THE BELLE OF THE BALL

I woke suddenly, raps on the door jolting me from unconsciousness. I tried to shake off the dream I'd been having about moonlight over dark water, sat up, and rubbed my eyes.

The knock sounded again.

"Just a second." I untangled myself from the blankets I'd pulled up during the day and cast a glance at the alarm clock beside my bed. It was just after seven p.m., only an hour or so before the beginning of cocktails at the Breckenridge party. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. A second to stand up, then I shuffled to the door, still, I realized, in yesterday's wrinkled shirt and suit pants.

I flipped the lock and opened it. Ethan stood in my doorway, tidy in suit pants and white button-up. His hair was pulled back, the Cadogan medal at his neck. Where I was rumpled, he was pristine, his eyes bright emerald green, alert. His expression was some cross between bemusement and disappointment, like he couldn't decide which emotion to choose.

"Long night, Sentinel?"

His voice was flat. It took me a moment to realize the conclusion he'd reached, that a rendezvous had kept me out late and prevented me from changing out of yesterday's uniform. His Sentinel, the woman he'd passed over to the Master of Navarre House to secure an alliance, was still in yesterday's clothes.

Of course, I hadn't seen Morgan in days. But Ethan didn't need to know that.

I hid my grin and answered back provocatively, "Yes. It was, actually. One eyebrow arched in disapproval, Ethan held out a black garment bag.

I reached out and took it. "What's this?"

"It's for this evening. Something a little more... apropos than your usual options."

I nearly snarked back - Ethan was not keen on my jeans-and-layered-T-shirts fashion sensibilities - but decided I appreciated the gesture more than I needed the last word.

Tonight I was returning to the fold. Returning to Chicago's most elite social circle. This was my chance to don a dress and an attitude, to act like I belonged. To use my name as the entry ticket it truly was. But that name or not, that task would be a helluva lot easier in a nice dress than in anything I had in my closet at the moment.

So, "Thank you," I said.

He looked down and flicked up the cuff at his wrist, revealing a wide, silver watch.

"You'll find shoes to match in your closet. I had Helen drop them off last night. As I'm sure you know, it's quite a drive to Loring Park, so we need to leave directly. Be downstairs in half an hour."

"Forty-five minutes," I countered, and at his raised eyebrow, offered, "I'm a girl."

His gaze went flat again. "I'm aware of that, Sentinel. Forty minutes."

I saluted crisply after he turned and walked down the hallway, then shut the door behind him. Curiosity getting the best of me, I went to the bed and spread the garment bag upon it, then clasped the zipper.

"Five bucks says it's black," I bet, and unzipped it.

I was right.

It was black taffeta, a cocktail dress with a fitted bodice and just-above-the-knees swingy skirt. The taffeta was pleated in well-constructed tucks, turning a classic little black dress into something much sassier.

Sassy or not, it was still fustier than my usual jeans and Pumas. It was the dress I'd successfully avoided wearing for ten years.

I pulled it from the bag and slipped it off the hanger, then held it up against my chest in front of the full-length mirror. I looked, at twenty-eight, almost exactly as I had at twenty-seven. But my straight hair was darker, my skin paler. Barring some ill-advised trip into the sun or a run-in with the wrong end of a katana or an aspen stake, I'd look the same as I did now - the twenty-seven years I'd owned when Ethan changed me - for the remainder of my life. For an eternity, if I managed to last that long. That, of course, would depend on how many enemies I made, and how much I was asked to sacrifice to Cadogan House.

To Ethan.

That thought in mind, I blew out a slow breath and offered a silent prayer for patience.

The clock ticking, I spread the dress back on the bed and headed for the shower.

Maybe unsurprisingly, it took time for the water in the antique House to heat. I slipped into the claw-foot tub and pulled the ringed shower curtain around me, then dunked my head beneath the spray, relishing the heat. I missed daylight, being able to stand in the warmth of a spring day, my face tilted toward the sun, basking in the heat of it. I was relegated to fluorescent lights and moonglow now, but a hot shower was a surprisingly good substitute.

I stayed in the tub huddled beneath the water until the tiny bathroom was fogged with steam. Once out, I toweled off and turbaned my hair, then arranged my ensemble. The shoes Ethan had mentioned were in the closet, carefully wrapped in white tissue paper and nestled inside a glossy black box. I unwrapped them. They were evening pumps, an arrangement of spaghetti-thin straps atop three needle-sharp inches of heel.

I pulled them out by the straps and dangled them in the air, giving them a once-over as they twirled. I used to dance en pointe, but during my grad school days, I'd gotten used to Converse and Puma, not Louboutin and Prada. I'd do Ethan a solid and wear them, but I truly hoped I wouldn't have to make a run for it at the Breckenridge estate.

I arranged undergarments, prepped and dried my hair, and applied makeup. Lip gloss.

Mascara. Blush, since it was a special occasion. When my dark hair gleamed, I pulled it into a high ponytail, long bangs across my forehead, which I thought looked modern enough to match the kicky cocktail dress and heels.

I looked at myself in the mirror, pleasantly surprised at the result. I glowed beneath the makeup, my blue eyes a nice contrast to pale skin, my lips a bee-stung pink. When I was human, I'd been called "pretty," but I'd been too busy with books and library stacks, glasses and Chuck Taylors to play up my more feminine attributes. Ironically, now that I'd been made a predator, I'd become more alluring for it.

Satisfied that I'd done what I could, I went to the bureau and pulled out a small box of indigo velvet that I'd brought with me from Wicker Park. It held the Merit pearls, one of the first purchases my father had made with his newfound fortune, bought for my mother for their tenth anniversary. My sister, Charlotte, had worn them for her debut, and I'd worn them for mine. Someday, I would pass them to Mary Katherine and Olivia, Charlotte's daughters.

I fingered the silk-soft globes, then glanced over at the thin gold chain that lay across the bureau's top. Hanging from it was my own gold Cadogan medal, the thin, stamped disk bearing the Cadogan name, Cadogan's North American Vampire Registry number (4), and my name and position.

It was an interesting decision - should I accessorize according to the dictates of my father or my boss?

I dismissed both choices and picked a third - I opted to dress for Merit, Cadogan Sentinel. I wasn't going to the Brecks' because I had an urge to see my father, or out of some misdirected sense of family obligation. I was going because that's what I'd promised to do - to act in Cadogan's best interests.

Decision made, I fastened the medal around my neck, pulled on the dress and slid into the heels, arranging the straps. I filled a small clutch purse with necessities, then grabbed my sword. I was working, after all.

I checked the clock - two minutes to get downstairs. Since I'd run out of time for procrastination, I plucked my cell phone from the bureau, and as I left the room and shut the door behind me, dialed Morgan's number.

"Morgan Greer."

"Merit, um, well, Merit. 'Cause I only have the one name."

He chuckled. "For how long remains the question," he said, which I took as a compliment regarding my future Master status. "What are you up to?"

"Work," I quickly answered, unable and unwilling to give him more details than that. I had the sense that Morgan had questions about my relationship with Ethan, no need to fan those flames. But I could do one thing...

"Listen, Mallory starts her sorcery internship on Sunday, so we're having a kickoff dinner thing tomorrow night. Her and Catcher and me. Can you join us?"

There was brightness in his voice, relief at having been asked. "Absolutely. Wicker Park?"

"Yeah, I mean, unless you're eager to lunch in the Cadogan cafeteria. I hear it's chicken fingers and a Jell-O cup tomorrow."

"Wicker Park it is." He paused. "Merit?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called. Glad I get to see you."

"Me, too, Morgan."

"Good night, Mer."

"Good night."

Ethan was downstairs, golden hair shining as he adjusted the cuff of one starched sleeve. Vampires milled around him, all in their Cadogan black. But while he wore the same shade - a crisp black suit and impeccable silver tie - he stood out. He was, as always, ridiculously handsome, easily outshining the immortals around him.

My heart tripping a bit at the sight of him, I clenched the banister harder, scabbard and purse in my free hand, and eased my way down the stairs in the stilts he'd called shoes.

I caught the hitch in his gaze when he saw me, the tiny flinch, the bare acknowledgment. His gaze went from incredulous to obviously appraising, eyebrow cocked as he looked me over, no doubt ensuring that I satisfied his mental checklist.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of him.

Given the glow in his emerald eyes, I assumed that I passed.

"You're wearing your medal," he said.

I grazed the gold with my fingertips. "I wasn't sure if I should, if it was dressy enough?"

"You should. Consider it your dog tag."

"In case I get lost?"

"In case you're fried to ash and that sliver of gold is all that's left of you."

Vampire tact, I thought, left something to be desired.

Malik emerged from the hallway, dashing in his own Cadogan black (no tie), and handed Ethan a glossy black gift bag with handles of black satin rope. I couldn't see what was in it, but I knew what it held. Steel. A weapon. Because of the connection I'd made to my own katana - a tempering wrought by my sacrificing a few drops of blood to the blade - I could feel out steel, could sense the change in magical currents around someone who carried it.

"As you requested," Malik said, then bobbed his head in my direction. I smiled a little at the acknowledgment.

Bag in hand, Ethan nodded and began walking. Malik fell in step beside him. Assuming I was to follow, I did. We headed for the basement stairs.

"I'm not anticipating problems," Ethan told him. "Not tonight anyway."

Malik nodded. "The dailies are clean. Should Celina attempt to cross the border, she'll be flagged."

"Assuming she doesn't glamour the TSA," Ethan said.

And assuming she wasn't already here, I thought.

Ethan rounded the corner at the foot of the basement stairs, then walked toward a steel door, beside which was mounted a small keypad. This was the door to the garage, providing access to Cadogan's few coveted off-street parking spaces. I was nowhere near high enough in the ranks to get one.

Ethan and Malik stopped before the door and faced each other. Then I witnessed a surprising moment of ceremony.

Ethan held out his hand, and Malik took it. Hands clasped, and with gravity, Ethan said,

"The House is given into your care."

Malik nodded. "I acknowledge my right and obligation to defend her, and await your return, Liege." Gently, Ethan cupped the back of Malik's head, leaned forward, and whispered something in his ear. Malik nodded, and the men separated. After another nod in my direction, Malik headed for the stairs again. Then Ethan punched in a code, and we were through the door.

"Is he Master while you're gone?" I asked.

"Only of the environs," Ethan answered as we walked steps to his sleek black Mercedes roadster, which was parked snugly between concrete support columns. "I remain Master of the House as an entity, of the vampires."

He opened the passenger door for me, and after I lowered myself onto the red and black leather upholstery, he closed the door and moved to his side of the car. He opened his door, placed the glossy black bag on the console between us, and climbed in. When he'd started the engine, he maneuvered the roadster through the columns and toward a ramp and security door that rose as he took the incline.

"The ceremony," he said, "is an anachronism of the influence of English feudalism on the vampires who formalized the House system."

I nodded. I'd learned from the Canon that the organization of the Houses was feudal in origin, heavy on the liege-and-vassal mentality, the sense that the Novitiate vampire owed a duty to his liege and was obliged to believe in his liege lord's paternal goodness.

Personally, I wasn't comfortable thinking about Ethan in a paternal fashion.

"If the king left his castle," I offered, "he'd leave instructions for her defense with his successor."

"Precisely," Ethan said, swinging the car onto the street. He reached between us, lifted the gift bag, and handed it to me.

I took it, but arched a brow in his direction. "What's this?"

"The sword needs to remain in the vehicle," he said. "We will be spectacle enough without the accoutrements." Leave it to Ethan to refer to three and a half feet of steel, leather, and rayskin as "accoutrements."

"The bag," he said, "is a replacement. At least in some way."

Curious, I peeked inside and pulled out the contents. The bag held a black sheath, which held a blade - a thin, fierce dagger, mother-of-pearl covering the tang.

"It's beautiful." I slipped the dagger from its cover and held it up. It was an elegant and gleaming wedge of polished steel, sharp on both edges.

We passed beneath a streetlight, and the reflection caught the end of the pommel, revealing a flat disk of gold. It looked like a smaller version of our Cadogan medals, this one also bearing my position. CADOGAN SENTINEL, it read.

It was a dagger created for me. Personalized for me. "Thank you," I said, thumbing the disk.

"There's one more item in the bag."

Brow arched, I reached in again and pulled out a holster - two leather straps attached to a thin sheath.

No, not just a holster - a thigh holster.

I glanced down at my skirt, then over at Ethan. I really wasn't eager to strap on a thigh holster, much less in front of him. Maybe because I didn't want to flip up my skirt for my boss. Maybe because a few-inches-long dagger wouldn't be nearly as effective in a rumble as my katana. Not that I anticipated an attack by society mavens, but stranger things had happened. Especially recently.

Besides, I was Ethan's only guard for the event, and I'd be damned if I was going to return to Cadogan House with a wounded Master in tow. Even if I lived through the attack, I would never live down the humiliation.

I sighed, knowing when I'd lost, deciding that the dagger would be better than nothing.

"Keep your eyes on the road," I ordered, then unfastened the buckles.

"I'm not going to look."

"Yeah, well, keep it that way."

He made a disdainful sound, but kept his gaze on the windshield. He also gripped the steering wheel a little harder. I enjoyed that crack in his facade probably more than I should have.

I was right-handed, so I slipped the poufy skirt of my dress up a little on the right side and extended my right hand, trying to figure out where I'd want the blade positioned if I needed to grab it in a hurry. I settled on a spot about midway up my thigh, the sheath just to the outside edge. I fastened the first buckle, then the second, and twisted a little in the seat to make sure it was secure.

The sheath had to be tight enough to stay taut when I pulled out the blade. That was the only way to ensure that I could release the knife quickly and safely. On the other hand, too tight and I'd cut off my own circulation. No one needed that, much less a vampire.

When I was satisfied it was secure, at least as sure as I could be in the front seat of a roadster speeding toward the suburbs, I inserted the blade. A tug brought the dagger out in a clean swipe, the holster still in place.

"Good enough," I concluded. I straightened my skirt again, then looked over at Ethan.

We were coasting through relatively light traffic on the interstate, but his expression of blandness looked a little too bland. He was working very hard to look very uninterested.

Since we were heading into an enemy camp, I figured I'd pique his interest - and give him the dutiful Sentinel update. "You'll never guess who was camped out on photographers' row last night," I said, baiting him.

"Jamie?" His voice was sardonic. I think he was kidding. Unfortunately, I wasn't.

"Nicholas."

His eyes widened. "Nicholas Breckenridge? At Cadogan House."

"Live and in person. He was on the corner with the paparazzi."

"And where was Jamie?"

"That was my question, too. I'm beginning to think, Sullivan, that there is no Jamie - I mean, I know there's a Jamie, but I'm not sure Jamie is the real threat here. At the very least, we don't have the entire story."

Ethan made a dry sound. "This wouldn't be the first time for that, as you're well aware.

Wait - did you say last night? You saw Nick Breckenridge outside the House and you didn't tell anyone? Did you think to mention this to me? Or Luc? Or anyone else with authority to handle the situation?"

I ignored the near panic in his tone. "I'm mentioning it now," I pointed out. "He asked some pretty pointed questions about the Houses, about Celina. He wanted to know if we thought her punishment was sufficient."

"What did you tell him?"

"Party line," I said. "You guys were very timely with the talking points."

"Did you know he was back in Chicago?"

I shook my head. "I also didn't know that he was curious about us. It's like a disease working its way through that family."

"I suppose it's doubly fortuitous that we're heading to the Breck estate."

Or doubly troublesome, I thought. Double the number of would-be rabble-rousers in residence.

"Ethan, if the raves could cause us such a problem - negative attention and backlash - why are we focused on the story, whoever is writing it? Why are we driving to Loring Park, trying to work the press instead of trying to stop the raves?"

He was quiet for a moment until he asked gravely, "We aren't trying to stop them?"

That made me sit up a little straighter. I'd assumed, being House Sentinel, that if some kind of mission was going down I'd be a part of it. Clearly that wasn't the case.

"Oh," I said, not happy to discover there were secret plans afoot and I hadn't been included.

"Stopping the story isn't controversial, not for vampires anyway," Ethan said. "Stopping the raves is. Raves happen outside the House establishment, but that doesn't mean the Houses don't know they occur. And I have no authority over other Masters, over other Houses' vampires, any more than I do the city's Rogues."

Much to your own chagrin, I thought.

"Frankly, although plans are in the works, largely through your grandfather's efforts, it's unlikely we can put a stop to them completely. Your grandfather has excellent connections, strong mediating skills, and a loyal staff. But vampires, being vampires, will drink."

"And so we spin," I said.

"The first front is the press," he agreed. "It's not the only front, but it's the battle we fight tonight."

I blew out a breath, not eager for the skirmish - Merit versus the world she left behind.

"It's going to be fine," Ethan said, and I glanced over at him with surprise. Both that he'd read me so well and that he'd responded supportively.

"I hope so," I told him. "I'm not thrilled about the possibility of running into Nick again, and you know how I feel about my father."

"But not why," Ethan softly said. "Why the animosity? This breach between you?"

I frowned out the window, unsure how much I wanted to share with him. How much ammunition I wanted to give him.

"I wasn't the daughter my father wanted," I finally said.

Silence. Then, "I see. Are you close to Charlotte and Robert?"

"I wouldn't say there's animosity there, and we stay in touch, but they're not on speed dial." I didn't tell him that I hadn't talked to my siblings in a month. "We just don't have that much in common." Robert was preparing to take over my father's business; Charlotte was married to a physician and populating the world with tiny new Merits.

Well, Mrs. Dr. Corkburger-Merits.

Oh, yeah. Corkburger.

"Do they share your animosity toward your father?"

"Not really," I told him, looking out the window. "I didn't acclimate well to the socializing.

Charlotte and Robert did. We were all born into it, but they thrived. They're, I don't know, equipped for it. For that kind of lifestyle, that kind of attention, for the constant competition. I think because of that there was less friction between them and my father.

Their relationship was, I don't know, easier?"

"And what did you do while they were enjoying the Merit advantage?"

I chuckled. "I spent a lot of time in libraries. I spent a lot of time with books. I mean, my home life was peaceful. My parents didn't fight. We had, materially, everything we needed. I was fortunate in many ways, and I realize that. But I was a dreamer, not much interested in the societal goodies." I laughed. "I'm a reader, not a fighter."

Ethan rolled his eyes at the admittedly lame joke. "And clearly not a comedian," he said, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. He guided the Mercedes off the freeway and onto a divided highway. I watched neighborhoods pass, some houses lit, others dark, human families engaged in the act of living.

I glanced over at him. "We're getting close. What's the plan?"

"Ingratiation and groundwork," he said, eyes scanning the road. "You reintroduce yourself to these people, let them know you're back and that you belong. That everything due to the Merits - the respect, the access, the approbation - is due to you as well. We determine what we can about this supposed story, Jamie's involvement, Nick's involvement." He shook his head. "Your news of Nick's visit muddies the water somewhat, and we need to know where we stand. And based on that information, if your father is there, we consider whether there are ways he can help."

My stomach twisted in unpleasant anticipation. I was more than willing to give up what was "due" to me as a Merit in order to avoid my father. But this was about access, about neutralizing a threat. I was a big enough girl to take one for the team.

"And we're the bribe?" I asked.

Ethan nodded. "Your father is an ambitious man, with ambitious goals for his business and his family. You provide him access to a certain segment of the population."

"A fanged segment," I added. "Let's not doubt his real interest: I'm delivering him a Master vampire."

"Whether it's one or both of us he wants to see, remember who you are. Neither a Master nor merely a Merit, but a powerful vampire in her own right."

We passed into rural, wooded acreages, a sign we were nearing our destination. We'd just turned onto a tree-lined road, dark in the absence of streetlights, when Ethan - without warning - slowed and pulled the Mercedes onto the shoulder. When the engine was off and the car silent, he flicked on the overhead light and looked at me.

I watched him, waiting, wondering why he'd stopped the car.

"Celina's release concerns me," he finally said.

"Concerns you?"

"As you know, in the past, the GP's focus has been the protection of Housed vampires and assimilation into human society. Ensuring our immortality."

I nodded. The precursor to the GP had been created in the aftermath of the First Clearing. Survival was the directive.

"And you're concerned that Celina's release signals what, a new era?"

Ethan paused, ran a hand through his hair, and finally nodded. "Humans will die.

Vampires will die. I can't imagine any other end to the story."

He quieted again, and this time when he looked at me, his expression was different -

full of determination. Motivational speech on its way, I assumed.

"We have reminded humans about our existence. Tonight, we remind them of our connections. We will need every advantage we can get, Merit. For whether her plans are long term, short term, some sort of minor insurrection, outright rebellion, the demand of political rights - something is coming."

"Something wicked."

Ethan nodded. "The thumbs have been pricked, at least proverbially."

I raised a hand to my neck, now healed and free of scars, once torn out by a vampire she'd convinced to kill me. "Not proverbially," I said. "Whatever spell she's 'conjuring,' she's already spilled blood, turned vampires against their Masters, convinced the GP - and treasonous or not, I'll admit I'm not impressed so far - that the death of humans is merely collateral damage."

He made a sound of agreement, but gripped the wheel again, thumbs tapping nervously against the leather wrap. Since we were still parked, I assumed there was more to it.

I looked over at him, tried to ferret out his motivation, some clue as to what else remained. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I've talked to Malik and Luc," he said, almost defensively, as if I was questioning his adherence to his own chain of command.

"That's not what I asked you."

"You're Sentinel of my House."

Too easy an answer, I thought, and too quick a response. "Why, Ethan?"

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to her."

This time, it took me a moment to respond. "To say no?"

Voice softer, words slower, he said, "If she tries to convince me to join her cause by using blood or glamour against me, I'm not sure that I can say no."

You could have heard a pin drop in the car. I stared forward, shocked at the admission, that he'd share this info - this weakness - with me. The girl he'd asked to be his Consort. The girl who'd refused him. The girl who'd witnessed, firsthand, his betrayal by Amber. The girl who'd seen the look on his face when Amber confessed her sin, her involvement in Celina's conspiracy.

The girl who'd felt the thrust of Celina's glamour, and powered through it. But so had he.

"You said no in the park," I reminded him. "When she confessed her involvement in the murders, when she wanted you on her side, you said no."

Ethan shook his head. "She wanted to be caught, to play martyr. That was hardly the extent of her glamour, the tools she's using against the GP."

"And Malik and Luc?"

"They aren't as strong as me." The unfortunate implication being that if Ethan was worried about his ability to withstand the glamour, Luc and Malik had little hope.

"Glamour," Ethan said, "is about convincing someone to do something they wouldn't ordinarily do. It's not like alcohol - Celina didn't lower the inhibitions of the GP members. She has controlled them."

Psychic manipulation, all but undetectable. Thank God the CIA hadn't gotten wind of that yet.

"And because the power is a psychic one, the only trace that she has used her power in this fashion is the magic that leaks when she performs it. Vampires who can glamour can convince the subjects of their glamour that they have an altogether different desire.

It's easier, of course, on weaker minds, on those who could have been convinced with but a little pushing. It's harder on those with firmer minds. On those more used to finding their own paths."

Ethan looked at me and lifted his brows, as if willing me to understand.

"You think I repelled her glamour because I'm stubborn?"

"I think it is, perhaps, part of the reason."

The general absurdity of the conversation aside - debating the metaphysics of vampire glamour - I got a kick out of his admission, and couldn't stop my grin. "So, you're saying my stubbornness is a blessing."

With a snort, he started the Mercedes and pulled it smoothly back onto the road. I guess I'd humored him out of his mood.

"You know, vampires are exhausting," I told him, parroting one of Catcher's favorite complaints.

"This time, Merit, I won't disagree with you."