff. Just in case.



I paused for a second, glancing at Ethan's office. Luc knew where I was going, so I didn't have to tell Ethan about my plan. Which was good, because I didn't think he'd approve of a late-night trip to visit our primary political enemy on his home turf.



This was one of those situations in which it was better to forge ahead and seek forgiveness later than get permission in the first place.



Sometimes being an underling meant managing up.



* * *



I drove downtown and found a parking spot on a side street. The Loop was dark and quiet, most of the neighborhood's business traffic having gone home for the night - probably on the El back to the suburbs - hours ago. Anticipating guards and metal detectors, I left my sword and dagger in the car.



Outside the building I looked up, and my nerves kicked into overdrive. The Daley Center was an intimidating building - a huge Federal-style structure marked by columns that ran halfway up the building like a stone crown.



"Come here often?"



My heart skipped a beat at the break in the silence, until I looked beside me at the man who'd made it. It was Jeff, hands in his pockets and a rather large grin on his face.



"What are you doing here?"



He shrugged. "I decided you needed backup."



Jeff was a shape-shifter and undoubtedly strong; I'd seen him fight, although I'd never actually seen him shift. Not that I was hoping for a zoological throwdown between Jeff and McKetrick inside the Daley Center.



We walked around the building to the plaza alongside it, where an enormous sculpture by Picasso stared out into the night. The steel glowed rust-red in the spotlights, and arced into the sky like a robotic insect. Behind it stood three huge flagpoles that had already been stripped of their canvas for the evening.



As we walked across the plaza, I felt suddenly small: a single impotent vampire in the midst of a human empire that wasn't much concerned about my survival.



"You're okay?" Jeff asked.



I nodded. "I'm fine. Just nervous."



"I can go up with you, if you want."



I shook my head. "It's better if you stay here. I don't want him to feel like he's been cornered, and I don't want to put you in his line of fire. I'll be fine. It's just the anticipation. I'm sure my gumption will kick in once I get to his office." It had better, because McKetrick had things to answer for, and this wasn't the time to be a shrinking violet.



Nerves on edge, we walked into the marbled main lobby, past the various homages to Richard Daley and toward the security desk. A man and woman with tidy hair and wearing security ensembles looked up.



"I'm Merit," I said. "I'm here to see John McKetrick in the Office of Human Liaisons?"



If my name rang a bell, they didn't seem to care. The man read off a floor number, then directed me to metal detectors, X-ray machines, and security gates. Good thing I hadn't brought my weapons.



Jeff and I walked toward them, and he squeezed my hand. "You can do it."



I nodded. "If I'm not back in an hour, call someone."



He chuckled and pulled off a surprisingly cocky expression. "Mer, if you aren't back in half an hour, I'm coming to get you myself."



"They have guns," I reminded him, but he just smiled.



"I'm a shifter."



My backup plan in place, I blew out a breath and walked toward the gauntlet.



* * *



McKetrick's office was on the fourth floor, tucked between a mayoral staff office and a traffic courtroom.



The door to his office bore his name and position in gold foil letters. I wanted to key the glass and scrape them off, but I managed to hold myself back.



I was secondarily glad my fear was giving way to anger. Anger was so much easier to bear.



Inside, I found an empty reception desk and an open door. I walked to the doorway and found McKetrick standing in front of a window, looking out over the dark plaza with a mug in hand.



He looked back at me and smiled thinly, the scars on his face even more jarring in person than they had been on television. His skin looked uncomfortably tight in places and paper-thin in others. There seemed little doubt they caused him pain.



"Merit. So nice of you to come by and wish me well."



I glanced mildly around the office. "So this is where Mayor Kowalcyzk is keeping you: in your own little office behind a mask of legitimacy."



"I have my bona fides," he said. "Unlike some."



"I'm a duly registered vampire," I assured him. "I can show you my card if you don't believe me."



Smiling, he walked back to his desk and took a seat, clearly enjoying the repartee.



"You know what your problem is, Merit? You think you're better than the rest of us. I know what vampires think - that you're an evolutionary advancement, a genetic mutation. But being a vampire doesn't make you special. It makes you a pest." He linked his hands together on his desktop and leaned forward. "And I'm here to protect the city from your particular specimen of vermin."



"You're a new brand of racist."



"I'm a man with a staff, an office, and mayoral privilege. She believes me, you know."



"She believed Tate, too. And you saw how well that worked out. The entire city saw his bat wings."



He shook his head. "And to think - I thought you'd actually show me some respect now that my views have been validated."



I didn't think the mayor's stupidity equated to a validation of his beliefs, but it was hardly worth the argument.



"Does that validation mean that you're allowed to take vampires out?"



McKetrick looked amused. "You mean our little incident on the Midway?" He meant the last time we'd met, when he'd pointed his aspen gun at me. "That's in the past, Merit."



"I mean the two vampires you killed. Good Samaritans who were murdered for no reason."



"I didn't kill any vampires." He smiled wolfishly. "Not recently, anyway."



His tone was casual, and that pissed me off. My anger rose and blossomed, heating my blood instantaneously and silvering my eyes.



His eyes widened with fear, which I enjoyed more than I should have.



"Two vampires are dead, and your aspen gun was used to subdue them."



He looked surprised at the accusation, his expression either really well faked or inexplicably honest. But how could he have been surprised?



"That's impossible," he said, gaze flattening again. He might not be thrilled at a pissed vampire in his office, but he was warrior enough to keep himself under control.



"I saw the wood slivers, and we've had them tested. They were aspen."



I watched him for a moment, opening my senses to his reactions to my accusations. If I listened hard enough, I could hear the thud of his heart and the rhythmic pulse of blood in his veins. Both seemed fast, but not alarmingly so. He may not have been utterly calm, but he wasn't a frightened predator, either.



"Quit using your magic on me."



I doubted he knew whether I actually had magic, but it was my turn to bluff. "I don't know what you're talking about."



"As if I'd trust anything you say. Look at my face, Merit. Look what you did to me."



There was zealotry in his eyes; he'd managed to convince himself that I was the cause of his injuries, even though the precise opposite was true. I guess deciding I'd been at fault was easier than admitting he'd done it to himself.



"Your gun exploded," I reminded him. "A gun you decided to use on me, even though I didn't have a weapon."



"Lies," he simply said.



This was getting us nowhere, so I went back to details. "Tell me why you picked Oliver and Eve. They were trying to register - doing exactly what the city wanted them to do. Why did you kill them?"



"I don't know who you're talking about." McKetrick smiled a little. "But regardless, if you want to accuse me of something, you'll have to do it officially."



"McKetrick, you can sit and smile in this office all you want, wearing a suit and pretending to be bestest friends with the mayor. But you're a killer, and we all know it."



He smiled again, and this time the expression was one of pure malice - hateful enough that it made me nervous.



"And you need to remember who's in charge here." He poked a finger at his chest. "Me, not you or your band of heathen vampires. Not anymore. My name is on the door, Merit. The mayor has given me the authority to help the humans of this city against the infestation of those like you."



A security guard appeared at the door, ready to throw me out. I guess my silvered eyes had scared McKetrick plenty. So he didn't just hate vampires; he was afraid of us?



I wasn't going to fight a security guard who was just doing his job, even if it was for a lame-ass like McKetrick. "This isn't over," I promised him.



"Oh, I know it isn't," McKetrick called out, as I was escorted to the door. "That's what makes this so fun."



Lindsey was right. That man truly did suck.



* * *



Wisely, Jeff let me stew a few minutes before asking questions about my visit, not that there was a lot to tell. He'd found a parking space not far from mine, so he let me stay quiet until we reached the cars again.



"I'm not sure he did it," I finally said. "I'm not sure he's innocent, either, but I think if he knew who Oliver and Eve were, he would have gloated. At the very least, he would have hinted about it."



Jeff leaned against the Volvo. "And he didn't gloat?"



"Not really. He gloated about his position, but the aspen gun thing - he seemed completely surprised by that."



"Maybe somebody stole a weapon from him," Jeff said. "He's got a facility, right? And henchmen?"



"Yeah," I said. We weren't sure where the facility was, only that he had one. We'd seen his henchmen in action plenty of times. They preferred the black fatigues he'd worn before he'd taken office.



How had those become the good ol' days?



I looked at Jeff. "Is that our theory? Someone stole an aspen gun from McKetrick's facility and decided to take out two vampires?"



Jeff crossed his arms. "It's not a bad theory. Maybe one of McKetrick's flunkies found out he was going to take the city job, figured his boss was a sellout, and took action on his own."



I nodded. "That's a possibility. But it doesn't get us any closer to finding the killers. He'd never give up a colleague, even if they did steal a weapon. That would be like choosing vampires over humans."



"The ultimate betrayal," Jeff said, and I nodded.



"I should get back to the House. Thanks for meeting me out here." Before he could object, I wrapped him in a hug. Jeff was thin and tall - taller than me - but surprisingly solid beneath that lanky frame.



"Uh, you're welcome," he said, awkwardly patting my back before I released him again. His cheeks were crimson. "I've got a girlfriend."



"Of course," I gravely said. "Anyway, thank you."



"Later," he said, and climbed into his car for the drive back to my grandfather's house. I was headed in the same general direction, and there seemed little doubt we'd both find drama when we reached our destinations.



* * *



I didn't, however, expect to find the House completely silent.



The foyer was empty, as was Ethan's office.



I heard a sudden crack of sound in the foyer, followed by the sound of feminine cursing. Fearing the worst - riot, attack, supernatural temper tantrum - I hurried back to the spot.



I found Helen there, kneeling in the foyer, picking up a spoiled bouquet of flowers from the floor. A large, clear vase - apparently plastic, since it hadn't shattered - lay beside her. She wore a well-tailored tweed skirt and jacket and sensible heels, and she knelt like Coco Chanel might have - with feminine care and careful style.



"I'll help," I said, bending down to help gather up the stems. They were white roses just past full bloom, their flowers limp and beginning to brown, the stems emitting the faint aroma of decay.



"Thank you," she said, gathering an armful of flowers and rising to her feet again. "I was just replacing the arrangement on the foyer table. I caught a thorn and it startled me. Such a small thing," she added, "but there you go."



Not so small that it hadn't drawn blood; the pungent aroma of the drops she'd spilled was a low note beneath her perfume and the smell of the flowers.



"No problem." I put the vase on the table again, picked up the remaining bunch of roses, and followed her into the kitchen, where we dumped the mess into one of Margot's large trash cans. "Where is everyone?"



"They're in the training room. Ethan has decided to put our new security consultant to the test."



I was running down the stairs almost instantaneously.