House Rules (10 page)

“Maybe they used this for secure storage?” Catcher asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Customers pay a little more, and their goods get locked into the
hidden room.”

“If this place was built in the forties,” Catcher said, “that means wartime. We aren’t
far from where the Manhattan Project operated. There could have been sensitive scientific
information here, which would explain the security measures.”

I nodded, walking back and forth, moving the flashlight a few inches with each sweep,
like a TV crime scene unit. And just like in a forensic television show, I didn’t
hit pay dirt until the end, when a bit of something on the floor caught my eye.

“Catcher,” I called, freezing the beam on the spot. There in the dust and grime was
a small sliver of wood.

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I scanned the area . . . and found more of
them. Two, then a dozen, then a hundred scattered in a triangle about ten feet across
at its base.

“What did you find?” Catcher asked.

I picked one up—no larger than a toothpick, but much more jagged—and extended it in
the palm of my hand. “Wood slivers. And I’ll bet they’re aspen.”

“McKetrick?” Catcher asked.

“It could be shrapnel from one of his aspen bullets,” I reluctantly agreed. McKetrick
had invented a gun that shot bullets of aspen intended to quickly dispense of vampires
by turning them to ash. He’d tried to shoot me with it. Fortunately, the gun had backfired.
He’d caught the worst of the resulting explosion of metal and wood shrapnel, and I
hadn’t seen him in person since. I also hadn’t assumed we’d seen the last of McKetrick,
but nor was I thrilled about the possibility he was making a move again. Unfortunately,
this evidence pointed that way.

Catcher knelt on the ground and picked up another sliver. “Oliver and Eve were decapitated.
If he had a gun, why didn’t he use it to kill them? Was he trying to scare them first?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was his first stage of attack, his warning weapon. Maybe that’s
what got them into the room. If he did this . . .” I murmured, my anger beginning
to rise at the possibility McKetrick was involved and that he’d taken the lives of
two innocent vampires.

“We don’t know McKetrick killed them,” Catcher said. “Maybe he used the weapon; then
someone else finished the job. There’s no direct evidence he’s involved.”

But I had a hunch. “This is
exactly
the kind of thing McKetrick would do. Taking out vampires attempting to register?
Proving that we’re damned even if we try to abide by human rules?”

“You’re absolutely right,” Catcher said. “But that’s not good enough.”

And I knew he was right, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

* * *

We thanked Horace for his help and drove back to my grandfather’s house. Noah, Rose,
and Elena were gone. They’d helped Jeff garner what information he could before taking
Rose, who was overwhelmed with grief, home again.

Jeff was at the computer when we walked inside. I offered up the wood sliver.

He knew of McKetrick’s penchant for aspen, and he whistled at the sight. “Is that
what I think it is?”

“That’s what I need you to find out. Can you get it tested?”

“I’m on it.”

Catcher sat down at his desk and kicked up his feet, then rubbed his hands over his
face. Since his day had started with an evidentiary pickup hours and hours ago, he
was probably exhausted.

“The property?” he asked. Catcher was evidently too tired to spare a verb.

“As you saw,” Jeff said, “the building is a former warehouse. But I haven’t been able
to find anything about who actually owns it.”

I leaned against the opposite desk. “Any other ideas?”

“Not until the labs come back,” Catcher said. “That’ll take a little while, but we’ll
let you know.”

I nodded and stood up. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. I need to update Ethan
and Luc. Can you dig into Oliver’s and Eve’s backgrounds a little more? Maybe this
isn’t a random attack. Maybe they’ve been somewhere or done something that really
pissed someone off and completely explains this.”

I knew that was unlikely, but I needed to believe there was some reason, some logic
to what I’d seen.

Jeff nodded. “Safe driving. And let us know if you find anything interesting.”

I was hoping to find anything at all.

* * *

I drove back with the car’s window cracked. I needed the bracing chill to wipe clean
the scents of blood and dilapidation.

I parked the car and jogged into the House, then headed immediately to Ethan’s office.
The door was open, and he stood in front of the conference table, perusing documents
piled there.

He looked up when I entered, a line of worry between his eyes as he looked me over.
“Merit?”

I walked inside. “Oliver and Eve are dead.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “How?”

I moved closer to him so I could lower my voice. There was no need to publicize the
gory details.

“Decapitation,” I said. “They were in a warehouse in Little Italy, in a secure room
tucked into the back of one of the storage floors. Their bodies had been arranged,
but there was no other notable evidence except wood slivers on the floor. Lots of
them, just like the kind produced by McKetrick’s gun.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “There’s evidence he’s involved?”

“Only circumstantially. There’s nothing but the wood at the moment. Jeff and Catcher
are sending a sliver to Detective Jacobs; the phone and glass we found in the alley
are already there. Unfortunately, that’s all the information we’ve got. The property
records were a dead end.”

He walked closer and put a hand on my cheek. “And how are you?”

“Disturbed,” I admitted. “Noah and the others are clearly grieving, and we’ve got
nothing but potential lab results. Although Jeff’s going to look into Oliver’s and
Eve’s backgrounds, see if anything pops there.”

He rubbed his thumb along my jawline, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a good
thought, Sentinel.”

“Any word from Darius?” I wondered.

“No,” Ethan said. “But I expect I’ll hear something soon enough. Darius rarely acts
without an ulterior motive.”

“Has Paige ferreted out anything about what that ulterior motive might be?”

“Not yet. The other Decertification records weren’t helpful. They were many years
ago, and the disputes involved alchemical equations and the treatment of tenants.
The lessons aren’t entirely applicable in the modern age.”

“Huh.” I remembered Jonah’s comment about the contract being the key, and feigned
a bright idea. “You know, since vampires are, as you said, sticklers for rules, maybe
there’s something in the rules themselves. I assume the House has some kind of contract
with the GP about sharing investment funds and stuff; is there anything in there about
the transition?”

Ethan’s brows lifted in surprise. “That’s not a bad idea, Sentinel. I’ll suggest it
to Paige.” It wasn’t a positive development, but at least it was movement. I’d take
progress any day.

There was a knock at the door. A dark-haired man stood in the doorway. His jaw was
square, his cheekbones honed. His face was angular, but not unattractive, mostly because
of his eyes. They were big, dark, and hazel, with lashes long enough to tangle at
the corners. He wore black trousers and a white button-down. On his right hand he
wore a gold signet ring. He was handsome, but in an almost severe way. Like he might
have been a Spartan in a past life.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“You’re just in time,” Ethan said, walking forward with a hand extended. “It’s nice
to see you.”

They shook hands at the elbow, one of those masculine rituals that suggested they
were, as Ethan had said, already acquainted.

“Good to see you, too, Ethan.” The stranger slid a glance my way. “And this is her,
I presume?”

Ethan smiled slyly and extended an arm toward me. “This is her. Merit, this is Michael
Donovan, our security auditor.”

“Merit,” I offered, extending a hand. Michael’s grip was strong, confident. His magic
was subtle, checking me out and testing my measure. He wasn’t the first vampire to
try such things on me—Celina was famous for doing it—but since Ethan trusted him,
I let him get away with it.

“Michael Donovan,” he said. “You stand Sentinel?”

“All night long.”

He smiled, a dimple alighting at one corner of his mouth. “She’s clever, Ethan.”

“Yes, she is,” I agreed, glancing between the two of them. “And how do you know each
other?”

“We met a few years ago,” Ethan said. “Michael was acquainted with Celina.”

I glanced at him cautiously, and held back the snark that would have normally followed
a comment like that. God knew I wasn’t a fan of Celina’s, but there were plenty of
vampires—including the members of the GP—who thought differently.

“Oh?” I simply asked. “Were you a member of Navarre House?”

“I was not,” Michael said, leaning toward me, eyes twinkling. “Nor was I an admirer
of Ms. Desaulniers’s.”

“Then you’re on the side of right and justice, and I won’t hold it against you.”

He held out a hand collegially. “I think that’s entirely fair.”

We shook on it, and I found myself liking Ethan’s new security guru.

There was another knock at Ethan’s door; his room had apparently become the House’s
Union Station.

Malik stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry, but could I interrupt you for a moment? Our
banker has a time-sensitive question.”

“Of course. Excuse me.” Ethan smiled politely, then followed Malik out of the room,
leaving Michael and me alone.

Their obvious friendship aside, I was curious why Ethan felt the need to hire an outside
security expert, given that he had a full guard in the House and mercenary fairies
outside it.

“What exactly do security auditors do?” I wondered.

I didn’t mean for my voice to carry a tone, but I could hear the suspicion just as
clearly as Michael Donovan undoubtedly could.

I blamed my father for that one. He was a managerial whiz, but through the course
of his business dealings, I’d seen come and go dozens of outside “consultants” whose
only value, as far as I was aware, was validating whatever my father told them. They
were highly paid yes-men who brought nothing to the table except a willingness to
praise my father and snipe at others who posed a threat to their careers.

“We do not facilitate synergistic synergy,” Michael said.

“I’m sorry?”

“Synergistic synergy. It’s one of those bullshit business phrases that make you pretty
confident I’m going to steal money from your House.”

I could feel the blush from my toes, mortified that he’d called me out.

He crossed his arms and smiled a little. “I appreciate your obvious skepticism. It’s
easy to call yourself an auditor. It’s harder to provide a meaningful service for
your clients.

“In brief, my job is to ensure the House is stronger after the split than it was before.
Among other things, I’ve been reviewing the House’s crisis preparedness and its physical
and technical security. I’m trying to identify chinks in the House’s armor and fill
them, at least in the limited time we’ve had since the House voted to leave.”

“And have you found them yet?”

He nodded. “Not many—Luc knows what he’s doing—but there are things we can improve.
Your infosec protocols—information security—aren’t as strong as I like, and we’ve
been updating them. Your House evac plan is top-notch, but I’d prefer if your alternate
housing options were stronger.” He leaned in a bit. “And frankly, I’m not a fan of
the House’s choice of outside guards, but Ethan won’t hear a thing about it.”

“The fairies can be fickle,” I agreed.

“Indeed they can. But ultimately, this all comes down to the GP. I’m also no fan of
Darius West’s, but the man’s got balls of steel and the vampiric prowess to back it
up.”

“Unfortunately, I’d agree.” The members of the GP were reputably the strongest of
the strong, with physical and psychic skills—like the ability to glamour humans—that
gave them a leg up on other vampires. That was precisely why they’d been chosen to
lead us, although it seemed clear that strength did not equal leadership ability.

“I don’t know about you,” Michael said, “but I’m also trying to speed up Ethan’s reinvestment
as Master of the House. Malik and I both believe it would help solidify the House’s
position. Ethan disagrees.”

That was new information, but I certainly didn’t mind that Michael was sharing it
with me. “Why does he disagree?”

“I suspect he wants his reinvestment to be a more enjoyable occasion. A celebration,
not undertaken in fear of the GP.”

That made some sense.

“My turn with the questions,” Michael said. His posture changed; he crossed his arms
and dropped his chin, eyes narrowing as he looked at me skeptically. He was in security
mode now.

“You were a graduate student?”

“I was. University of Chicago. English lit.”

“And twenty-seven at the time of your turning.”

“Nearly twenty-eight.”

“You were part of this year’s class?” Michael asked.

“I was. Commended in April as Sentinel.”

“Did Ethan have to woo you?”

“Excuse me?” Was he asking about our relationship?

“Into the House, I mean. It can’t be a coincidence that you’re Joshua Merit’s daughter.
I assume that’s why Ethan sought you out? Not that you don’t have your own achievements,
I’m sure.”

My beginnings as a vampire weren’t common knowledge—the fact that Ethan had made me
a vampire to save my life after a vicious attack. Unfortunately, it wasn’t unusual
for someone to accuse me of having gotten my golden ticket to vampirism and immortality
by using my father’s connections.

“Ethan didn’t recruit me because of my father.” Quite the contrary: Ethan hadn’t recruited
me at all, although it would have been wrong to say my father hadn’t been involved.