confided, "this relationship between you and Morgan has done wonders for inter-House relations."
Morgan Greer was my would-be boyfriend and the new Master of Navarre House. He'd assumed the position when Celina had been captured, rising to the ranks of Master from his former position of Second. From what I'd seen, Second was a kind of vampire Vice President. A man named Malik served as Second of Cadogan House. He seemed to mostly work behind the scenes, but it was clear that Ethan relied on him, confided in him.
Thinking I owed it to Helen to be polite, I smiled and didn't correct her assessment of our "relationship."
"Glad I could help," I said, bobbing my head toward the bags in my hands. "I've got my bags, if you'll show me my room?"
She smiled brightly. "Of course. Your room is on the second floor, in the back wing."
Luggage notwithstanding, my shoulders slumped in relief. The second floor of Cadogan House held the library, the dining room, and a formal ballroom, among other rooms.
Those other rooms did not include Ethan's apartments, which were on the third floor.
That meant an entire floor would separate me and Ethan. I wanted to jump for joy. But given where I was standing, I silently screamed my happiness.
Helen handed me a navy blue binder bearing the round, Cadogan House seal. "These are the residency rules, maps, parking information, cafeteria menus, etc. Most of the information is online now, of course, but we like to have something for the Novitiate vampires to hold on to." She rose and glanced at me expectantly. "Shall we?"
I nodded, resituating my bags and following her down the hall, then up a narrow back staircase. When we reached the second floor, we turned, then turned again, and were soon before a door of dark wood, a small bulletin board hanging from it.
MERIT, SENTINEL, read a nameplate just above the bulletin board.
Helen reached into a pocket of her jacket, pulled out a key, and inserted it into the lock.
She twisted the doorknob, opened the door, and stood aside.
"Welcome home, Sentinel."
Chapter Three
AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MONSTER
I stepped inside, put down my bags, and looked around. The room was small, square, and simply furnished. Wood paneling rose to chair-rail height, its color the same dark shade as the gleaming wood floors. Immediately facing the door was a window covered by a folding shutter. On the left side of the room was a bed with a wrought-iron frame. A small nightstand stood next to it, and an armchair sat beneath the window. On the right side of the room were two doors. A full-length mirror was attached to one. A bureau stood between them, and a bookshelf took up the wall to the right of the hallway door.
It was basically a dorm room.
For a twenty-eight-year-old vampire.
"Is there anything else you need?"
I smiled back at Helen. "No, thank you. I appreciate your arranging a room so quickly."
My retinas, already singed by the images of Catcher and Mallory's liaisons, were also appreciative.
"No problem, dear. Meals are served in the cafeteria at dusk, midnight, and two hours before dawn." She glanced down at her watch. "You're a little past second meal now, and a little early for third. Can I find you something to eat?"
"No, thank you. I grabbed something on the way over." Not just something - the best homemade meat loaf this side of Chicago. Heaven.
"Well, if you find you need anything, the kitchens on each floor are always stocked, and there's blood in the refrigerators. If you need something that you can't find in the kitchens, tell the waitstaff."
"Sure. Thanks again."
Helen left and closed the door behind her. I laughed out loud at what she'd revealed. On the back of the door hung a poster for Navarre House, a life-sized image of Morgan in jeans and a snug black thermal shirt, black boots on his feet, his arms crossed, leather bands around his wrists. He'd been letting his hair grow, and it was wild in the picture, waving around his starkly handsome face, cut cheekbones, and cleft chin, his bedroomy navy blue eyes staring out beneath long, dark brows and ridiculously long lashes.
Apparently Helen had been coordinating with the Navarre Liaison on more than just a summer picnic. This required serious teasing, so I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and punched in Morgan's number.
"Morgan," he answered.
"Yes," I said, "I'd like to speak to someone about ordering some Navarre porn, please.
Maybe a six-foot-tall poster of that gorgeous Master vampire,