“Noticed that, did you?”
“Hard not to. But you’re a damn vampire, and you aren’t going to be scared away from a man who’s into you because strangers have their panties in a twist.”
I grimaced. “I’m imagining hairy, naked bikers in lacy thongs.”
“Wolves in panties. Panty-wolves.” She waved a hand. “The point is, you’re immortal, and I figure you probably ought to take advantage of that. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“I could be staked.”
“That’s pretty unlikely. But we still haven’t gotten to the real reason you should go.”
“Are we nearing the end of this countdown?”
“I’m building dramatic tension. You should go”—she paused, presumably for more drama—“because this is your fucking thing. Getting out there and mixing it up. Not sitting in a damn office or being a Supernatural bureaucrat.”
“Hey,” I said, a little hurt by the comment. “My life got turned upside down, and I got a job in my field in a matter of days. And the Ombuds are good people.” Good, rule-abiding people.
“I know,” Lulu said. “You did the best you could when Dumas left you high and dry, and I’m still angry about that. You didn’t mope. You got a job, and you’re contributing to your community, and you’re helping pay the rent, which I like. But a desk at the OMB is not your destiny, Lis.”
“My destiny?” I asked, a little surprised that she’d come up with something so . . . supernatural. Lulu worked with shifters, had a vampire for a roommate. And usually preferred to leave the woo-woo to us.
“Your destiny. I shouldn’t be an accountant. You shouldn’t be a bureaucrat.”
“What should I be?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “You’re still evolving. You were teenage Elisa, Paris Elisa, transition Elisa, and now . . .” She shrugged. “We’ll see. But you’re going to be a hell of a lot closer to finding it out there—in the woods with the wolf—than in an office writing reports about River nymph dynamics.”
“It was a very good report. There were eighty-seven footnotes.”
“And a graph,” Lulu said, then walked to the couch and lay down on her back, eyes closed. “Woods, wolves, whiskey, and an invitation from the prince himself. This is the kind of thing you don’t say no to.”
“Maybe,” I said, unconvinced. I stood up. “I’m going to bed before the sun does the stake’s work.”
“If you go tomorrow, I’m eating the rest of your yogurt. You buy the expensive stuff.”
“I think that’s entirely fair. But I’m probably not going.”
THREE
Of course I was going.
I hadn’t been certain when I woke up. I hadn’t been certain when I’d brushed my teeth in the dark, or drunk a mug of coffee and half a pint of blood, or when Lulu and I practiced sun salutations in front windows that showed the dark city beyond.
I’d once used yoga to help me control the monster. Now I practiced to give it some exercise, to give us both some breathing room. It seemed to help, but it had been very quiet at the OMB, so the theory hadn’t yet been field-tested.
The monster stretched and moved as I did, filling my limbs with a warmth to which I was growing accustomed. Its awareness increased, too, so I had two views of the world, two opinions. Maybe because I’d given some ground, it didn’t try to overtake me, was content to exist beside me.
At least for now.
“Downward-facing shifter,” Lulu had said as we bent over, hands and feet on the floor, butts in the air.
“I don’t encourage you to say that in front of any Pack members.”
She blew hair out of her face. “Because they don’t enjoy the healing effects of yoga?”
“Because they don’t like being called ‘dogs.’”
She humphed as we moved our body weight forward into a modified plank, then lowered our legs, arms still stretched and chins lifted. “You’re on their side now.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m supernaturally neutral.”
“Then you’re a perfect candidate to attend and witness a Pack event. It’s a very sociological thing to do.”
We moved backward, settling on our knees, foreheads on the floor and arms stretched in front of us.
“You’re going to call me,” she said. “I want updates about the shifters, including Connor, and proof of life.” She adjusted her elastic headband. “A stack of empty coffee cups would suffice.”
“I’m more than the sum of my caffeine addiction.”
“Yes. You’re also a lot of blond hair and sarcasm, and a big chunk of ‘crush on the guy you’ll be traveling with.’”
“That’s quite a profile, Lulu.”
“I probably need to paint you.”
I decided to let that one go.
* * *
* * *
Lulu had been right—about the trip, not the painting. There was still no need for that.
I showered and dressed, threw a few things into a backpack, grabbed my scabbarded katana, and requested an Auto to my ancestral home.
Cadogan House sat on lush and green grounds in Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood, a gracious building of white stone in which nearly a hundred vampires had lived since the late eighteen hundreds. I’d lived there until I’d moved to Paris at nineteen, had explored the dozens of rooms and hallways, every inch of the rolling lawns and gardens, and even a few of the tunnels that ran beneath the House to access points across Chicago.
The Auto dropped me off in front of the imposing black fence, and I walked to the gate, smiled at the guards.
“Elisa Sullivan, here to see my parents.”
“Parents?” asked the guard on the right, a pale young man who looked dubious at my claim. He was young and human, as the House guards often were, and maybe hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Seriously, Curt?” asked the other guard dryly, a curvy woman with dark skin and shorn hair. “She’s the bosses’ kid.”
“Vampires can’t have kids,” Curt said.
The woman looked at me apologetically, flipped the switch to open the gate. “Please excuse him. He’ll be more familiar with the family history when you come out again.”
“What are you—” he began, but the woman cut him off.