by Chloe Neill
“Yes, Merit?”
“I’ll need a dress for the Investiture.”
“Ethan has already spoken to me,” she began, but I shook my head.
“Not black,” I said. “Not black and not demure. I need something more. Something different.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “For what purpose?”
I took a step toward her desk. “For the purpose of baiting this man pretending to be Balthasar, this man who wants to take the House from Ethan. Look, Helen, I know we haven’t gotten along very well since—well, since the beginning.”
Her expression stayed impressively blank.
“But let’s put that aside. This man is a threat to Ethan, and I will not let anyone—or anything—hurt him. I need a dress,” I said again. “A dress that will draw the man’s attention, keep him focused on me. Because if he’s focused on me . . .”
“He won’t be focused on Ethan,” she finished. She closed the binder on the desk in front of her, clasped her hands on the desktop, and looked me over from head to toe in a heavy and uncomfortable silence. She didn’t need to say anything to make clear she was cataloging every curve and plane.
“Red,” she finally said, lifting her gaze to my face again. “With some movement, and sufficient décolletage to keep his attention.”
I could not have in a million years have imagined Helen referring to my décolletage, and I broke into a brilliant smile. I guess protecting Ethan brought out the best in her, too.
“You have a concealable weapon?”
Also technically a vampire no-no. The question didn’t bother me, as I was used to my dagger, and relied on it often. But Helen was usually a rule stickler. Maybe I hadn’t been giving her enough credit.
“Yes. Dagger and thigh holster.”
She nodded, opened the binder again, began writing. “Heels. Support garments. You’ll have to work on your walk,” she said, looking up at me again. “You walk like a student. Possibly his Sentinel, but not his queen.”
Nope. I had been giving her exactly enough credit. But me and my ego weren’t the point.
I walked to her office door, closed it, looked back. “Show me.”
* * *
I emerged from her office an hour later. An hour later, and in between had had to field several messages from Luc and Ethan wondering where I was. The answer, at least, was honest enough. PARTY PREP WITH HELEN. I AM SOCIAL CHAIR, AFTER ALL.
I didn’t mention that she’d strapped me into heels, had me walk back and forth across her office until she was satisfied my posture was acceptable, my speed was appropriate, and my expression held just the right amount of “confident demureness.” Her phrase, not mine.
“The grass will be soft,” she’d said. “You’ll want to stick to the sidewalks or the hard floor under the tent.”
Or I could just take the damn things off and throw them at Balthasar, I thought, but wisely kept the thought to myself.
When the practice session was over, I gave the shoes back to her and walked down to Ethan’s office. The door was open, representatives from the other Houses already there: Scott and Jonah, Morgan, Ethan, Luc, and Malik.
“This room is decidedly lacking in chicks,” I said, practicing the walk as I moved to the conference table and joined the rest of them. I did not trip over the edge of the expensive antique rug, so I considered that a victory.
“I don’t disagree in principle,” Ethan said, “but the chicks are working while we run our mouths, so there’s a current dearth.”
I nodded at Scott and Morgan, then at Jonah, who I still wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with. I carried my RG coin in my pocket just as I wore my Cadogan medal around my neck. Maybe that’s what it would come down to: the choice between them. That certainly seemed to be the point of Jonah’s hands-off approach: making me choose.
“We were discussing Balthasar,” Ethan said, and I nodded, coming back to the present again.
“You don’t think the plan should change because he’s actually an imposter?” Scott asked.
“I do not,” Ethan said. “He doesn’t know that we know. And, more important, he seems quite committed to playing this role, to seeing it through. I say we give him that opportunity.”
“I agree,” I said. “It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he’d convinced himself he is Balthasar.”
“Really?” Scott asked.
“Really. He was in my head. The only person he wants to be more than Balthasar is, possibly, Ethan.” And that sparked an idea. “That raises an interesting possibility, a way we can increase the odds he shows up for a confrontation.”
All eyes turned to me, but I looked at Ethan.
“We could break up.”
Ethan’s eyes turned to glassy green fire. “Excuse me?”
“We let it leak that we’ve broken up. We act like we’ve broken up. This Balthasar is committed to besting you, and he sees me as the chit. He’s tried to use me to get to you before. I don’t think he’d be able to resist the opportunity to try to get to me. I may not know Balthasar—not really—but I know the actor.”
That reminder left the room in silence.
“It’s not a bad plan,” Jonah said. “Fireworks between you two will increase media coverage, and give him even more reason to show up.”
“He did arrange for reporters and cameras when he first showed up for the reunion,” I pointed out. “He loves a good show. You could give the scoop to Nick. He’d probably be willing to boost the signal. It’s a little gossipy for him, but he likes the supernatural beat.”
Ethan stared at me, drummed his fingers on the table. He was as alpha as they came, and he was serious enough about us that he’d planned to propose. It couldn’t have been comfortable to consider announcing to the public and press that our relationship had ended.
“It’s not a bad plan. I’ll talk to Nick.”
There was a knock on the door, and Kelley walked in with a tablet. “I’ve got security plans for the Investiture, if you’d like to review them.”
The Masters did, so they gathered around the tablet and got to the nuts and bolts of it.
* * *
Two hours of security detailing and ceremonial adjustments later, the sun was nearly on the rise again and the Masters were ready to depart.
To make our artificial breakup seem more realistic, I opted to sleep in my old room. Since we hadn’t had an Initiate class this year, it hadn’t yet been filled by another vampire. The room was small and clean, with a simple bed and bureau, a small bathroom. Nothing like Ethan’s apartments, but cozy in its own way.
I lay down on the small bed, one arm behind my head, staring at the ceiling. It was weird to be here alone, to sleep without Ethan’s body and heartbeat beside me, and I felt oddly self-conscious attempting to fall asleep. The sounds were different, the smells, the feel of sheets and blankets beneath me. And I was pretty sure Ethan had better-quality linens.
I stared into darkness, waiting for the sun to rise, for sleep to overpower me.
Good night, Sentinel.
His voice sounded a little lonely, which made me smile, if sadistically. It was good to know I wasn’t the only one wanting.
Good night, Sullivan. In my absence, do try to keep your hands to yourself.
It was the first moderately suggestive thing I’d said to him since Balthasar. I think we both felt better afterward.
Chapter Twenty-four
LADY IN RED
The next evening, the energy and excitement in the House was palpable. The drama notwithstanding, the Investiture was an important ceremony. Ethan, Scott, and Morgan would be officially recognized as AAM members, and a new era for American vampires would begin.
There was a knock at the door. I threw off the covers, opened it, found a small tray outside the door bearing a bottle of blood, a Diet Coke, a muffin, and a two-inc
h-high pile of bacon. I might have been in a different room, and no longer—at least temporarily—Ethan’s significant other, but Margot hadn’t forgotten me.
Still, he’d become such a fixture in my life that it was odd to wake without Ethan beside me. “Balthasar” needed to show his lying and impostering ass tonight, because I wanted my Darth Sullivan back.
I checked my phone, found a dozen messages from family members, friends, and supernaturals with sympathies for the breakup. News, apparently, spread very fast. None of them were from folks in the House, so at least they’d gotten the word out. I’d have to make a lot of calls when the charade was over.
There was no message from Luc, so I showered and dressed in jeans and a Cadogan T-shirt—I’d be changing clothes soon enough anyway—and headed downstairs to the Ops Room.
Lindsey and Luc were at the conference table when I walked in. Luc was already in a tux, Lindsey in a sleek, sleeveless column of black silk that fell to her ankles.
“You both look amazing.”
They looked up, glanced at me. “I think you’re underdressed, Sentinel.” Luc tapped his watch. “Party starts in an hour.”
“I’m doing my Sentinel duty and checking in with you first.”
“You’re avoiding Helen.” Lindsey smirked. “Which I get. ’Cause she scares the shit out of me.”
“Helen’s a peach,” Luc said. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
“Let’s get to what is. Any sign of Balthasar?”
“No,” Luc said. “We put human guards on the condo, and he hasn’t returned. The account manager was fired for speaking with us, so that’s a no-go.” He frowned, said almost to himself, “I should talk to Ethan about getting him some money or a stipend or something.” Then he shook his head. “We’ll deal with that later. Point is, no sign of Balthasar yet, but the news reports are building up this breakup thing pretty heavily.”
“I’m devastated by it,” I said.
“You look it,” Lindsey said. “You could always give Morgan another try.”
I gave her a flat look. “Been there, done that, DNF.”
There was a knock at the office door. We glanced back, found Jeff Christopher in the doorway in a very striking tuxedo. It draped his lean frame perfectly, and he’d slicked back his brown hair, which sharpened his features. He looked a little older, and a little more dangerous.
“Young Mr. Christopher,” Luc said, holding out a hand for him. “You look very official, sir.”
“Very handsome,” I agreed. I leaned over, pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“I’m sorry to hear about you and Ethan,” he said.
Since we hadn’t told all the guards about our plan, only the necessary few, Jeff was playing his part.
“Thank you. But I’d rather not talk about it.”
He nodded solemnly. “Of course. If you need to vent, I’m here.”
“I appreciate that. What brings you downstairs?”
“Balthasar, actually.”
Luc went on immediate alert. “You’ve seen him?”
“No, but I think we figured out who he is. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but we—”
“Whoa,” Luc said, holding up a hand, lips curving into a grin. “You think you found him?”
Jeff nodded. “The Librarian and me, after we started scanning the pages ourselves. He found Balthasar. I found two more names: Carlisle Foster and Julien Burrows. Carlisle’s dead. He became a spy for the British during World War Two, was discovered and executed. Julien, on the other hand, has disappeared.”
I felt the warmth of rising adrenaline. “Disappeared?”
“The ledgers say he escaped after a fight with the human who’d been left to guard him. The guard said Burrows, and I’m quoting, ‘invaded his dreams.’ There’s no trace of him after that, at least under that name.”
The warmth turned into a full-on fire. I squeezed Jeff’s arm. “That is good work, Jeff. Really good work. Can we connect him to Reed?”
“Not yet. But I’ll keep looking. And Catcher’s still looking for a sorcerer.”
Jeff’s phone began to buzz, and he pulled it out, took a look. “It’s Chuck,” he said, waggling the phone. “I’m going to head back upstairs.”
“We’ll see you,” Luc said. “And really well done. I’ll communicate your findings to the team.”
Jeff nodded, then grinned at me. “Save me a dance.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, and he winked and headed out.
“That’s a spot of good news,” Luc said. “And it’s not the only one: Reed held up his end of the bargain, signed all the transfer papers during business hours today. Navarre is in the clear, at least with respect to anything it owed the Circle.”
“Morgan must be relieved.”
“Probably would be, except he’s still got Irina to deal with. Word on the street is she’s gunning for his job.”
That made me sit up a bit straighter. “She’s challenged him?”
“Not outright, but it could be coming. Do I think he has a unique chance to get his House in order given the circumstances? Yes. But he’s got to take advantage of that, got to see it that way. Time will tell if he can do it.”
Time would inevitably tell. “Ethan okay?”
“He’s nervous. But security’s in place and your grandfather and the CPD are in the loop. We’ll all have earpieces, even the sorcerers, so we can stay in touch. We’re recommending you and Ethan not contact each other telepathically until he’s in our grasp. Whoever this guy is, he’s a powerful, powerful psych. Could sense it, get spooked. And we don’t want that. It’s taken too much to get this thing planned. And now, thank God, there’s nothing else to do but see it play out.”
He crossed his hands over his stomach, grinned at me. “And, hopefully, watch you bring in an award-winning performance playing the vampire spurned.”
“I was in several musicals,” I said, rising from my chair. “Hopefully, it’ll all come back to me.”
“Newsies doesn’t count,” Lindsey said.
I thought about correcting her—clarifying that I hadn’t been in Newsies, had only been obsessed with it—but decided it wouldn’t help my case. Instead I looked at Luc in sympathy. “Don’t we have a rule about no snark on an op?”
He lifted a shoulder. “She scored a pretty good hit with Newsies. I’m going to give her that one,” he said, exchanged a high five with his girlfriend.
I rose, pointed accusatory fingers at both of them. “You two keep at it. I’m going to see a woman about a dress.”
* * *
This wasn’t just a party, so it wasn’t just party preparation. It was an op, and since Helen provided the dress, she intended to oversee the dressing, too.
So for the second time in a week, I was made into something glamorous.
I was shuffled into the dressing room attached to the House’s ballroom, closed off just for these purposes, where a staff of four humans hurried to turn me into a Sentinel Fit for a Ball, rather than the scrubby fighter Helen apparently seemed to think I usually was. I sat in a barber-style chair in a red bustier and matching panties, discomfortingly purchased by Helen while they swirled around me. The primpers—two men and two women—were also eager to talk about me and Ethan and the Breakup That Shook Chicago.
“It was so wrong of him to dump you,” said a thin and tattooed man with a heavy beard and thick waves of dark hair, currently applying dark shadow and liner to my lids, cat’s-eye-style.
Play the part, I told myself. “It was out of the blue,” I agreed quietly, trying to stay still and keep the pointier ends of his tools from puncturing my eyeballs.
“You will make him so jealous,” said a petite woman with a curling iron as long as her arm that smelled of heat and hair spray.
“That would be a bonus,” I agreed, doing my best
to offer an envious pout.
“Your dress is fabulous,” said another woman, an adorable brunette with a butterfly clip in her hair and as many tattoos as the bearded man. “They’re giving it a final steam.”
“I haven’t seen it yet.”
“You’ll love it.”
“Very dramatic,” said the tiny woman, clipping a curl into place while she worked on another section of my hair. “You’re my first vampire. It’s not really that different from doing a human, I guess.”
“No,” I said, staring at myself in the mirror when she moved away.
My eyes were darkly lined and shadowed, my cheekbones highlighted, my lips full and crimson. The bustier pushed up my not terribly impressive cleavage; stilettos with thin red straps that matched the dress showed off my quite impressive legs. My hair was dark and glossy, and as the hairdresser began unfastening the clips, it fell in large, loose waves around my shoulders.
This was to my prep work for Reed’s gala what fast food was to the prix fixe at Alinea, Chicago’s fanciest restaurant. Not really in the same stratosphere.
My bangs were tucked, the waves texturized and fluffed, and a faintly floral perfume was dabbed along my neck and ears. And the bearded man shooed the others away, moved toward me with a giant brush dusted with faintly shimmering powder the color of candlelight.
“Final step,” he said, and began dusting my face, neck, torso, cleavage, which began to shimmer beneath the bulbs of the room.
“Just a hint of glow,” he said. “We want vampire glamour, not Miami Beach glitter.”
“Very nice.”
We turned, found Helen behind us, arms crossed, the hanging dress in her hands. She gave me a businesslike appraisal, then nodded.
“I believe we’re ready,” she said, and handed the dress to me.
It was featherlight, panels of amazingly detailed floral lace and fluid organza, all in a deep crimson. The bodice was a deep-cut V of lace over a virtually invisible tulle panel, the arms bare but for a few bouquets of the same lace. The waist was narrow, the crimson organza over silk dropping straight through the hips and flowing at the knees in several fluid layers, the lace panels showing plenty of skin at the hips and thighs.
