House Rules (Chicagoland Vampires 7)

"Centuries ago," Ethan said, "we were visited by a samurai, Miura, who taught us the way of the sword. The way of honor. He also told us of the tradition of the sky balloon."

Helen and Ethan gently pulled the opposite sides of the paper, and it opened into a squarish shape like a paper party lantern.

While Ethan held the lantern by a small loop on the top, Helen dipped a long matchstick into the fire and pulled it back, its end now alight.

"The lantern is symbolic," Ethan said.

Helen carefully touched the flame to a wick in the center of the lantern. The flame filled the air inside the lantern and gently expanded the walls. It glowed with a pale white luminescence, and bobbed in the breeze, clearly eager to be free, even as Ethan held it firm.

"We place our worries and our concerns inside this lantern," Ethan said. "We give it the weight of our fears . . . and we set it adrift."

He released his grip, and the lantern floated into the air, rising slowly above the House like a star taking flight from earth.

It was such a simple thing, such a simple act, but filled with hope and promise and beauty. I brushed away a tear, and heard sniffles in the crowd behind me. I hadn't been the only one moved, which had undoubtedly been Ethan's intent.

We watched the lantern drift higher and higher into the sky, the star rising as the winter breeze drew it farther from Ethan's still-outstretched fingers. And then it disappeared, the wick extinguished by a sudden burst of chilling wind.

"Our fears fly," Ethan said into the quiet that had fallen. "We face them and then we set them aloft until they are extinguished."

He looked back at us again. "Tonight, my Novitiates, we embark on a new journey. We decide the manner of vampires - the manner of House - we are to be. And we make that decision for ourselves, without the political interference of the GP. We do this with honest intention and without fear, for we have already set our fears adrift, and the world owns them now. Good night, my brothers and sisters, and may the falling of the sun again bring us peace and prosperity."

It wasn't a prayer, not exactly.

It was a promise.