“Thank you.” I smoothed my hands over the skirt self-consciously. “No objection to the fact that I’m wearing this dress again?”

Ethan’s smile was teasing. “Don’t tell me you were looking forward to receiving another one?”

“That would be ridiculous. I’m well above such juvenile concerns.”

His smile turned a little more philosophical. “You like the things you like. You take great joy in those things, and you should never be ashamed of that. The pleasure that you take in simple things—food, clothing, architecture—is a very attractive quality.”

I looked away from the warmth in his eyes. “Are we ready?”

“You have your dagger?”

“I rarely leave home without it.”

“Then to the Batcave, Sentinel.”

He was in a rare, jovial mood, a mood lighter than I would have expected given the event we were about to attend. Ethan could definitely do formal; he looked good in a tux and knew how to schmooze a crowd. But the audience wasn’t likely to be receptive.

When we were in the car and buckling our seat belts, our gazes caught.

“Do you think McKetrick will attempt to waylay us this time?”

He snorted and started the car. “Given our luck, quite possibly.”

Fortunately, he was wrong. We made it to Lake Shore Drive without incident other than a nasty snarl that slowed traffic to a crawl. It was late, but that didn’t preclude a solid case of gaper’s block—the near standstill of traffic caused when drivers slowed to check out a wreck. In this case, there wasn’t even a wreck, just a couple of club-going girls who pouted beside their car while a cop wrote up a ticket.

We were somewhere near Navy Pier when I broached the topic he hadn’t yet. “Are you going to tell me about your call with Darius?”

I’d decided I’d rather have him punching trees than holding things back. At least with tree punching I could gauge how much trouble we were in. With silence, I had no clue.

It took Ethan a moment to answer. “There’s no need to get into it.”

“No need to tell your Sentinel what the head of the GP thinks about the House?”

“Suffice it to say, he had choice words about my leadership.”

I glanced over at him. “And that’s all you’re going to tell me? No venting?”

“There are times when politics invade the House. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. But my job, as a Master, is to insulate you from those things. Not from the consideration of strategy and alliances and the like, but from political pressure from the top. You are to undertake the tasks appropriate to your position—and worrying about my job or Darius’s aren’t some of those tasks.”

“Thank you. Except it doesn’t exactly help me prepare for the inevitable GP kick in the face.”

He paused. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, you know.”

I smiled toothily. “It’s one of my better qualities.”

He humphed. “Well, to spare you the sordid details, he is quite convinced our investigation of the raves is only making the problem worse—and drawing more attention to it. He is of the opinion these are matters for the GP to handle, and if and when the GP feels action is appropriate, they will do so.”

“Wow,” I sarcastically said. “That’s not at all shortsighted and naïve.”

“Attention to detail has never been Darius’s strong suit. Call it the farsightedness of immortality—he often misses the trees for the forest.” Ethan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I don’t know what to say to convince him otherwise, to make him understand the gravity of the situation.”

“Maybe we should arrange for McKetrick and Darius to have a chat.”

He chuckled. “Not an altogether bad idea. Although I’m not sure who’d win—the British bully or the American one.”

“I wonder if, four months ago, you’d be thinking such things?”

He slid me a glance. “Meaning what, Sentinel?”

I thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to give voice to the idea. “On our good days, I think we make each other better. At our jobs, I mean,” I quickly clarified. “You remind me of the House, of the thing we fight for.”

“And you remind me what it’s like to be human.”

I nodded, now feeling a little silly for voicing the sentiment.

“We are a good pair,” he said, and I didn’t disagree.

We’d reached a détente. We seemed to be working well together right now—as if we’d found that delicate balance point between friends and lovers.

I didn’t want to be one of those girls that became more attracted to things I couldn’t have. But that was not really what this was. Against all odds—and every bit of relationship advice handed down by mothers and girlfriends through the centuries—he honestly seemed to be changing. He’d moved from taking advantage of the chemistry between us to wooing me with words, with trust, with respect.

That wasn’t something I’d expected, but that made it all the more meaningful . . . and frightening. As a girl with good sense, how was I supposed to react to a boy who’d done the unthinkable and actually grown up?

It was a hard question. While the thought of our being together was kind of thrilling . . . I still wasn’t ready. Would I be ready eventually? Honestly, I didn’t know. But as Ethan had once told me, he had eternity to prove me wrong.

With a Master at my side, I walked back into Grey House. Charlie, Darius’s assistant, stood just in front of the lush greenery in the atrium. He wore navy slacks and a khaki blazer, a pale blue shirt beneath. His feet were tucked into loafers, no socks. It was an odd ensemble for August in Chicago, but the formality suited him.

Charlie didn’t leave his task to the imagination. “Darius would like to speak with you.”

Ethan and I exchanged a glance. “Where?” he asked.

Charlie smiled grandly. “Scott has offered up his office. This way,” he said, extending an arm.

We followed him through the atrium to one of the doors beneath the walkway—one of the rooms Jonah had said was nonessential. He opened the door and waited while we walked inside.

The room was gigantic, nearly as large as a football field. It looked like an old warehouse—with well-worn plank floors and painted brick walls, a post-and-beam ceiling overhead. There were desks sprinkled throughout the space. I guessed Scott and his staff shared an office.

But if so, they weren’t in sight now. Darius sat beside Scott on a low, modern couch. Both of them wore suits. Jonah stood behind him and gave me a small nod of acknowledgment . . . and then what looked from the corner of my eye like a more lingering glance. I was probably imagining it, but when I involuntarily met his gaze, he looked swiftly away like he’d been caught midstare.

Like I’d said, complications.

Morgan stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the shirt and trousers I’d seen him in—and not in—earlier. He glanced up when we walked in, but wouldn’t make eye contact.

My stomach sank, and I knew exactly what was coming. I risked making telepathic contact with Ethan.

Be ready, I told him. I think Morgan told Darius about Paulie Cermak.

Charlie walked out again and closed the door behind him. Darius started in as soon as the door was closed.

“Mr. Greer has advised me that you’ve been investigating Celina.”

This time, it was my mental connection with Morgan that I activated—it wasn’t a connection we were supposed to have, since he hadn’t made me a vampire, but it was handy when he needed a bit of surreptitious berating.

I trusted you, I told him. I trusted you with information, and you decided to take it to Darius?

He didn’t respond, just shook his head. It was the move of a coward—or a child. And it didn’t exactly help diminish my own anger.

Ethan might have been surprised the last time Darius had gone on the offensive, but this time he was prepared for the onslaught. “As you know, Sire, we are required by Canon to follow the laws and dictates of the city in which we are Housed. Mayor Tate required us to investigate the nature of the new raves. We have done so.”

“You have implicated a member of the Presidium.”

“We have followed the information where it led.”

“And it led to Celina?”

Ever so slowly, Ethan turned his frosty gaze on Morgan. “I believe Mr. Greer was the vampire who confirmed Celina’s relationship with a man believed to be distributing V across the city.”

Morgan looked back at Ethan, teeth bared, magic suddenly spilling into the room as his anger obviously blossomed.

Ethan’s reaction was nearly instantaneous. His eyes silvered, his own fangs descended, and his own magic—cooler and crisper than Morgan’s—spilled out, as well. Ethan took a step forward, menace in his eyes, and me at his back.

I’d seen Ethan pissed before—even at Morgan—but never like this.

“You will remember your place,” Ethan said, calling on the fact that he’d been Master longer than Morgan had been alive. Hell, I’d been a vampire longer than Morgan had been Master, and that wasn’t saying much.

But this time, Morgan wasn’t swayed. He took a step forward and stabbed a finger in his chest. “My place? Mine is the oldest American House, Sullivan. And don’t you forget it. And I’m not the one embarrassing all the Houses by stirring up drama that doesn’t need to be stirred.”

“Are you insane?” Ethan asked. “Do you understand what’s going on out there right now? The trouble—the risks—the Houses are facing because of what your former Master did? Or because of what she’s doing right now?”

“Enough!” Darius said, jumping to his feet. “Enough of this. You are Masters of your Houses, and you’re acting like children. This conversation is an embarrassment to all American Houses and the GP—without whose generosity they would not exist.”

That was putting it a bit strongly, I thought.

“As of this instant, you will both begin to comport yourselves like Masters. Like the princes you were meant to be. Not squabbling like human children.”

Darius looked up, icy eyes drilling into me. “Your Sentinel is off the streets. She is not to be engaged in any further investigation of whatever issues your mayor imagines to exist.”

Ethan’s eyes could hardly have been wider. “And if the warrant for my arrest is executed?”

Darius’s gaze slipped back to Ethan. “The mayor of the city of Chicago is surely intelligent enough not to think that a man-made prison can hold you. However much he may enjoy using the threat of incarceration to coerce you into solving his problems for him, those problems are still his to solve. And, more important, have any of you seen evidence that the three girls your mayor believes were killed are actually dead? Have you seen any evidence three girls were missing in Chicago?”

Catcher had promised he’d look into the girls’ deaths, but hadn’t passed any information along to me. But just because they hadn’t solved the crime didn’t mean a crime hadn’t been committed.

I spoke up. “The eyewitness believed that three women were killed. And the things he described were accurate—vampires who were trigger-happy, doped on violence, ready to fight.”

“In other words,” Darius began, his manner supremely smug, “just like vampires?”

Let it be, Sentinel, echoed Ethan’s voice in my head. Battling six hundred years of entrenched belief is not a fight you can win.

He’s wrong, I protested.

That’s as may be. But our fight is for Chicago, not Darius West, whatever his power. Fight the fight you can win. For now, he added in classic Ethan style, be still.

“And the fact that raves are becoming larger and more violent?” Ethan asked.

“Vampires are acting as vampires have always acted. If a few errant vampires break the rules of their home city, let the city respond.”

“And if that’s not enough?”

“Then the GP will discuss it, and the GP will act. Maintain control over your own House, Ethan, and leave the GP to its work. You are not to consider this issue any further.”

A heavy silence filled the room.

“Sire,” Scott said, finally speaking up. “I’m informed our guests have arrived. As you have presented your directives, perhaps Ethan can acknowledge receipt and we can move into dinner?”

Darius tilted his head at Ethan, the move more canine than vampiric. “Ethan?”

Ethan moistened his lips, and I knew he was stalling. Given the spiel he then offered up, I knew why.

“Sire, I acknowledge receipt of your directives and . . . will act as commanded.”

He might as well have been crossing his fingers behind his back for all the rebellion in his body language. But you couldn’t fault his answer. He sounded completely obedient—in word and tone.

Those words, probably holdovers from some feudal ritual, were enough, for Darius nodded. “Let us eat, drink, and be merry.”

He walked to Ethan, arm extended. In a move similar to one I’d seen Ethan and Malik make, Ethan extended his arm, as well, and they grasped forearms and shared a manly half hug. Whispering followed, quiet enough that I couldn’t make out the words.

When the gesture was complete, Ethan and Darius exited the office. Morgan followed, then Scott. I was last out the door, but I didn’t make it very far.

Morgan cornered me in the hallway, putting his hand on my arm to stop me. “She was my Master. I had to tell him.”

I pulled my arm away. “No,” I whispered, “you didn’t have to tell him. You knew we were handling it, that we were investigating. What you apparently had to do was sell me—and my House—down the river because our relationship didn’t work out and you’re still pissed about it.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t comment.

“I’m done helping you,” I told him. “We’re the ones fighting to keep the Houses, the city, together. I thought I could count on you as an ally, which is why I gave you the information. I thought it would help if we were all on the same page. I was obviously wrong about that, because you’d rather act like a stung fourteen-year-old than a grown-up.”

“I am still a Master,” he said, puffing out his chest a little.

“For Navarre, that remains to be seen, ’cause you’re letting Celina keep control. And as for me?” I leaned forward a little. “You’re not my Master.” I walked away, undoubtedly leaking a trail of magic behind me.

I’d thought when Morgan took over Navarre that at least we wouldn’t have an enemy in place, someone who used people whenever the whim struck her. But as was the case with so many other things since I’d become a vampire, I’d been wrong.