The mood in Ethan’s office was grim. Not exactly the feel one wanted on one’s wedding night, but business was business, and vampires were vampires. Drama was inevitable.
Ethan sat behind his desk, Luc and Malik on the other side of the room futzing with the electronics.
“Good evening,” I said, when Ethan glanced up at me.
“Sentinel. Happy wedding night.”
“And to you. How are you feeling?”
Ethan sat back in his chair, arms crossed, fairly glowing with power and confidence. And he didn’t seem overly worried—a good sign. “As well as a man might, when he’s set to marry a beautiful and brave woman.”
Not a bad sentiment to start the day.
“Your grandfather called. Winston Stiles is at the supernatural holding facility. He came to during the day still delusional and violent, so they sedated him. He remains sedated.”
Ethan might have called it a holding facility, but in reality it was a prison where the city’s supernatural convicts were held. Those men and women included a vampire named Logan Hill, the man who’d attacked me and left me for dead, the reason Ethan made me a vampire. The man whose identity I’d learned only a few scant months ago, when he’d been helping Sorcha.
The man I’d let live.
“Was he able to tell them anything about the source of the delusions?” I asked.
“No,” Ethan said. “When he surfaced, he talked about the voice again, begged them to stop it. And then he broke through one of his restraints and got his hands on a guard. He was sedated after that, at least until they can figure out what to do.”
“Does he need medicating?” I asked.
Ethan shook his head. “There’s no history of mental illness in his medical records. He was a night watchman at a bank in Skokie, at least until he was laid off. There’s a physician at the prison, but at the moment, this appears to be a mental breakdown of some sort.”
“Caused by something he wanted to talk to you about?”
“Perhaps,” Ethan said. “Catcher and Jeff started the investigatory workup during the day.” He smiled a little. “They didn’t want you running around tonight before the wedding. Had some concern you’d show up late, filthy, or injured.”
“And what are we going to do?”
“We’re going to get married,” Ethan said. “And then we’re going to Paris, just as we planned. We’re going to let the Ombudsman’s office deal with supernatural issues, as is their responsibility. And we aren’t going to stress over it.”
I narrowed my gaze at him. “How long have you been preparing that speech?”
His smile was sly. “Since I talked to your grandfather.” He rose, walked around the desk, and put his hands on my face. “We are allowed to live, Merit. We are allowed to leave problems to those best able to solve them.”
I nodded, tried to accept that. It was hard not to when looking up into those deeply green eyes. And I did have other things to worry about today. But it was hard. Hard not to think about the state of the world. Even if we were promising “for better or worse,” that didn’t mean I wanted “for worse” to become apocalyptically bad.
“We’ll protect the House,” Ethan said. “We’ll watch the video, discover how he avoided our security, and let your grandfather handle the rest of it.”
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re right. It’s our wedding night, and we can’t solve every problem for everyone.” Winston would have to find his own way. Maybe my grandfather’s office could help with that.
“We’re ready,” Luc said after a moment, looking up and around the room. Ethan and I walked to the sitting area, where leather chairs and couches surrounded a low table.
“We’ve pieced the vampire’s movements together from the various cameras,” Luc said, his face void of expression, clearly still upset about the security lapse. I could understand the feeling. “This is from four nights ago.”
He pressed a button and the video began, the screen filling with the shot of the House foyer. The camera was positioned in the middle of the space, angled down to catch the closed front door, bench of supplicants to the left, and desk to the right.
The front door opened, and our vampire walked in, the dark of night behind him. He moved to the front desk, signed in, took a seat on the bench beside four other vampires.
“He was a supplicant,” I said.
Luc nodded. “He signed in as Winston. Didn’t identify any last name or House, just ‘UNAFF,’ which I take to mean unaffiliated.”
The clock on the screen ticked along, half an hour, forty-five minutes, then a full hour, and still Winston waited. But if he was agitated—or experiencing the delusions—he didn’t show it. He looked bored and perturbed by the wait, but an hour on an uncomfortable bench would do that. And then I saw it.