House Rules (12 page)

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.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE CASE OF VAMPIRE VS. VAMPIRE

T
here 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.