“Simon’s . . . okay,” Mallory said. “But speaking of the GP, you need to get out there and mix it up.” She reached out her arms, and I stepped forward into her hug. “Just like you told me,” she said, “you do what you have to do. You know right from wrong, and your instincts are good. Trust them.”
“And if I still can’t pull it off?”
She pulled back, her expression fierce.
“There’s nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it. You just have to decide that you can.
You go and find Celina Desaulniers, and you kick her ass this time.”
Let’s hope it ended that way.
There was a limo parked outside the House when I returned, as well as the usual gaggle of protesters. I recognized two or three—the same protesters were camped out night after night, their hatred of us apparently taking priority over any other activities.
I figured the limo belonged to Tate or Darius, which didn’t thrill me. Neither was going to make my current task easier. I double-parked in front of the House and moved carefully inside, tiptoeing toward Ethan’s office.
No Ethan. But Malik stood in the middle of the room, reviewing papers. Darius was in the sitting area, chatting on a cell phone.
I smiled politely at Darius and walked toward Malik. His gaze lifted as I moved closer, and he must have noticed my frazzled expression.
“What now?”
I slid my gaze toward Darius. “In light of the GP’s directive, I thought I’d take the evening off.
Head to Street Fest. Meet some friends.”
Malik’s expression was blank only for a second before realization dawned.
“I thought I’d see if Ethan wants me to bring anything back. You know how much he loves greasy food. The man cannot get enough of battered and fried.”
Malik smiled slyly. “That he does, Sentinel. I believe you’ll find him in his apartment. He and Darius plan to meet in a few minutes, but perhaps I could entertain him while you discuss the menu?”
At my nod, Malik walked toward Darius. I headed for the door again. Darius must have ended his call, as I heard Malik ask, “Sire, have you had a chance to see the grounds? The gardens are spectacular in late summer.”
Good man, I thought, taking the stairs two at a time until I reached the third floor.
Ethan was just walking into the hallway when I reached him. Without bothering to ask permission, I moved past him into his bedroom.
When I turned around again, he was still in the doorway, eyebrow arched.
“Malik is taking care of Darius. I need five minutes.”
“I have the distinct sense that I’m not going to enjoy those five minutes.”
“Quite possibly not.”
Either way, he walked inside and shut the door behind us, then crossed his arms over his chest.
“Tonight will be tricky,” I said.
“Because?”
“Because she may be wreaking havoc in a very public place.”
He dropped his arms, alarm in his expression.
“How public?”
“Street Fest.”
Ethan closed his eyes for a moment. “Do we have defenses?”
“Yours truly.”
Ethan’s eyes flashed open. He opened his mouth to object, then closed it again.
“Wise decision,” I complimented, “since I’m the only defense you’ve got at the moment.”
“Is this a trap?”
“Quite possibly. And it may be the kind of trap that puts us square in the public eye. But I’m going to do everything I can to prevent that—or at least make sure it’s the right kind of publicity.”
We stood there quietly while he reached his verdict.
“I assume that’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“For your sake and mine. Two words, Sullivan: plausible deniability.”
“I think I liked you better when you were a nerdy graduate student.”
“You didn’t know me as a nerdy graduate student,” I reminded him. “Well, not while I was conscious, anyway.” Technically, he’d known me as an unconscious graduate student, since he’d nursed me for three days following my transition to vampire, but I didn’t remember it.
“Anyway, if you’ve got a better idea, I’m all for it.”
He looked at me for a moment, that line of worry between his eyes. “Unfortunately, I do not.”
“Your confidence is inspiring, Sullivan.”
He gave me a flat look. “You know better than that. I trust you, Merit—implicitly—even if you don’t tell me everything. I wouldn’t let you leave the House if I didn’t—there’s too much at stake.”
“At stake. Ha-ha.” At his frown, I winced.
“Sorry. I kid when I’m nervous.”
“Are you nervous?”
I sighed and crossed my arms. “We are talking about Celina. Am I stronger than before? Yes.