Chicagoland Vampires - Friday Night Bites Part 14

"I manage a redeemable idea now and again."

I made a sardonic sound.

"But you're right-it seems unlikely that anything we discussed came as a surprise."

"Tell him what you think you need to," I said, "as long as you know that if he thinks he can accomplish some end of his own, he'll use that information against us."

"I know, Merit. I'm canny enough to have taken his measure by now."

My stomach growled ominously, and I pressed a hand to it. I could feel the gnawing ache of hunger, and I wasn't about to risk a bout of bloodl.u.s.t while strapped into a roadster with a man I already had issues with. I could admit that Ethan was a little bit delicious, but I wasn't eager to have my vampire aching for a taste.

"I need a break," I warned him. I glanced out the window and noted a freeway exit ahead of us, then tapped a finger against the gla.s.s. "There."

Leaning to the side to check out the exit, he arched a brow. "A break. A break for what?"

"I need food."

"You always need food."

"It's either food or blood, Ethan. And given that it's just me and you in this car right now, food would be considerably less complicated, don't you think?"Ethan grumbled, but he seemed to get the larger point and aimed the Mercedes toward the exit, then coasted into the parking lot of a roadside hamburger joint. Given the hour-nearly three in the morning-we were one of only a few proud, late-night, burger-hungry scragglers in the lot.

He parked next to the building and glanced through the driver's-side window at the tacky aluminum siding, the scrubby landscaping, and the marquee at the former Dairy Blitz (the marquee now reading only DA RY LITZ), which had clearly seen better days. I rolled down the window, and the smell of meat and potatoes and hot grease wafted through the car.

Oh, this was going to be good. I just knew it.

He turned to look at me, one eyebrow arched. "The Dary Litz, Sentinel?"

"You'll love it, Sullivan. Smell those fries! That batch is just for you."

"We just had a meal of ceviche and prawn parfait." There was a snicker in his voice that I appreciated.

"Seriously-we ate whipped sh.e.l.lfish, can you believe that? And you've made my point. Drive around."

He made some vague sound of disagreement, but not a very earnest one, before backing up the car and maneuvering it into the drive-through lane.

I scanned the illuminated menu, vacillating between a single or double bacon cheeseburger before deciding on the triple. It was sunlight or an aspen stake, not cholesterol, that would bring me down eventually anyway.

Ethan stared at the menu. "I have no idea what to do here."

"There's the proof positive you made the right decision by bringing me on staff."

I offered some suggestions and when he argued with me, ordered enough for both of us-burgers, fries, chocolate shakes, an extra order of onion rings. He paid with cash that he slipped from a long, thin leather folder in his interior jacket pocket.

When the Mercedes was full of vampires and fried food, he drove to the exit, then paused at the curb while I made a sleeve of the paper wrap around his burger. When I handed it to him, he stared at it for a moment, eyebrow arched, before taking a bite.

He made a vague sound of approval while he chewed.

"You know," I said, biting into an onion ring, "I feel like things would go a lot smoother for you if you'd just admit that I'm always right."

"I'm willing to give you 'right about food,' but that's as far as I can go."

"I'll take that," I said, grinning at him, my mood elevated by our escape from Nick and my father, and probably from the impact of greasy fast food on my serotonin level. Feeling no need for ladylike delicacy, I took a ma.s.sive bite of my own bacon-laced burger, closing my eyes as I chewed. If there was anything for which I owed Ethan Sullivan thanks, it was the fact that I could eat what I wanted without gaining weight. Sure, I was hungry all the time, and had once nearly latched onto his carotid, but all in all it was a small price to pay. Life was a smorgasbord!

All that serotonin, that relief, probably motivated my next comment. "Thank you," I told him.

Wrapped burger in hand, he pulled onto the road again, and we resumed our journey back to Hyde Park. "For what?"

"For changing me."

He paused. "For changing you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not saying there hasn't been an adjustment period-"

Ethan snorted as he reached into the box of onion rings perched between us. "That's rather an understatement, don't you think?"

"Give me a break, I'm trying to Gratefully Condescend."

Ethan snickered at the reference to the anachronisticCanon tradition-Grateful Condescension being the att.i.tude I was supposed to adopt toward Ethan, my Liege. And not the kind of condescension I usually got from him-this was the old-school, Jane Austen version. The kind where you deferred to your betters and employed all the social niceties. Definitely not my bag.

"Thank you," I said, "because if I hadn't been changed, I couldn't eat this incredibly unhealthy food. I wouldn't be immortal. I'd be completely useless with a katana-and that's a skill every twenty-eight-year-old Chicagoan needs." At his flat smile, I nudged him gently, teasingly, with an elbow."Right?"

He chuckled softly.

"And you wouldn't have me to hara.s.s. You wouldn't have my connections or my fabulous fashion sense."

"I chose that dress."

I blinked back surprise. The admission surprised me and kind of thrilled me, although I didn't admit it. I did point out that it wouldn't look nearly as good on him, and got a "hmph" for my trouble.

"Anyway, thank you."

"You're welcome, Sentinel."

"Were you gonna eat the rest of those fries?"

We noshed until we reached the House again. We took the long way around the building, avoiding the tangle of paparazzi outside the gate. Ethan waved his access card at the parking gate, a section of it sliding aside to allow him entry to the underground ramp. After he slid the Mercedes into his parking spot, we got out of the car, shut the doors behind us, and Ethan-despite the fact that the car was parked behind a ten-foot iron gate beneath a House of vampires in a garage accessible only by secret code-beeped the Mercedes' security system.

Halfway to the door, he stopped. "Thank you."

"For?"

"Because of your willingness to go home, and although we seem to have additional questions regarding Nicholas' involvement, we've made some inroads, and we know more now than we did before." He cleared his throat. "You did good today."

I grinned at him. "You like me. You really, really like me!"

"Don't overplay your hand, Sentinel."

I pulled open the bas.e.m.e.nt door and waved him ahead with a hand. "Age before beauty."

Ethan hmphed, but I caught a glimpse of a smile. "Funny."

When I turned to walk to the Ops Room, figuring I should do my duty, check in, and let Luc know that I'd managed to keep Ethan alive during our jaunt off campus, Ethan stopped me with an arm.

"Where are you going?"

I arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm not up for an after party if that's what you're offering." At his flat stare, I explained. "I need to check my folder in the Ops Room."

He dropped my arm, then slipped his hands into his pockets. "You aren't excused yet," he said. "I'll wait."

Frowning, I turned and walked to the closed Ops Room doors. I had no idea what he was up to, and that wasn't the kind of mystery I enjoyed.

When I opened the door and slipped inside, I was greeted by catcalls that would have made a construction worker proud.

Juliet swiveled around in her chair to get a look, then winked at me. "Looking good, Sentinel."

"She's right," Lindsey said from her own station. "You clean up surprisingly well."

I rolled my eyes, but pinched the hem of my skirt and did a little curtsy, then plucked my folder from its hanger on the wall. There was a single piece of paper inside, a printout of a memo that Peter had e-mailed to Luc. The memo contained the names of the paparazzi who'd been a.s.signed to cover Cadogan House, and the papers, Web sites, and magazines they pimped for.

I lifted my gaze, found Peter looking at me curiously. "That was quick work," I said, waving the paper at him.

"You'd be amazed what fangs will get you," he said. He gave me a blank look, then turned back to his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard.

He was a strange one.

"I a.s.sume your Liege and mine made it through the evening?" Luc asked.

"Healthy and hale," said a voice behind me. I glanced back. Ethan stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest."Shall we?" he asked.

I silently cursed the question, knowing exactly what the rest of the guards were going to think about it.

Namely, they would imagine much more lascivious things on his agenda. His attraction to me notwithstanding, I knew better. I was a tool in Ethan's vampire toolbox, a pa.s.s card to be pulled out when he needed access.

"Sure," I said, after giving Lindsey a warning look. Her lips were pinched together, as if she was only just managing not to snark.

I slipped my folder back into its slot and, memo in hand, followed Ethan into the hallway, then up to the first floor. He took the hallway to the main staircase, then made the corner and took the stairs to the second floor. He paused in front of the doors that I knew led to the library, but hadn't yet had time to explore.

I stepped beside him. He slid me a glance. "You've not been inside?"

I shook my head.

He seemed gratified by my answer, an oddly satisfied smile on his face, and gripped the door handles with both hands. He twisted, pushed, and opened the doors. "Sentinel, your library."

CHAPTER TEN.

YOU CAN TELL A LOT BY THE SIZE OF A MAN'S LIBRARY.

It was astonishing.

My mouth open in shock, I walked inside and turned in a slow circle to take it all in. The library was square, rising through the second and third floors. Three high-arched windows illuminated the room. An intricate railing of crimson wrought iron bounded the upper floor, which was accessible by a spiral staircase of the same crimson metal. Tables topped by bra.s.s lamps with green shades filled in the middle.

The walls-floor to ceiling-were lined in books. Big and small, leather-bound and paperback, all of them divided into sections-history, reference, vampire physiology, even a small group of fiction t.i.tles.

"Oh. My. G.o.d."

Ethan chuckled beside me. "Andnow we're even for the changing-you-without-consent issue."

I would have agreed to anything just to touch them, so I threw out an absent "Sure," walked to one of the shelves, and brushed my fingertips over the spines. The section was devoted to Western cla.s.sics.

Doyle was stacked between d.i.c.kens and Dumas, Carroll above and Eliot below.

I pulled a navy leather copy ofBleak House from its shelf. I opened the spine, paged past the vellum frontispiece, and checked the first rag-cut page. The print was tiny and pressed so deeply into the paper that you could feel the indentation of the letters. I whimpered happily, then closed the book again and slid it home.

"You're in thrall of the books," Ethan said, chuckling. "Had I known you'd be so easy to a.s.suage, I'd have brought you to the library weeks ago."

I made a sound of agreement and pulled out a slim volume of Emily d.i.c.kinson's poetry. I thumbed through the pages until I found the poem I wanted, then read aloud, "I died for beauty, but was scarce adjusted in the tomb, when one who died for truth was lain in an adjoining room. He questioned softly why I failed? 'For beauty,' I replied. 'And I for truth-the two are one. We brethren are.' "

Gently, I closed the cover of the book and returned it home, then looked over at Ethan, who stood beside me, his expression thoughtful. "Did you die for beauty or truth?"

"I was a soldier," he said.

That surprised me, and didn't. The thought of Ethan warring-rather than politicking in a back room-surprised me. The thought of Ethan in the midst of war did not.

"Where?" I quietly asked him.

He paused in weighty silence, tension clear in the tilt of his chin, then gave me an obviously feigned light smile. "Sweden. A long time ago."He'd been a vampire for 394 years; I did the historical math. "Thirty Years' War?"

He nodded. "Very good. I was seventeen when I fought for the first time. I made it to thirty before I was changed."

"You were changed in battle?"

Another nod, no elaboration. I took the hint. "I suppose I was changed in battle, in a manner of speaking."

Ethan pulled a book from the shelf before him and absently flipped through it. "You're referring to Celina's battle to control the Houses?"

"Such as it is." I leaned back against the bookshelves, arms crossed. "What do you think she ultimately wants, Ethan? Vampires controlling the world?"

He shook his head, shut his book and slid it back into place. "She wants whatever new world order puts her in power-whether in charge of vampires, or humans, or both." He angled his body, leaned an elbow on one of the shelves beside me, and propped his head on it, running long fingers through his hair. His other hand was canted on his hip. He looked, suddenly, very tired.

My heart clenched sympathetically.

"And what do you want, Merit?" He'd been looking down at the ground, but suddenly raised gla.s.s-green eyes to mine. The question was startling enough; the near-glow of his eyes was brutal.