Twice Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires #3)(63)
Author: Chloe Neill

Given the week I’d had so far, I didn’t think there was much mystery as to why.

We spent the next hour chatting, me holding the drink in my hands as if it were providing necessary warmth, and taking a sip only when my throat had cooled down sufficiently from each previous drink.

The vampires around me regaled me with stories of life in Cadogan House – from the time the fire alarm sounded during the 2007 Commendation, to the 1979 boycott of Blood4You, to the breaching of the gate by a fusty Hyde Park resident who was convinced the House was the site of secret occult rituals.

Suddenly, Margot put down her drink, pushed back her chair, then stood up on it. When she was standing, she motioned to the bar. Sean grinned back, and rang a brass bell that hung from a short post behind the bar.

The entire room erupted into raucous applause.

"What’s going on?" I murmured to Lindsey, but she lifted a hand.

"Just keep listening. You’ll get it."

"Cadogan vampires," Sean yelled, as every vampire in the bar quieted again. "It is now time to partake of a proud Temple Bar tradition. Not that the tradition is proud, but Temple Bar certainly is."

"Long live Temple Bar!" shouted the vampires in unison.

Sean offered a kingly bow, then gestured toward Margot.

There was hooting in the crowd, then the squeak of wood on wood as chairs were turned to face her.

She raised her hands.

"Ladies and vampires," she shouted, "it’s time for a round of drinks honoring the various and sundry personality tics of the Master with the mostest – Ethan Sullivan!" I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face.

"Tonight, we welcome into the sacred covenant . . . our Sentinel!" She lifted her glass to me, as every other vampire in the room did the same. Cheeks flushed, I raised my still mostly full glass to the rest of them, bobbing my head in acknowledgment.

Margot looked at me, glass still raised, and winked. "And may Lacey Sheridan, God bless her soul, choke on it."

The room burst into applause. My cheeks ached from the smile on my face. Lindsey leaned over and pressed a kiss to my cheek.

"I so told you that you needed this."

"I very definitely needed this," I agreed.

"Everyone have fun," Margot said. "Everyone drink within reason. And afterward, everyone make use of Chicago’s greatest attraction – public transportation!" With the help of the vampire beside her, Margot stepped down and took her seat again. Everyone at our table set down their glasses and moved their chairs in a bit closer together.

"All right," I said, shyness gone. "So what exactly are we doing here?"

"Well, Sentinel," Margot said, "may I call you Sentinel?" I grinned, and nodded.

She nodded back. "I don’t think we’re giving anything away by saying that our dear Master and liege, Ethan Sullivan, is a little bit – "

"Particular," Lindsey finished. "He’s very, very particular."

"Yeah," I said dryly, "I had a sense."

"He’s also a creature of routine," Margot explained. "Of personality tics and habits. Quirks, you might say, that can grate on the nerves."

"Like the tag in the back of a really scratchy sweater," Lindsey suggested.

Margot winked at her. "Every so often, we gather together. We take a little time – a little cathartic time – to vent about those quirks that drive us crazy." Elbows on the table, I leaned forward. "So, which of the quirks are we talking about?"

"First item on the list – the raising of the eyebrow." To demonstrate, she arched a carefully sculpted black brow of her own, then peered around at each of us.

"Drink!" Lindsey yelled, and we all took a sip.

"I hate it when he does that," Michelle said, gesturing with her drink. "And he does it constantly."

"It’s like the world’s most irritating nervous twitch," I agreed.

"Nervous my ass," Margo said. "He thinks it’s intimidating. It’s the gesture of the Master vampire speaking to a lowly Novitiate." Her voice had deepened into an obnoxiously crisp imitation of the perfectly condescending Master vampire tone. Maybe she had a little Master in her, as well.

"So what’s number two?" I asked.

"I got this one," Lindsey said. "Number two – when Ethan refers to you not by your name, but by your title." She dipped her chin and looked at me through hooded eyes. "Sentinel," she growled out.

I snorted. "I always thought you looked familiar."

"Drink!" Margot yelled, and we raised our glasses again.

The next hour and a half continued in pretty much the same fashion – Ethan, maybe not surprisingly, had a lot of tics and quirks. That meant a lot of drinks. And if anyone came up with a quirk not catalogued before, we had to take a double round.

Since I’d made virtually no headway with my "manly" drink, Sean took pity on me and brought over a plastic cup of ice water. That I wasn’t drinking alcohol didn’t make fun at the expense of the most pretentious of vampires any less enjoyable.

We drank for every mention of Amit Patel, for every speech Ethan gave about duty, for each mention of alliances, for each time he answered a knock at his office door by saying, simply, "Come." We drank for each time he jiggled his watch, each time he straightened his cuff links, each time he shuffled papers when you reported to him in his office.

Ethan had quirks enough that half the table had switched to soda or water by the time we were through.

Ethan had quirks enough that I had to excuse myself from the table. And that was why I was on the way back to the table from the back of the bar when I saw them – photos that had been tacked to the wall, decades of pictures of vampires together, all taken at Temple Bar.

"Cool," I murmured, my gaze scanning the gathering of pictures. There were Afros and disco wear, 1980s hairstyles and shoulder pads . . . and a picture that was half tucked into a corner of the display.

With my fingertips, I turned the photograph on its thumb-tack pivot to get a better view. The white Polaroid border framed a beautiful boy with cut cheekbones and a fall of blond hair across his face. At his side was a blond girl, her arm tucked in his, a martini glass in her hands. He looked at her . . . with adoration in his eyes.

My stomach knotted.

It was Ethan and Lacey, a picture taken some years ago, given the outfits in the photograph, but a picture of them just the same – a boy and girl, happy together, love in their eyes.

I slid the picture back into its place, partially hiding it from view. But there was no unringing the bell.