Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [53]
Tonight, I missed Ethan.
Seeking oblivion, I pulled my gaze from the phone and flipped on the radio. Snow Patrol blasted through the speakers, and although I turned it down to a slightly less eardrum-shattering volume, I left it loud enough to wipe unpleasant thoughts from my mind. The band sang about bravery and taking difficult steps, even if you were afraid to do so. I pretended the universe was daring me to be brave, to step into this new life as I’d done once before. The last time—from graduate student to warrior for Cadogan House. This time—from constant companion of the Master of that House to . . .
To what?
As I drove in the dark, the song rose to a crescendo, and I concluded that was the crucial question. What would I be without Ethan? Who would I be without Ethan?
It was probably time to find out.
The Midway linked Washington Park to the west and Jackson Park to the east. It was bounded by art, including the Masaryk memorial, a statue of a mounted soldier, on the east end. The horse and soldier sat atop a rectangular plinth above a set of raised concrete steps. Jonah stood in front of the plinth, arms crossed, looking up at it.
“You rang?” I asked him, hopping up the steps.
He turned around. “Do you ever wonder if we’ll get to the point where we’re considered part of Chicago?” He gestured toward the statue. “I mean, enough that they’d consider memorializing one of us? That they’d actually be proud of what we’ve done?”
I sat down on one of the steps, and he moved over and sat beside me.
“This city has been through a lot of phases since Celina’s press conference,” I said. “Denial. Hatred. Celebrity.”
“And now back to hatred?”
I made a sound of agreement. “Something pretty profound would have to change before they’d consider us equal to humans. And speaking of equality,” I said, and filled him in on the mayor’s visit.
His eyes went wide. “The Ombud’s office—they can’t close it. The city needs it. The sups need it. They trust your grandfather. They think he gives them a voice. Without him, people only know about troublemakers, about Celina and Adam Keene.”
“I agree, but don’t fret. When I left, they were already brainstorming a plan to help out. They’ll do what they have to do; taxpayers just won’t be paying for it.”
We sat quietly for a moment, the cool air raising goose bumps along my arms.
“I’m guessing you think something else is going on with the water,” he said. “Something beyond the siren?”
“I do. It’s too convenient otherwise. I was there with her, Jonah. And she wasn’t working any magic.”
“So we should keep looking.”
“Quietly,” I said. “Let my grandfather do the heavy lifting, as he put it. There’s just too much pressure on me to be more active. Frank’s not thrilled I’m standing Sentinel. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to push me out of the position.”
“He doesn’t have the power to do that.”
I gave him a dry look. “There may not be a rule in the Canon that says he can, but who’s going to stop him? He’s got the House over a barrel, and if it came down to me and the House, Malik has to pick the House. How could he not pick the House?”
My stomach sank at the thought—and not just from the possibility I’d no longer be Sentinel, but because I’d chided Ethan about having to choose between me and the House. I’d suggested it was wrong of him to even consider picking the House over me. Maybe I hadn’t given him enough credit—not because I would have agreed with the decision, but because the decision had been harder than I’d thought.
“Where are you right now?”
I looked over at Jonah. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
I looked away again, and he must have understood the embarrassment in my expression.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah,” I repeated with a nod.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
Whatever he was going to say, it took a few seconds for him to work up to it. “I know we didn’t exactly hit it off in the beginning, mostly because of my admittedly preconceived notions about who you were.”
“And because I’d forgotten you’d masqueraded as a human to