Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [14]
Kelley had been patient, letting me work around the House instead of playing Sentinel outside it. That arrangement had suited Malik’s plan to keep us under the radar for a while. We’d had more than enough drama lately, receiver included.
On the other hand . . . I glanced over at the nearly empty Ops Room. Other than me, Juliet and Lindsey were the only two arrows left in Kelley’s quiver. Someone needed to step up, and I was the only candidate left.
“I’ll be fine,” I agreed. “I’ll give my grandfather a heads-up about the picture in case they don’t already know, and I’ll head out now.”
There was clear relief in Kelley’s expression, but it didn’t last long. “I hate to send you out alone, and I know you’re used to working with Eth—with a partner. Unfortunately, we can’t spare anyone right now. You’ll have to take this one by yourself.”
I’d anticipated that, and had a strategy in my back pocket.
“Actually, I met Jonah, the Grey guard captain, the night of the Temple Bar fiasco.” Long story short, drugged-out Cadogan vamps had caused a ruckus that created city-wide attention. Jonah had walked down from Grey House to check out the fight, our faux first meeting. “Since we’re short-staffed, and this isn’t a Cadogan-specific problem, I could see if he can spare a guard.” Of course he’d spare a guard—himself.
“Oh,” Kelley said. “That’s a good idea. I hadn’t considered it, but it definitely has merit. No pun intended.”
I smiled politely, but caught Lindsey’s expression of uncensored curiosity. She’d definitely have questions about Jonah later.
“Do it,” Kelley said. “Get to the lake, and figure out what the hell is going on down there—and what we need to do about it.”
I promised I would. Reticence notwithstanding, that’s what Sentinels were for.
With a mission in mind, I hopped back upstairs to my second-floor room and changed into leather pants and jacket, a gray tank beneath, and then pulled on boots and clipped on my beeper. I’d already been wearing my gold House medal—the official membership card of most American vampire Houses.
I unsheathed my katana, the official weapon of GP vampires, and checked its edge. It was sharp and still immaculate from its last rice paper cleaning.
I opened the top drawer in my bureau, where a double-edged dagger lay nestled atop folded T-shirts too thin for autumn in Chicago. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous place for a weapon, but it was an intimate one that seemed fitting under the circumstances. A dagger was traditionally presented to the House Sentinel by its Master; most American Houses hadn’t had a Sentinel in a while, so Ethan’s appointing me—and giving me the blade—was a revised tradition.
The blade gleamed like chrome; the handle was pearl and silky smooth to the touch. And on the end of the handle was a gold disk, a near match to my Cadogan medal, inscribed with my position.
I picked it up and ran my thumb across the ridges left by the engraved lettering. It was one of the few physical reminders I had of Ethan, along with the medal and a signed Cubs baseball he’d given me to replace one I’d lost. It was such a strange thing—to be in a House surrounded by vampires he’d made and décor he’d chosen, to have vibrant dreams and memories of him, to have been on the verge of a relationship when he’d been killed—but to have so few mementos of our time together.
I might have been immortal, my life theoretically eternal, but I had no more control over the passage of time than any mortal. I assumed my memories would eventually fade, so I savored the tangible reminders of who he’d been.
Kelley had given me time to grieve, but it was time to get back to work. I pressed my lips to the engraving, then slid the dagger inside its boot holster. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and grabbed my cell phone, dialing up Jonah’s number.
“Lake Michigan?” he answered.
“Yep. Do you mind playing Sentinel sidekick this evening?”
Jonah made a sarcastic