Friday Night Bites cv-2 Read online

  Mallory was quiet for a moment, and when I looked up, I caught her brushing a tear from her cheek. “You know I’ll miss you, right?”

  “Please. You’ll miss the fact that I can afford to pay rent now. You were getting used to spending Ethan’s money.” The Cadogan stipend was one of the upshots of having been made a vampire.

  “The blood money, such as it was, was a perk. It was nice not to be the only one slaving away for the man.” Given her glassy office overlooking Michigan Avenue, she was exaggerating by a large degree. While I’d been in grad school reading medieval texts, Mallory had been working as an ad executive. We’d only recently discovered that her job had been her first success as an adolescent sorceress: She’d actually willed herself into it, which wasn’t the salve to her ego that a hire based on her creativity and skills might have been. She was taking a break from the job now, using up weeks of saved vacation time to figure out how she was going to deal with her newfound magic.

  I added some journals and pens to the duffel. “Think about it this way—no more bags of blood in the refrigerator, and you’ll have a muscley, sexy guy to cuddle with at night. Much better deal for you.”

  “He’s still a narcissistic ass.”

  “Who you’re crazy about,” I pointed out while scanning my bookshelf. I grabbed a couple of reference books, a worn, leather-bound book of fairy tales I’d had since childhood, and the most important recent addition to my collection, the Canon of the North American Houses, Desk Reference. It had been given to me by Helen, the Cadogan Liaison burdened with the task of escorting me home after my change, and was required reading for newbie vampires. I’d read a lot of the four solid inches of text, and skimmed a good chunk of the rest. The bookmark was stuck somewhere in chapter eight: “Going All Night.” (The chapter titles had apparently been drafted by a seventeen-year-old boy.)

  “And he’s your narcissistic ass,” I reminded her.

  “Yay, me!” she dryly replied, spinning a finger in the air like a party favor.

  “You two will be fine. I’m sure you can manage to keep each other entertained,” I said, plucking a bobble-headed Ryne Sandberg figurine from the shelf and placing it carefully in my bag. Although my new sunlight allergy kept me from enjoying sunny days at Wrigley Field, even vampirism wouldn’t diminish my love for the Cubs.

  I scanned my room, thinking about all the things—Cubs-related or otherwise—I’d be leaving behind. I wasn’t taking everything with me to Cadogan, partly out of concern that I’d strangle Ethan and be banished from the House, and partly because leaving some of my stuff here meant that I still had a home base, a place to crash if living amongst vampires—living near Ethan—became too much to bear. Besides, it’s not like her new roommate was going to need the space; Catcher had already stashed his boy stuff in Mal’s bedroom.

  I zipped up the bags and, hands on my hips, looked over at Mallory. “I think I’m ready.”

  She offered me a supportive smile, and I managed to keep the tears that suddenly brimmed at my lashes from spilling over. Silently, she stood up and wrapped her arms around me. I hugged her back—my best friend, my sister.

  “I love you, you know,” she said.

  “I love you, too.”

  She released me, and we both swiped at tears. “You’ll call me, right? Let me know you’re okay?”

  “Of course I will. And I’m only moving across town. It’s not like I’m leaving for Miami.” I hefted one of the bags onto my shoulder. “You know, I always figured if I moved out it would be because I got a kick-ass teaching job in some small town where everyone is super smart and quirky.”

  “Eureka?” she asked.

  “Or Stars Hollow.”

  Mallory made a sound of agreement and picked up the second bag. “I assumed you’d leave after you got knocked up by a twenty-one-year-old classics major and the two of you ran away to Bora-Bora to raise your baby in the islands.”

  I stopped halfway to the door and glanced back at her. “That’s pretty specific, Mal.”

  “You studied a lot,” she said, edging past me into the hallway. “I had the time.”

  I heard her trot down the stairs, but paused in the doorway of the bedroom that had been mine since I’d returned to Chicago three years ago. I took a last look around at the old furniture, the faded comforter, the cabbage rose wallpaper, and flipped off the light.

  CHAPTER 2

  HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS . . . NOT NECESSARILY WHERE YOU SLEEP

  Okay, so I was procrastinating. My bags were stuffed in the backseat of my boxy orange Volvo, but instead of heading directly to Cadogan House, I passed my future Hyde Park home and kept driving south. I wasn’t quite ready to cross the threshold of Cadogan as an official resident. And, more importantly, I hadn’t seen my grandfather in nearly a week, so I opted to do the granddaughterly thing and pay a visit to his South Side office. My grandparents had all but raised me while my social-climbing parents, Joshua and Meredith Merit, were gala-ing their way across Chicago. So paying my grandfather a visit was really the least I could do.

  The Ombud’s office wasn’t glamorous; it was a squat brick building that sat in the midst of a working-class neighborhood of small, squarish houses, tidy yards, and chain-link fences. I parked the Volvo on the street in front, got out of my car and belted on my katana. I doubted I’d need it in my grandfather’s office, but word that I hadn’t been diligently armed was just the kind of talk that Catcher would pass along to Ethan. It’s not that they were buddies, exactly, but chatting about me seemed like the kind of thing they’d do.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock, but the few windows in the office were ablaze with light. The Ombud’s office, or so my grandfather figured, served creatures of the night. That meant third-shift hours for my grandfather, his admin Marjorie, Catcher, and Jeff Christopher, my grandfather’s second right-hand man, an undefined shapeshifter and computer whiz kid. Who also had a giant crush on yours truly.

  I knocked on the locked front door and waited for someone to let me in. Jeff turned a corner and headed down the hallway toward me, a grin breaking across his face. He was all lean appendages and floppy brown hair, and tonight he wore his usual uniform—pressed khakis and a long-sleeved button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.

  When he reached the door, he typed an alarm code into a keypad beside it, then turned a lock and opened it.

  “Couldn’t stand being away from me?”

  “I was hurting a little,” I said, then stepped inside as he held the door open. “It’s been, what, almost a week?”

  “Six days, twenty-three hours, and about twelve minutes.” He recoded and locked the door, then grinned over at me. “Not that I’m counting.”

  “Oh, of course not,” I agreed as he escorted me down the hallway to the office he shared with Catcher. “You’re much too suave for that kind of thing.”

  “Much,” he agreed, then entered the room and moved behind one of the four metal, atomic-era desks that sat in two rows in the tiny room. The top of Jeff’s desk was taken up by a Frankenstein-esque collection of keyboards and monitors, upon which sat a stuffed toy I’d learned was a model of H. P. Love-craft’s Cthulhu.

  “How was tap class?” asked a sardonic voice on the other side of the room. I glanced over, found Catcher at the desk opposite Jeff’s, hands crossed over his skull-cut head, an open laptop on the desk before him. One brow was arched over his green eyes, his curvy lips slightly tipped up in amusement. I had to admit it—Catcher was irritating, gruff, a demanding trainer . . . and ridiculously pretty. Mal definitely had her hands full.

  “Hip-hop,” I corrected, “not tap. And it was just fancy. Your girl nearly coldcocked the instructor, but it was pretty uneventful other than that.” I edged a hip onto one of the two empty metal desks. I wasn’t entirely sure why there were four desks in all. Catcher and Jeff were the only two in this office; my grandfather and Marjorie had desks in other rooms. My grandfather had reached out to a vampire source
since Catcher and Jeff represented Chicago’s sorcery and shapeshifting communities, but the secret vamp avoided the office in order to avoid House drama, so no desk for him. Or her. Or it, I suppose. I was still trying to work that one out.

  Catcher glanced over at me. “She nearly coldcocked the instructor?”

  “Well, she wanted to, not that I blame her. Aerobics Barbie is hard to stomach for more than five minutes at a time. But thanks to my excellent mediation and negotiation skills, no punches were actually thrown.” The pad of footsteps echoed through the hall, and I looked over at the door to find my grandfather in his usual plaid flannel shirt and sensible pants, his feet in thick-soled shoes.

  “And speaking of excellent mediation and negotiation skills,” I said, hopping off the desk. My grandfather extended his arms and beckoned me into a hug. I walked into his embrace and squeezed, careful not to inadvertently break ribs with my increased vampire strength. “Hi, Grandpa.”

  “Baby girl,” he said, then pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead. “How’s my favorite supernatural citizen doing this fine spring evening?”

  “That hurts, Chuck,” Catcher said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought I was your favorite sup.” His voice could hardly have been dryer.

  “Seriously,” Jeff said, his gaze shifting between computer monitors. “Here we are, slaving night and day—”

  “Technically,” Catcher interrupted, “just night.”

  “Night.” Jeff smoothly adjusted. “Trying to keep everyone in the Windy City happy, trying to keep the nymphs in line.” He bobbed his head up toward the posters of scantily clad women that lined the walls of the office. They were river nymphs—tiny, busty, doe-eyed, and long-haired women who controlled the branches of the Chicago River. They were also, as I’d seen on the night of my twenty-eighth birthday, pretty dramatic. They’d shown up en masse at my grandfather’s house, all atwitter because one of the beauties’ beaus had cheated on her with another nymph. It was a catfight of monumental proportions, complete with tears, swearing, and raking nails. And it’d been stopped, surprisingly enough, by our Jeff. (My reticence notwithstanding, Jeff had a way with the ladies.)

  “And we all know how difficult that can be,” I said, giving Jeff a wink. He blushed, crimson rising high on his cheekbones.

  “What brings you by?” my grandfather asked me.

  “Wait, wait, I got this one,” Catcher said, grabbing an envelope from his desk and pressing it to his forehead, eyes closed, the perfect Carnac. “Merit will be undergoing a change . . . of zip code.” He opened his eyes and flipped the envelope back onto his desk. “If you were trying to get to Hyde Park, you’ve gone a little too far south.”

  “I’m procrastinating,” I admitted. I’d done the same thing the night before my Commendation into the House, seeking solace among friends and the only family that mattered before I became part of something that I knew would change my life forever. Ditto tonight.

  Catcher’s expression softened. “You’re all packed?”

  I nodded. “Everything’s in the car.”

  “She’ll miss you, you know.”

  I nodded at him. I had no doubt of that, but I appreciated that he’d said it. He wasn’t one for the mushy-gushy emotional stuff, which made the sentiment that much more meaningful.

  My grandfather put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be fine, baby girl. I know you—how capable you are and how stubborn—and those are qualities that Ethan will come to appreciate.”

  “Given time,” Catcher muttered. “Lots and lots and lots of time.”

  “Eons,” Jeff agreed.

  “Immortal,” I reminded them, using a finger to point at myself. “We have the time. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy on him.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” my grandfather said, then winked at me. “Could you do your Pop-Pop a favor and give him something for us?”

  My own cheeks flushed at the reminder of the name I’d given my grandfather as a kid. “Grandpa” was much too hard for me to say.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to.”

  Grandpa gave Catcher a nod. Catcher opened a squeaky desk drawer, then pulled out a thick manila envelope tied with a loop of red twine. There was no addressee, but the words CONFIDENTIAL and LEVEL ONE were stamped in capital black letters across one side. “Level One” was the Ombud version of “Top Secret.” It was the only category of information that my grandfather wasn’t willing to let me see.

  Catcher extended the envelope. “Handle this with care.”

  I nodded and plucked it from his hand. It was heavier than I would have guessed, and held a good inch-thick sheaf of papers. “I’m assuming there’s no free sneak peek for the delivery girl?”

  “We’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” Grandpa said.

  “That way,” Catcher put in, “we won’t have to resort to physical violence, which would make things really awkward between us, you being Chuck’s granddaughter.”

  “I think we can trust her,” my grandfather said, his voice as dry as toast, “but I appreciate your dedication.”

  “Just a day in the life, Chuck. Just a day in the life.”

  Task in hand, I figured now was as good a time as any to quit procrastinating and actually make my way to the House. I did have a first glance at my new digs to look forward to.

  “On that note,” I said, “I’m going to leave you three to it.” I glanced back at my grandfather and held up the envelope. “I’ll make the drop, but I’m probably going to need a little somethin’ somethin’ for my efforts.”

  He smiled indulgently. “Meat loaf?”

  He knew me so well.

  They called it “losing your name.” In order to become a vampire, to join a House, to gain membership into one of the oldest organized (and previously secret) societies in the world, you had to first give up your identity, surrender yourself to the whole. You gave up your last name to symbolize your commitment to your brothers and sisters. Your House affiliation stood in for your former surname, the hallmark of your new family. I suppose I was a weird exception to that rule: Merit was actually my last name, but I’d gone by “Merit” for years, so I kept the name post-Commendation.

  According to the Canon (chapter four: “Vampires—Who’s on Top?”), by giving up your name, you began to learn the communitarian values of vampire society. Shared sacrifice. Leadership. Accountability—not to your previous human family, but to your new fanged one. Master vampires, of course, got to take their names back. That’s why it was Ethan Sullivan—not just Ethan—who held the reins of Cadogan House.

  And speaking of Sullivan, that brings us to the most important communitarian value—kissing the asses of higher-ranked vampires.

  I was on just such an ass-kissing mission now.

  Well, I was on a delivery mission. But given the intended recipient, ass kissing went along with the territory.

  Ethan’s office was on the first floor of Cadogan House. The door was closed when I arrived, bags in hand, post-procrastination. I paused a moment before knocking, ever delaying the inevitable. When I finally managed to do it, a simple “Come” echoed from the office. I opened the door and went in.

  Ethan’s office, like the rest of Cadogan House, was elegantly decorated to just this side of pretentious, as befit the Hyde Park address. There was a desk on the right, a seating area on the left, and at the far end, in front of a bank of velvet-curtained windows, a gigantic conference table. The walls were covered by built-in bookshelves, which were stocked with antiques and mementos of Ethan’s 394 years of existence.

  Ethan Sullivan, head of Cadogan House and the Master who’d made me a vampire, sat behind his desk, a sliver of cell phone at his ear, eyes on a spread of papers before him. There always seemed to be papers before him; Masterdom was evidently heavy on the paperwork.

  Ethan wore an impeccably tailored black suit with a pristine white shirt beneath, the top button undone to reveal the gold medal that vampi
res wore to indicate their House affiliation. His hair, golden blond and shoulder length, was down today, tucked behind his ears.

  Although it bugged me to admit it, Ethan was beautiful. Perfectly handsome face, ridiculous cheekbones, chiseled jaw, shockingly emerald eyes. The face complemented the body, the majority of which I’d inadvertently seen while Ethan entertained Amber, the former Cadogan House Consort. Unfortunately, we’d discovered shortly thereafter that Amber had been assisting Celina in her attempt to take over Chicago’s Houses.

  He glanced down at the bags in my hands. “You’re moving in?”

  “I am.”

  Ethan nodded. “Good. It’s a good move.” The tone wasn’t laudatory, but condescending, as if he was disappointed it had taken me as long as it did—not even two months—to make Cadogan House home. It wasn’t an unexpected reaction.

  I nodded, holding back the snark in light of his grumpiness. I knew the limits of pissing off a four-hundred-year-old Master vampire, even if I pushed them sometimes.

  I dropped the bags, unzipped the duffel, pulled out the confidential envelope, and held it out to him. “The Ombud asked that I deliver this to you.”

  Ethan arched a brow, then took the envelope from my hands. He uncoiled the twine from its plastic disk, slipped a finger beneath the tab, and peeked inside. Something in his face relaxed. I wasn’t sure what the Ombud’s office had delivered, but Ethan seemed to like it.

  “If there’s nothing else,” I said, bobbing my head at the bags on the floor.

  I didn’t merit so much as a glance. “Dismissed,” he absently said, pulling the papers from the envelope and thumbing through them.

  I hadn’t seen much of Ethan in the first few weeks. As reunions went, this one was pretty undramatic. I could deal with that.