Friday Night Bites (Chicagoland Vampires 2)

It was from Morgan. He said he was checking in, ensuring that I'd gotten home safely.

But I could hear the questions in his voice - where I'd been, what I'd been doing, what had been important enough to motivate Ethan to pull in a few-months-old Sentinel for duty. I still wasn't sure I had an answer to the last one.

I checked the clock; it was nearly four in the morning. I guessed Morgan would still be awake, but after a moment of hesitation, I opted not to call him back. I didn't want to dance around issues, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with his less-than-veiled animosity toward Ethan. The night had been long enough, contentious enough, without that.

With dawn threatening, I stripped out of my date ensemble and got into pajamas, then washed my face, grabbed a Mole skine journal and a pen, and climbed into bed. I scribbled random notes as the sun rose - about vampires, the Houses, the philosophy of drinking - and fell asleep, pen in hand.

Chapter Fourteen

THE CENTER CANNOT HOLD

I woke happy, at least until I remembered what the evening had in store. I grumbled and grabbed the invitation to the party at my parents' house. This one was a gala for a teen mentoring program. It's not that the cause wasn't legitimate, but I always wondered about my father's motivations. His interest in making connections, in shaking hands, was at least as big as any interest he had in actually helping the organization.

Rising tides lift all boats, I thought, and put the invitation on the bed. I sat up and pushed the hair out of my eyes, then uncurled my legs and hit the floor. I didn't bother to shower, knowing I'd just get sweaty again during my training session, but changed into my Catcher-approved ensemble - bandeaux bra and barely there shorts, throwing a track jacket over the top so I'd be decent during the drive.

Just as I zipped up the jacket, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and found Helen in the hallway in a tidy tweed suit.

"Hello, dear," she said, holding out a royal blue garment bag emblazoned with the logo of a chic-chic store in the Loop. "I was just dropping off your gown."

I took the bag from her hands, the weight not as heavy as I'd have expected given the size of the bag. Her hands free, she pulled a small pink notebook from the pocket of her nubby pink suit jacket. Nodding, she read it over.

"Tonight is a black-tie event. The color theme is black and white," she read, then lifted her gaze to mine. "That helped my selection process, of course, but it took no small bit of finagling to obtain a gown this quickly. It was delivered moments ago."

It bothered me, more than it should have, that she'd picked out the dress. That Ethan hadn't picked out the dress.

That it bothered me was just wrong in so many ways.

"Thank you," I told her. "I appreciate the effort." More's the pity she couldn't have taken my place.

"Of course," Helen said. "I need to get back downstairs. Plenty of work to do. Do enjoy the party." She smiled and tucked the notebook back into her pocket. "And be careful with the dress. It was rather an investment."

I frowned down at the garment bag. "Define 'investment.' "

"Near twelve, actually."

"Twelve? Twelve hundred dollars?" I stared at the dress bag, horrified at the thought that I was going to be responsible for four figures of Cadogan investment.

Helen chuckled. "Twelve thousand dollars, dear." She dropped that bomb, then headed back down the hallway, completely missing my look of abject horror.

Ever so carefully, as if carrying the Gutenberg Bible, I laid the dress bag on my bed.

"Take two," I murmured, and unzipped the bag.

A soft sound escaped me.

It was black silk, a fabric so delicate I could barely feel it between my fingers. And it was, indeed, a ball gown. A square strapless bodice that dropped to a spill of the luscious, inky silk.

I wiped my hands on my shorts, pulled the dress from the bag and held it up against my chest, spinning just to watch the skirt move. And move it did. The silk flowed like black water, the fabric the darkest shade of black I'd ever seen. It wasn't the kind of black that you confused with navy in the dressing room. It was black. Moonless, midnight black. It was stunning.

My cell rang, and I hugged the dress to my body with my free hand, scanned the caller ID, and flipped it open.

"Oh, my God, you should see this dress I'm wearing tonight."

"Did you just say something complimentary about a dress? Where's my Merit? What have you done with her?"

"I'm serious, Mallory. It's amazing. Black silk, this ball gown thing." I stood in front of the mirror, half turned. "It's beautiful."

"Seriously, I'm totally weirded out by the girly nature of this conversation. And yet, it's kinda like you're growing up. Do you think Judy Blume made a book about adolescent vampires? Are You There God, It's Me, Merit?" Mallory snorted, obviously pleased with herself.

"Ha, ha, ha," I said, placing the dress carefully on top of the garment bag. "I got an invitation to a deal at my parents', so we're heading back to Oak Park in a bit."

"Oh, that's classy, vampire. Forget about your old friends now that you're all high society."

"I'm torn between two answers. First, the obvious one: I just saw you last night. Also acceptable: Were we friends? I thought I was using you for rent and gratuitous branding."

"My turn to laugh," she said, instead of actually laughing. "Seriously, I'm on the road, driving to Schaumburg, and I wanted to check on you. I assume you and Darth Sullivan got back to Cadogan okay?"

"We didn't get chased by raving vampires, so I'd call it a successful return trip."

"Was Morgan okay about having to leave last night?"

Phone pinched between shoulder and ear, I tightened my ponytail. "He probably wasn't thrilled about being replaced by Ethan, but I haven't had a chance to talk to him."

"What do you mean you haven't talked to him? He's practically your boyfriend."

I frowned at the disapproval in her voice. "He's not my boyfriend. We're still just...dating. Kind of."

"Okay, semantics, whatever, but don't you think you should have called him?"

I'm not sure if it was because I thought she was being nosy or because, on some level, I agreed with her, but the direction of the conversation bothered me. I tried laughing it off.

"Are you lecturing me about my boyfriend choices?"

"I just... He's a great guy, Merit, and you guys seem to have a great time together. I just don't want you to pass that up for..."

"For?" I didn't need to prompt her, didn't need to ask it. I knew exactly what she meant, exactly whom she was referring to. And while I knew she cared about me as much as anyone did, the comment pricked. A lot.