by Chloe Neill
Nicole Heart was head of Atlanta’s Heart House and the founder of the Assembly of American Masters, the new organization of the Masters of the country’s twelve vampire Houses. Chicago had been through a lot supernaturally recently, mainly because a sorceress named Sorcha Reed, Chicago’s high-society version of Maleficent, had ripped through downtown Chicago. We’d taken her down—and prevented her from creating an army of supernaturals—and the mayor had been pretty happy with us. She’d escaped the CPD, but four months later, there’d been no sign of her, and the mayor had stayed happy with us. Nicole wanted to capitalize on those good feelings, which meant lots of phone calls and interviews for Ethan.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said. “I’ll be glad when tomorrow is done.”
He arched a single golden eyebrow, his signature move. “You’re already ready for our wedding to be over?”
“More that I’m ready for our lives to begin, and to be done with wedding planning. And,” I admitted, “to see what Mallory and Lindsey have in store.”
“You’ll be good tonight.” As if sealing the obligation, Ethan lifted my chin with a finger, then lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was soft, teasing. A hint of things to come. A promise and a dare.
“As good-bye kisses go,” I said when I could form words again, “that wasn’t bad.”
“I’m saving some of my energy for tomorrow, of course.” His eyes went flat. “You know they want us to sleep separately.”
Vampires weren’t usually superstitious, but they did like their rules. One of those, we’d been advised, was the bride and groom sleeping in different rooms so they wouldn’t see each other, even inadvertently, on their wedding night.
“I saw Helen’s memo.” Another reason she wasn’t on my favorites list. “She wants to put me in my old room.”
Ethan smiled. “That hardly seems fair, since I’ll have our suite to myself.”
“You’re the Master,” I said in Helen’s clipped tone.
“That is a disturbingly good impression.”
“I know. I’ve heard it a lot the last few weeks.” The clock on the opposite wall began to peal its midnight chimes. “I should get dressed. Lindsey has specified our outfits.”
His gaze narrowed. “Has she?”
I patted his chest. “She has, and mine will be completely bachelorette-party appropriate.”
“That’s what concerns me. You’ll be careful?”
“I will, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Not now.”
The union of sorcerers, finally realizing that Sorcha’s destruction had been partly their fault, had set wards around the city. We couldn’t stop her from walking into the city—that was the CPD’s job—but if she attempted to use magic within that barrier, we’d know it.
And for four months, there’d been nothing from Sorcha. And other than a run-in with some unethical ghost hunters and a murderous ghost a couple of months ago, Chicago had settled into a beautiful and golden summer.
It was weird. And wonderful.
“You’ll be good,” Ethan said, nipping at my ear. “Or I’ll be bad.”
I’m pretty sure that was a win-win.
CHAPTER TWO
THE GOOD WORD
“Well,” I said, staring at the white stretch limo that sat at the curb, “at least you didn’t get the one with the hot tub.”
“Only ’cause it was booked,” Lindsey said. She’d worked soft waves into her hair and squeezed into a short black bandage dress that looked absolutely phenomenal. She glanced at me, gestured with a finger in the air. “This was a good call.”
We all wore black dresses—that was the rule Lindsey had set for us—and I’d been decked out in a knee-length number with a square neck and cap sleeves. The fabric was snug and stretchy and left very little to the imagination. Thank God for my forgiving vampire metabolism, since dealing with Helen and my mother, who’d become a united front, had me raiding the kitchen’s chocolate stash a lot more than usual.
We were sharing the limo with Margot, the House chef. Margot had dark hair and plenty of curves, and she’d opted for a fit-and-flare dress.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” There was clipping down the sidewalk as a petite woman with blue hair ran toward us. “I’m late!”
Mallory’s LBD was knee-length, sleeveless, and flowy, which she had the petite frame to pull off. She’d styled her ombre blue hair so it curled across her shoulders, and wore enormous silver earrings in the shape of flowers.
She reached out and squeezed me, smelling faintly like lavender and herbs. Probably something she’d concocted in her craft-slash-magic room. “Happy Darth Sullivan Eve!”
I couldn’t help but snort. “Is that the official title?”
“It is,” Mallory assured me, and pulled a satin sash out of her tiny clutch purse. It read FUTURE MRS. DARTH SULLIVAN in glittery letters.
I’d been prepared to say no to any “Future Mrs.” or “Bride-to-Be” sashes, but I decided I couldn’t pass up glitter and snark together, so I let her pull it over my head.
“Oh, that turned out nicely,” Lindsey said, hands on her hips as she surveyed it, then smiled at Mallory. “Is your house just covered in glitter now?”
Mallory stepped back, adjusted my sash carefully. “It’s every-freaking-where. It’s probably the perfect vector for worldwide contagion, should any bad guys figure that out.”
The tall, lean, liveried driver walked around the car, raised two fingers to his strawberry blond hair. “Ladies, I’ll be your chauffeur for the evening.”
“Hi, Brody,” said those of us from Cadogan House to the guard who’d also become our occasional transporter. He had solid moves behind the steering wheel.
Lindsey’s gaze narrowed. “You weren’t on the list as driver. Are you playing hall monitor?”
Brody held out his hands, and his expression looked innocent enough. “I’m just here to drive. I’m not a nark.”
Lindsey stepped up to him, gave him her fiercest look. Which was actually pretty fierce. “If one word of what happens tonight gets back to anyone, I will know that word came from you.”
“And that would be bad.”
Lindsey’s eyes gleamed silver. “It would be the most possible badness. Did I mention Merit and I have been practicing with the throwing knives?”
Brody swallowed visibly. “Are you good at it?”
She smiled, showing fang. “Very.”
Brody wasn’t the newbie he’d been before, and he didn’t look as fazed by Lindsey’s hazing as he once would have. But she still outranked him, so he nodded.
“You’re the boss.”
“Damn right,” she said with a cheeky grin, and gestured to the door. “Ladies, if you please, we can get this show on the road.”
Since she was the boss, I maneuvered carefully on ice-pick heels from curb to car and climbed into the limo.
Margot slid into the seat next to me. “Thanks for the invite. It’s nice to get out of the kitchen.”
“How’s that going?” Margot refused to allow us to hire a caterer for the wedding, much to my mother’s chagrin. Since my mother’s pick would have resulted in shrimp foam at our wedding, I was fully behind Team Margot.
“It’s going,” she said. “Total Bridezilla situation. ‘I don’t want shrimp foam. Don’t give me shrimp foam.’”
“Can you blame me?”
“I really can’t. And that’s why the mini Italian beef sliders will be a huge hit.” She gave me a good looking-over. “How are you feeling? Are you nervous?”
I watched Lindsey through the window as she and Mallory talked very seriously about something. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Mallory checked her watch. Maybe the entertainment was running late.
“About what Lindsey and Mallory have in store for tonight?” I asked, trying to read their lips. Tur
ns out, I did not have that skill. I did recognize excitement on Lindsey’s face and worry on Mallory’s, but she hadn’t said anything to me about something bothering her. And now that I was looking, there were dark circles beneath her eyes. I’d have to ask her about that later; I hoped the wedding wasn’t the reason for it.
“About the wedding,” Margot said with a laugh.
I smiled, glanced back at her. “The marriage, no. The wedding, a little,” I admitted.
She winked, patted my knee.
“Where are we going?” I asked when Lindsey and Mallory settled along the back wall and Mallory began passing out champagne flutes.
“To celebrate your last night of freedom!” Mallory said. “Now, stop asking questions and relax. Everything is in our hands.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
• • •
I’d spent the last month—when not patrolling the House or attending fittings—trying to figure out what Mallory and Lindsey were planning. I’d checked off all the stereotypical ideas—strippers, barhopping, rounds of half-drunk karaoke. None of those were me, and I didn’t think they were particularly us. But that left me stymied. Lindsey was plenty full of flirty bravado, Mallory of wicked creativity, and I was stuck in the middle between them, hoping my evening wouldn’t involve squealing, feather boas, and body shots.
The alcoholic kind, anyway. I wouldn’t say no to a good, sweaty round of sparring.
Brody drove north, the lake a shadow to our right, away from Hyde Park and toward downtown Chicago. It figured that we’d head toward the city’s center, which offered pretty much any activity a girl could want—from boat rides to museum tours to really good blues. So it didn’t give me a single clue.
When Brody pulled the limo in front of a small slip of a building, I had to reassess. It was modern in design, with a tall, narrow window and offset door in flaming red. There were no signs, no names on the door, not even an address number.
Intriguing. “What is this place?” I asked.
“My half of the party,” Mallory said as we climbed out of the limo one by one—and then tugged our dresses back into place. “A little something for you and for me.”
She walked to the door, pressed a small buzzer.
After a moment, a thin woman with dark skin smiled out at us. “Merit party?” she asked with a smile.
“Merit party,” Mallory agreed.
“Welcome to Experience,” the woman said, and held the door open so we could walk inside.
The door opened into a long, narrow room with gleaming wood floors and a long, dark table in the middle. The walls glowed pale amber behind crisscrossing pieces of the same wood, like they burned from the inside. Rectangular sconces hung above us at varying heights. Jazz played warmly in the background.
There were women already in the room with champagne flutes in hand—including my sister, Charlotte.
“Hey, baby sister!” Charlotte said, walking forward and embracing me. Like me, she had my father’s dark hair and pale blue eyes. She wore a sleeveless black dress with a flared skirt and patent flats with bows on the toes. She smelled like lilacs, the same perfume she’d worn since she was a teenager.
“Hey, Char,” I said, squeezing her back. “How’s my favorite niece?”
“Being quite the two-and-a-half-year-old, Olivia believes she is a debutante and is very disappointed she can’t go to her aunt Merit’s party tonight. But she is very excited about being a flower girl. And she’s been practicing.”
“Oh my God, I bet that’s adorable.”
Charlotte put a hand on her heart. “Granted, she’s my kid, but yes. It is quite possibly the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m sure she’ll toss those petals with aplomb.”
Charlotte nodded. “If she remembers to toss them, yes. So far, it’s been more of a petal-free sashay.”
Sounded entertaining either way.
The woman who’d opened the door, who wore a dark, fluid tunic over dark leggings, walked to the table and pulled out the center chair. I glanced back at Mallory, who nodded.
“Go for it, sister,” she said and, when I was seated, took the chair next to mine.
“We’re having dinner?” I asked her. I’d actually grabbed a bite before leaving the House, to lay the foundation for what I assumed would be ample champagne.
“Not exactly,” Mallory said, and gestured toward the doorway that led to the back of the building. The moment we were all seated, a bevy of waiters in black button-downs and jeans walked through, domed trays in hand. With the perfect timing of practiced dancers, they each walked to a spot at the table and simultaneously placed the trays in front of us, leaving the domes in place.
“The first course,” the hostess said, hands clasped in front of her, and the waiters whisked away the domes, revealing gleaming white plates dotted with a rainbow of fruit around a pretty cube of chocolate cake, a small dish of what looked like chocolate mousse, and some kind of lacey and delicate cookie.
I glanced at Mallory as the women around the table oohed and aahed. “You got me chocolate.” My heart lifted, sang. I should have trusted that these two would do it right.
“It’s a chocolate-tasting table!” Mallory said, hands clasped together at her chest like a kid with a burning secret. “Five full courses!”
I wiped away an imaginary tear. “I love you guys.”
“Damn right you do.” Mallory lifted her glass. “To my immortal sister from another mister, and the future wife of the hottest damn vampire in the United States.”
“To Merit!” Lindsey said, and everyone raised a glass. “Now, for God’s sake,” she said, “let the girl eat!”
• • •
I had to give the chefs credit—and sent my compliments back. I’d had my own chocolate stash once upon a time, but I still hadn’t realized how diverse chocolate could be in the hands of a talented person. There was chocolate soup, chocolate foam, drinking chocolate, smoked chocolate. Chocolate with pistachio cream, chocolate with Scotch bonnet peppers, chocolate with bacon (a personal favorite), raspberries injected with chocolate, and a dozen more.
Somewhere near the bottom of the fifth inning, I decided even my immortal body couldn’t hold any more. I spent a few minutes chatting with the guests and watching Mallory. The worry I’d seen earlier hadn’t dissipated. Either they hadn’t managed to work out the kinks in tonight’s plan, or something else was bothering her.
I didn’t like thinking about what might be worrying my oldest friend and talented sorceress—and the woman who’d outmagicked Sorcha Reed. But I also knew that she probably wanted the break and release of a party as much as the rest of us. So I decided I’d bide my time—and interrogate her later.
The hostess returned with a large silver tray of mints, fruit, and cheese.
“Please, sir,” I said, hand over my stomach, “I do not want some more.”
“With you,” Mallory said, waving off the tray when it was offered to her. “That mousse-cake square did me in.”
“It wasn’t the half dozen before it?” Margot asked dryly, chocolate hangover clear on her face.
“I didn’t eat six mousse-cake squares.”
“I think you had eight,” Lindsey said, licking chocolate off her thumb.
Mallory looked a little horrified, and a little nauseous.
“It’s all good,” I said, patting Mallory’s hand. “Special occasion.”
“Says you. I can actually gain weight, vampire girl. Still, though . . .” This time, when she looked at the empty plates in front of most of the women at the table, there was pride in her eyes. “We did damn good work here tonight.”
“To us,” Margot said, and lifted her glass. “And to Merit, and Darth Sullivan.”
“Hear, hear!” Mallory said. And then she burped. Which seemed appropr
iate.
• • •
Still a little chocolate drunk, we were whisked back into the limo and shuttled to our next stop, which I hoped was a place for quiet contemplation of my bellyful of seventy-five-percent bittersweet.
“My turn!” Lindsey said. “And be warned—I am hopped up on sugar and chocolate.”
“Oh good,” I said. “Because you’re usually so quiet and reserved.”
That got the chuckle it deserved.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“We’re going to do the party a little more Cadogan style,” she said.
By Cadogan style, she’d meant at Temple Bar, Cadogan’s official watering hole. It was located in Wrigleyville, a neighborhood north of the Gold Coast and also home, as the name hinted, to Wrigley Field.
We pulled up in front, Sean holding open the door and his brother and fellow Irishman, Colin, ringing the brass bell behind the bar.
“Merit is on the premises!” he yelled out, to the applause of a crowd of vampires. There were plenty in the packed bar I didn’t recognize, but all of them were women.
Our table was near the front of a make-do stage at one end of the long, narrow bar. Maybe I was getting a stripper tonight, although I couldn’t imagine wanting to see anyone naked as much as I did Ethan. His long, lean form was pretty much a continuous delight.
The vampires dispersed among the crowd to chat with the others in the room. Lindsey grabbed drinks from the bar, gin and tonics all around, while Mallory sat beside me, checking her phone with a worried expression. Even when Lindsey brought an armful of sparkling gin and tonics for us, she didn’t seem to perk up.
“I’ll be right back,” Lindsey said, kissing the top of my head. “Just need to check on something.” She disappeared into the back of the bar.
“Everything okay?” I asked Mallory when we were alone.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, for starters, you’re in a bar full of vampires, which a year ago you’d have been crazily happy about. You’re practically famous after Towerline, and every Comic-Con in the country wants you as a guest sorceress, which is apparently a thing now. But you don’t look very happy about it.”
