House Rules
CHAPTER NINE

THE ICY PRECIPICE
Hours later, night fell again as it had so many times before. The sun dropped beneath the horizon, the shutters opened, and vampires awoke.
Tonight we would leave the Greenwich Presidium and strike out on our own.
But as relieved as we were to have the House under the control of a single Master once again, the drone of anxious magic made me feel as if I were standing beneath power lines.
I felt Ethan stir behind me. He was awake, and undoubtedly could feel the magic, as well.
"The House is nervous," I said.
"Hmm. It's a big night."
I struggled for the right words - something that would acknowledge the giant step we were taking but express confidence that he could lead us through it.
Maybe it wasn't what he could say, but what he could do. . . . I sat up and swung my legs over the bed, then glanced back at him, his hair a golden mess around his face. "Let's go for a run."
"A run?"
"For exercise. Around the neighborhood. It will help you burn off some magic."
He arched an eyebrow. "As I'm not currently being chased, I see no need to run."
"No, you have no desire to run. That's different. It'll give you a chance to alleviate some stress."
"Is this about Lacey?"
"It's about the House being on the precipice of something monumental, and your needing to lead them through it. And if they think you're nervous, they'll freak out."
His gaze narrowed. "Are you attempting to manage me, Sentinel?"
I put my hands on my hips and gave him back the same authoritative look he was giving me. "Yes. I am, and according to the House rules, I have that right. Get dressed."
He grumbled, but scooted out of bed, confirming that I was, in fact, the power behind the throne.
It was winter and cold, so I opted for layers. Capri-length leggings. A sports bra, tank, T-shirt, and slim jacket. My shoes were well worn, and it was probably time to find a new pair, but they still had enough bounce to keep me moving.
Ethan wore track pants and layered long-sleeved shirts, and on his wrist was a huge watch.
No, not just a watch: a GPS watch - the kind serious runners use to keep track of their pacing and mileage.
My gaze narrowed. "I thought you hated running. I thought you only ran when chased?"
He smiled slyly. "You once told me you preferred unprocessed foods."
"Touche," I said. "Exactly how badly are you planning to outpace me here?"
"Time will tell."
"Har, har," I mocked, but I was getting nervous.
We walked downstairs in silence, both of us warily eyeing the other, the competition-fueled adrenaline already calming us down. And a calmer Master, I figured, meant a calmer House.
He pressed a button on his watch to start the timer, and then he was gone - already down the steps and running through the gate to the quiet streets of Hyde Park.
"Crap," I muttered, pushing off and bounding down to the sidewalk. Ethan stood one hundred feet away at the corner, one hand on the fence, the other on his hip. It didn't take more than a few seconds to reach him, and he grinned at me as I jogged closer.
"What took you so long?" he asked.
"I gave you a head start. As I've said before, and undoubtedly will again, age before beauty."
Ethan made a decidedly sarcastic sound and pushed off the gate, then lined up beside me on the sidewalk. "Nine miles," he said, then identified the landmarks that would mark our loop around the neighborhood and back to the House again. The trip would be long for humans, but a bit of light exercise for vampires.
"I can only assume you're telling me where to go because you know I'll be out front?"
"Or because I'll completely lap you," he said.
"Does your ego know no bounds?"
Ethan Sullivan, Master of Cadogan House, smiled wickedly and slapped my ass. "Not when it's well deserved. I'm ready when you are, Sentinel."
I didn't give him the opportunity for a faster push-off. "Go!" I yelled, but I was already past him and sprinting feet away toward our first landmark - the church four blocks down the street. Vampires were predators, and we were naturally faster than humans. But like humans - or cheetahs or lions or any large predators - the superspeed could last only so long.
Ethan let me take the lead, and I took full advantage, pushing myself at a sprinter's pace to get as large a lead as I could. I was lighter, but he was taller and had longer legs. He'd also been running for centuries. There seemed little possibility I could outpace him to the end of the race, so I did what I could for now.
It wasn't enough.
He caught up two blocks later, and I risked a glance behind me at the sound of his footfalls. His arms and legs were swinging, every muscle honed and triggered, his form impeccable. If only Olympic races were run at night.
He caught up to me, his breathing barely increased, and jogged beside me. "I believe you cheated, Sentinel."
"Sentinel's prerogative. I'm sure there's a rule in the Canon about it."
He made a sound of doubt. "Grateful Condescension requires total obsequiousness to the Master of the House."
"You've been a Master for a matter of mere hours and you're already a cruel despot."
"Hardly, although you are a Sentinel in need of an attitude adjustment."
I opened my mouth, and would have given back the same snark he was giving me, but some silent alarm went off in a marginal part of my psyche.
I slowed to a jog, then a stop, hands on my hips, my breathing still elevated, as I looked around.
Ethan realized something was wrong, stopped. He'd moved a few steps ahead; ever cautious, he walked back to where I stood.
"What is it?"
I scanned the neighborhood, opening all my senses to figure out what had tripped my trigger. Other than the rasp of our breathing, there were no other unusual sounds. A car door opening up the block. A mewling cat in an alley. The rumble of traffic on nearby avenues. I saw nothing unusual, and even the smells were typical - the cold, smoky scents of a night in the city.
"I don't know. I just had a feeling. Internal alarm bells."
I'd probably have made a sarcastic comment if Ethan had said the same thing to me, but there was no humor in his eyes. I took it as a grave compliment that he trusted I'd sensed something, even if I wasn't sure what it was.
"Instinct is important," he said. "Occasionally the senses detect things the rational mind can't yet analyze."
I reached out and squeezed his hand, moving my body closer to his and pushing him a little farther away from the street and a little closer to the retaining wall that bounded this part of the sidewalk.
Being the good Sentinel, and an Ethan Sullivan trainee, I began to plan. We weren't far from the House, and we could easily run back if necessary, but that would leave both of us more exposed than I liked. A phone call to Luc, asking him to pick us up, would be safer, but I didn't want to give myself over to an agoraphobic fear without some kind of evidence.
"Merit?" Ethan asked.
"I hate to pull rank," I told him, "but I'm playing Sentinel, and I'm getting you back to the House in one piece. And without argument. Stay at my side."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and I was pretty sure he meant it lasciviously.
"Keep jogging to the end of the block. Human pace. And no showy stuff."
He grunted with disdain at the idea of dialing back his effort, but complied. We made a slow and silent jog toward the end of the block . . . and that was when I heard it.
The slow scratch of tires on gravel.
Hear it? I asked Ethan, activating our silent link. Car behind us, seven o'clock?
American, by the sound of it. Strong engine.
Of course that would be your contribution, I kidded to ease the tension. Slow down just a smidge.
We slapped back a gear, moving with less speed, our feet barely lifting off the ground. A slow jog for humans, barely a shuffle for healthy vampires.
And still, the vehicle crept forward. I hadn't yet seen it, but I could hear it behind us. Moving as we moved, tracking our speed. But was this friend or foe?
Was this someone who watched us, wanted to speak with us . . . or wanted to end us?
On three, stay where you are. I'm going to make a move.
You'll be careful?
Liege, I parroted back, using one of his favorite phrases, I'm immortal.
One, I silently said. I squeezed his hand for luck. Get a look at the license plate if you can.
Ethan nodded. Two, he silently said.
Three, we said together, and I bolted.
I darted to the street. The car, half a block back, caught me in its headlights and came to a squealing stop. I couldn't see the car for the lights, but it was high enough that I could tell it wasn't a sedan or convertible, more like a truck or SUV.
For a moment, we faced each other.
The vehicle revved its engine, and I stared it down with feigned bravado - because my heart was beating like a timpani drum.
We could stand here all night, but I wasn't going to learn anything about this threat - if it was a threat - unless I made a move.
One hand on my hip, I crooked a finger at the car, daring the driver to move forward.
The driver took the dare.
With the squeal of rubber on the road, the driver mashed the accelerator and pushed forward. I squeezed my fingers into fists, even as my heart thudded beneath my chest, willing myself to stay where I was until the vehicle was closer, until I had a chance to catch sight of the driver. But it was dark, the windows were tinted, and the glare was too much to see through.
With only nanoseconds and a few millimeters to spare, I half turned and flipped backward, barely moving out of the way in time. I'd have sworn I felt the slickness of the vehicle's clear coat beneath my toes as we passed each other.
I hit the ground in a crouch and turned back to stare after the car.
It was a black SUV. No plates. We'd seen similar vehicles before; McKetrick's thugs had driven them when he'd confronted us in the past.
I nearly jumped when Ethan put a hand on my arm. "You're all right?" He scanned my eyes.
"I'm fine. It wasn't even close," I lied. "But I couldn't see the driver. Did you see anything?"
"Nothing at all."
"Weird. Why get this close without taking action?"
"Maybe they're watching us," Ethan said darkly, which was somehow even more disturbing.
"For what purpose?"
"I'm not sure," he said, obvious concern in his voice. "Let's get back to the House."
I wasn't about to argue with that.
* * *
When we walked into the foyer, Malik stood beside the door, awaiting our return. Ethan must have signaled him telepathically.
"You're all right?" he asked, his gaze shifting between us; he must have sensed the spill of magic.
"We were followed by a black SUV. No clue who it was or what he or she was after. The vehicle drove off when Merit confronted them."
Malik looked at me. "Merit confronted them?"
"I approached; they left."
"Any word yet from the GP?" Ethan asked.
Malik shook his head. "They've been completely incommunicado. I presume they'll be here when it's time for the ceremony, but they haven't reached out."
"Is it just me, or is that completely unlike them?" I asked, glancing between them. "Why bother to get here early if they aren't going to use the time to harass us?"
Ethan nodded. "Unfortunately, I tend to agree. And a bit of last-minute drama isn't out of the question." He glanced at Malik. "I'm going to head up and take a shower. Please tell Luc about the SUV, and let's warn the House in the event they're still out there."
Not exactly the most comforting of thoughts.
* * *
I was also grungy from the run, so I grabbed a shower as soon as Ethan was finished and climbed into my leathers, as I had no idea what the night might bring.
I pulled my hair into a ponytail and touched the hollow of my neck where my Cadogan medal formerly would have rested.
I'd given back the medal I'd been wearing during last night's ceremony. But that was only one of the two I owned. The first I'd been given had been stolen, and I'd eventually gotten it back. Last night's medal had been the replacement; the original sat in a small box in the bottom of my nightstand in Ethan's room. Because I hadn't been wearing it last night, I hadn't had an opportunity to give it back.
But now that I remembered, I still didn't offer it up. I wasn't going to wear it; that seemed dishonest, especially when all my fellow vampires had given up their own. But this medal had been stolen and returned by Seth Tate, and I had no idea what magic he'd done while he'd had it. Maybe nothing; maybe wicked acts.
The medal would stay in its box, at least until I was sure one way or the other.
By the time I was ready to go, Ethan was dressed as well, in a perfectly fitted suit. Every molecule of clothing on his body was bespoke and perfect, from the slacks that ran the length of his long legs to the suit jacket that fit his shoulders as if it had been hand-sewn for him by an elderly European gentleman with small needles and thick chalk.
Come to think of it, I bet that was exactly how it had been made.
Whatever its origins, he looked sharp. He looked in charge, and every bit the Master of the House.
"Do you need anything for the GP ceremony?"
"No," he said. "One night without drama would be appreciated, but that seems unlikely in the near term."
I hardened my heart against the half lie I was about to tell - or at least the substantial omission. "Since we've got a bit of time before the ceremony, and unless you need me here, I'd like to check in about the murders. I might visit my grandfather, see if they've learned anything. It bothers me that we still don't have a lead, especially when we gave our word to Noah. Plus, I'm stressed about the murders and the GP" - and the other thing I'm not supposed to be telling you about, I silently thought - "and my grandfather usually offers me Oreos. I like a good Oreo now and again."
"Is there anything you won't do for food?"
I struck a pose with a hand on one cocked hip, and grinned at him with lowered lids. "It depends on the food."
His gaze was appreciative. "I'm not sure if we're discussing food or innuendo. Either way, this may be the best conversation we've ever had."
I walked over and pressed my lips to his, lingering a moment longer than I might have, basking in the moment.
The moment before everything changed.
Before I swore allegiance to the Red Guard.
Before he pulled the House's allegiance to the Greenwich Presidium.
Ethan tilted his head at me. "You're all right?"
"Nervous," I said honestly. "Big night."
He made a vague sound of agreement. "One of the biggest. And we'll see what comes of it."
Before the night was through, I was sure we would.
* * *
I had some time before the ceremony, and I did intend to make good on my promise to visit my grandfather. Or at least check in with him before my visit to the lighthouse.
Thinking blood and food were in order before I headed downstairs, I walked down the hallway to the kitchen to grab a snack.
There were bagels on the counter, but Margot had skipped the cream cheese, probably as a cost-cutting measure.
I'd just tucked one into a napkin and pulled a bottle of Blood4You from the fridge when Lacey stepped into the kitchen. Once again, she wore skinny jeans, and she'd paired them with a trendy striped top and boots.
With no acknowledgment of me other than the mild glance she offered in my direction, she walked to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of very expensive water. Only the best for the best, I supposed.
She shut the door, then leaned back against it. "I've heard you two are seeing each other."
No need to ask whom she meant. I glanced back at her. "We are."
"You aren't good for him."
I'd been heading for the door - hoping to avoid any drama and hit the road - when I stopped short. "Excuse me?"
"You aren't what he needs."
Anger bit me with a sharp ferocity. "And what is that, exactly?"
"Not just a tool. Not just a fist. The House is precarious; although I've got my own House now, don't doubt my love for Cadogan. This place is in my blood. It's where I was made, and I'll be damned if I'll let you run it - and him - into the ground. You're the reason this House is leaving the GP. If it falters, that's on you."
I managed to form words, which was more than I would have thought possible given my anger. "My relationship - his relationship - is really none of your business."
"It is my business," she countered. "This House is my business, and the Master who made me is my business."
Master or not, she was pissing me off. "Your business is in San Diego. You left this House and Ethan when you went there. I don't appreciate your poaching on what is, quite clearly, my territory."
Before she could answer, two other Cadogan vampires - Christine and Michelle - both in workout clothes, walked into the kitchen. They waved at me and said polite hellos to Lacey - Grateful Condescension, I supposed - before grabbing sports drinks from the fridge and bananas from a bowl on the counter.
They said nothing more to either of us, but their heads were bowed together as they left; they were undoubtedly chatting about the kitchen encounter between Ethan's lover and his lover-in-waiting. I didn't even try to catch their whispers; I wasn't sure I wanted to know what they were saying . . . mostly for fear that they were right.
She moved a step closer. "Suppose you're correct. Suppose it isn't my business whom he dates. Suppose it's yours. Then maybe you should think long and hard about the kind of vampire he deserves. Are you that girl? Or does he deserve someone better? Someone loyal and true?"
"Someone blond?" I dryly asked. "Someone exactly like you, perhaps?"
My phone rang. Fearing another crisis, I whipped it from the pocket of my jacket. It was Jonah, probably calling to ensure I'd show up at the initiation. I turned off the phone and put it away again, but not before Lacey watched me with obvious curiosity.
"Are we keeping you from something?"
"I'm trying to solve a double murder," I reminded her. "Just checking in."
She smiled a little. "I have plenty of decades under my belt, Merit. Decades of having worked with him, watched him, known him. You think, what, eight months of being fanged is going to tell you what you need to know about a Master vampire? About what an immortal needs?" She arched her eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Ethan. "You're a child to him. A momentary interest."
If Lacey was working to make me even more insecure - to plant the seeds of doubt - she was doing a damned good job of it.
"Leave me alone," I said, my anger growing.
"No problem." She walked to the kitchen door. "Just remember, I don't trust you, and I'm keeping an eye out."
"What a witch," I muttered when she was gone, but I stood there in the kitchen for a moment, my hands shaking with vaulted anger. Was she right? Was I nothing more than a liability to Ethan?
No, I thought. He loved me, and he knew better than anyone what was or wasn't right for him and the House. He was a grown-up, by God. It wasn't like I'd somehow teased him into a relationship.
I snapped off the bottle cap and chugged the bottle of blood as I stood there, until the gremlin inside me quieted down again.
I presumed her plan was to make me crazy. To make me uncertain about our relationship until I drove Ethan crazy from neediness . . . or ended the relationship to "save" him.
Lacey had once called me a "common soldier," but she'd confused soldiering and martyrdom. My job was to stand strong for my House and my Master, not give myself away like a wilting violet because I was afraid I'd ruin him.
I wouldn't ruin him. Just as I'd told him before when he needed to be reminded, we were stronger together than we were apart. Two souls different from the rest who'd found solace in each other.
She couldn't take that away from us.
At least, I hoped she couldn't.
* * *
My mood soured and my nerves even more jangled, I walked downstairs to the Ops Room. Everyone but Juliet was in the room; it was her night for patrol, I guessed. Luc, now officially entrenched as Guard Captain again, sat at the head of the table, just as he usually did.
Lindsey's gaze found me when I walked into the room, and the question in her eyes was easy to read: What's Merit's emotional state now that Lacey has spent an evening in the House?
Since she was highly empathic, I didn't feel a need to inform her.
"Sentinel," Luc greeted me. "Glad to see you're here without your panties in an obvious twist."
"They're getting there," I said ominously. "Any word from the Ombud's office?"
"Not a lick. We thought we'd wait for you and give Jeff a call."
I sat down at the conference table. "Thanks. Let's do it."
Luc nodded and leaned over the table to the conference phone, where he hit the second speed-dial option.
"Who's number one?" I wondered.
"Saul's Pizza," Lindsey said. "You've ruined us for all other deep-dish."
Damn straight, I thought. Saul's was my favorite deep-dish joint in Chicago, a little hole-in-the-wall in Wicker Park, near Mallory's brownstone. I'd introduced it to the House.
"This is Jeff," Jeff answered appropriately.
I linked my fingers together as Lindsey moved the whiteboard closer. "Hey, Jeff. It's Merit in the Ops Room, on speakerphone as per usual."
"I've got an update. Which do you want first? Good news or bad news?"
"Bad news."
"The glass from the alley is a dead end. It's safety glass from the side window of a passenger vehicle. Could have been dozens of models, so it doesn't really tell us anything."
Bummer, but not entirely surprising. Lindsey erased GLASS from the whiteboard, and I suddenly felt I was playing a game show in which the prizes were disappearing with each wrong answer.
"What else did you find?" I asked.
"We checked out Oliver's and Eve's backgrounds. Nothing pops there. No arguments with neighbors, no personal feuds, no money problems. If the killer picked them for a reason, it's not obvious to us. But I'll send you the documents in case you want to review them."
Luc leaned forward. "That would be great, Jeff. Thanks. We've got a security consult in for the transition. Maybe we'll have him take a look."
"They're on their way. And now for the good news," Jeff said. "I was checking out satellite images of the registration center. Turns out there's a bank across the street. And banks have lots of security."
I crossed my fingers. "Tell me there's video, Jeff."
"There's video," he confirmed. "But not much of it. I'll send it to you."
By the time Luc had dabbled with his touch screen, it was already registering receipt of a new file. He hit the "play" button.
The video was grainy and dark, and it stuttered along more like time-lapse photography than film, but the setting was right. The shot was focused on the spot directly in front of the bank's ATM machine, but it caught the edge of the registration center across the street and the alley next to it.
"What's the timing?" Luc asked.
"This starts eight minutes before Oliver and Eve show up. Now, ignore the guy at the ATM, and watch the alley."
The guy at the ATM was broad shouldered and dark skinned, and he wore green scrubs as he cheerfully pulled cash from the ATM. He was easy on the eyes, but Jeff was right; the action was behind him.
Traffic rolled past the registration center across the street. Some of the cars pulled to the curb, where vampires spilled out to get into the line gathered outside the door.
"There they are," Luc said, pointing as Oliver and Eve hopped out of a car not far from the ATM and walked across the street, hand in hand. The car took off again.
My heart clutched. I wanted to urge them back into the car, and felt utterly powerless watching them walk into danger . . . and that much more determined to find their killer.
Oliver and Eve joined the line with the rest of the vampires. The focus at that distance was pretty awful, the queue looking more like a snake of pixels than a distinguishable line of vampires.
"Keep an eye on the next car up," Jeff said.
"Watching," Luc absently said, eyes glued to the screen. And he wasn't the only one. Every vampire in the Ops Room stared at the screen as a large, dark SUV drove past the registration center.
No - not drove. It cruised past the registration center, barely moving, as if scoping out the center and the line in front.
"That could be the same vehicle that followed us this evening."
"You were followed?" Jeff asked.
I nodded. "Yeah. Ethan and I went for a run. A black SUV followed us, then drove away in a hurry when we moved closer."
The SUV in the video moved out of view before backing up into the alley, its headlights shining out from the darkness just as the doorman had explained.
"And we have a car in the alley," I quietly said.
We squinted at the screen, watching as the headlights flashed a couple of times and figures - pixilated blobs - moved toward the car.
I knew instinctively who the blobs were: Oliver and Eve, heading for the alley and the SUV that had parked there. The video was silent; maybe they'd heard something in the alley we couldn't pick up.
But before we could see what happened next, a large gray armored car crept into the frame, parking directly in front of the bank and blocking the view of everything else.
I began shooing the screen. "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!"
The video stopped.
"The armored car sits there for forty-five minutes," Jeff said. "By the time it leaves . . ."
"Everything's over," I finished.
"Exactly."
The Ops Room was quiet for a moment. "Whoever was in the SUV lured them into the alley," Luc concluded.
"That's exactly what happened," Jeff said. "Marjorie talked to one of the staff members in the registration office. Gal named Shirley Jackson - she's worked for the city for two decades - who got transferred to the office when it opened. Turns out, her desk is next to the front window. She remembered hearing some kind of engine noise from the alley, like a car had trouble starting. She saw a couple - a 'nice-looking couple' - walk past the window. She didn't remember seeing them again, but said she didn't think anything of it."
"Nor would she have," Luc said. "You hear engine trouble, but someone goes to help and the sound disappears? You figure some Samaritans offered their assistance, and the problem was fixed."
"Yeah," I said. "But unfortunately wrong this time. Oliver and Eve were lured into the alley. The SUV faked some kind of car trouble, and Oliver and Eve went to help. And they were killed because of it."
I shuddered, wondering if that's what had been in store for me and Ethan on our run.
"And that's why Jeff found nothing in their backgrounds," Luc said. "The killer probably wasn't targeting Oliver and Eve specifically. He was targeting people outside the registration center. He was cruising for prey."
"For vampires," I clarified. "He was outside a registration center, so he was targeting vampires."
"And the car you saw tonight?" Luc asked.
"Maybe cruising the House, looking for vampires?" I suggested. "Ethan and I happened to be the ones on the street. Maybe he was hoping for a more subtle approach, which is why he drove off when we got closer."
Luc shrugged. "Hard to say."
"Thank you for the update, Jeff," I said.
"Sure thing. We'll keep looking on our end. I'm going to dig through the video a bit, see if that SUV makes another appearance."
"Good plan," Luc said. "We'll be in touch."
He clicked off the speakerphone and the video, and I looked back at the whiteboard. While the video had rolled, Lindsey had filled out the whiteboard with key bits of data. OLIVER AND EVE. ROGUES. TAKEN AT REGISTRATION CENTER BY SUV. KILLED IN WAREHOUSE.
A time line of murder, of sociopathic violence. But what did it mean?
I cast a glance at the clock on the wall. The hours were ticking down, and it was time to hit the road for the lighthouse. I steeled myself for my next omission of the evening, which was extra tricky, since there was a vampire with strong psychic abilities, Lindsey, in the room.
I rose and stuffed my hands into my pockets. "I think I'm going to go for a drive. I need some fresh air."
Luc nodded. "It's good for you. It'll help you process this, maybe make a connection."
I nodded, casting a slight glance at Lindsey to see if she'd caught a whiff of anything unusual. But if she had, I couldn't see it in her face.
"You'll be back for the ceremony, I presume?" Luc asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Much like taxes, if not death, it was unavoidable.