“Zoom in on him,” I said. “On his right hand, if you can manage it.”
“Zooming,” Luc said, and the image grew closer. It was more pixelated, but the movement was clear.
; “Could you do me a favor first?” I asked.
“Sure. What’s up?”
I gestured toward the kitchen. “Could you go check with Margot—the House chef? See if she needs a hand with anything? She’s catering the wedding.”
Jonah looked a little suspicious at the request, but seemed willing to indulge me, probably because it was my wedding day. Which was fine by me. Whatever worked.
“Okay, sure.”
I gestured to the hallway, walked him as far as Ethan’s office, then made sure he walked into the kitchen.
Fate, I hoped, would do the rest.
• • •
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.”