Celina, now fully feeling the effects of the V, was moving again, a second stake in hand. I grabbed the stake she’d thrown, and praying for aim, I propelled it.
My aim was true.
It struck her heart, and before a long second had passed, she was gone, as well. Just as Ethan had fallen, there was nothing left of her but a pile of ash on the carpet. My instinct for preservation replaced by shock, I glanced down.
Two tidy cones of ash lay on the carpet.
All that was left of them.
She was dead.
He was dead.
The realization hit me. Even as others rushed into the room, I covered my mouth to hold back the scream and fell to my knees, strength gone.
Because he was gone.
Malik, Catcher, my grandfather, and two uniformed officers burst into the room. Luc must have called them. I looked back at Tate, still behind his desk, a peppery bite of magic in the air but no other sign that he was even vaguely worried by what had gone down in his home.
No way was I letting this go unpunished. “Tate was distributing V,” I said, still on the floor. “He drugged Celina, let her out of jail. She’s gone.” I looked down at the ash again. “She killed Ethan—he jumped in front of me. And then I killed her.”
The room went silent.
“Merit’s grieving,” Tate said. “She’s confused the facts.” He pointed at Paulie, who was now rushing toward a window on the other side of the room. “As I believe you already know, that man was responsible for distributing V. He just confessed as much.”
Paulie sputtered as the officers pulled him away from the window. “You son of a bitch. You think you can get away with this? You think you can use me like this?” He pulled away from the uniforms, who just managed to wrestle him to the floor before he jumped on Tate.
“This is
Tate sighed haggardly. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Mr. Cermak.” He looked over at my grandfather, sympathy in his expression. “He must have been sampling his own wares.”
“You think I’m dumb?” Cermak asked, eyes wild. “I have tapes, you asshole. I recorded every conversation we’ve ever had because I knew—I just
Tate blanched, and everyone in the room froze, not quite sure what to do.
“You have tapes, Mr. Cermak?” my grandfather said.
“Dozens,” he said smugly. “All in a safe-deposit box. The key’s around my neck.”
One of the uniforms fished inside Cermak’s shirt, then pulled out a small flat key on a chain.
“Found it,” he said, holding it up.
And there was the evidence we needed.
All eyes turned to Tate. He adjusted his collar.
“I’m sure we can clear this up.”
My grandfather nodded at Catcher, and they both stepped toward Tate. “Why don’t we discuss this downtown?”
Four more officers appeared at the office door.
Tate took them in and nodded at my grandfather.
“Why don’t we?” he said politely, eyes forward as he strode from the room, a sorcerer, an ombudsman, and four CPD officers behind him.
The first two uniforms led Paulie away.
Silence descended.
Probably only minutes had passed since I’d thrown the stake. But the minutes felt like hours, which felt like days. Time became a blur that moved around me, while I—finally—had become still.
I stayed on my knees on the lush carpet, hands loose in my lap, completely helpless before the remains of two vampires. I was vaguely aware of the grief and hatred that rolled in alternating waves beneath my skin, but none could penetrate the thick shell of shock that kept me upright.
“Merit.” This voice was stronger. Harsher. The words—the base, flat, hopeless sound of Malik’s words—drew up my eyes. His were glassy, overlaid with an obvious sheen of grief, of hopelessness.
“He’s gone,” I said, inconsolable. “He’s gone.”
Malik held me as the ashes of my enemy and my lover were collected in black urns, as they were sealed and carefully escorted from Tate’s office.
He held me until the room was empty again.
“Merit. We need to go. There’s nothing more you can do here.”
It took me a moment to realize why he was there. Why Malik was on the floor beside me, waiting to escort me home.
He’d been Second to Ethan.
But he was Second no longer.
Because Ethan was gone.
Grief and rage overpowered shock. I’d have hit the floor if Malik hadn’t put his arms around me, holding me upright.
I struggled, tears beginning to stream down my face, and pushed against them to get away.
“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!” I whimpered, cried, made sounds better suited to the predator than the girl, and thrashed against him, skin burning where his hands clamped my arms. “Let me go!”
“Merit, stop. Be still,” he said, this new Master, but all I could hear was Ethan’s voice.
That night we mourned publicly: eight enormous Japanese
I watched the progression from the foyer. Out of respect, and to guard Ethan’s progression into the afterlife, Scott and Morgan took the lead, Malik behind them, a new Master engaged in his first official act—transporting the remains of his predecessor into a secured vault in the Cadogan basement.
When the urns were placed inside and the vault was closed and locked again, the rhythm of the drums changed from fast and angry, to slow and mournful, covering the range of emotions I slipped through as the night wore on.
The grief was heavy and exhausting, but it was equally matched by anger and fear. As much as I grieved Ethan’s loss, I was afraid that he’d communed with my father, sold me into a life of vampirism to ease some financial concern.
I wanted to rail at him. Scream at him. Cry and yell and bang my fists against his chest and demand that he exonerate himself, take it back, prove his innocence to me.
I couldn’t, because he was gone.
Life—and mourning—went on without him.
The House was draped in long sheets of black silk like a Christo sculpture. It stood in Hyde Park like a monument to grief, to Ethan, to loss.
We also mourned privately, in a House-only ceremony by the shores of Lake Michigan.
