Who's on Top?"), by giving up your name, you began to learn the communitarian values of vampire society. Shared sacrifice. Leadership. Accountability - not to your previous human family, but to your new fanged one. Master vampires, of course, got to take their names back. That's why it was Ethan Sullivan - not just Ethan - who held the reins of Cadogan House.
And speaking of Sullivan, that brings us to the most important communitarian value - kissing the asses of higher-ranked vampires.
I was on just such an ass-kissing mission now.
Well, I was on a delivery mission. But given the intended recipient, ass kissing went along with the territory.
Ethan's office was on the first floor of Cadogan House. The door was closed when I arrived, bags in hand, post-procrastination. I paused a moment before knocking, ever delaying the inevitable. When I finally managed to do it, a simple "Come" echoed from the office. I opened the door and went in.
Ethan's office, like the rest of Cadogan House, was elegantly decorated to just this side of pretentious, as befit the Hyde Park address. There was a desk on the right, a seating area on the left, and at the far end, in front of a bank of velvet-curtained windows, a gigantic conference table. The walls were covered by built-in bookshelves, which were stocked with antiques and mementos of Ethan's 394 years of existence.
Ethan Sullivan, head of Cadogan House and the Master who'd made me a vampire, sat behind his desk, a sliver of cell phone at his ear, eyes on a spread of papers before him.
There always seemed to be papers before him; Masterdom was evidently heavy on the paperwork.
Ethan wore an impeccably tailored black suit with a pristine white shirt beneath, the top button undone to reveal the gold medal that vampires wore to indicate their House affiliation. His hair, golden blond and shoulder length, was down today, tucked behind his ears.
Although it bugged me to admit it, Ethan was beautiful. Perfectly handsome face, ridiculous cheekbones, chiseled jaw, shockingly emerald eyes. The face complemented the body, the majority of which I'd inadvertently seen while Ethan entertained Amber, the former Cadogan House Consort. Unfortunately, we'd discovered shortly thereafter that Amber had been assisting Celina in her attempt to take over Chicago's Houses.
He glanced down at the bags in my hands. "You're moving in?"
"I am."
Ethan nodded. "Good. It's a good move." The tone wasn't laudatory, but condescending, as if he was disappointed it had taken me as long as it did - not even two months - to make Cadogan House home. It wasn't an unexpected reaction.
I nodded, holding back the snark in light of his grumpiness. I knew the limits of pissing off a four-hundred-year-old Master vampire, even if I pushed them sometimes.
I dropped the bags, unzipped the duffel, pulled out the confidential envelope, and held it out to him. "The Ombud asked that I deliver this to you."
Ethan arched a brow, then took the envelope from my hands. He uncoiled the twine from its plastic disk, slipped a finger beneath the tab, and peeked inside. Something in his face relaxed. I wasn't sure what the Ombud's office had delivered, but Ethan seemed to like it.
"If there's nothing else," I said, bobbing my head at the bags on the floor.
I didn't merit so much as a glance. "Dismissed," he absently said, pulling the papers from the envelope and thumbing through them.
I hadn't seen much of Ethan in the first few weeks. As reunions went, this one was pretty undramatic. I could deal with that.
Having done my familial duty, I headed to the suite of first-floor offices reserved for Cadogan staff. Helen was behind her desk when I arrived. She wore a tidy pink suit, apparently having been granted an exception from Cadogan's all-black dress code. Her office was just as pink. Materials were stored in colored binders along neat wooden shelves, and her desk was carefully set with a blotter, pen cup, and calendar, events and appointments neatly penned in colored inks.
She was on the phone, the earpiece of a princess-style handset tucked next to her perfect bob of silver hair, the fingers wrapped around the phone carefully manicured.
"Thank you, Priscilla. I appreciate it. Goodbye." She placed the phone carefully back on her receiver, clasped her hands, and smiled at me. "That was Priscilla," she explained.
"Liaison for Navarre House. We're planning a summer event between the Houses." She cast a wary glance toward the open door, then leaned toward me. "Frankly," she