House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,23

to drinking, but I was experienced enough to know that nothing made me feel more like a vampire—and less human—than drinking from Ethan, or letting him drink from me.

“You should join us,” I said. “It’s hard to be the only target in this game of GP dodgeball.”

“You couldn’t pay me to be in your position.”

“We manage,” I dryly said.

“For now. But you should know we’re hearing things about the GP and the Decert that aren’t exactly promising.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the GP wants to cause you as much trouble as possible.”

That revelation made my stomach flip uncomfortably, even if it wasn’t entirely surprising. Ethan and the others had centuries of experience with the GP, and had previously trusted that it operated with the Houses’ best interest in mind.

I’d been a vampire for just a few months, but I knew it operated with only one thing in mind—its own interest. It seemed to me keeping power in the GP’s hands was its number one priority.

“Unfortunately, that squares with the fact that they’re here a day early.”

Jonah whistled. “That’s not promising.”

“I know.”

“I hate to say Cadogan House is screwed. . . .”

“Then don’t say it. It would be considerably more helpful if you could give me any details about what you think they’re going to pull so I can adequately prepare my House.”

“Reason and logic will only get you so far. All I know is, the GP’s contract with Cadogan House is key.”

I wasn’t sure which contract he meant, but I’d figure it out. “Your information comes from other RG members?”

“From our communications network,” he said, “which I can’t loop you into until you’re official. Which you will be tomorrow night.”

The night of the GP ceremony. The timing for the RG ceremony could hardly be worse, although I appreciated the irony. I would be joining the RG—and thereby promising to watch over the GP—even as we left the GP because of its tyranny.

“Where and when?” I asked.

“I’ll let you know. I’ve got to make sure I can get out of here, too. I’ll try to message you later tonight.”

“Okay. FYI, I’m heading to my grandfather’s. We picked up glass and Eve’s cell phone last night at the reg center they visited, and I asked them to take a look.”

“Does your grandfather have that kind of facility?”

“Not unless he’s remodeled the rumpus room,” I said. “But he’s got friends in high places, and it’s the only lead we’ve got so far.”

“Good thinking. I hope the investigation gets some momentum.”

“You and me both. The night is young. I’m hoping against hope Oliver and Eve will call Noah and tell him they had to make an emergency trip to KC or something.”

“It would be a happier ending,” Jonah agreed. “Good luck with it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know if there are any developments.”

“Do that. And in the meantime, I’ll do my part to keep Grey House on Darius’s good side.”

I made a sarcastic sound. “Since the well-being of your House is clearly at the top of my list, that comforts me.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, and ended the call.

I wasn’t, but he hung up before I could argue. Probably better for both of us.

* * *

My grandfather’s house was small and quaint—white clapboards, metal storm door, stubby concrete porch. As I drove up, the lights were on and half a dozen cars were parked in the driveway and on the street. Most of them were tiny roadsters, which meant only one thing.

River nymphs.

I guessed Catcher hadn’t managed to resolve the shoe crisis.

When I reached the front door, I could hear music and the squealing of voices. I didn’t bother knocking, but walked inside.

I could not have been more surprised.

The front door opened directly into my grandfather’s living room, and it was full of people, among them my grandfather and half a dozen nymphs in their typically short, cleavage-baring dresses.

They knelt in a semicircle around what looked like a new television, and squealed while Jeff Christopher stood in the middle with a video game controller in his hand.

But that wasn’t even the strangest part.

Jeff Christopher, geek extraordinaire, was in costume.

He wore a pale green tunic, over which he’d slung a forest green cape trimmed in brown, and knee-high leather boots. The tunic’s hood was up, just perched at the crown of Jeff’s head, but his shoulder-length brown hair shone at the edge of it.

Jeff was tall and lanky, and the costume fit him surprisingly well. But for his lack of longbow and horse, he might have stepped out