Ethan paused, ran a hand through his hair, and finally nodded. "Humans will die.
Vampires will die. I can't imagine any other end to the story."
He quieted again, and this time when he looked at me, his expression was different -
full of determination. Motivational speech on its way, I assumed.
"We have reminded humans about our existence. Tonight, we remind them of our connections. We will need every advantage we can get, Merit. For whether her plans are long term, short term, some sort of minor insurrection, outright rebellion, the demand of political rights - something is coming."
"Something wicked."
Ethan nodded. "The thumbs have been pricked, at least proverbially."
I raised a hand to my neck, now healed and free of scars, once torn out by a vampire she'd convinced to kill me. "Not proverbially," I said. "Whatever spell she's 'conjuring,' she's already spilled blood, turned vampires against their Masters, convinced the GP - and treasonous or not, I'll admit I'm not impressed so far - that the death of humans is merely collateral damage."
He made a sound of agreement, but gripped the wheel again, thumbs tapping nervously against the leather wrap. Since we were still parked, I assumed there was more to it.
I looked over at him, tried to ferret out his motivation, some clue as to what else remained. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"I've talked to Malik and Luc," he said, almost defensively, as if I was questioning his adherence to his own chain of command.
"That's not what I asked you."
"You're Sentinel of my House."
Too easy an answer, I thought, and too quick a response. "Why, Ethan?"
"I don't know if I'm strong enough to say no to her."
This time, it took me a moment to respond. "To say no?"
Voice softer, words slower, he said, "If she tries to convince me to join her cause by using blood or glamour against me, I'm not sure that I can say no."
You could have heard a pin drop in the car. I stared forward, shocked at the admission, that he'd share this info - this weakness - with me. The girl he'd asked to be his Consort. The girl who'd refused him. The girl who'd witnessed, firsthand, his betrayal by Amber. The girl who'd seen the look on his face when Amber confessed her sin, her involvement in Celina's conspiracy.
The girl who'd felt the thrust of Celina's glamour, and powered through it. But so had he.
"You said no in the park," I reminded him. "When she confessed her involvement in the murders, when she wanted you on her side, you said no."
Ethan shook his head. "She wanted to be caught, to play martyr. That was hardly the extent of her glamour, the tools she's using against the GP."
"And Malik and Luc?"
"They aren't as strong as me." The unfortunate implication being that if Ethan was worried about his ability to withstand the glamour, Luc and Malik had little hope.
"Glamour," Ethan said, "is about convincing someone to do something they wouldn't ordinarily do. It's not like alcohol - Celina didn't lower the inhibitions of the GP members. She has controlled them."
Psychic manipulation, all but undetectable. Thank God the CIA hadn't gotten wind of that yet.
"And because the power is a psychic one, the only trace that she has used her power in this fashion is the magic that leaks when she performs it. Vampires who can glamour can convince the subjects of their glamour that they have an altogether different desire.
It's easier, of course, on weaker minds, on those who could have been convinced with but a little pushing. It's harder on those with firmer minds. On those more used to finding their own paths."
Ethan looked at me and lifted his brows, as if willing me to understand.
"You think I repelled her glamour because I'm stubborn?"
"I think it is, perhaps, part of the reason."
The general absurdity of the conversation aside - debating the metaphysics of vampire glamour - I got a kick out of his admission, and couldn't stop my grin. "So, you're saying my stubbornness is a blessing."
With a snort, he started the Mercedes and pulled it smoothly back onto the road. I guess I'd humored him out of his mood.
"You know, vampires are exhausting," I told him, parroting one of Catcher's favorite complaints.
"This time, Merit, I won't disagree with you."
Chapter Eight
PAPA DON'T PREACH
The Breckenridge estate, nestled in the Illinois countryside, was a massive would-be French chateau, modeled on Vanderbilt's Biltmore after one of the Breckenridge forefathers, swollen with