Two white pills fell into my palm.
“Well,” he said, “that might explain why she was so out of it.”
I held one tablet up to the light. The same curvy
“She said she didn’t take anything.”
“She was also embarrassed about what happened.”
“True,” I agreed. “Tate said Mr. Jackson had been arrested for drug possession. So maybe vamps are drugging humans to make them, what, more susceptible to glamour?”
“Given the crowd you saw last night, would that seem farfetched to you?”
Unfortunately, it didn’t. Of course, we also didn’t have any evidence of it. Sarah could have been glamoured —not that vamps manipulating humans was a big improvement over drugging them.
Whatever the case, it was worth looking into. I put the pills back into the envelope, then tucked it into my pocket again. “I’ll take them to the Ombud’s office,” I told him. “Maybe they can find out more.”
The debriefing done, Jonah let me freshen up in his small bathroom. I rubbed at mascara smears and hitched up my ponytail again.
When I came out, he was pulling a buzzing phone from his pocket. He glanced up at me.
“I’m going to take this. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home. There’s more blood if you need it.”
I nodded at him. “Thanks.”
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the cool comfort of his suite.
I rounded the corner, moving into the sitting room and toward a group of framed papers on the wall. They were diplomas for four doctorates: three from state schools in Illinois (history, anthropology, and geography) and one from Northwestern (German literature and critical thought). Each diploma bore a variation of his name—John, Jonah, Jonathan, Jack—and their dates were spread in time across the twentieth century.
I guess graduate school was possible for a vampire.
The door opened. “Sorry,” he said behind me.
“It was Noah. He is now aware you spent the night at his condo last night.”
“Good call,” I said, assuming Ethan didn’t quiz me on the finer points of Noah’s home—or any other details about Noah other than the little I already knew.
I pointed at the degrees. “You’re quite the student.”
“Is ‘student’ a euphemism for ‘geek’?”
“It’s a euphemism for ‘man with four PhDs.’ How did you manage all this?”
“While hiding the fact that I’m fanged, you mean?”
I nodded, and he grinned and walked toward me. “Very carefully.”
“Lot of night classes?”
“Exclusively. All of these were before online classes were an option.” He smiled secretly as he looked over the certificates. “In earlier days, grad school was still a place for eccentrics. It was easy to play the lone genius— the one who only took evening classes, slept during the day, et cetera.”
“Did you TA any?” Being a TA, a teaching assistant, seemed like it would have been harder.
“I did not. I got lucky with some fellowship money, and I liked researching, so they kept me away from the classrooms. Otherwise, it would have been hard to arrange.” He tilted his head at me. “Did you do time in grad school?”
“Before I was changed, yeah.”
He must have heard the regret in my voice.
“I’m guessing there’s a story there?”
“I was in grad school at U of C before I was made a vampire. English lit. Three chapters into my dissertation.” Before I could stop myself, the entire story was out. “I was walking across campus one night, and I was attacked.” I looked over at him. “One of the Rogues Celina hired.”
He put two and two together. “You were one of the park victims. The one who was bitten on campus?”
I nodded. “Ethan and Malik happened to be there. They jumped out, scared the attacker away, and Ethan took me home and began the Change.”
“God, that was lucky for you.”
“It was,” I agreed.
“So Ethan saved your life.”
“He did. And made me a Cadogan vampire and House Sentinel.” I frowned. “He also pulled me out of school. He didn’t think I could go back as a vamp.” That was right before the North American Vampire Registry outed my Initiate class in the paper, so he’d probably been right.
“He had a point,” Jonah said. “School as a closeted vampire wasn’t an easy task. It was a little easier, I think, as an older vamp who knew the rules, knew how to play the game. For an Initiate still learning the ropes?” He shrugged. “It would have been difficult.”
“Said the man with four doctorates.”
“Fair point. But you seem to have adjusted to being a vampire, even if the transition wasn’t exactly by choice.”
“It wasn’t easy,” I admitted. “I had my moments of irritating whininess. But I eventually reached the point where I had to accept who I was and deal with it—or leave the House and pretend to be a human again.” I shrugged. “I opted for the House.”
Jonah wet his lips, then looked at me askew. “I should give credit where credit is due. You did well last night.”
“That would be more flattering if there wasn’t so much surprise in your voice.”
“My expectations were low.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” I thought of the first time we’d met, of the disdain in his voice. “And why is that exactly? Why the anti-Sentinel sentiment?”
He smirked. “It’s not so much anti-Sentinel—”
“As anti-Merit?” I finished for him.
“I know your sister,” he said. “Charlotte. We have mutual friends.”
Charlotte was my older sister, currently married with two children and engaged as a full-time charity soiree attendee and fund-raiser.
I loved my sister, but I wasn’t a part—by choice—of the fancy circles she ran in. So it didn’t exactly impress me that he knew her.
“Okay,” I said.
He sighed, then looked up at me a little guiltily. “I’d assumed—your being a Merit—that you were her clone.”
It took me a moment to gather up an answer.
“What, now?”
“I just figured—since you’re sisters and all.
And both Merits . . .” He trailed off, but didn’t need to finish the rest of it. Jonah wasn’t the first vampire who’d confessed he’d judged me based on my family name—and the baggage that accompanied wealth and notoriety. I’m not saying money doesn’t have its advantages, but being judged on one’s own merits—pun very much intended—isn’t one of them.
On the other hand, that did explain why he’d been so cold the first couple of times we’d met.
He’d expected a bratty new vampire from new-money Chicago.
“I love my sister,” I told him. “But I’m far from being her clone.”
“So I see.”
“And now you believe what?”
“Oh. Well.” He smiled, and there was pride in his eyes. “Now I’ve seen you in action. I’ve seen this avenging angel—”
“I prefer Ponytailed Avenger,” I dryly said.
That was the nickname ascribed to me by Nick Breckenridge (aka “the blackmailer”).
