Nearly there, Ethan said, and I hoped that wasn’t a euphemism. Not that I’d deny him pleasure, but I didn’t want to be the only one left wanting.

Suddenly, like tumblers clicking into place, the magic firmed and settled. Relief replaced impatience, and the breeze cooled our heated skin. Still, we didn’t move for a full minute.

“I believe that will do it,” Ethan whispered, his arms banded around me, his head resting atop mine. “And as for the rest of it . . .”

“Later,” I promised.

“Oh, most definitely, Sentinel.”

“Did you manage it?”

Ethan squinted into the darkness around us, as if checking the outlines of the zone of magic he’d created. “I believe I did.” There was quiet amazement in his voice. Perhaps there’d been some silver lining from the trouble the Imposter had caused.

“What will they see when they look at me?”

“Marilyn Monroe.”

His answer was remarkably quick. “I wouldn’t have figured you for a Marilyn type.”

“I’m joking. I haven’t changed your appearance. Merely softened it so you’re unrecognizable.”

“These are not the vampires you’re looking for.”

Ethan just looked at me. “I don’t know what that means.”

“For a man we call Darth Sullivan, you know surprisingly little about Star Wars.”

“I don’t know why I’d need to.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem.”

“At any rate,” Ethan said, a little bit testily, “they’ll know you’re female and that you’re with me. They won’t know you have a weapon, but to be safe, try not to bring unnecessary attention to it. Unless, of course, I have to drop the glamour. In which case, be prepared to fight.”

I smiled at him. “I’m always prepared.”

“That’s my girl,” he said with no little pride. “And while it will go against every instinct in your body, you’ll need to pretend to be biddable.”

“Biddable?” Every syllable of the word left a bad taste.

At least he looked marginally apologetic. “It will be expected,” he said, “and we’ll attract less unwanted attention that way.”

“Why can’t you play biddable?”

His smile was pure Sullivan. “Because I’m the Master.”

I supposed I had that coming. “So, to review, you want me to play submissive Marilyn Monroe?”

Ethan paused. “That’s a loaded question with several appropriate answers.”

“Let’s focus on the one pertinent to this job.”

“You know what I’m asking, and why I’m asking it. And I’d like your word on it, Merit.”

I knew why he asked for my promise—not because he doubted me, but because he trusted me. Because he knew if someone threatened him, I’d step in.

“You know what you’re asking me to do,” I said.

“I do. And that’s why I’m asking you, instead of ordering you.”

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I didn’t see that I had a choice. I batted my eyelashes, tried to Gratefully Condescend, as archaic vampire Canon required of Novitiates. “All right,” I said. “Anything else, my lord and Master?”

“Yes. Try not to use that tone.”

I couldn’t make any promises about that one.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EASY LOVER

There was no bouncer, no line of supernaturals behind a velvet rope. There was only a door, solid and metal.

We walked toward it, Ethan’s magic shifting around us as we moved. I was only a secondary recipient of his glamour—he wasn’t trying to make me do anything—but I could still feel the breadth of its undulating power. A powerful vampire was Ethan Sullivan.

He rapped on the door with the heel of his hand, two hard strikes. Five seconds passed, and a small panel slid open with the grating sound of metal on metal.

A man’s face appeared—pale skin, large eyes, and a flattened nose with a mole at one corner. If he was supernatural, I couldn’t tell. At least, not through the door. Other than Ethan’s, I couldn’t feel any magic at all, and I’d have expected plenty to have seeped from a building full of aroused supernaturals. Maybe the building had been warded.

The man looked at Ethan, then me. “What?”

“Sésame, ouvre-toi,” Ethan said in melodious French.

I bit back a smile. The password was literally “open sesame,” albeit in French. Supernaturals loved a bad joke.

The doorman’s caterpillar-thick unibrow dipped low between his eyes. He bared large teeth. “That’s an old password.”

His tone threatened a violent response, and I had to stop myself from touching my sword. But I’d given Ethan my word, and I kept my composure.

Ethan managed a tone of mild boredom. “It’s an old password because I’m an old client. I’m not going to explain myself to you. Get approval if you must, but open the door or I’ll do it myself.”

The bouncer stared at us for another ten seconds before slamming the grate closed again.

An old client? I repeated. Add that to the list of things we’ll discuss later.

I have nothing to hide, Ethan said.

Why did hearing that make me think exactly the opposite?

It took a full minute before the door was wrenched open. We joined the bouncer in a box of a room barely large enough to fit the three of us.