"And officially enemies with humans again. Some of them, anyway."
As we moved down the street and finally began to gain speed, our escort of shape-shifters beside us, I turned back to the road and sighed.
"Let the good times roll."
CHAPTER THREE
SCIENCE FRICTION
Creeley Creek was a Prairie-style building—low and horizontal, with lots of long windows, overhanging eaves, and bare, honeyed wood. It was bigger than the average Prairie-style home, built at the turn of the twentieth century by an architect with a renowned ego. When the original owner died, his estate donated the house to the city of Chicago, which deemed it the official residence of the mayor. It was to Chicago what Gracie Mansion was to New York City.
Currently living there was the politician Chicago had always wanted. Handsome. Popular.
A master orator with friends on both sides of the aisle. Whether or not you liked the slant of his politics, he was very, very good at his job.
The gate opened when we arrived, the guard who stood inside the glass box at the edge of the street waving us onto the grounds. Ethan circled the Mercedes around the drive and pulled into a small parking area beside the house.
"From a House of vampires to a house of politicians," he muttered as we walked to the front door.
"Said the most political of vampires," I reminded him, and got a growl in response. But I stood my ground. He was the one who'd traded a relationship with me for political considerations.
"I look forward," he said as we walked across the tidy brick driveway, "to your turn at the helm."
I assumed he meant the day I'd become a Master vampire. It wasn't exactly something I looked forward to, but it would get me out of Cadogan House.
"You look forward to it because we'll be equally matched? Politically, I mean?"
He slid me a dry glance. "Because I'll enjoy watching you squirm under the pressure."
"Charming," I muttered.
A woman in a snug navy blue suit stood in front of the double front doors beneath a low overhanging stone eave. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she wore thick, horn-rimmed glasses. They were quite a contrast to the patent platform heels.
Was she going for sexy librarian, maybe?
"Mr. Sullivan. Merit. I'm Tabitha Bentley, the mayor's assistant. The mayor is ready to see you, but I understand there are some preliminaries we need to address?" She lifted her gaze to the threshold above us.
The old wives' tale was that vampires couldn't enter a house if they hadn't been invited in. But like lots of other fang-related myths, that was less about magic and more about rules. Vampires loved rules—what to drink, where to stand, how to address higherranking vampires, and so on.
"We would appreciate the mayor's official invitation into his house," Ethan said, without detailing the reasons for the request.
She nodded primly. "I have been authorized to extend an invitation to you and Merit to Creeley Creek."
Ethan smiled politely. "We thank you for your hospitality and accept your invitation."
The deal struck, Ms. Bentley opened the doors and waited while we walked into the hallway.
It wasn't my first time in the mansion. My father (being well moneyed) and Tate (being well connected) were acquaintances, and my father had occasionally dragged me to Creeley Creek for some fund-raiser or other. I looked around and concluded it hadn't changed much since the last time I'd visited. The floors were gleaming stone, the walls horizontal planks of dark wood.
The house was cool and dark, the hallway illuminated with golden light cast down from wall-mounted sconces.
The smell of vanilla cookies permeated the air.
That smell—of bright lemons and sugar—reminded me of Tate. It was the same scent I'd caught the last time I'd seen him. Maybe he had a favorite snack, and the Creeley Creek staff obliged.
But the man in the hallway wasn't one I'd expected to see. My father, dapper in a sharp black suit, walked toward us. He didn't offer a handshake; the arrogance was typical Joshua Merit.
"Ethan, Merit."