Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [93]
I also called Lindsey, who confirmed the Bruce Campbell movie-thon was under way. I didn’t exactly have time for a movie, but I was stressed and tired and I needed real food. If a movie was playing during the meal, so be it. With dinner in mind, I pulled over at a taco truck on the way back to Hyde Park and ordered as much as I could stuff into a single bag, which I thought was less likely to raise Frank’s ire if I was caught sneaking junk food into the House.
I drove back and slid into a parking spot, then walked back into the House past rhythmically chanting protestors and stoic men and women in uniform. The House was quiet when I walked in, only a few vampires milling about in the front rooms. There was a kind of solemnity in the House under Malik’s rule, and I wasn’t sure if that was because the House reflected his generally solemn personality, because vampires were still grieving, or because we were still under GP occupation.
A mix of all three, maybe.
Without my medal but with contraband, I hustled upstairs to Lindsey’s third-floor room. I didn’t bother knocking, but carefully opened the door—there were usually vamps spread out in every spare nook and cranny, and if you weren’t careful, you inevitably banged someone on the head.
The dark room was, as per usual, full of noise from Lindsey’s wee television and full of vampires. Lindsey, Margot, and Katherine had spots on the bed, and a slew of vamps I’d seen only in passing were packed onto the floor, maybe fifteen in all? That was certainly a violation of Tate’s rule against assembling in groups larger than ten.
Long live the revolution!
I picked my way across the Novitiates, distributing paper-wrapped tacos like a culinary Santa Claus, and eventually stopping in a small empty spot in a far corner of the room. The vamp beside me smiled and offered one of her pillows, which I took with a whispered “thanks.”
One campy horror movie later, I reached two conclusions:
One: I loved my friends.
Two: I still didn’t get it.
We’d just cleared the room of taco wrappings and vampires when my and Lindsey’s beepers simultaneously erupted.
I pulled mine off and checked the screen. “TRAINING ROOM,” it read, with a “DRESS FOR TRAINING” follow-up.
I looked up at Lindsey. “What’s this about?”
“I’m sure Frankfurter has some vital lesson he wants to teach us.”
“Sadly, Frankfurter does not ask us for advice,” I said. “And I totally support the use of ‘Frankfurter.’ ”
“I knew you would,” she said, heading for her bathroom door, probably to go change into our required yoga pants. “He could learn a lot from two hip, big city vamps.”
“Did you just cast your own sitcom?”
“I believe I did, yeah. I’m some witty dialogue and an after-school special away from an Emmy. You know, in case this vampire guard thing doesn’t work out.”
I offered a sound of agreement and walked to the door so I could change clothes. “Frank’s still here,” I pointed out. “There’s probably a good chance this guard thing won’t work out for either of us.”
It said a lot that she didn’t disagree with me.
Once clothed in a black sports bra and yoga pants, I gathered together with Lindsey, Juliet, and Kelley in the sparring room.
We stood barefoot at the edges of the mats, waiting for our call to arms—or whatever Frank had in store. He stood in the middle of the room—in the middle of the mats—still in a suit and fancy shoes.
Lindsey quietly clucked her tongue. “Luc is not going to be thrilled Frankfurter’s wearing shoes on his tatami mats.”
“No,” I whispered in agreement. “That is not going to go over well. Not that he can do anything about it.”
Malik and Luc stood together on the other side of the room, irritated magic seeping from their corner. The balcony that ringed the room was filling with House vampires, their expressions ranging from curious to concerned. They clearly didn’t trust Frank any more than we did.
When the balcony was full, Frank loudly cleared his throat and stared daggers at the vampires until