House Rules (8 page)

Darius—tall, with a shaved head and an aristocratic manner—had the personality of
an egotistical hall monitor.

The other GP members, four men and two women, didn’t look familiar. I knew their names,
and that they’d wreaked havoc in our House from an ocean away. But I could identify
only one of them—Harold Monmonth, a class act who’d once helped Celina Desaulniers,
the former Master of Navarre House, dispatch a woman who’d stood in her way. Celina
had tried to kill me on several occasions, and when she threw the stake that killed
Ethan, I returned the favor. Morgan Greer, whom I’d dated for approximately five minutes,
took over as Master of the House after her bad behavior.

There was a gap in the V between the last two individuals on the left-hand side. That
was the spot, I guessed, that had once been held by Celina. But she was gone, and
that was no doubt another reason why the GP didn’t care much for me.

Ethan smiled thinly at Darius. “You’re early.”

“But not unwelcome, I presume,” Darius said. Ironically, the statement was incredibly
presumptuous.

Before Ethan could get himself into any more trouble, Helen stepped beside us.

“I’ve spoken with the manager at the Dandridge,” she said. “Your rooms have been prepared
and are ready at your convenience.”

The Dandridge Hotel was one of the most exclusive luxury hotels in Chicago, small
but chic, and apparently the only place good enough for the GP to stay this time around.

Darius nodded. “We’ll settle in and be in touch about the ceremony.”

“As you say,” Ethan said.

Like a flock of birds, the vampires turned in unison, then filed back through the
gate to waiting limousines.

For a moment we all stood there.

Ethan muttered a curse, but when he turned back to us, he slipped his hands into his
pockets, his body tight with the swagger and confidence of a Master vampire. He might
not have been official Master of Cadogan House, but he was a Master vampire all the
same.

It was comforting to see him confident, even if he was bluffing.

“They will think of us what they think of us,” he said. “That doesn’t matter. What
matters is what we are together, and that is stronger than we could ever be as GP
automatons and subjects of a would-be king.”

He looked at Malik. “Assemble the House tonight. We’ll wait until an hour before dawn.”

“To assure Darius is tucked in at the Dandridge and can’t spy on us?” Luc asked.

“Precisely,” Ethan said. “I’ll speak to the Decert at the ceremony, so whatever the
night brings, plan to be back at the House by then.” He nodded at Luc. “Call Paige
and the librarian. He’s up to something, and I want to know what it is.
Now
.”

“Liege,” Luc acknowledged.

“Go on about your business,” Ethan said. “I’ll see you all soon enough.”

* * *

I wouldn’t be a vampire if Ethan hadn’t changed me, and I wouldn’t survive without
regular doses of blood. Even though the process had become a fairly routine endeavor,
I still needed it. So I dropped by the House cafeteria and plumbed for snacks. A bag
of blood from our retail supplier, Blood4You, was a necessity, as was a mini chocolate
candy bar that I stashed in my jacket pocket for later. For now, I grabbed a bagel
with a smear of peanut butter and took a bite as I nuked the blood and poured it into
a travel mug, just another Chicagoan on her way to the office.

There was something about the first bite of food in the morning—maybe the relative
absence during sleep, maybe the reawakening of the taste buds—that made my simple
breakfast seem nearly majestic.

I am only barely exaggerating. The depth of my relationship with food is no doubt
thrilling to some and strange to others. It probably has something to do with the
fact that I grew up feeling removed from the rest of my very wealthy, very fancy family.
I’d entertain myself with my other great love—books—during a hot Chicago afternoon,
usually with something to nibble on. I was especially fond of foods that could be
dipped—tortilla chips, celery sticks, apple wedges, chocolate drops. Eating them was
an activity in itself, a repetitive movement that was almost Zen-like.

Fortunately, I was athletic enough then that my weight stayed manageable. I’d danced
ballet for many years, and had the toes to prove it. Also fortunately, my speedy vampiric
metabolism now meant I could eat all night with no ill repercussions. Not that I had
time for that kind of grazing. Not when vampires were possibly being abducted and
our House was facing an uncertain future. And not when Lacey Sheridan was on her way.

Yes, I believed in me and Ethan, but I was still a girl. The last thing I needed was
for her to find me wrist-deep in a bucket of Frank’s Finest fried chicken.

Although that did sound delicious. I made a mental note to grab a celebratory Cluckin’
Bucket after we found Oliver and Eve safe and sound. I really hoped we’d do that.

When I emerged into the main hallway with breakfast in hand, the House’s tension was
palpable. We were forty-eight hours away from the severing of our GP ties, and they’d
already made an appearance. The hum of nervous magic was becoming a torrent of full-on
worry. I could feel it in the prickly air, the haze of anticipation that flowed through
the House. The vampires of Cadogan House might trust both their Masters—Ethan and
Malik—but they were entering unknown political territory.

I held the bagel with my teeth and fished the keys to my ancient Volvo from my pocket.
Unlike last night, it was bone-chilling cold outside, the kind of cold only a hot
bath or a roaring fire could cure.

Tonight the lawn was bereft of fragrant food trucks and revelry, but the nearly identical
mercenary fairies still stood watch in front of the House. When I walked through the
gate, their expressions were typically stoic, but they both nodded in acknowledgment.
That was a recent development—and a hard-won victory. Fairies bore no strong love
of vampires, but we’d had interactions recently with Claudia, the fairy queen, that
seemed to have bridged the gap between us.

Windshield wipers flapping against the glass, I drove south to my grandfather’s modest
house. Traffic wasn’t bad, but the drive still took a few minutes. I used the opportunity
to check in with Jonah.

It took four rings for him to answer the phone, but his handsome, auburn-haired visage
eventually popped up on the screen.

“Busy?” I wondered.

“Unfortunately, yes. Your House drama has spread. We’ve got already aggressive vampires
mouthing off about the GP and talking about seceding.”

“Already aggressive?” I asked.

“Jocks,” Jonah said with a smile. “They spent their human lives lifting weights and
destroying linemen. The adrenaline doesn’t fade.”

“Why do they want to secede?”

“They want to drink.”

Vampires or not, that was actually surprising. Most American Houses had sworn off
drinking from humans or vampires. Their only source of blood was Blood4You, and they
drank only from the bag or cup. Banning drinking from another person was supposed
to help vampires assimilate; it kept their less endearing behaviors hidden from human
view. Cadogan was one of the few Houses that still allowed drinking, and we took crap
around the country—and from the GP—for doing it.

I was still a relative novice when it came to drinking, but I was experienced enough
to know that nothing made me feel more like a vampire—and less human—than drinking
from Ethan, or letting him drink from me.

“You should join us,” I said. “It’s hard to be the only target in this game of GP
dodgeball.”

“You couldn’t pay me to be in your position.”

“We manage,” I dryly said.

“For now. But you should know we’re hearing things about the GP and the Decert that
aren’t exactly promising.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the GP wants to cause you as much trouble as possible.”

That revelation made my stomach flip uncomfortably, even if it wasn’t entirely surprising.
Ethan and the others had centuries of experience with the GP, and had previously trusted
that it operated with the Houses’ best interest in mind.

I’d been a vampire for just a few months, but I knew it operated with only one thing
in mind—its own interest. It seemed to me keeping power in the GP’s hands was its
number one priority.

“Unfortunately, that squares with the fact that they’re here a day early.”

Jonah whistled. “That’s not promising.”

“I know.”

“I hate to say Cadogan House is screwed. . . .”

“Then don’t say it. It would be considerably more helpful if you could give me any
details about what you think they’re going to pull so I can adequately prepare my
House.”

“Reason and logic will only get you so far. All I know is, the GP’s contract with
Cadogan House is key.”

I wasn’t sure which contract he meant, but I’d figure it out. “Your information comes
from other RG members?”

“From our communications network,” he said, “which I can’t loop you into until you’re
official. Which you will be tomorrow night.”

The night of the GP ceremony. The timing for the RG ceremony could hardly be worse,
although I appreciated the irony. I would be joining the RG—and thereby promising
to watch over the GP—even as we left the GP because of its tyranny.

“Where and when?” I asked.

“I’ll let you know. I’ve got to make sure I can get out of here, too. I’ll try to
message you later tonight.”

“Okay. FYI, I’m heading to my grandfather’s. We picked up glass and Eve’s cell phone
last night at the reg center they visited, and I asked them to take a look.”

“Does your grandfather have that kind of facility?”

“Not unless he’s remodeled the rumpus room,” I said. “But he’s got friends in high
places, and it’s the only lead we’ve got so far.”

“Good thinking. I hope the investigation gets some momentum.”

“You and me both. The night is young. I’m hoping against hope Oliver and Eve will
call Noah and tell him they had to make an emergency trip to KC or something.”

“It would be a happier ending,” Jonah agreed. “Good luck with it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if there are any developments.”

“Do that. And in the meantime, I’ll do my part to keep Grey House on Darius’s good
side.”

I made a sarcastic sound. “Since the well-being of your House is clearly at the top
of my list, that comforts me.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, and ended the call.

I wasn’t, but he hung up before I could argue. Probably better for both of us.

* * *

My grandfather’s house was small and quaint—white clapboards, metal storm door, stubby
concrete porch. As I drove up, the lights were on and half a dozen cars were parked
in the driveway and on the street. Most of them were tiny roadsters, which meant only
one thing.

River nymphs.

I guessed Catcher hadn’t managed to resolve the shoe crisis.

When I reached the front door, I could hear music and the squealing of voices. I didn’t
bother knocking, but walked inside.

I could not have been more surprised.

The front door opened directly into my grandfather’s living room, and it was full
of people, among them my grandfather and half a dozen nymphs in their typically short,
cleavage-baring dresses.

They knelt in a semicircle around what looked like a new television, and squealed
while Jeff Christopher stood in the middle with a video game controller in his hand.

But that wasn’t even the strangest part.

Jeff Christopher, geek extraordinaire, was in
costume
.

He wore a pale green tunic, over which he’d slung a forest green cape trimmed in brown,
and knee-high leather boots. The tunic’s hood was up, just perched at the crown of
Jeff’s head, but his shoulder-length brown hair shone at the edge of it.

Jeff was tall and lanky, and the costume fit him surprisingly well. But for his lack
of longbow and horse, he might have stepped out of a medieval forest.

By the look of the screen, his costume was modeled after a character in the game,
who was currently flailing at green, goblinlike creatures with a golden sword. The
excitement in the room built as Jeff’s character, a ranger of some kind, pummeled
the creatures with his steel, until—with a final killing blow—he finished off the
last goblin.

The room erupted into a flurry of hoots and applause. The nymphs jumped to their feet
and surrounded their victor in a cloud of wavy hair, rayon, and fruity perfume.

I pressed my back against the door to avoid the crush. I’d been snagged by River nymphs
before, and I wasn’t much interested in another round.

“Merit!” my grandfather exclaimed, finally realizing I’d stepped into the room. In
his typical button-down plaid and grandfatherly slacks, he walked over and enveloped
me in a hug.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“Diplomacy in action,” he quietly said. “The nymphs were giving Catcher fits, and
Jeff thought they might be calmed by a show of virtual strength.”

It wasn’t the type of show that would have occurred to me, but it was clearly working
for the ladies. After a moment, Jeff pulled himself away from the cluster of girls;
his expression turned serious when he saw me.

He clapped his hands together. “Ladies, thank you so much for squeezing me into your
schedule. I need to get some work done, but do you think you could find me some cheat
codes for the next level? That would be awesome.”

To a one, they squealed and clapped their hands together at the assignment, then jiggled
out the front door until the screen slammed shut behind them.

The sudden silence was deafening, at least until the game console reminded us Roland
of Westmere was ready for his next quest.

“The nymphs like video games?” I wondered. “They don’t really seem the gaming type.”

“Not the games themselves,” Jeff said, pulling back his hood, his hair damp beneath.
Digital adventure or not, he’d definitely gotten a workout. “They like watching shifters
win games. They think it’s manly.”