House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,99
the hook.”
I grimaced. “Is there any chance Will’s the killer?”
“There’s a chance of everything you can imagine, Sentinel,” Luc said, going philosophical on me. “But that doesn’t mean the chance is large.”
“What about the biometrics?” Lindsey asked. “Have we heard from Jeff about that?”
“We have not,” I said, picking up the phone. “Let’s do that now.”
Jeff answered the call almost immediately, but there was such a cacophony of music and screeching in the background that I could hardly hear him.
“Turn the music down!” I yelled, holding the speaker away from my ear until the volume was only slightly above bar brawl. “What’s going on over there?”
“Nymph birthday party!” he yelled over the remaining musical din.
I rolled my eyes. “Could you maybe go outside?”
“Oh, yeah! Sure!”
A moment later, I heard the slamming of the screen door and the din quieted considerably.
“Sorry. It’s a nymph obligation thing. I was going to call you as soon as we were done.”
“Got anything on the biometrics?”
“Actually, yeah. Turns out this is pretty state-of-the-art stuff. It’s not a scanner for fingerprints or retinas—it scans your blood.”
“Your blood? How? And for what?”
“Tiny pinprick,” he said. “A little lance pops up and scans the blood. But it’s not looking for type or anything—it’s looking for vampiric heredity. It only lets in vampires who were made by Celina.”
And we had a winner.
“So to get in, you don’t have to be a current Navarre vampire—you just have to be one of Celina’s vampires.”
“Correctamundo.”
“Thank you, Jeff. That’s great. Have fun at your party.”
“Later, Mer.”
He hung up the phone, and I did so gratefully, rubbing my ear a bit for good measure. I was pretty sure I’d just heard Rick Astley at eardrum-popping decibels, which wasn’t anything I needed to ever experience again. Ever.
“News?”
“One of the nymphs is celebrating, and the biometric scanner at Navarre determines whether you were sired by Celina.”
Luc whistled. “That’s nice technology. And it gives us suspects.” He walked to the whiteboard, scratched out NAVARRE VAMPIRE under the suspect list, and added SIRED BY CELINA.
“Would there be a lot of Celina-sired vampires not in Navarre House right now?”
“I have no clue. Typically, you wouldn’t think many, but Celina was an odd duck. There’s no telling exactly how she ran her House.”
Since we had to identify the killer she’d made, not terribly well, in my opinion.
* * *
A little while later, I was nominated to make a snack run to the kitchen. Although I wouldn’t wish murder on anyone, it was nice to be back in the Ops Room and operating on a relatively normal schedule.
After taking the roll of any other Ops Room food requests, I walked upstairs and down the hallway to the kitchen. Ethan’s office was still closed, and I expected he and Michael were working on our revised security plans.
I peeked into the kitchen, making sure I wasn’t about to barrel over anyone headed out of the swinging door with breakables, and found the room abuzz with activity. It looked like they were preparing for a cold-fusion experiment.
The stainless-steel countertops were covered in vials and beakers, and two-foot-tall assemblages of glass pipettes and other assorted equipment.
“What’s going on in here?” I wondered aloud.
Margot, who’d paired her white chef jacket with the loudest pants I’d ever seen—an insanely bright neon chartreuse that looked nearly radioactive—glanced back and smiled.
“We’re making condensations,” she explained. “We’re reducing food to its chemical essentials to get to the heart of the flavor.”
“Cool,” I said, although I still preferred a hamburger over any whip, mousse, or elixir I’d tasted at my father’s house.
“Yeah. This seemed like the kind of night to try something new.” Her voice had gotten quieter and more solemn. “Like we’re on the verge of something, you know?”
“Believe me,” I said. “I get it.”
Margot helped me fill a tray with beverages and snacks—including bottles of the sarsaparilla that Luc favored.
I was halfway down the hall when Ethan—now in jeans and a three-quarter-sleeved T-shirt—stepped out of his office. “Would you like to go have dinner?”
I looked down at the tray in my hands. “I have dinner.”
“I was thinking about an actual meal, with tables and waitresses. I’m starving, and I don’t want to eat at my desk. I’d like to grab a quick bite, just a few minutes away from the House. I don’t suppose you’d happen to know a place?”
Of course I knew a place; I knew plenty of places. If only the questions he usually asked were so easy to answer.
“What are you in the mood for?” I