It was basically a dorm room.

For a twenty-eight-year-old vampire.

“Is there anything else you need?”

I smiled back at Helen. “No, thank you. I appreciate your arranging a room so quickly.” My retinas, already singed by the images of Catcher and Mallory’s liaisons, were also appreciative.

“No problem, dear. Meals are served in the cafeteria at dusk, midnight, and two hours before dawn.” She glanced down at her watch. “You’re a little past second meal now, and a little early for third. Can I find you something to eat?”

“No, thank you. I grabbed something on the way over.” Not just something—the best homemade meat loaf this side of Chicago. Heaven.

“Well, if you find you need anything, the kitchens on each floor are always stocked, and there’s blood in the refrigerators. If you need something that you can’t find in the kitchens, tell the waitstaff.”

“Sure. Thanks again.”

Helen left and closed the door behind her. I laughed out loud at what she’d revealed. On the back of the door hung a poster for Navarre House, a life-sized image of Morgan in jeans and a snug black thermal shirt, black boots on his feet, his arms crossed, leather bands around his wrists. He’d been letting his hair grow, and it was wild in the picture, waving around his starkly handsome face, cut cheekbones, and cleft chin, his bedroomy navy blue eyes staring out beneath long, dark brows and ridiculously long lashes.

Apparently Helen had been coordinating with the Navarre Liaison on more than just a summer picnic. This required serious teasing, so I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and punched in Morgan’s number.

“Morgan,” he answered.

“Yes,” I said, “I’d like to speak to someone about ordering some Navarre porn, please. Maybe a six-foot-tall poster of that gorgeous Master vampire, the one with the dreamy eyes?”

He chuckled. “Found my welcome gift, did you?”

“Isn’t it a little weird for a Navarre vamp to leave a welcome gift for a Cadogan vamp?” I asked, while checking out the doors on the right side of the room. The first door opened to a small closet, inside of which hung a dozen wooden hangers. The second opened to a small bathroom—claw-foot tub with shower, pedestal sink.

“Not if she’s the prettiest Cadogan vamp.”

I snorted and closed the door again, then moved my bags to the bed. “You can’t think that line’s gonna work.”

“Did we finish off a deep-dish pie Saturday night?”

“That’s my recollection.”

“Then my lines work.”

I made a sarcastic sound, but the boy had a point.

“I need to go. I’ve got a meeting in a few,” he said, and the Master around here is a real administrative bastard.”

“Mmm-hmm. I bet he is. You enjoy that meeting.”

“I always do. And on behalf of Navarre House and the North American Vampire Registry, we hope your days in Cadogan House are many and fruitful. Peace be with you. Live long and prosper—”

“Goodbye, Morgan,” I said with a laugh, flipping my phone shut and sliding it back into my pocket.

It was fairly debatable whether Morgan had manipulated me into our first date, which was the result of a political compromise (in front of fifty other vampires, no less). But we’d passed that official first date a few weeks ago, and as he’d pointed out, we’d shared a pizza or two since then. I clearly hadn’t done anything to quell his interest; on the other hand, I hadn’t really tried to encourage it. I liked Morgan, sure. He was funny, charming, intelligent, and ridiculously pretty. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was dating him from behind a wall of detachment, that I hadn’t fully let my guard down.

Maybe it was chemistry. Maybe it was a security issue, the fact that he was from Navarre and that, as Sentinel, I was supposed to be always on guard, always on call, for Cadogan House. Maybe it was the fact that he’d gotten date number one because he’d forced my hand in front of Ethan, Scott Grey, Noah Beck (the leader of Chicago’s independent vampires), and half of Cadogan House.

Yeah, that could be it.

Or maybe it was something even more fundamental: However ironic, the thought of dating a vampire—with all the political and emotional complications that entailed—didn’t thrill me.

I guess any of those could have been the reason it felt strange, the reason I enjoyed his company but couldn’t seem to just sink it, Morgan’s enthusiasm notwithstanding.

Since I wasn’t going to find resolution today, I shook the thought from my head and headed back to my bags, still zipped atop the small bed. I opened them and set to work.

I began by pulling out books, writing supplies, and knick- knacks, then organized them on the bookshelf. Toiletries went into the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, and foldable clothes went into the bureau. Shirts and pants were hung from the wooden hangers in the closet, beneath which I unceremoniously dumped my shoes.

When I’d emptied the bags, I began zipping them up again, but stopped when I felt something in an interior side pocket of my duffel. I reached in and found a small package wrapped in brown paper. Curious, I slipped the tape and unfolded the wrapping. Inside was a framed piece of cross-stitched linen that read: VAMPIRES ARE PEOPLE, TOO.

Although I wasn’t sure I believed the message, as surprise housewarming presents went, it wasn’t bad. I certainly appreciated the thought, and made a mental note to thank Mal the next time I saw her.

I’d just folded the empty bags into the bottom bureau drawer when the beeper at my waist began to vibrate. Beepers were required gear for Cadogan guards, intended to ensure that we could quickly respond to fanged emergencies. Now that I was an official resident of the House—instead of twenty minutes north—I could respond in record time.

I unclipped the beeper and scanned the screen. It read: OPS RM. 911.

Not much for poetry, but the message was clear enough. There was some kind of emergency, so we were to mobilize in the House’s Operations Room, the guards’ HQ in the basement of Cadogan House. I reclipped my beeper, grabbed my sheathed katana, and headed downstairs.

Luc, the head of Cadogan House’s guard corps, growled at us. As it turned out, the emergency, although arguably of our own making, had passed during the daylight hours. This lecture was the unfortunate fallout.

There we were, sitting around a high-tech conference table in the equally high-tech, movie-ready Ops Room—Peter, Juliet, Lindsey, Kelley, and me, the guards (and Sentinel) responsible for ensuring the health and welfare of Cadogan’s Novitiate vampires.

All of us were mid-upbraiding by a blondish, tousle-haired cowboy-turned-vampire who was berating us for the “lackadaisical attitude” our newfound popularity had spawned.

So, yeah. We weren’t exactly feeling the love.

“We’re doing the best we can,” pointed out Juliet, a feylike redhead who had more years as a vampire under her belt than I had years of life. “Reporters followed Lindsey around last week,” she said, pointing at another guard. Lindsey was blond, sassy, and, thankfully, in my corner.

“Yes,” Luc said, lifting a copy of the Chicago World Weekly from the conference table, “we have evidence of that.” He turned it so we could all get a glimpse of Lindsey, who’d been honored with a full-page photograph on the cover. She was decked out in her traditional blond ponytail, as well as a pair of designer jeans, stiletto heels, and oversized sunglasses, her body in motion as she smiled at someone off camera. I happened to know that the individual she’d been smiling at was, like me, one of Cadogan’s newest vampires. Lindsey, much to Luc’s dismay, had started seeing Connor just after the ceremony initiating us both into the House.

“This isn’t exactly the approved Cadogan uniform,” Luc pointed out.

“But those jeans are sweet,” I whispered.

“I know, right?” She grinned back at me. “Seriously on sale.”

“Seeing your tiny ass on the cover of the Weekly isn’t the way to my heart, Blondie,” Luc said.

“Then my plan worked.”

Luc growled, his patience obviously thinning. “Is this truly the best you can do for your House?”

Lindsey’s chronic irritation with Luc was equaled only by what I imagined was her deep-seated passion for him, although you wouldn’t know it from the menace in her glare. She popped up her index finger and began counting.

“First of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Second of all, I didn’t ask to be photographed. Third, I didn’t ask to be photographed.” She raised brows at Luc. “Are we getting the point here? I mean, really. That not-showing-up-in-photographs deal is a total myth.”

Luc muttered something about insubordination and ran a hand through his hair. “Folks, we’re at a crossroads here. We’ve been outed, we’ve been investigated by Congress, and now we’ve got the paparazzi breathing down our necks. We’ve also learned that in a few weeks’ time, the head of the North American Central, Gabriel Keene himself, will be visiting our fine city.”

“Keene’s coming here?” Peter asked. “To Chicago?” Peter leaned forward, elbows on the conference table. Peter was tall, brown-haired, and thin, and looked to be thirty. He also had the just-so clothing and serene attitude of a man who’d seen a lot of money in his lifetime (human or otherwise).

“To Chicago,” Luc confirmed. “Humans may not know shapeshifters exist, but we do, unfortunately for everyone.”

There were a couple of snickers among the guards. Vampires and shifters weren’t exactly friendly, and those tensions were increasing—I’d heard Gabriel was coming to town to scope out the city as a future conference site for his shifters. News related to that visit, and the possibility that shifters would assemble en masse in Chicago, had made the dailies—daily news updates for the Cadogan guards—more than once.

“Look, let’s not be naïve and pretend this celebrity deal is going to last forever, all right? Humans, and no offense to you, Sentinel, since you’re the recently fanged, are a fickle bunch. We’ve seen what happens when they get pissy about us.”

Luc meant the Clearings, the vampire version of witch hunts. There’d been two in Europe, the First in Germany in 1611, and the Second in France in 1789. Thousands of vampires, a big chunk of our European population, were lost between the two—staked, burned, gutted and left to die. Shifters had known about the Second Clearing but hadn’t stepped in; thus the animosity between the tribes.

“And here’s the punch line,” Luc said. “We’ve learned that the Weekly is planning a multipart, in-depth exposé on underground vamp activities.”

“Underground?” Kelley asked. “What do we do that’s so underground?”

“That’s exactly what I’m about to find out,” Luc said, pointing up at the ceiling. “I’m meeting your Master and mine in a matter of minutes. But until I’ve had a chance to liaise with the big man on campus, let me remind you of some things you apparently need reminding of.

“We are here,” Luc continued, “to make our Master happy, not to increase the weight on his shoulders. Henceforth, because you were apparently not doing so in the first place, you will consider yourselves representatives of Cadogan House within the human world. You will conduct yourself accordingly, as befitting Cadogan vampires.” He narrowed his gaze in Lindsey’s direction. “And if that means no carousing into the early-morning hours with newbie vamps, so be it.”

She gave him a look that was both evil and pouty, but managed not to comment.

Apparently believing that he’d made his point to her, he returned his gaze to the rest of us. “Any action that you take out there, outside the House, reflects on all of us, especially now that our asses are, apparently, news. That means you may be called upon to discuss House or vampire matters.”

He opened a folder in front of him, slid out a sheaf of papers, then passed the stack to Lindsey, who sat closest to him. She took one, then passed the remainder along.

“ ‘Talking Points’?” Kelley asked, repeating the title that spanned the top of the document. Kelley had a kind of exotic beauty—pale skin, coal black hair, slightly uptilted eyes. Eyes that looked decidedly unimpressed with the paper she held gingerly between the tips of her fingers.

“Talking points,” Luc said with a nod. “These are answers you are authorized—and when I say ‘authorized,’ I mean ‘required’—to give if a reporter tries to engage you in a politically sensitive dialogue. Read this, memorize this, and verbalize appropriately. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we answered, a chorus of obedience.

Luc didn’t bother with a response, but stood up and began shuffling the rest of the materials that were spread on the table before him. Taking the hint—meeting adjourned—we pushed back our chairs. I rose, folded the talking points sheet, and was preparing to head out when Luc called my name.

He stood, moved to the door, and beckoned me to follow with two crooked fingers.

Damn. I knew what was coming, and twice in one day, too.

“Sentinel, you’re with me,” he said, and I blew out a slow breath, the beginning of my mental preparation for interacting with the world’s most stubborn vampire.

“Sir,” I said, stuffing the talking points into a pocket of my suit and straightening the katana belted at my waist. Lindsey gave me a sympathetic smile, which I accepted with a nod, then followed him. We took the stairs back to the first floor, headed down the hallway to Ethan’s office, and found the door shut. Luc, without preliminaries, opened it. I tugged at the bottom of my black suit jacket, and followed him in.

Ethan was on the phone. He nodded at Luc, then me, and raised his index finger as if to signal the call wouldn’t take long.

“Of course,” he said. “I understand completely.” He pointed at the two chairs in front of his desk. Obediently, Luc took the one on the right. I took the one on the left.

“Yes, sire,” he said. “The information is before me as we speak.” As Master of Cadogan House, Ethan got the honorific “liege,” but “sire” was a mystery. I looked at Luc.

He leaned toward me. “Darius,” he whispered, and I nodded my understanding. That would be Darius West, head of the Greenwich Presidium.

“We’ve considered that,” Ethan said, nodding his head and scribbling something on a tablet on his desk, “but you know the risks. Personally, I advise against it.” There was more nodding, then Ethan’s shoulders stiffened and he looked up.

And looked directly at me.

“Yes,” Ethan said, hauntingly green eyes on mine, “we can certainly explore that route.”

I swallowed reflexively, not comforted by the possibility that I was a “route” to “explore.”

“Whatever this is,” Luc said, leaning over again, “you’re not going to like it.”

“I’m really not going to like it,” I quietly agreed. There were a few more minutes of nodding and validating before Ethan said his goodbyes. He replaced the receiver in its cradle and then looked at us, a tiny line between his eyes. I’d seen that tiny line before. Generally, it wasn’t a good sign.

“The Chicago World Weekly,” he began, “with its apparent interest in vampire activities, will be investigating the raves. They’ll publish a three-part series, one story per week, beginning next Friday.”

“Damn,” Luc said, before sharing a weighty look with Ethan that suggested he knew why that was a problem.

I guessed these were the “underground” details Luc had been waiting for. Unfortunately, they didn’t mean much to me. I’d heard a reference to vampire raves before; Catcher had mentioned them once, then refused to give me any details. My subsequent research in the Canon was equally unproductive. Whatever they were, vamps weren’t chatty about them.

I raised a hand. “Raves? They’re investigating parties?”

“Not parties,” Luc said. “Humans actually borrowed the term from us. Raves in the supernatural world are definitely gatherings, but they’re much . . .” He trailed off, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and looked at Ethan, who then looked at me.

“Bloodier,” Ethan matter-of-factly said. “They’re bloodier.”

Raves, Ethan explained, were the vampire version of flash mobs. They were, essentially, mass feedings. Vampires were informed (electronically, of course) where and when to meet, and awaiting them would be a group of humans. Humans who believed in us, even before we announced our existence to the world. Humans who wanted to be near us, to savor the element of the darkly forbidden.

Of course, given the bumper stickers and pennants and Lindsey’s new position as reigning vampire cover girl, I wasn’t sure how “darkly forbidden” we were.

“They want to be part of our world, to see and be seen,” Ethan said, “but they didn’t necessarily want our fangs in or near their carotids. But that’s what happens. Drinking.”

“Feasting,” Luc added.

“Surely some humans do consent to the drinking,” I suggested, glancing from Luc to Ethan. “I mean, they walk willingly into some kind of vampire feeding. It’s not like they’re heading out for a garden party. And we’ve all seen Underworld. I’m sure there are humans who find that kind of thing . . . appealing.”

Ethan nodded. “Some humans consent because they want to ingratiate themselves to vampires, because they believe they’re positioning themselves to serve as Renfields—servants—or because they find an erotic appeal.”

“They think it’s hot,” Luc simplified.

“They believe that dabbling in our world is hot,” Ethan sardonically corrected. “But raves take place outside the oversight of these vampires’ Masters. Agreeing to spend time in the company of vampires may indicate consent for a sip or two. But if a vampire is willing to participate in activities of this nature—activities forbidden by the Houses—he or she is unlikely to abide by the request of a human to stop drinking.” He gazed solemnly at me. “And we know how crucial consent is when human blood is at stake.”

I knew about consent, largely because I hadn’t been able to give any. Because Ethan had given me immortality in order to save me from Celina’s flunkies, and that split-second decision hadn’t allowed him time for deliberation. I understood the sense of violation that came with the unrequested bite . . . especially when the vampire wasn’t interested in just a sip or two.

“After they’re relieved of a few pints of blood,” Luc said, “to add insult to injury, the vamps often attempt to glamour the humans to make them forget what happened. To forget the supernatural assault and battery. And let’s be frank—raving vampires aren’t usually at the top of the vampire food chain. That means they usually aren’t very good at the glamouring.”

The ability to glamour a human—to bring a human under the vampire’s control—was an indicator of a vampire’s psychic power, which was one of the three measures of a vampire’s strength, Strat (alliances) and Phys (physical strength) being the other two. I couldn’t glamour worth a damn, at least not the couple of times I’d tried to make it happen. But I seemed to have some kind of resistance to being glamoured, which was one of the many reasons Celina Desaulniers was none too fond of me. She was a queen of glamouring, and it must have gotten under her skin to know that I wasn’t susceptible to her control.

So, to review, not only were humans made unwitting vampire snacks, the perps weren’t even very good vampires. None of that added up to a scenario that many humans would find comfortable. I didn’t find it comfortable, and I hadn’t been human in nearly two months. Humans had agreed to live with us on the understanding that most vampires no longer drank from people but utilized blood that was donated, sold, or delivered in sterile plastic by businesses like Blood4You. Only four of the twelve American Houses, including Cadogan, still participated in the ritual of drinking straight from the tap. But those that drank did so in an officially sanctioned way—inside the House, after careful screening and after consent forms had been signed and notarized. In triplicate. (Personally, I was far from mentally or emotionally prepared to sip from anything other than plastic.)

Unfortunately, vampires who drank from humans were considered out of sync, or at least that was the image perpetuated by Celina when she’d organized the vampire coming-out. Vamps drinking en masse and without oversight, even if the humans had consented to a sip, was a PR nightmare waiting to happen.

Since vampires who chose to drink from humans were supposed to follow those cover-your-ass safeguards, this blossoming PR nightmare begged a question: “Which Houses participate in the raves?” I asked.

“None of them, theoretically,” Luc muttered, prompting a sympathetic nod from Ethan.

“As you know, a handful of the Houses remain pro-drinking,” Ethan answered. “But none of the Houses condone raves.”

“Could be sneaky Housed vamps or Rogues,” Luc added, referring to the few vampires who lived outside the House system. “Maybe wandering vamps from other cities, other countries. Add those groups together and you’ve got a hornet’s nest of thirsty vampires and naïve, wannabe humans. Bad combination.”

I crossed my arms and glanced at Ethan. “I understand your concerns, but is there a reason the House Sentinel is only hearing about these raves now?”

“We don’t exactly advertise them,” Ethan mildly replied. “However, now that you are in the know, we believe there are services you can provide.” He pulled a gray folder to the top of the stack of papers on his desk, then flipped it open, revealing paper-clipped documents that were topped by a small color photograph.

“We understand the reporter is currently doing his background research.” Ethan lifted the picture and flipped it around to show me. “And I believe you two are acquainted.”

I reached out, gingerly took the picture from Ethan, and stared at the familiar image. “Hello, Jamie.”