That debate—were they asleep, or weren’t they—was why I spent the first hour after returning to my room with a granola bar and book in hand. It was only when I didn’t think I could put it off any longer that I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the phone in my hand, cursing the loyalty oaths I’d sworn to one Ethan Sullivan.

I took a breath, steeled myself, dialed my parents’ number, and was pleasantly surprised to get a crisp and carefully scripted answering machine message.

“You have reached the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Merit,” my mother said. “I’m afraid we’re unable to take your call at this time. Please leave a message following the tone.”

There was a digital beep. I closed my eyes and faked the nonchalant self-confidence that Ethan, Luc, and I had discussed. “Hello, it’s Merit. I wanted to talk to you both. In short, now that things have . . . changed, now that I’ve changed, I think it’s a good idea that I rebuild some relationships.” I cringed, and continued. “That I start spending time with the right kinds of people—”

I was interrupted by a clicking sound—the sound of a phone receiver being picked up. I silently cursed. I’d been so close.

“Well, darling,” my mother said, apparently awake regardless of the time, “your call couldn’t be more timely. The Breckenridges are hosting an event Friday night—cocktails for the Harvest Coalition—in Loring Park.” The Breckenridge estate was located in Loring Park, a suburb in the Illinois countryside. “I won’t be there,” she continued. “I have an auxiliary meeting. But your father will. And, of course, the Breckenridges. You should come, say hello to the Breck boys.”

The Harvest Coalition was a Chicago food bank. And while the cause was obviously laudable, I wasn’t thrilled about being in the same house with my father. On the other hand, my first gala out the door and I was headed right into the Breckenridges’ backyard. Or maybe more accurately, right into the Breckenridge henhouse, a vampire in tow. God forgive me.

“That sounds great, Mom.”

“Wonderful. Black tie, cocktails at eight o’clock,” she said, repeating the stats of the rich and famous. “I’ll have Pennebaker”—that was my parents’ fusty butler—“call the Breckenridges and messenger over an invitation. You’re still living with that Carmichael girl, I take it?”

If only. “Actually, Mom, I moved into Cadogan House today. With the rest of the vampires,” I added, in case that wasn’t obvious.

“Well,” my mother said, intrigue in her voice. “Isn’t that quite the development? I’ll be sure to pass that along to your father.” I had no doubt she would, my father being a dealer of information—and the connections that this specific information would signal.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Of course, dear.”

That’s when I had a brainstorm. I might not have my grandfather’s secret source, but I had a Meredith Merit. “Mom, one thing before you go. I hear Jamie’s working now. Maybe at a newspaper?”

“Newspaper, newspaper,” she absently repeated. “No, I don’t recall anything about a newspaper. Everyone knows Nick is the journalist in the Breck family, anyway. Unless you’ve heard something different?” Her voice had dropped an octave; she’d moved directly into gossip mode and was waiting for me to pass along some juicy detail. But my job was to investigate, not fan the flames.

“Nope,” I said. “Just thought I remembered hearing something.”

“Oh, well. God willing, he’ll find a place of his own at some point. Something to keep him occupied.”

She paused, then asked, a little too loudly, “What, dear?” Silence again, then, “Darling, your father’s calling me. I’ll arrange for an invitation. You enjoy your Cadogan House.”

“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”

I pressed the END CALL button and snapped the phone shut in my palm.

“Damn,” I muttered. I’d made headway on Ethan’s assignment, and I’d gotten us an in at the Breckenridge estate. My ego swollen by my minor suggest, however questionable (I had just signed to hang out with my father), I decided to attend to my remaining House business for the evening—filling Ethan in on the phone call.

I rebelted my katana, then made my way down to his office. When I reached the first floor, I passed Malik, Ethan’s vice president, as he walked away from Ethan’s office. Malik’s expression was grave, and he made no move to acknowledge me as we passed.

That did not bode well.

This time, Ethan’s door was open. That was strange, but worse was the fact that he stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, gaze on the floor, that line of worry between his eyes. And he’d changed clothes, too—his tidy black suit jacket was gone. He was in shirtsleeves, no tie, only the glint of the gold Cadogan medal around his neck breaking the expanse of pristine white shirt that hugged his torso. He’d even changed his hair; it was now pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. The kind of move a girl might make when she had to get down to business.

My stomach knotted uncomfortably. In the time that I’d gone up to my room and returned to the first floor again, something had happened.

I rapped my knuckles against the threshold.

Ethan glanced up. “I was about to page you,” he said. “Come in and shut the door.”

I did as ordered, then figured I might as well get the good news out first. “I called my mother. There’s a charity cocktail thing at the Breckenridge estate Friday night. She’s going to messenger over an invitation.”

Ethan lifted approving brows. “Well done. Two birds with one stone, and all that.”

“FYI, she also said she hasn’t heard about Jamie being involved in any kind of journalism work. I didn’t tell her anything,” I added, when Ethan’s gaze snapped up. “I just asked a very vague question. If he was working, especially in Nick’s field, she’d have heard. Mrs. Breck would have been thrilled. She wouldn’t have kept that kind of thing from my mom.”

He paused, looking perplexed. “Hmm. Well, be that as it may,” he said, walking around his desk and taking a seat, “given the nature of the damage a story could cause, we’re going to err on the side of caution on this one. There’s undoubtedly some kernel of truth to the information we’ve received, specific as it is.” He gazed down at his desktop for a moment before lifting clouded eyes to me. “Have a seat, Merit.”

There was concern in his tone. My heart thumped disconcertingly, but I did as directed, holding my katana aside and slipping into one of the chairs in front of Ethan’s desk.

“The Presidium has released Celina.”

“Oh, my God.” I knew my eyes had gone silver, maybe with anger, maybe with fear, maybe with the adrenaline that was beginning to rush my limbs. “How—when? When did this happen?”

“Three days ago. Darius just called. I spoke briefly with Luc; he’ll update the dailies and inform RDI and the other Chicago Houses.” In Cadogan speak, that meant Luc would update our security reports, inform the mercenary fairies (yup—fairies) who worked for RDI, the company that oversaw security at the House during daylight hours and who stood guard at the front gate, and call Morgan and Scott Grey.

“He just called?” I repeated. “You only talked to him a few hours ago. He didn’t mention then that they were releasing crazy into the world?”

“He didn’t know. He wasn’t there when the vote was taken, probably by design. The Presidium is a majoritarian body, and she’s in the majority, as this should demonstrate. The Presidium”—he paused and shook his head—“they’re vampires, Merit. Predators, who were born at a time when that meant more than it does today. When it wasn’t flash, but substance. When humans were . . .”

I could tell that my being newly and somewhat controver sially changed, he was looking for a polite way to explain something that could be easily summed up in a single word. “Food,” I finished for him. “They were food.”

“And little else. The politics of it aside”—was it disturbing that the perception that humans were upright cattle was mere “politics” to Ethan?—“the other members could have been glamoured, and yet be completely unaware of it. She’s that powerful.”

Having felt the slow sink of her glamour, her ability to pour herself into your psyche and manipulate it at will, I understood. I’d been able to resist it, but that was a personal skill, apparently. Some weird quirk of my makeup.

“As we’ve discussed, I expected that Celina would be confined for her crimes. That was the agreement your grandfather negotiated between Tate, the district attorney, and the GP. The Presidium has a short memory for Clearings. Although I didn’t doubt that she would receive four-star treatment, I expected she would lose her House, which she did, and would remain confined in London.” He shook his head, then closed his eyes in apparent exhaustion. “At least humans aren’t aware of her release. Yet.”

Whether humans found out or not, Celina’s release still threatened to make a liar out of Mayor Tate and everyone else in Chicago who had attested to the justness of her extradition, including Ethan and my grandfather.

Jeez. And I’d thought relations with the Ombud’s office were awkward before.

“How could they do something so politically stupid?” I wondered aloud.

Ethan leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together over his chest.

“GP members tend to be polarized on issues like this,” he said. “Many credit their longevity to staying under the radar, living as humans, assimilating. They’re happy to stay that way. Others feel they’ve spent centuries in hiding, and they hold no little bitterness about that. They want out, and Celina offers them an option. She has given them life among humans. She offers them a new kind of leadership. Besides—their strength aside, you’ve seen Celina, Merit. You know she has certain . . . charms.”

I nodded. Her dark-haired beauty was undeniable. Still. Since when was hotness an excuse for irrational decision making? “Okay, but we’re talking the Presidium here. The strongest vampires. The best. The deciders. Hot or not, how could they not have known what she was doing?”

“They’re strong, but not necessarily the strongest. Amit Patel is, by all accounts, the strongest vampire in the world, and he avoids politics altogether. He has successfully avoided membership on the Sabha for many, many years.”

There was a change of tone in his voice, from fear to noticeable admiration, something Ethan wasn’t generous with. His voice held that same note of reverence that human men used when talking about Michael Jordan or Joe Namath.

“You have a man crush on Amit Patel,” I said, mouth lifting into a smile. “A bromance. That’s almost charming.” And humanizing, I thought, but didn’t say it aloud, knowing he wouldn’t consider that a compliment.

Ethan rolled his eyes disdainfully. “You are much too young to be as strong as you are.” I took that not to be a reference to chronology, but some Ethan-sense of vampire maturity.

I hmphed, but frowned back at him for a different reason. “She’ll come to Chicago,” I predicted. She’d tried to have me killed as part of her plan to take Chicago’s Houses, and she’d been thwarted in killing Ethan by a stake I’d thrown. Whatever her other motivations, her other reasons, she would come to Chicago to find me . . . assuming she wasn’t here already.

“It’s not unlikely,” Ethan agreed. He opened his mouth to speak again, but paused, seemed to think better of it. Then, with a frown that pulled down both eyebrows, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I expect that any information you gather from other Houses regarding Celina will be passed on to me.”

It wasn’t a question, or an “expectation,” regardless of his phrasing. It was an order. And since there was only one House source from whom I even could arguably gather information, it was a pretty obnoxious order. Avoiding conversations like this at four in the morning was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to move into the House.

“I’m not spying on Morgan,” I told him. While I wasn’t sure how far I wanted my relationship with Morgan to go, I was pretty damn sure “far” didn’t include espionage. Besides, I’d already gone too far in mixing the personal and the professional by agreeing to help Ethan with the rave issue. I was, at least symbolically, bringing Ethan home; that was as far as I was willing to go.

Predictably, given my challenge to his sovereign authority, he tensed, his shoulders squaring. “You will report the information that you are instructed to report.” His voice was crisp, chill.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a reaction to the spill of magic that vampires leaked as our emotions rose—magic that was currently spilling into the room as our discussion heated. Vampires weren’t able to perform magic, but we were magical beings, magical predators. Add that dust of magic to the silvering eyes and the fangs, and you had a pretty good survey of vampire defense mechanisms—defense mechanisms that were beginning to fire up.

I clenched my hands into fists and tried to slow my breathing. I assumed my eyes had silvered, but I was trying to keep my fangs from descending. She wanted something else, though . . .

I’d noticed over the last couple of months that when I was stressed or afraid, when the fight-or-flight instinct was triggered and my fangs dropped down, I could feel the vampire inside me, something separate inside me, like we hadn’t quite fused together. My three-day genetic change was supposed to turn me—fully and completely—into a vampire, fangs and silvering eyes and all. I didn’t understand it, how I could be vampire—the craving for blood, the nocturnal schedule, the fangs and heightened senses—and still feel the separateness of the vampire, a ghost in my machine. But that’s what it felt like.

I’d mentioned it to Catcher once; his lack of recognition, of reassurance, had shaken me. If he didn’t know what was going on, how was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to deal with it?

More important, what was I supposed to be?

A part of me wondered, whispered, something I could hardly stand to acknowledge—that this wasn’t normal. That as a vampire, I was broken.

I could feel her now, a tiger beginning to pace. I could feel her moving, shifting beneath my bones, my muscles beginning to vibrate with it. She wanted my eyes fully silver, my fangs fully descended, my magic spilling through the room. She wanted to take Ethan’s words and throw them back, to challenge him with steel.

Or she wanted to throw him down and have her way with him.

Either act would have been violent, primal, incredibly satisfying. And a truly bad idea.

I gripped the handle of the katana, pressing my nails into the cording around the grip to maintain my control. After my failed attempt at warning Catcher, I’d decided to keep the problem to myself. That meant Ethan didn’t know, and I wasn’t about to announce to a Master vampire who already had trust issues that I thought I was broken.

That she was waiting.

It took seconds for me to push her down, to breathe through her again, seconds during which the magic rose in eddies through the room.

Welcome to Cadogan House, I thought, and with some burst of strength, I willed her back down, lifted my chin and stared back at him. His eyes were wide crystal pools of green.

“I am Sentinel of this House,” I said, my voice sultrier than usual, “and I recognize as well as you the responsibility that entails. I have agreed to get you into the places where you need access. I have agreed to help you investigate the raves, and you’ll be the first person on my contact list if I learn that Celina is in town. But my love life is off limits.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, Sentinel.”

“I never forget, Sullivan.”

Nearly a minute passed, during which neither of us moved, even as the weight of our collective stubbornness thickened the air.

But then, miracle of miracles, he relented. The tension and magic diffused. A single stiff nod was all he gave me, but I relished it, savored it, resolved to commit the moment to memory—the moment he’d tapped out. I managed not to scream, “I won!” but couldn’t help the grin that lifted a corner of my mouth.

I should have known the celebration was premature.

“Regardless, you’ll check in with me if you bring Morgan to Cadogan House,” Ethan said, his tone self-satisfied enough to deflate my smile.

Of course he wanted me to tell him. He wanted to savor the victory of my delivering the new head of Navarre House—and the possibility of a Cadogan-Navarre alliance—to his doorstep. Given his previous doubts about my loyalties—spurred by my controversial change from human to vampire—what better way for Ethan to ensure that I wasn’t leaking information in the halls of Navarre House than to keep me safe and secure in Cadogan, Morgan in tow?

I wasn’t sure how much I cared about Morgan. It was early; the relationship was young. But in comparison with the man Mallory had aptly nicknamed “Darth Sullivan,” Morgan was Prince Charming in Diesel jeans. I took the comment, inflammatory as it was, as my cue to exit. There was no point in pretending we were going to just laugh this off, and the longer I stayed in the room with him, the more I risked my vampire surfacing. And if she gained control, God only knew what she’d do. That was a risk I couldn’t take—not without risking my own death by aspen stake. So, without meeting the glare I could feel boring into my skin, I rose from my chair and moved toward the door, reaching for the handle.

“And lest you forget,” he added, “my interest in your personal life is wholly Cadogan-motivated.”

Oh, right in the numbers with that one.

“My concern is about alliances,” he said, “about the potential of putting Navarre alliance insignia over our door. Don’t mistake it for anything else.”

“I wouldn’t dare make that mistake, Sullivan.” Hard to mistake it when he’d admitted that he was attracted to me, but only begrudgingly. When he’d practically handed me to Morgan. Of course, that was right after he’d offered to make me his newest consort. His live-in, go-to girl. (Needless to say, I’d declined.)

But here he was, raising the issue. Maybe Ethan Sullivan, despite his crystalline facade of control, didn’t really know what he wanted after all.

“Watch your tone,” he said.

“Watch your implication.” I was toeing the line of insubordination, but couldn’t let him get in the last word. Not on this.

His jaw clenched. “Just do your job.”

I nearly growled at him. I’d done my job. I’d done my job when there were a million reasons why I shouldn’t risk my life to defend his. I’d done my job, despite his lack of faith, despite my better judgment, because there’d been nothing else to do but to do my job. I’d accepted my life as a vampire, I’d defended him before Morgan, and I’d defended him before Celina.

My frustration rose again, and with it the threat of her breaking through. I could have let her loose, could have allowed her to test her mettle against Ethan . . . but I’d sworn two oaths to him, one to defend him against all enemies, dead or alive.

My vampire probably counted as one or the other.

So instead, calling up the willpower of a saint, I forced my lips into a smile and gazed at him beneath half-hooded lashes. “Liege,” I said crisply, an allowance of his authority, and a reminder of exactly what our respective positions were. If he could put me in my place, I could remind him of his.

Ethan watched me for a moment, nostrils flaring, but if he was angry, he resisted the urge to push back. Instead he bobbed his head and looked down at the spread of papers on his desk. I walked out and, with a decisive click, shut the door behind me.

But there was a cost. Being near Ethan was just . . . incendiary. Part animosity, part ridiculous chemistry, neither conducive to a peaceful home environment. And this was only my first night under his thumb. Not a good sign of things to come.

I returned to my room and worried the end of my ponytail as I looked around. Although the sun’s rising would knock me out pretty quickly, I had an hour yet to go before dawn, and my encounter with Ethan had done a pretty good job of winding me up. I figured I could head down to the gym in the Cadogan basement, maybe put a few miles on the treadmill, or check out the Cadogan cafeteria’s pre-sunrise offerings. I wasn’t going to go that one alone—I was still the new girl, after all. So I took the stairs to the third floor and set about finding Lindsey.

Turns out, it wasn’t difficult: a picture of Brad and Angelina was pinned to her bulletin board, a tiny cutout of Lindsey’s face glued over Angelina’s. “Bradsey,” maybe?

The door opened before I had a chance to knock. Lindsey stood in the doorway, her gaze on the magazine in her hands. Her hair was in a low ponytail, and she was out of her Cadogan suit, having exchanged it for a fitted, short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.

“I was waiting for you,” she said.

I blinked at her. “What?”

“I’m psychic, remember?” She grinned up at me and waved one hand in the air. “Woo-woo,” she said, apparently mocking the supernatural quality of it. “I sensed you were coming, and I know you’re hungry.”

“You can psychically tell that I’m hungry?”

She hmphed. “I can tell because you’re Merit. When are you not hungry?”

She had a point.

I only got a peek of Lindsey’s room before she threw the magazine inside and shut the door. The layout and furniture scheme were the same as mine—basic vampire dorm—but her room was riotous with color. The walls were crimson red, loud posters and pictures and album covers papering a good portion of them. Directly above her bed hung a giant New York Yankees flag. Lindsey was born in Iowa, but she’d done some time in New York. Apparently, it took. While I loved the Big Apple as much as the next girl, I was a Cubs fan through and through. She couldn’t seem to shake her pro-Yankees affliction.

When the door was shut, she glanced at me, then clapped her hands together. “All right, Hot-shit Sentinel. Let’s go downstairs so you can get your feed on and share your live-in goodness with the rest of your brothers and sisters, yes?”

I scratched absently at my biceps. “The thing is . . .”

“They don’t hate you.”

“You have really got to stop doing that.”

Lindsey held up both her hands. “That one was written on your face, chica. Seriously, they don’t hate you. Now, shush so we can chow.”

I obediently shushed, then followed her down the hall to the main staircase and down again to the first floor.

At this time of night, the main floor was all but empty of vampires. One or two sat around in conversation or with a book in hand, but the House was beginning to quiet as vampires settled in for sunrise.

We walked through the main hallway to the cafeteria, where a handful of Novitiates carried trays through a U-shaped line around glass-shielded, stainless-steel bulwarks of food. We joined the end of the line, grabbed our own trays, and began to follow the route.

The food was largely breakfasty—sweet rolls and bacon and eggs. It didn’t seem like a typical dinner spread; on the other hand, it was nearly five o’clock in the morning.

I plucked a box of organic chocolate milk from an array of drinks, then snatched a cherry Danish and a pile of bacon. I probably didn’t need a heavy pre-sleep breakfast, but I figured the protein would do me good. And, seriously, when you wave a plate of bacon at a vampire, is she really gonna say no?

My tray full, I sidled behind Lindsey, waiting for her and the vamps in front of us to make their selections. She squeezed honey from a plastic bear onto a bowl of oatmeal, then lifted her tray and walked toward an empty table. I followed, taking the seat across from hers.

“Do I want to ask what’s going on downstairs?”

I glanced up at her. “Downstairs?”

She dipped her spoon into her oatmeal, then nibbled a bit off the end. “Again,” she said, “I’m psychic. There are vampires wigging out all across Cadogan House tonight. There’s a kind of nervous energy. Preparations, maybe?”

There was little doubt that Lindsey, as a guard, wouldn’t ultimately hear about Celina. “Celina’s been released,” I whispered, tearing a corner from my cherry Danish.

“Oh, shit,” she said, surprise and worry in her voice. “That explains why your energy’s all over the place.”

When I glanced up at her, her head was tilted to the side, an expression of curiosity on her face. “And there’s something else there, too. A different kind of energy.” After a pause, she grinned. “Ooooh,” she said. “I got it now.”

I lifted a brow. “Got what?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “If you don’t want to talk about Celina, I’m not going to talk about why you’re all hot and bothered.” She closed her eyes and put her fingertips against her temples. “Although I’m seeing someone—yep, definitely someone there. Someone with blond hair. Green eyes.” She dropped her hands and gave me a flat stare.

“Shut it,” I warned her with a pointed finger, a little embarrassed that she knew Ethan was the one who’d gotten me “all hot and bothered,” but glad she thought it was lust-related—and not because I might have been biologically amiss. Well, vampiri cally amiss, anyway.

I glanced around, noting the curious looks of the vamps who sat at the wooden tables around us. They sipped at mugs and forked through bowls of fruit, their eyes on me.

They didn’t look too impressed with their Sentinel.

I leaned toward Lindsey. “Have you noticed that everyone is staring at me?”

“You’re a novelty,” she said. “You challenged their Master before you even took the oaths, you were named Sentinel, you threw down at the Commendation ceremony, and our beloved leader still covered for your skinny ass.”

That made me smile sheepishly. “I got thrown down. Not exactly the same thing.”

“Did you know that I’ve been in this House one hundred and fifteen years? In all that time, Ethan’s only nominated one other Master.”

I tore at a corner of my pastry, popped it into my mouth. “I’m not a Master.”

“Yet,” she said, pointing at me with her spoon. “But that’s only an issue of time. Of course, you could have inherent magic, be able to work some of that Mallory Carmichael juju—she’s going to be good, you know—and you still wouldn’t measure up to the Golden Child.”

“I know she’s going to be good,” I agreed. “It scares me on a daily basis. Who’s the Golden Child?”

“Lacey Sheridan.”

I’d heard that name but couldn’t place it. “Who’s Lacey Sheridan?”

“The Master Ethan nominated. Master of Sheridan House.”

“Ah,” I said, understanding dawning. I remembered seeing the House name in the Canon. There were twelve vampire Houses in the United States. Sheridan was the newest.

“Lacey was in Cadogan for twenty-five years before Ethan nominated her for Testing. She passed, and Ethan Apprenticed her before she took the Rites. Then she moved to San Diego, opened Sheridan House. They were close, he and Lacey.”

“Business partner close or . . . ?”

“Touchy-feely close,” Lindsey said. “And that was unfortunate.”

I didn’t disagree. Something twinged in my chest at the thought of Ethan being touchy-feely with anyone, and that was despite the fact that I’d been a firsthand witness to the act. Nevertheless, I asked, “Why unfortunate?”

Linds frowned, seemed to consider the question as she stirred her oatmeal.

“Because Lacey Sheridan was picture-perfect,” she finally said. “Tall, thin, blond hair, blue eyes. Always respectful, always acquiescent. ‘Yes, Liege,’ ‘No, Liege.’ She always wore the right thing, looked like she’d stepped out of an Ann Taylor catalog. Always said the right thing. It was unnatural. She was probably barely human even when she was one.”

“Ethan must have been crazy about her,” I said, thinking she was the kind of woman he’d prefer to prefer. Elegant. Classy. And, I thought, as I nipped the end of a strip of bacon, acquiescent.

Lindsey nodded. “ ‘Crazy’ is the word for it. He loved her, I think. In his way.”

I looked up at her, bacon halfway toward its vampiric end. “You’re serious?”

I couldn’t imagine Ethan in love, Ethan letting his guard down. I wouldn’t have figured him capable of trusting someone enough to let the man inside him peek through.

Well, except for those weird few moments with me, and he never seemed happy about those.

“Aspen-stake serious,” Lindsey said. “When he realized how strong she was—she’s rated a Very Strong Psych—he took her under his wing. After that, they were constantly together.” She ate another spoonful of oatmeal. “They were like . . . arctic bookends, like some Nordic fairy couple. They were beautiful together, but”—Lindsey shook her head—“she was all wrong for him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Ethan needs someone different than that. He needs a girl who’ll stand up to him, who’ll challenge him. Someone to make him better, more. Not someone who’ll kiss his ass twenty-four/seven and bow to every little suggestion he makes.”

She eyed me speculatively.

I caught the glimmer in her eyes, shook my head. “Don’t even think it. He hates me, I hate him, and acknowledging that’s the only way we stand to work together.”

Lindsey snorted and grabbed a strip of my bacon. “If you hate him, I’ll eat my napkin. And he may hate you, but that’s only skin-deep. That’s only the surface.” She took a bite, shook her head, and waved at me with the rest of it. “No. There’s more to him than meets the eye, Merit. I know it. There’s heat beneath the chill. He just needs . . . reforming.”

I made an impatient gesture. “So tell me more about Lacey.”

“She had friends here, still does, but I thought she was cold. Arrogant. She’s a Weak Physical, but a Very Strong Strat. She’s political through and through. Maneuvering. She always came off as vaguely friendly, but like she was a politician on a campaign stop, like she was going through the motions.” Lindsey paused, looked contemplative, and her voice softened. “She wasn’t kind, Merit. The guards hated her.”

“Because of her attitude?”

“Well, yeah, in part. Look, Ethan rules the House, so he’s kind of . . . separate from the rest of us. And honestly, I’d say the same thing about you. Folks are suspicious about how you made the Sentinel short list, about your family. You’re completely naïve about vamps, and yet you’ve got this historically important position, and although you’re kind of a guard, you’re closer to him than the rest of Luc’s corps.”

I grumbled at that, downed the bacon.

“It’s not like I think you two are doing it,” she said, but she paused, apparently waiting for confirmation.

“We are not ‘doing it,’ ” I said dryly and jammed the little plastic straw into my chocolate milk box. It bore the brunt of the aggression that question always aroused. Tasty, though.

“Just checking,” Lindsey said, hands raised in détente. “And if it helps, they’ll get over it once they get to know you.” She grinned at me, winged up her eyebrows. “I did. Of course, I have excellent taste in friends, but whatever. Not the point. The point is, Lacey was different. Not like us. She was the classic teacher’s pet—wanted to be near Luc, near Ethan, near Malik, constantly near the source of authority. She didn’t hang with us, didn’t work well with us. But,” she said, bobbing her head, “even if she was fake, she was really, really good. Always analyzing. Strategizing. She was a guard, and while she couldn’t have fought off a wet cat, she had the mind for it. Planning. Long-term ramifications. Future steps.”

My next question probably belied my feigned lack of interest. “Why did they break up?”

“He and Lacey? They stopped seeing each other after Testing, when she came back to Cadogan to Apprentice, to get ready for her own House. Word was, it was important to him that they stay professional while she trained. Too much at stake, ha ha, to spend time gazing into each other’s eyes.”

“He wouldn’t care for the emotional interruption,” I agreed.

“I’ve heard he flies out to San Diego occasionally to, what, copulate?” She nodded, grinned. “Yeah. I bet he’d put it like that. Very formal. He and Lacey probably mapped out a contract, probably negotiated terms.”

“Hmm.” I spared myself the embarrassment of considering, exactly, the terms they’d negotiated.

I glanced up, noticed that Malik had walked into the cafeteria. He nodded at me, then made for the buffet line.

Malik—tall, caramel-skinned, handsome, and quiet—was a mystery. In the two months I’d been a member of Cadogan House, I’d had approximately three conversations with him. As Ethan’s Second they shared the bond of House leadership, but they rarely ventured off campus together in order to protect the line of succession should someone make an attempt on Ethan’s life. I had the sense he played the part of CEO and understudy, learning how the House worked, how to manage it, administering the details while Ethan played Chairman of the Board. But I still hadn’t gotten a feel for Malik as a vampire. As a man. The vamps who were obviously well-intentioned—Luc and Lindsey came to mind—were easy to spot, as were the overtly strategic ones—Ethan and Celina. But Malik was so reserved that I wasn’t sure where he fit in. Where his allegiances lay.

Of course, he and Ethan did have one thing in common—excellent taste in Armani. Malik wore a suit as crisp and pristine as Ethan’s usually were.

I watched him move through the line, but his eyes were on the vampires around him. He was all business around Ethan—at least when I’d seen them together—but he was downright friendly with the other Cadogan vamps. They approached him as he selected his breakfast, said hello, chatted. Interestingly, while the other Cadogan vamps tended to give Ethan a kind of respectful distance, they went to Malik. Talked to him, joked with him, shared a camaraderie they didn’t afford their Master.

“How long has Malik been Second?” I asked Lindsey.

She swallowed bacon, then lifted her gaze to where he stood in line, chatting with a vampire I didn’t know. “Malik? Right after the House was moved to Chicago. ’83.”

That’s 1883, not 1983, for those of you following along at home.

“Ethan picked Chicago, you know. Once Peter Cadogan died, he wanted the House out of Wales, out of Europe. Malik lived in Chicago. He was an orphan.”

“He lost his parents?” I asked. “How awful.”

“Wrong kind of orphan. He was a Rogue. Houseless. A vampire orphan. His Master wasn’t strong enough to keep her House together, and she was ix-nayed by a rival.” Lindsey held her fist to her chest, mimicking a staking. “Then he and Ethan met, and the rest is history.”

“Do you know him? Well, I mean?”

“Malik? Sure. Malik’s great.” Lindsey checked her watch, then finished a glass of water before rising and picking up her tray. “So, there’s three hundred and nineteen other vampires affiliated with Cadogan House. Suggestion?”

I looked up at her, nodded.

“Consider the possibility that they’d like to get to know you if you gave them a chance.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said, and followed her out.