GROWING PAINS

I woke achy, but the pain in my back, at least, was reduced to a dull throb. The benefits of vampire healing couldn't be overestimated; the benefits of two adults of above-average height squeezing into a twin-sized bed could easily be overestimated.

But while the accommodations forced us to sleep like sardines, it was difficult to argue with an arrangement that put me skin to skin with a sexy blond vampire.

I was wrapped around him, naked from our predawn lovemaking and chilly. Cadogan House was many things, but warm it was not.

"Sentinel," Ethan said.

"Liege."

He trailed fingers down my back. "Considering our positions, I think we can dispense with the formalities. Happy Valentine's Day."

Despite having made the plans, I'd completely forgotten about Valentine's Day.

"Happy Valentine's Day," I said. "I'd actually forgotten."

"I didn't," Ethan said, "but I think a postponement is in order, considering . . ."

Intellectually, I knew he was right. If I was going to celebrate the miracle of my relationship with Ethan Sullivan, I wanted to do it correctly. I didn't want to be worried about whether rioters were going to attack my House and kill my friends, or the GP would send a herd of chimeras to destroy the House in retribution for Monmonth's death. I wanted to sit with Ethan and watch the sun rise over the lake, not rush back to the House out of fear we'd be burned to ash if we tarried too long.

In short, I wanted to be human. And that was not in the cards.

When I didn't answer, my disappointment keen even if totally irrational, Ethan explained.

"We can't afford it," he said. "Not considering what happened last night with the GP, and what might happen tonight. The rioters are still out there. I want Valentine's Day to be special, not a dinner in which we're worried the entire time about what might be happening here."

I was quiet for a moment. "Do you ever wish you were still human?"

Ethan paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "Are you wishing you were human, or that your life was simpler?"

I used one of his tricks. "Yes," I said, picking both answers. "I'll call and change the reservation. Give us a cushion of a few days. Maybe things will be less psychotic by then."

I pulled myself away from him, then climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower and get ready for the night," I said. "Because as you pointed out, there are likely nastier things around the corner."

-

I showered, brushed my teeth and my hair, then pulled my hair into a ponytail and then a topknot.

When I emerged from the bathroom, Ethan was gone, as were his watch and cuff links from the nightstand. He'd dressed and gone downstairs, without even time for a good-bye.

It was quite a beginning to Valentine's Day.

Since I was inevitably a vampire tonight, I walked down the hallway to the small, second-floor kitchen and snagged a bottle of blood and a bagel studded with raisins and topped with crunch streusel. I ate at the counter, reading through the announcements pinned to a small bulletin board along one wall. This news was surprisingly chipper: pearl earring found, owner wanted; small TV for sale; video games for trade.

I finished the blood, but managed only a few bites of the bagel. I was still discomfited by what had gone on last night, and my appetite hadn't come back. I also wasn't exactly eager to get started with the night, so I stood in the kitchen for a few more minutes, just in case my hunger fired back up.

It didn't. I was actually too stressed to eat.

I tossed the rest of the bagel, wiped my hands, and made for the stairs. I needed positive news and action. I needed progress, because I was beginning to feel like a drug dog that hadn't sniffed out a dirty suitcase in a while.

I walked to Ethan's office to check in before I left, but his door was closed.

Normally, I'd have knocked in warning and gone in. But there seemed a pretty good chance he was on the phone with people significantly above my pay grade and my interruption wouldn't be welcome.

Before I had time to wonder if I should eavesdrop, Jonah emerged from the cafeteria at the other end of the hall, a glossy red apple in hand.

Excellent timing, I thought. I walked toward him, gesturing back toward Ethan's office. "What's going on in there?"

"I don't know. I assume Ethan's talking to the GP. Why?"

I shook my head. "Just being nosy."

Jonah crunched on the apple. "You're dating him. Don't you two pillow talk? Can't you seduce all the secrets out of him?"

"Who am I, Mata Hari?"

"You're Mata Hari enough to manage to snag the Master of the House." He lifted his eyebrows teasingly, then took a final bite of the apple before chunking the core into a small, decorative wastebasket on the other side of the hallway. He nailed the shot, which made sense, considering Grey House's athletic bent.

"You are hilarious, you know that?"

"I do," he said. "But seriously. Isn't there some kind of boyfriend-girlfriend privilege you can use to find out what's going on?"

"If there was, logically, it would mean he could tell me, but I couldn't tell you."

"Then my idea was poor," he said, crossing his arms. I could see the amusement in his expression slide right into concern. He might joke around, but he, too, was worried about the closed-door meeting.

I glanced around the hallway, ensuring we were alone. "Times like this make us perfect candidates for the RG, you know. We're suspicious by nature."

"And vampires are conniving by nature," he said. "Especially Masters. Or they wouldn't be Masters. Hey, isn't it Valentine's Day? Don't you two have big plans?"

"We did," I agreed. "At least until the city went boom."

"And the GP went bust," Jonah grimly responded.

Without ado, the door opened.

Ethan stood on the other side, gazing at Jonah and me like a schoolteacher who'd just caught two naughty children in the act of disobeying orders. Predictably, he shot up an eyebrow and gave me a visual dressing-down.

"Sentinel."

"Liege," I said properly, with a little head-bob for good measure. "We were just discussing business."

"Interrogation techniques," Jonah added. "Methods for extracting information from unwilling subjects."

Ethan looked dubious about the explanation. "There's no need for torture," he said, pulling the door open farther.

Nick Breckenridge, tall, with cropped dark hair, blue eyes, and the body of a rock climber, stood in the middle of Ethan's office, Scott beside him.

Nick wore a button-down shirt and jeans, with a tweed blazer over it. He carried a small reporter's notebook in one hand. The look was more professorial than I'd usually seen him, but he managed to pull it off. He looked like a very popular professor - the Indiana Jones of the journalism set.

"Nick," I said, walking in at Ethan's subtle nod. "Long time no see."

"Merit," he said, giving me an efficient once-over. It was journalistic inquiry, I knew, not interest, that made him check me out. We'd had our ups and downs, and although I assumed from the "Ponytail Avenger" story that we'd recovered from the blackmail incident, we definitely weren't bosom buddies.

"Nick, this is Jonah," Ethan said, "captain of the Grey House guards."

Nick reached out and shook his hand, and I saw Jonah's eyes widen - just for an instant - in surprise.

Like the Keene family, the Breckenridges were members of the North American Central Pack, although they didn't advertise their supernatural affiliations to many. I guess Scott, who did know, hadn't mentioned that to Jonah.

"Nice to meet you," Jonah said. "I hear you're doing a feature on the riots?"

"Their impact on Chicago's supernaturals, yes." He looked at me. "You're well?"

"I am, thank you. How are your brothers? And your parents?"

"They're well, thanks."

He didn't elaborate; I guess he wasn't up for chitchat.

"How's the investigation going?" I asked.

"Fine. Disturbing in certain ways. Enlightening in others."

"I think this story is going to go a long way toward educating the public about vampires," Ethan said. "You're doing us a profound service."

Nick nodded, by all appearances unmoved. "I'm here to tell the truth. I think I've got what I need from you," he said, looking at Scott. "If I could talk to some of the displaced vampires?"

"Sure. I'll take you upstairs. We're looking for temporary housing. We've got a line on a building, but we're hoping they'll negotiate a little more on the price."

Those prophetic words spoken, and before Nick and Scott even reached the door, chaos broke out in the hallway.

"You fucking asshole!" screamed a vampire whose voice I didn't recognize. We rushed into the hallway, where two guys - one of whom wore a Grey House jersey - were tumbling around on the hallway floor, absolutely whaling on each other.

"What in God's name?" Jonah said, trying to reach into the fight to pull the men apart. He got an elbow in the eye for his trouble, which only incensed him more.

Note to self: Do not piss off the captain of the most athletic vampires in the city's most athletic House.

Jonah let out another curse, then reached in again and grabbed the jersey-wearing vampire by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the fray.

He landed eight feet down the hallway, bouncing on his ass for good measure.

The other vampire, a young member of my Novitiate class named Connor - and a very brief fling of Lindsey's - jumped to his feet, ready to join the fray.

"Connor!" Ethan yelled out. There was magic in his voice - his ability, as a Master, to call the vampires he'd made. Obediently, as if returning to the Pack and the alpha male, Connor bared his fangs at Jonah and the Grey House vamp, but slunk back against the wall, and behind Ethan.

Jonah dragged the other vampire to his feet and was glaring daggers at him, daring him to move from that spot.

"I am going to ask this one time," Ethan said through gritted teeth, "and one time only. Connor, what is this about?"

"That asshole started in on our House, that we're a House of rejects."

"Bullshit!" called the Grey House vampire. "You were bragging about drinking, you egotistical little prick."

"I wasn't bragging," Connor said, chest puffed aggressively. "I was stating a fact. It's not my fault you get yours from bottles."

That was the wrong thing to say. The Grey House vampire surged forward, but Jonah used his body to keep him back.

"Enough!" Scott shouted, the second time that word had been used to quell violence in Cadogan House in the last twenty-four hours.

He strode to the Grey House vampire and stuck a finger in his face. "We are here because they have offered to shelter us, notwithstanding the risk we posed. A risk that obviously was valid, considering what happened last night."

"They brought the heat themselves," the vampire said. "If not for them, none of this would have happened."

"Last night," Scott said, his fierce eyes on his young Novitiate, "the GP indicated by its actions that it was our enemy. These vampires stood up for me, and for you, and for our House. I don't give a shit if Ethan Sullivan punches you in the face himself. You are a Grey House vampire, and you will show honor!"

"Honor!" Jonah shouted, pounding a fist to his chest. A half dozen Grey House vampires who'd gathered at the ends of the hallway did the same, shouts of "Honor!" ringing through the hallway. Goose bumps lifted on my arms at the display.

Scott having said his peace, it was Ethan's turn to discipline. He looked at Connor and offered a glance so full of anger - and worse, disappointment - that it made me feel bad. I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't on the receiving end of it.

"I am mortified," Ethan said. "Furious, disappointed, and mortified. They are guests in our home. And whether you condone their behavior or not, they are to be treated as guests. Is that clear?"

"Liege," Connor quietly murmured.

"I didn't hear that," Ethan gritted.

"Liege," he said again, this time with conviction.

"Malik's office," Ethan directed, and Connor disappeared down the hallway.

"Upstairs," Scott echoed, gesturing toward the Grey House vampire. "The rest of you get back to it," he said, and the hallway cleared of vampires.

In the silence, we heard the scribbling of a pen, and we glanced back to the office doorway. Nick Breckenridge stood there, scribbling furiously, notebook and pen in hand.

Ethan sighed, and looked at Scott. "I suppose we asked for a story about the riots' real, unscripted effects."

"You get what you ask for," Scott agreed.

"Unfortunately," Ethan said, glancing at Scott, "I think it might be time to reconsider the offer on that building you found."

Scott nodded. "I think you might be right."

Nick followed Scott, Jonah, and the Grey House vampire upstairs, leaving me and Ethan alone in the hallway. He rubbed his temples for a moment before stepping back into his office. I followed him.

"Have you heard anything about Juliet?"

"She's awake and resting," Ethan said. "She wanted to be up and outside this evening, but Luc declined her offer."

A weight lifted from my chest. "That's wonderful news."

"This is one of those nights - one of those weeks - in which I think I could very much enjoy a mundane human life."

The admission, so close to what I'd been thinking, struck me in its honesty.

"I know," I said. "I've had nights like that, too. When a cubicle and a desk job and mind-numbing boredom seem preferable."

"I don't think a cubicle is our only other option. We could buy an estate in Scotland on the moors or in the wilds of Alaska where no one would ever find us."

"The grass is always greener," said a voice at the door. Looking up, we found Catcher and Mallory in the doorway.

Mallory's hair was in two long braids, a knit cap pulled over her brow. She wore a puffy down jacket and calf-high winter boots over jeans. Catcher, on the other hand, wore a thin barn coat over jeans, no gloves, hat, or scarf in sight. He was, however, wearing one of those expressions that said, quite clearly, "The world is an idiot." I guess his anger was keeping him warm.

"Looks like we missed some excitement?" he said.

"Too many vampires and too much testosterone in the House," I explained, earning an eye roll from Ethan. He could object to the phrasing as much as he wanted, but facts were facts.

"What brings you by?" Ethan asked them.

"We heard about what happened last night," Mallory said. "We wanted to check in on you." She gave me a head-to-toe look. "You look whole."

"I am," I said. "Just a little sore."

Catcher and Mallory stepped inside, and Catcher closed the door behind them. "I hear the GP didn't fare so well?"

At Ethan's gesture, we all walked to the office's sitting area. It had been a long time since we'd shared a casual chat at the House with the two of them.

Mallory and Catcher sat down. Catcher practically commanded the seat, arms on the armrests, one leg crossed, ankle over knee.

Mallory sat beside him, but she looked vaguely uncomfortable, perhaps because she hadn't actually been inside Cadogan House since Ethan's death. And that visit hadn't exactly turned out for the best.

"Harold Monmonth is no longer with us," Ethan confirmed. "And my blade is the reason for that."

"Can't say I envy your position," Catcher said, "although the guy attacks your House, he has to know the risks."

"One would assume," Ethan said. "But logic has often eluded the GP."

"How has the GP responded?" Catcher asked.

"They haven't," Ethan said. "We're awaiting their move."

"So the atmosphere around here is cool, calm, and collected as usual?" Mallory asked lightly.

"Pretty much," I said. "What about you? How are things with the Apex?"

"About the same."

I thought of my conversation with Catcher and the work Mallory and the shifters were doing together. I considered not asking her about it since she hadn't mentioned it herself, but playing subtle with Mallory had only ended in despair the first time around.

"I understand you've been working with the shifters on your magic?"

"I've been working on control," she said, meeting my gaze without blinking, which showed more confidence than I'd expected. Maybe she was ready to fan out her cards after all.

"They have a relationship to magic that's unique, and Gabe thought if I had a better connection to that magic, more sympathy for it, I might be able to balance myself a little better."

"Is it working?"

"It's not not working," she said with a smile. "But I use so little of it, it's hard to say."

Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. By his expression, he was clearly fascinated by the concept. "They're letting you watch their rituals?"

"Some," she said carefully. "For some of the Keene wolves. I understand each type of animal has its own way to commune with the world."

"And that's what it is?" I asked. "Communing with the world?"

She tilted her head to the side and scrunched up her face, trying to gather the right words. "Magic isn't binary. It's not on or off." She glanced at Catcher. "Some folks say it's divided into keys, into segments." That was the way I'd learned about magic, the theory Catcher had espoused.

"But for me," she said, "it's more like a radio tuner. You can adjust the dial up or down until you get the station you want."

"And they're helping you get the station you want?" Ethan asked.

"They're helping me identify the stations," she said. "Feel them out. Figure out which stations are good for me, and which aren't."

"That sounds promising," Ethan said. I had to agree. It sounded better, at any rate, than her tuning into the magical "station" that was apparently intent on destroying Chicago.

"It is, I think," she said. "There's a way to go, but it's promising."

"What does the Order plan to do with you?" Ethan asked her.

"Pretend I don't exist?"

"They aren't good with punishment," Catcher said. "Yeah, they can kick someone out and theoretically ban someone from practicing in a particular area, but we've seen how well that worked."

Catcher wasn't supposed to be in Chicago; he'd been kicked out of the Order for coming here against Order mandate.

"They have methods," he said. "You might remember we can be stripped of our magic, but it's an . . . unpleasant process. Like the magical version of a lobotomy."

"Nullification, right?" Ethan asked.

Catcher nodded.

"And when Mallory's time with the shifters is up?" Ethan asked.

Mallory and Catcher looked at each other, and Catcher nodded a little.

"We've actually been talking about that," Mallory said. She linked her fingers in her lap and looked at Ethan.

She looked nervous and eager - like a job applicant at an interview - and it wasn't hard to guess what she was about to say.

"Catcher and I have been talking," she said. "And I've talked to Gabriel and Berna. With Berna until I'm blue in the face," she added. "And sooner rather than later I'm going to need to branch out on my own. They don't think it's wise that I don't use my magic at all - it builds up, and we saw how unpleasant that can become."

She paused, waiting for some commentary from Ethan, but he offered none. He stared back at her from his chair, his emotions completely unreadable. She might have been a stranger, not a woman with whom he'd felt a psychic connection.

"I have to prepare for my life," she said. "A life with my magic. A life in which I use it for something that makes me feel better about myself, instead of worse." Tears welled in her eyes, and she wiped them away.

But whether they were tears of embarrassment or guilt, she made herself look directly at Ethan, and the tightness in my chest eased a little bit.

For a long, quiet moment, they looked at each other. Magic rose and circled in the room, spilled by him and intentionally cast off, or so I thought, by her. I couldn't see the magic itself, but I could feel it. It swirled around us like the current of water in a stream. Their magic interacted, spun and danced and battled for superiority. Not because they were fighting each other now, but because they'd been so intimately connected. Because Mallory had been in Ethan's head, and he'd been a conduit for her emotions, her fears, her anger.

All the while, they watched each other. They looked oblivious to the magic, but it would have been impossible to ignore. Even Catcher eyed them as he sipped slowly at his cherry red drink, goose bumps plainly visible on his arms. Being a sorcerer, he was even more sensitive to the magic than I was. It must have been odd to stand in the midst of a vampire-sorceress battle of wills.

"Stop," Ethan finally said, and the magic swept across the room like a sudden peppery breeze, ruffling our hair and leaving a metallic tinge in the air.

"Magic doesn't lie," Mallory said. Had she been able to prove her motivations to him by using her magic?

"No," Ethan said, adjusting in his chair. "But people do, vampires or otherwise. How can I know you won't use this House for your own ends? That even if you earnestly believe you'd never go back to black magic, you won't succumb?"

"I don't believe that," Mallory said. "I'm an addict. I know that, and I live with it - and the consequences of what I did - every day. I can't promise I won't succumb, but I really, really don't want to. I hurt too many people that I loved, destroyed their trust, destroyed what little reputation I had. I don't want to go back to that place, but I can only try my best, one night at a time." She shrugged. "If you can't accept that, I understand. I don't deserve your trust."

She looked around at us. "I don't deserve the trust of anyone in this room. It's a miracle I didn't kill someone when I was high, and I realize that. I realize how close I came to really and truly destroying everything. All I can do is offer to make amends in the best way I know how. To use the gift I've been given for something more than parlor tricks and Order foolery. But the decision's yours."

Ethan's jaw was tight, his brow furrowed. He was concentrating hard about his options, and I honestly had no idea what he was going to do. I didn't envy him - not the burden of the choice. But at least he had a chance to consider it directly with her, to confront her about his fears.

And now, more than ever, it would pay to have a sorceress on our side. The fairies had defected, and the GP's recent intrusion proved again our vulnerability.

"I'll consider it," he said, "if Gabriel permits it."

Based on my conversation with Gabriel a few nights ago, he would permit it. He'd said Mallory would be ready to use her magic when she wasn't afraid of it. And although she was clearly intimidated a little by Ethan, she wasn't afraid of her magic right now. Not here, and not like this. Not when the lines between right and wrong were clearly delineated, and she'd be using her magic - like in the riot - against an enemy of the House. It would be a good first step for her, but only a first step. The next time, the lines might not be so clear.

"Thank you," Mallory said. "Thank you. I really, really appreciate it."

"Don't thank me," Ethan said. "Thank those who have been advocating for you. Those who know your heart, or hope they do, and those who know your power, and hope it can be used in support of the Houses. I hope, whatever happens, that you do not let them down."

Mallory nodded, swallowing down emotion.

"While we're here," Catcher said, "I also wanted to talk to you about your father. He's being a pain in the ass."

That, of course, was not much of a mystery, although it was a bit of a downer.

"He's pressuring Chuck to help convince you to let him invest in Cadogan House."

Ethan slid me a knowing glance. "We've heard about the offer."

"He must not have thought you'd go for it; he's called Chuck twice tonight. Barely talked to him over the holidays, didn't so much as wish him a Happy New Year, but is adamant it's Chuck's obligation to position Cadogan House to accept Joshua's largesse."

The disgust in Catcher's voice wasn't subtle, nor was he the only one who felt it. "His obligation?" I asked.

Catcher glanced at me. "Your father thinks you're in danger. He thinks this is helping."

"In danger from what?" Ethan asked.

"He didn't say," Catcher said. "Your grandfather, being your grandfather and a former cop, pushed him for details, trying to figure out if there was a specific threat. He didn't come up with anything. Chuck thinks the riots have gotten him nervous."

If you wanted to give my father the benefit of the doubt, that explanation was completely plausible.

I wasn't sure I was willing to give my father the benefit of the doubt. His motives were sometimes noble, but his means rarely justified the ends.

"What has Chuck told him?" Ethan asked.

"That he loves Merit, too, but that she can take care of herself, and she wouldn't want him to sacrifice the entire city for her safety."

I smiled, finally. That was exactly the kind of thing my grandfather would say.

"I don't think Joshua believed him," Catcher said.

Ethan nodded and looked at Mallory. "You're quiet," he said.

She nodded. "I don't really feel like I have much political capital to offer my opinion on stuff like this."

Ethan was obviously taken aback by the statement. Maybe he hadn't expected her to be so honest, or so self-aware of the damage she'd done to her relationships with others.

"That's very . . ."

"Accurate?" she finished. "Self-aware? Yeah, I know." She crossed one leg over the other, her booted foot swinging. "If you were to ask me, and I'm not saying you are, I'd tell Joshua Merit to take a long walk off a short pier. He can play buddy-buddy with Merit all he wants to, but he's a self-centered prick and we all know it."

Now that sounded like the Mallory I knew. I couldn't help but smile, even in spite of the unfortunate accuracy of her statement.

"I don't disagree," Catcher said. "But he's not taking the hint that he needs to leave Chuck alone."

"My grandfather would kick your ass if he knew you were over here trying to get help from us."

"He would," Catcher agreed. "I considered this one of those 'apologize later' rather than 'ask permission now' scenarios."

"I'll call Joshua," Ethan said. "Not to accept the offer, but perhaps to string him along just a little bit. Perhaps that will take the heat off your grandfather."

Catcher nodded. "I appreciate it. He's got enough on his plate playing secret Ombudsman without his son whining."

"More trouble with the nymphs?" I wondered.

"The River nymphs are calmer than usual this month," Catcher said. "The deeper the winter, the calmer they get. It's because of their connection to the water - it slows down, and they do, too." He shook his head. "No, in addition to the rest of the stuff he's working on, he's beginning to get calls from Detective Jacobs about supernatural issues."

"What kind of issues?" I asked. I knew my grandfather was smart and capable, but that didn't mean I wanted him in the middle of even more supernatural drama.

"It varies. Sometimes consultations. Odd one earlier this week - a body was found on the lakeshore on the south side, but Detective Jacobs had some questions about it. Something strange about it. I'm not sure of the details."

"Sounds like morbid work," Ethan said.

Catcher shrugged. "It's cop work. It's often morbid."

Mallory's face suddenly paled, and she reached out for Catcher's hand.

"Mal?" I asked.

She waved me off, her eyes closed and features squeezed together. "Prophecy. Coming up. Hold on. It's like a pre-sneeze - "

She stiffened, beads of sweat popping onto her forehead. Sorcerers had the discomforting ability to prophecy, although their prophecies were usually wrapped inside riddles and metaphors that required patience and imagination to figure out.

They were also hard work, requiring an outlay of energy that could weaken a sorceress pretty severely.

"Blood," she said, eyes closed, magic swirling in the room like an invisible twister and raising goose bumps on my arms. "The alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. The fount of life and harbinger of darkness."

She sucked in a breath, and a rush of words poured out in a string. "All is waiting. All is forever. All is before."

She stopped, clipping the end of the final word like the needle removed too quickly from a vinyl album.

But although the prophecy was done, her body hadn't yet released from the spell. She still stared blankly ahead, her expression utterly frozen.

"Mallory." Catcher called her name.

She didn't move.

"Mallory," Catcher said, more firmly this time, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

She shuddered, then shook her head. "Sorry. That one was heavy." She looked around the room. "What was it about?"

"Blood," Catcher said. "It was a treatise on how good it is."

Mallory brightened. "Oh, cool. Blood. Vampires. That makes sense. At least it was actually about the right species this time. I had an attack last week while talking to Gabriel and ended up spouting off about unicorns and narwhales."

"Because both have horns?" I asked.

"God only knows why, or what it had to do with shifters." She shrugged. "I don't write the news; I just report it."

Catcher stood up, then offered Mallory a hand. "Come on, kid. Let's get you back to the crib."

"Hey," I said, "can you ask Gabriel about my car? Not that I'm totally eager to have the orange monster back, but he's probably going to want the Mercedes."

"Sure," Mallory said. "I thought I heard him say the repairs were done, but maybe I missed it. I'll check."

We exchanged good-byes, and they left the office. When they were gone, Ethan took my hands and looked down at me.

"What?" I asked. "What are you fretting about?"

"Mallory," he said. "I want you to be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not going to get hurt." I could hear the defensiveness in my voice, and I hated that.

"I'm not saying she's going to hurt you," he said. "But the possibility exists. She has made bad decisions before. Maybe she's on the road to recovery. Maybe this is her second chance at a good life. But in case it's not, I want you safe. I want you whole."

He dropped his forehead to mine. "I want both of us whole, Merit. I am trying to be patient, to realize that she was under the influence of something old and ancient and much larger and more powerful than she was, but she violated the sanctity of this House."

"I know."

"I do not love her the way that you do. She is your family, possibly more so than anyone else."

"Except you."

He tipped up my chin, his eyes wide with surprise. "Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. Somehow, you've become my family. But you're right. She's family, too, so she gets another chance."

"I want you happy," he said. "And I want you safe."

"I want to accelerate a few days and gorge myself on steak at Tuscan Terrace," I said with a smile. "Sometimes we don't always get what we want."

"And sometimes," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips, "we get exactly what we want. Go get back to work."

"Dictator," I said, but felt the weight around my heart lighten, just a bit.