“But he mentioned you frequently,” Julien continued. “Your betrayal. His capture and torture. The fact that Cadogan House should have been his. That it certainly shouldn’t have been held by a deceiver. So I’ll do what you failed to do—protect your Master—and I’ll take it back for him.”
“You won’t,” Ethan said, then casually removed his jacket, tossed it aside, began to roll up his sleeves. “But would you like to try it?”
“I have power you can’t imagine.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
Julien belted out his glamour again, its claws snatching like rabid animals. Catcher and Canon were fond of repeating that vampires didn’t really make magic, we only spilled it. It was just a byproduct of who and what we were. Glamour, by that theory, was a fluke.
But this was no fluke. It was powerful and unrelenting, and it demanded an answer.
Julien might have managed to glamour Ethan the first time around, but this time Ethan had known it was coming, and he was prepared. And he wasn’t exactly a psychic slouch. His expression was mild, but he let his own glamour spread, clean and bright and sharp as newly honed steel.
Their magicks mixed, mingled, flowed through each other like two storms meeting, growing as their energies collided, burst, spilled tingling ions into the air. Julien growled in frustration, screamed as his magic erupted forward again. Sweat beaded across Ethan’s face, but he pushed back with his own glamour, a swell that flooded forward over Julien’s and slowed its surge.
They pushed their magicks back and forth until their clothes were damp with effort, until their faces streamed with sweat, until the air vibrated with power, drawing a crowd that gathered on the edges of the carefully sculpted grounds to watch the battle.
No, vampire magic was no fluke, and these men were masters of the craft.
A fountain of sparks followed another volley, and Ethan paused to wipe sweat from his brow.
“I believe we’ve reached a stalemate,” Ethan said. “If you really want to fight me, you’ll have to fight me with muscle, not show.”
“I resent that remark,” Catcher muttered through the earpiece.
“Fine by me,” Julien said, and pulled off his jacket, tossed it aside. “I will destroy you with my own bare hands.”
Ethan’s answering smile was fierce. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”
They faced each other, Julien’s chill against Ethan’s fire.
Julien ran forward like a raging animal, aiming low for Ethan’s waist and torso, clearly intent on throwing him to the ground. But he’d foreshadowed the move, giving Ethan time to prepare. Ethan set his feet, spread his weight, and when Julien hit him, redirected the force upward, throwing Julien’s body over his head.
Julien managed to land on his feet, looked back at Ethan with silvered eyes and gleaming fangs. He used his superspeed and rushed forward, a blur of black silk and wool. And then the sound of flesh and flesh connecting, and Ethan’s answering grunt.
His head snapped back from the force of Julien’s blow, blood spraying through the air.
I jumped to my feet, lurching forward until Jeff’s voice resonated in my ear.
“This is his fight, Merit.”
I looked up, found his face in the crowd, his expression solemn and somehow older than his years. “He fights for his honor,” he said, “and for yours. Let him fight it on his own.”
Ethan spat blood, wiped a smear of it from his face, and stared Julien down with swirling silver eyes.
This, I realized, was the closure he hadn’t gotten. The fight he’d never been able to have with Balthasar, might never get to. At least he’d get closure here.
I nodded to Jeff, took a step backward. Sometimes I had to let Ethan fight his own battles.
Julien had gotten in a shot and didn’t intend to lose the momentum. He spun into a kick that would have connected with Ethan’s kidney. Ethan blocked it with a hand strike, offered his own side kick. It connected, and Julien grunted, stumbled. He righted himself, tried a front strike that Ethan neatly blocked. And then it was one strike after another, both of them moving quickly, the pace quickening with each blow.
Ethan moved forward with an uppercut that connected with Julien’s jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Julien shook his head, slowly climbed to his feet again.
“You should have stayed down,” Ethan said, hands on his hips.
“Because you’re getting tired?” Julien said, spitting blood.
“No.” Ethan smiled, with fangs. “Because Merit gets the final shot. And she’s a better fighter than I am.”
While Julien looked on, Ethan walked toward me, pressing the back of his hand to his bleeding lip.
I still goggled at the compliment. “I’m a better fighter than you?”
“Well, in fairness, I did train you. I’ve tried to soften him up a bit,” he said, his eyes brighter than I’d seen them in weeks, the monkey nearly off his back.
I grinned back. “I appreciate that. But I’ll probably ruin my dress.”
“I’d expect nothing less, Sentinel. We’ve started insuring them.” He winked at me, then gestured grandly toward Julien, let me step past him.
I put a hand on my hip, faced my opponent, who looked back at me with obvious derision. He thought Ethan was making a strategic mistake.
“Does he let you finish all his battles?”
“Only the easy ones,” I said, and didn’t delay the inevitable. I hitched up my skirt—this one being a little more flexible than the last—and kicked up and out. He was fast enough to block it, to grab my leg and twist, trying to send me off-balance.
But I’d already played that game once this week and wasn’t about to lose points to that technique a second time. I shifted my weight to the leg he held, used his grip for balance, and spun around, executing an airborne parallel kick with my free leg. He’d lifted an arm to block, but missed, and I connected with his left side. He stumbled forward, leered back at me when he’d righted himself.
“One lucky shot,” he said, and sped toward me. He jabbed, and I dodged the shot, his fist glancing off my shoulder, but with enough force to still make it sing. He’d left his torso open, and I punched him in the stomach. He grunted, staggered, came back again.
I’d give him strong and tenacious. But any asshole could be strong. His next shot was a right cross. His speed hadn’t diminished, but he favored the side I’d kicked, and he telegraphed the move. I grabbed his wrist, swung it down, using the leverage to force him to the ground.
I stepped over him, planted a foot on his neck. “When a woman says no, she means it, you raging sack of crap.”
“Fuck you.”
“I already declined that very unattractive offer,” I said, and pressed a little harder. Jacobs and his men had already moved into the crowd, so my time was nearly up. Might as well use it for something good. “Where’s Balthasar?”
When he didn’t immediately answer, I pushed harder on his windpipe. “Where. Is. Balthasar?”
“Dead. He’s dead. He died at the Geneva safe house.” That was the one Luc hadn’t been able to reach.
Ethan’s relief peppered the air.
I lifted my foot. Julien’s hand rushed to his throat, massaged.
“Elaborate,” I ordered.
“They thought he’d been rehabilitated.” He coughed, and his voice was hoarse. “They were wrong. He killed a human girl who’d delivered supplies to the house. The safe house couldn’t protect him; he was staked. There’s a marker for him at Plainpalais Cemetery.”
That was verifiable information. So I took a step back and swept dirt from my dress as Julien coughed.
I looked up, nodded at Jacobs. “It appears Mr. Burrows has fallen, Detective. I believe you can handle him from here?”
“You’d be right about that,”
Jacobs said, stepping forward. “And given his psychic propensities, we’ll make sure he’s in a magically appropriate space. Julien Burrows,” he said as the uniforms hauled him to his feet, “you’re under arrest for three counts of sexual assault, one count of attempted sexual assault, trespassing . . .”
“You son of a bitch!” Julien screamed. “Deceiver! Deceiver!”
The screaming and recitation of charges faded away as the cops and suspect moved around the House toward their waiting transportation.
I walked toward Ethan, took in the torn shirt spotted with blood, the bruise under his cheek, the blood on his face. “You kind of look like a disaster.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ethan burst into laughter.
“Are you all right?”
“At the moment, Sentinel, I’m not. But I’ve got you and my House, and I will be.”
Chapter Twenty-five
AVOWAL
It was done. With three more phone calls to Switzerland and Ethan’s excellent French, we verified Balthasar’s ignoble end. He’d used “Bernard” as his alias in order to distance himself from activities in London and any lingering members of the Memento Mori. Julien had stuck to the truth about much of Balthasar’s history, which Ethan verified with the safe house’s archivist.
And with that, the ghost who’d haunted our dreams—literally and figuratively—was finally gone. Yes, there was still Reed and his sorcerer to deal with. But this threat, at least, had been neutralized.
Most of the vampires had left the party, returned to their Houses. Our group—our Cadogan and Ombuddy family—still sat at a table beneath the tent looking utterly relaxed and sipping the rest of the champagne.
“What’s the saying?” Ethan asked. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here?” But he grinned at them, accepted the glass of champagne that Luc offered.
“We were just saying how gorgeous the garden looked,” Jeff said, “and how you’d probably agree to let them use it for their wedding.”
Since nobody at the table looked surprised, Mallory and Catcher must have shared the nuptial news. “I don’t want any fuss.”
“It wouldn’t be any fuss at all,” Luc said. “Right, hoss?”
“Of course not. I actually already offered her the garden, if I recall.”
“He did,” Mallory said, reaching out to pat his arm. “It was a very nice offer.”
“And it still stands.” Ethan grinned. “Hell, we’re all dressed in pretty clothes, and the garden will hardly get any better than this. We could just do it now.”
He’d meant it as a joke, but a weighty silence fell as Mallory and Catcher looked at each other.
“We couldn’t,” Mallory said. “Could we?”
Catcher scratched the back of his neck, looked at Mallory. “I don’t know why we wouldn’t, actually. There’s never going to be a perfect time. Isn’t that the point of love, or marriage, in the first place? Recognizing that perfection is irrelevant? That imperfection is sometimes kind of perfect?”
Mallory pressed her lips together, trying to will back tears.
“Oh my God, are you two seriously about to get married?” Lindsey drummed her feet on the ground like an excited child.
Catcher didn’t take his eyes off Mallory, but reached out and squeezed her hand. “I kinda think we are, yeah.”
Ethan looked at the group. “Anybody licensed to perform a ceremony?”
Grinning, Jeff raised a hand. “Actually, I am. River nymphs,” he explained with a shrug, and I was momentarily bummed I hadn’t been invited to that particular wedding. The nymphs knew how to party. “Do you have a license?”
Mallory nodded. “I got it yesterday.”
“Then we’re good,” Jeff said.
“Oh my God,” Mallory said, her excitement rising, her eyes glowing with love and happiness. “Oh my God.” She slapped Catcher’s arm. “We’re going to get married.”
“It does look like that.”
There was no regret in his eyes. No remorse. No hesitation. Just happiness, and maybe a bright edge of nerves.
Good, I thought with a grin. Those nerves will keep him honest.
Ethan nodded. “That takes care of the officiate. What else?”
“If we’re doing this,” I said, “we’re doing it right. We need the traditional things—something old, new, borrowed, blue.”
I looked around, grabbed the pocket square from Ethan’s jacket, pressed it into Mallory’s hand. “Blue,” I said, and Mallory’s eyes filled with tears of shock and surprise. She squeezed her fingers around it.
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
“Borrowed,” my grandfather said, pulling a watch from his pocket and extending it to Catcher. “My father gave it to me, and I’d be honored for you to carry it.”
Obviously swamped with emotion, Catcher wrapped his arms around my grandfather, squeezed. “That is . . . that is just excellent, Chuck.”
“Damn it,” I murmured, knuckling my own tears away. “I didn’t want to cry any more this week.”
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to avoid it,” Lindsey said, putting her arms through mine and Mallory’s, linking us together. “We are going to be mewling like kittens before the night’s up.”
“And then Mallory will be mewling like a kitten for entirely different reasons.”
We all looked back at Jeff, found his eyebrows winging up and down in amusement. “No? Too soon?”
“For the officiate, yes,” I said.
“We need old and new,” my grandfather said, avoiding the byplay.
“I believe I count as old,” Ethan said. “Technically.”
Mallory and I exchanged a look.
“Four centuries is probably as good as you’re going to get,” I said.
“Then we’ll check that box,” she said. “New?”
“I got this,” Jeff said, squinting as he patted down his pockets. After several groping seconds, he pulled out a small green keychain with a single key attached. It was a square of green rubber, “JQ” embossed in lime letters.
“New Jakob’s Quest swag came out this week,” he said, passing it over to Mallory with a sheepish grin.
“That’ll do,” Mallory said kindly. “Thank you very much.”
Jeff nodded. “You’re welcome. And I think that’s it. New, borrowed, blue, vampire.”
Ethan grinned. “Shall we get arranged?”
Mallory looked at me, squealed. “I’m getting married! Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!”
“I think you are,” I said. “But you didn’t get a proper bachelorette party.”
“Are you kidding me?” Mal whirled a finger in the air, gesturing to the tent and surroundings. “This was exactly as kick-ass as a bachelorette party needs to be. Food, drinks, vampire excitement. Sullivan knows how to throw a party.”
“I do,” Sullivan agreed.
“Bouquet!” Jeff said, then dashed over to a peony bush, snapped off an early white bloom nearly as big as a salad plate, and carried it back to Mallory. “Milady.”
She took it, sniffing the bloom’s frilled petals, and nodded. “Thanks.”
“Actually,” I said, glancing between Catcher and Mallory, “there is just one more thing.”
Before anyone could argue, I grabbed Catcher’s arm, dragged him a few yards away to the other side of a hydrangea border that hadn’t yet bloomed.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked when I pulled him to a stop.
I fixed on my most powerful and predatory expression. “Mallory’s parents aren’t here, but I am. You want to marry her, you’ll need my permission.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am as serious as it comes. Are you marrying her because you want back in the Order?”
For a moment, he stared me down
in hard silence. “If you were a man, I’d punch you in the face.”
I lifted my eyebrows expectantly. “You haven’t answered the question.”
When Catcher realized I was serious, he relented, sighed hard. “Of course I’m not. The timing is convenient, yeah. But the marriage is love. Her and me.” He shook his head. “I nearly lost her once. I won’t lose her again.”
When his eyes went misty, I looked away. He wouldn’t have wanted to be caught with tears in his eyes, and he’d have gotten me started again, too. And besides, he’d answered my question. It wasn’t just about the Order for Catcher. By the look in his eyes—the clear adoration—that had only been an issue of timing.
The ball of concern in my gut unknotted, and I smiled at him. “Okay, then.”
“I should still punch you.”
“Considering the present company, I don’t recommend it.” I slipped an arm through his. “Let’s go get you hitched.”
Everything all right? Ethan asked with some amusement when we joined them again.
Just making sure we’re all on the same page.
I assume, since he’s still breathing, that we are.
You’d be correct.
We scooted around so Mallory and Catcher stood facing each other, Jeff in front of them, the rest of us in the audience. We were an odd group, some of us newly acquainted, some of us friends for a very long time. And what better reason to come together than love?
Jeff cleared his throat, looked around, and when he got a nod from Catcher, began to speak.
“Friends, family, vampires. We are gathered on this really odd night to witness the marriage of Catcher Eustice Bell—”
My eyes brightened. “Your middle name is ‘Eustice’?”
“It’s a family name,” Catcher said. “Shut your piehole. Keep going, Jeff.”
“Catcher Eustice Bell,” Jeff said again, with a wink for me, “and Mallory Delancey Carmichael.”
He looked back at Catcher. “Catcher, do you take Mallory to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live, including accidental or intentional immortality?”