His eyebrows lifted with interest. “And you’ve returned from a battle.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Darius sat back in his chair again. “You said tonight’s event, whatever it might have been, was unusually violent.” He took another puff, the suspicion clear on his face. “You’ve been to another rave? You have a basis for comparison?”
“I haven’t,” I admitted. “The comparison is based on information from other sources, and the one site I visited after the fact. Our intelligence says raves in Chicago are few and far between, and that—perhaps to avoid risk of detection —they’re usually very intimate affairs. A few vampires at most. That’s not what we saw last night.”
“Although I disagree with your conclusions, that’s not a bad report.” He turned to Ethan. “I can see why you like her, Ethan.”
“She’s more than capable,” Ethan agreed.
“But I assume an update on our Sentinel’s work is not what brought you across the pond?”
Darius leaned forward and mashed the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Matters in Chicago are, as you know, escalating. Shifters.
Rogues. The attack on your House.”
Ethan crossed one leg over another. “As you’ve seen, those things are in hand.”
“Those things suggest a decided lack of organization and political control among the Illinois Houses. When Celina was removed, you became the most senior Master in Chicago, Ethan. It is your responsibility, your duty to the Presidium, to maintain stability within your domain.”
And he would have, I thought, if you’d managed to keep Celina in England where she belonged.
“What does that mean?” Ethan asked.
“It means there’s a significant chance that Cadogan House will be placed into receivership by the Presidium until Chicago is under control.”
I didn’t need to know the details of a
“receivership” to get the general idea—the GP was threatening to take over the House.
The room went silent, as did Ethan. The only sign he’d even heard Darius’s threat was the telltale line of concern between his eyes.
“With all due respect, Sire, there’s no need for impetuous action.” Ethan’s tone was carefully neutral, his words carefully modulated. I knew he was bursting with emotion—there was no way Ethan wasn’t boiling over at the possibility that the GP was going to step in and take over his House. But he was doing an impressive job of keeping his emotions under control.
“I’m not entirely sure that was duly respectful, Ethan. And as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, placing one of the American Houses into receivership isn’t something the Presidium takes lightly. It raises uncomfortable memories.”
“Uncomfortable?” I asked. I probably shouldn’t have spoken, being the least-ranking vampire in the room, but sometimes curiosity won out.
Darius nodded. “The American Revolution was a difficult time for the British and American Houses, as you might imagine. The GP hadn’t yet been formed—that was still decades down the road—and the Conseil Rouge retained power.
Being French, the Conseil supported the colonies’ freedom. Being British, we did not.”
I nodded my understanding. “And immortality being what is, some of those colonists are still alive in the American Houses.”
“Indeed.”
“An excellent reason,” Ethan put in, “to preclude discussion of receivership.”
“The discussion is already under way, Ethan. I know you don’t approve of the Presidium or the actions we’ve taken, but we have rules and processes for a reason.”
So Celina can ignore them? I wondered.
There was a knock at the door, which opened a little. A man tidily dressed in cuffed trousers, button-up shirt, and suspenders—only his wavy brown hair askew—looked inside. “Sire, your call with New York Houses is ready.” His voice was equally British and posh; he must have been part of Darius’s retinue.
Darius glanced up and over. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just be a moment.”
Charlie nodded, then disappeared through the door again. When he was gone, Darius stood up.
The rest of us did the same.
“We’ll chat later,” Darius said, then nodded at me. “Good luck with your continued training.”
“Thank you, Sire.”
When he was gone, and the door was closed again behind him, silence reigned. Ethan put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair.
“Receivership,” Luc repeated. “When was the last time that happened?”
“Not since the financial meltdown before World War II,” Malik answered. “Many, many years.”
“He’s being unreasonable,” I said, glancing around at them. “None of this is Cadogan’s fault.
It’s Adam Keene’s fault. It’s the GP’s faultCelina’s fault. We’re reaping the consequences of their bad acts, and now he wants to put the GP in charge of the House?”
Ethan sat up straight again. “That’s the long and short of it. A receiver would come into the House, begin an investigation of House procedures, and have the authority—the GP-granted authority—to approve every decision that’s made in this House, regardless of how big or small. A receiver would report every decision back to the GP, including Darius, including Celina.”
Ethan looked up at me, his green eyes icy cold.
“And I have to wonder whether he’d be raising the issue if our Sentinel hadn’t just informed him that Chicago was heading to hell in a handbasket.” So the calm, unruffled, forgiving Ethan had been an act for Darius.
Unfortunately for him, we’d come too far for me to be intimidated by a snarky phrase or nasty look. I’d gone out and faced danger for him and the House, and I wasn’t about to shrink away because he didn’t like the consequences. I gave him back the same stare.
The room went silent, until Ethan barked out an order, his gaze still on me. “Excuse us, please.”
When no one budged, he glanced around the room. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”
That was enough to send Luc and Malik scurrying out the door, both of them offering me sympathetic looks.
It wasn’t until we were alone, the door shut behind them, that Ethan finally looked away. For a full minute, he sat quietly, his back rigid.
Finally, he walked back to his desk and settled himself behind it, putting space—and furniture —between us.
I’d known him long enough to call it “typical Sullivan.” It was the kind of action we could have added to the Ethan Sullivan drinking game, falling somewhere between his imperious eyebrow arching and his habit of referring to any Novitiate in his House by position, rather than by name.
“Sentinel,” he finally said, linking his fingers on his desk.