Ethan was waiting on the first floor by the newel post and looked up as I stepped onto the final stair. “You look lovely.”
“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.
He found on-street parking outside Grey House.
It was weird to approach the building for the second time in the guise of a dinner guest who’d never seen the inside. I decided to play surprised and impressed—but however I tried to spin it, it was still a lie to Ethan.
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.”