Friday Night Bites (5 page)

All of us were mid-upbraiding by a blondish, tousle-haired cowboy-turned-vampire who was berating us for the “lackadaisical attitude” our newfound popularity had spawned.

So, yeah. We weren’t exactly feeling the love.

“We’re doing the best we can,” pointed out Juliet, a feylike redhead who had more years as a vampire under her belt than I had years of life. “Reporters followed Lindsey around last week,” she said, pointing at another guard. Lindsey was blond, sassy, and, thankfully, in my corner.

“Yes,” Luc said, lifting a copy of the
Chicago World Weekly
from the conference table, “we have evidence of that.” He turned it so we could all get a glimpse of Lindsey, who’d been honored with a full-page photograph on the cover. She was decked out in her traditional blond ponytail, as well as a pair of designer jeans, stiletto heels, and oversized sunglasses, her body in motion as
she smiled at someone off camera. I happened to know that the individual she’d been smiling at was, like me, one of Cadogan’s newest vampires. Lindsey, much to Luc’s dismay, had started seeing Connor just after the ceremony initiating us both into the House.

“This isn’t exactly the approved Cadogan uniform,” Luc pointed out.

“But those jeans are sweet,” I whispered.

“I know, right?” She grinned back at me. “Seriously on sale.”

“Seeing your tiny ass on the cover of the
Weekly
isn’t the way to my heart, Blondie,” Luc said.

“Then my plan worked.”

Luc growled, his patience obviously thinning. “Is this truly the best you can do for your House?”

Lindsey’s chronic irritation with Luc was equaled only by what I imagined was her deep-seated passion for him, although you wouldn’t know it from the menace in her glare. She popped up her index finger and began counting.

“First of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Second of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Third, I didn’t ask to be photographed.” She raised brows at Luc. “Are we getting the point here? I mean, really. That not-showing-up-in-photographs deal is a total myth.”

Luc muttered something about insubordination and ran a hand through his hair. “Folks, we’re at a crossroads here. We’ve been outed, we’ve been investigated by Congress, and now we’ve got the paparazzi breathing down our necks. We’ve also learned that in a few weeks’ time, the head of the North American Central, Gabriel Keene himself, will be visiting our fine city.”

“Keene’s coming here?” Peter asked. “To Chicago?” Peter leaned forward, elbows on the conference table. Peter was tall, brown-haired, and thin, and looked to be thirty. He also had the
just-so clothing and serene attitude of a man who’d seen a lot of money in his lifetime (human or otherwise).

“To Chicago,” Luc confirmed. “Humans may not know shapeshifters exist, but we do, unfortunately for everyone.”

There were a couple of snickers among the guards. Vampires and shifters weren’t exactly friendly, and those tensions were increasing—I’d heard Gabriel was coming to town to scope out the city as a future conference site for his shifters. News related to that visit, and the possibility that shifters would assemble en masse in Chicago, had made the dailies—daily news updates for the Cadogan guards—more than once.

“Look, let’s not be naïve and pretend this celebrity deal is going to last forever, all right? Humans, and no offense to you, Sentinel, since you’re the recently fanged, are a fickle bunch. We’ve seen what happens when they get pissy about us.”

Luc meant the Clearings, the vampire version of witch hunts. There’d been two in Europe, the First in Germany in 1611, and the Second in France in 1789. Thousands of vampires, a big chunk of our European population, were lost between the two—staked, burned, gutted and left to die. Shifters had known about the Second Clearing but hadn’t stepped in; thus the animosity between the tribes.

“And here’s the punch line,” Luc said. “We’ve learned that the
Weekly
is planning a multipart, in-depth exposé on underground vamp activities.”

“Underground?” Kelley asked. “What do we do that’s so underground?”

“That’s exactly what I’m about to find out,” Luc said, pointing up at the ceiling. “I’m meeting your Master and mine in a matter of minutes. But until I’ve had a chance to liaise with the big man on campus, let me remind you of some things you apparently need reminding of.

“We are here,” Luc continued, “to make our Master happy,
not to increase the weight on his shoulders. Henceforth, because you were apparently not doing so in the first place, you will consider yourselves representatives of Cadogan House within the human world. You will conduct yourself accordingly, as befitting Cadogan vampires.” He narrowed his gaze in Lindsey’s direction. “And if that means no carousing into the early-morning hours with newbie vamps, so be it.”

She gave him a look that was both evil and pouty, but managed not to comment.

Apparently believing that he’d made his point to her, he returned his gaze to the rest of us. “Any action that you take out there, outside the House, reflects on all of us, especially now that our asses are, apparently, news. That means you may be called upon to discuss House or vampire matters.”

He opened a folder in front of him, slid out a sheaf of papers, then passed the stack to Lindsey, who sat closest to him. She took one, then passed the remainder along.

“ ‘Talking Points’?” Kelley asked, repeating the title that spanned the top of the document. Kelley had a kind of exotic beauty—pale skin, coal black hair, slightly uptilted eyes. Eyes that looked decidedly unimpressed with the paper she held gingerly between the tips of her fingers.

“Talking points,” Luc said with a nod. “These are answers you are authorized—and when I say ‘authorized,’ I mean ‘required’—to give if a reporter tries to engage you in a politically sensitive dialogue. Read this, memorize this, and verbalize appropriately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we answered, a chorus of obedience.

Luc didn’t bother with a response, but stood up and began shuffling the rest of the materials that were spread on the table before him. Taking the hint—meeting adjourned—we pushed back our chairs. I rose, folded the talking points sheet, and was preparing to head out when Luc called my name.

He stood, moved to the door, and beckoned me to follow with two crooked fingers.

Damn. I knew what was coming, and twice in one day, too.

“Sentinel, you’re with me,” he said, and I blew out a slow breath, the beginning of my mental preparation for interacting with the world’s most stubborn vampire.

“Sir,” I said, stuffing the talking points into a pocket of my suit and straightening the katana belted at my waist. Lindsey gave me a sympathetic smile, which I accepted with a nod, then followed him. We took the stairs back to the first floor, headed down the hallway to Ethan’s office, and found the door shut. Luc, without preliminaries, opened it. I tugged at the bottom of my black suit jacket, and followed him in.

Ethan was on the phone. He nodded at Luc, then me, and raised his index finger as if to signal the call wouldn’t take long.

“Of course,” he said. “I understand completely.” He pointed at the two chairs in front of his desk. Obediently, Luc took the one on the right. I took the one on the left.

“Yes, sire,” he said. “The information is before me as we speak.” As Master of Cadogan House, Ethan got the honorific “liege,” but “sire” was a mystery. I looked at Luc.

He leaned toward me. “Darius,” he whispered, and I nodded my understanding. That would be Darius West, head of the Greenwich Presidium.

“We’ve considered that,” Ethan said, nodding his head and scribbling something on a tablet on his desk, “but you know the risks. Personally, I advise against it.” There was more nodding, then Ethan’s shoulders stiffened and he looked up.

And looked directly at me.

“Yes,” Ethan said, hauntingly green eyes on mine, “we can certainly explore that route.”

I swallowed reflexively, not comforted by the possibility that I was a “route” to “explore.”

“Whatever this is,” Luc said, leaning over again, “you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m really not going to like it,” I quietly agreed. There were a few more minutes of nodding and validating before Ethan said his goodbyes. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and then looked at us, a tiny line between his eyes. I’d seen that tiny line before. Generally, it wasn’t a good sign.

“The
Chicago World Weekly
,” he began, “with its apparent interest in vampire activities, will be investigating the raves. They’ll publish a three-part series, one story per week, beginning next Friday.”

“Damn,” Luc said, before sharing a weighty look with Ethan that suggested he knew why that was a problem.

I guessed these were the “underground” details Luc had been waiting for. Unfortunately, they didn’t mean much to me. I’d heard a reference to vampire raves before; Catcher had mentioned them once, then refused to give me any details. My subsequent research in the
Canon
was equally unproductive. Whatever they were, vamps weren’t chatty about them.

I raised a hand. “Raves? They’re investigating parties?”

“Not parties,” Luc said. “Humans actually borrowed the term from us. Raves in the supernatural world are definitely gatherings, but they’re much . . .” He trailed off, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and looked at Ethan, who then looked at me.

“Bloodier,” Ethan matter-of-factly said. “They’re bloodier.”

Raves, Ethan explained, were the vampire version of flash mobs. They were, essentially, mass feedings. Vampires were informed (electronically, of course) where and when to meet, and awaiting them would be a group of humans. Humans who believed in us, even before we announced our existence to the world. Humans who wanted to be near us, to savor the element of the darkly forbidden.

Of course, given the bumper stickers and pennants and Lindsey’s new position as reigning vampire cover girl, I wasn’t sure how “darkly forbidden” we were.

“They want to be part of our world, to see and be seen,” Ethan said, “but they didn’t necessarily want our fangs in or near their carotids. But that’s what happens. Drinking.”

“Feasting,” Luc added.

“Surely some humans do consent to the drinking,” I suggested, glancing from Luc to Ethan. “I mean, they walk willingly into some kind of vampire feeding. It’s not like they’re heading out for a garden party. And we’ve all seen
Underworld
. I’m sure there are humans who find that kind of thing . . . appealing.”

Ethan nodded. “Some humans consent because they want to ingratiate themselves to vampires, because they believe they’re positioning themselves to serve as Renfields—servants—or because they find an erotic appeal.”

“They think it’s hot,” Luc simplified.

“They believe that dabbling in our world is hot,” Ethan sardonically corrected. “But raves take place outside the oversight of these vampires’ Masters. Agreeing to spend time in the company of vampires may indicate consent for a sip or two. But if a vampire is willing to participate in activities of this nature—activities forbidden by the Houses—he or she is unlikely to abide by the request of a human to stop drinking.” He gazed solemnly at me. “And we know how crucial consent is when human blood is at stake.”

I knew about consent, largely because I hadn’t been able to give any. Because Ethan had given me immortality in order to save me from Celina’s flunkies, and that split-second decision hadn’t allowed him time for deliberation. I understood the sense of violation that came with the unrequested bite . . . especially when the vampire wasn’t interested in just a sip or two.

“After they’re relieved of a few pints of blood,” Luc said, “to
add insult to injury, the vamps often attempt to glamour the humans to make them forget what happened. To forget the supernatural assault and battery. And let’s be frank—raving vampires aren’t usually at the top of the vampire food chain. That means they usually aren’t very good at the glamouring.”

The ability to glamour a human—to bring a human under the vampire’s control—was an indicator of a vampire’s psychic power, which was one of the three measures of a vampire’s strength, Strat (alliances) and Phys (physical strength) being the other two. I couldn’t glamour worth a damn, at least not the couple of times I’d tried to make it happen. But I seemed to have some kind of resistance to
being
glamoured, which was one of the many reasons Celina Desaulniers was none too fond of me. She was a queen of glamouring, and it must have gotten under her skin to know that I wasn’t susceptible to her control.

So, to review, not only were humans made unwitting vampire snacks, the perps weren’t even very
good
vampires. None of that added up to a scenario that many humans would find comfortable. I didn’t find it comfortable, and I hadn’t been human in nearly two months. Humans had agreed to live with us on the understanding that most vampires no longer drank from people but utilized blood that was donated, sold, or delivered in sterile plastic by businesses like Blood4You. Only four of the twelve American Houses, including Cadogan, still participated in the ritual of drinking straight from the tap. But those that drank did so in an officially sanctioned way—inside the House, after careful screening and after consent forms had been signed and notarized. In triplicate. (Personally, I was far from mentally or emotionally prepared to sip from anything other than plastic.)

Unfortunately, vampires who drank from humans were considered out of sync, or at least that was the image perpetuated by Celina when she’d organized the vampire coming-out. Vamps
drinking en masse and without oversight, even if the humans had consented to a sip, was a PR nightmare waiting to happen.

Since vampires who chose to drink from humans were supposed to follow those cover-your-ass safeguards, this blossoming PR nightmare begged a question: “Which Houses participate in the raves?” I asked.