LETTING GO
That night we mourned publicly: eight enormous Japanese taiko drums lined the sidewalk outside the House, their players beating a percussive dirge as Ethan's ashes were moved into the House.
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.
There were circles of stones along the trail beside the lake. We gathered at one of them, all wearing the black of mourning. Lindsey and I stood beside each other, holding hands as we stared out at the glassy water. Luc stood at her other side, his fingers and hers intertwined, grief breaking down the walls Lindsey had built between them.
A man I didn't know spoke of the joys of immortality and the long life Ethan had been fortunate enough to live. Regardless of its length, life never quite seemed long enough. Especially when the end was selected - perpetrated - by someone else.
Malik, wearing a mantle of grief, carried bloodred amaranth to the lakeshore. He dropped the flowers into the water, then looked back at us. "Milton tells us in Paradise Lost that amaranth bloomed by the tree of life. But when man made his mortal mistake, it was removed to heaven, where it continued to grow for eternity.
Ethan ruled his House wisely, and with love. We can only hope that Ethan lives now where amaranth blossoms eternally."
The words spoken, he returned to his wife, who clutched his hand in hers.
Lindsey sobbed, releasing my hand and moving into Luc's embrace. His eyes closed in relief, and he wrapped his arms around her.
I stood alone, glad of their affection. Love bloomed like amaranth, I thought, finding a new place to seed even as others were taken away.
A week passed, and the House and its vampires still grieved. But even in grief, life went on.
Malik took up residence in Ethan's office. He didn't change the decor, but he did station himself behind Ethan's desk. I heard rumblings in the halls about the choice, but I didn't begrudge him the office. After all, the House was a business that he needed to run, at least until the receiver arrived.
Luc was promoted from Guard Captain to Second. He seemed more suited for security and safety than executive officer or would-be vice president, but he handled the promotion with dignity.
Tate's deputy mayor took over for the city's fallen playboy, who was facing indictment for his involvement with drugs, raves, and Celina.
Navarre House mourned her loss. The death of Celina, as a former Master and the namesake of the House, was treated with similar pomp and circumstance.
I got no specific rebuke from the GP for being the tool of her demise, but I assumed the receiver would have thoughts on that, as well.
The drama had no apparent end.
Through all of it, I stayed in my room. The House was virtually silent; I hadn't heard laughter in a week. We were a family without a father. Malik was undoubtedly competent and capable, but Ethan, as Master, had turned most of us. We were biologically tied to him.
Bound to him.
Exhausted by him.
I spent my nights doing little more than bobbing in the sea of conflicting emotions. No appetite for blood or friendship, no appetite for politics or strategy, no interest in anything that went on in the House beyond my own emotions and the memories that stoked them.
My days were even worse.
As the sun rose, my mind ached for oblivion and my body ached for rest. But I couldn't stop the thoughts that circled, over and over, in my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about him. And because I grieved, because I mourned, I didn't want to. Events and moments replayed in my mind - from my first sight of him on the first floor of Cadogan House to the first time he beat me in a fight; from the expressions on his face when I'd taken blood from him to the fury in his expression when he'd nearly fought a shifter to keep me from presumed harm.
The moments replayed like a filmstrip. A filmstrip I couldn't, however exhausted, turn off. I couldn't face Malik. I don't know what he'd known before following Ethan onto campus that night, but I couldn't imagine he didn't wonder about the strangeness of the task - or its origin. I wouldn't deny him the right to run the House as he saw fit, but I wasn't ready to make declarations of his authority over me. Not without more information. Not without some assurance that he hadn't been part of the teamwho'd sold me to the highest bidder. My anger became a comfort, because at least it wasn't grief.
For seven nights, Mallory slept on the floor of my room, loath to leave my side. I was hardly capable of acknowledging her existence, much less anything else. But on the eighth night, she'd apparently had enough.
When the sun slipped below the horizon, she flipped on the lights and ripped the blanket off the bed.
I sat up, blinking back spots. "What the hell?"
"You've had your week of lying around. It's time to get back to your life."
I lay down again and faced the wall. "I'm not ready."
The bed dipped beside me, and she put a hand on my shoulder. "You're ready. You're grieving, and you're angry, but you're ready. Lindsey said the House is down another guard since Luc took over as Second. You should be down there helping out."
"I'm not ready," I protested, ignoring her logic. "And I'm not angry."
She made a sound of incredulity. "You're not? You should be. You should be pissed right now. Pissed that Ethan was in cahoots with your father."
"You don't know that." I said the words by habit. By now, I was too numb and exhausted with grief and rage to care.
"And you do? You were human, Merit. And you gave up that life for what? So some vampire could put a little extra cash into his coffers?"
I looked up as she popped off the bed, holding up her arms. "Does it look like he's hurting for money?"
"Stop it."
"No. You stop mourning for the guy who took your humanity. Who worked with your father - your father, Merit - to kill you and remake you in his image."
Anger began to itch beneath my skin, warming my body from the inside out. I knew what she was doing - trying to bring me back to life - but that didn't make me any more happy about it.
"He didn't do it."
"If you believed that, you'd be out there, not in this musty room stuck in some kind of stasis. If you believed he was innocent, you'd be mourning like a normal person with the rest of your Housemates instead of in here afraid of the possible truth - that your father paid Ethan to make you a vampire."
I stilled. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know because it might be true."
"I know, honey. But you can't live like this forever. This isn't a life. And Ethan would be pissed if he thought you were spending your life in this room, afraid of something you're not even sure he did."
I sighed and scratched at a paint mark on the wall. "So what do I do?"
Mallory sat beside me again. "You find your father, and you ask him."
The tears began anew. "And if it's true?"
She shrugged. "Then at least you'll know."
It was barely after dusk, so I called ahead to ensure my father was home before I left . . . and then I drove like a bat out of hell to get there.
I didn't bother to knock, but burst through the front door with the same level of energy I'd applied to my week of denial. I even beat Pennebaker, my father's butler, to the sliding door of my father's office.
"He's occupied," Pennebaker said, staring dourly down from his skeletal height when I put a hand on the door.
I glanced over at him. "He'll see me," I assured him, and pushed the door open.
My mother sat on a leather club chair; my father sat behind his desk. They both stood up when I walked in.
"Merit, darling, is everything okay?"
"I'm fine, Mom. Give us a minute."
She looked at my father, and after a moment of gauging my anger, he nodded. "Why don't you arrange for some tea, Meredith?"
My mother nodded, then walked to me, put a hand on my arm, and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
"We were sorry to hear about Ethan, darling."
I offered up as much gratitude as I could. At this point, there wasn't much.
When the sliding door closed, my father looked at me. "You managed to get a mayor arrested."
His voice was petulant. He'd been supporting Tate for years; now he had to build up a relationship with the new deputy mayor. I imagine he wasn't pleased by that.
I walked closer to his desk. "The mayor managed to get himself arrested," I clarified. "I just caught him in the act."
My father humphed, clearly not mollified by the explanation.
"In any event," I said, "that's not why I'm here."
"Then what brings you by?"
I swallowed down a lump of fear, finally lifting my gaze to him. "Tate told me you offered Ethan money to make me a vampire. That Ethan accepted, and that's why I was changed."
My father froze. Fear rushed me, and I had to grip the back of the chair in front of me to stay upright.
"So you did?" I hoarsely asked. "You paid him to make me a vampire?"
My father wet his lips. "I offered him money."
I crumpled, falling to my knees as grief overwhelmed me.
My father made no move to comfort me, but he continued. "Ethan said no. He wouldn't do it."
I closed my eyes, tears of relief sliding down my cheeks, and said a silent prayer.
"You and I don't get along," my father said. "I haven't always made the best decisions when you were concerned. I'm not apologizing for it - I had high expectations for you and your brother and sisters. . . ." He cleared his throat.
"When your sister died, I was struck, Merit.
Deadened by grief. Everything I've done for you, I wasn't able to do for her." He lifted his gaze, his eyes so very like mine. "I wasn't able to save Caroline. So I gave you her name, and I tried to save you."
I understood grief firsthand, but not his willingness to play God. "By making me a vampire without my consent? By paying someone to assault me?"
"I never made a payment," he clarified, as if the intent weren't enough on its own. "And I was trying to give you immortality."
"You were trying to force immortality upon me. You said you didn't pay anyone - but it was Celina's vamp who attacked me. Why me?"
He looked away.
Realization struck. "When Ethan said no, you talked to Celina. You offered to pay Celina to make me a vampire." She must have told Ethan about the offer, which is why he'd known me to be at U of C.
Ethan had been keeping an eye on me. He'd saved my life . . . twice. Grief pierced my heart again.
My father looked down at me. "I did not pay Celina. Although I understood later that she found out about my offer to Ethan. She was . . . displeased that I hadn't made the same offer to her."
My blood ran cold. "Celina sent the vampire to kill me, and she arranged for the death of other girls who looked just like me."
The puzzle pieces fell into place. Celina had been rebuked by a human, and she'd taken out her embarrassment on his daughter - and on those who looked like her. I shook my head ruefully. One man's arrogance, and so many lives ruined.
"I did the right thing by my family," my father said, as if reading my thoughts.
I wasn't sure whether to be angry at him, or to pity him, if that was what he believed of love. "I can appreciate unconditional love. Love that's based on partnership, not control. That's not love."
I turned on a heel and walked toward the door.
"We aren't done," he said, but his voice was weak, and there wasn't much push behind it.
I glanced back at him. "For tonight, we most definitely are."
Time would tell whether there was any other forgiveness to be had.
The sun was shining, so I knew it was a dream. I lay in the cool, thick grass in a tank top and jeans, a crystal blue sky overhead, the sun warm and golden above me. I closed my eyes, stretched, and basked in the warmth of the sun on my long-denied body. It had been months without sunlight, and the feel of it soaking through my skin, warming my bones, was as good as any languid orgasm.
"Is it that good?" asked a voice beside me, chuckling.
I turned my head to the side, found green eyes smiling back at me.
"Hello, Sentinel."
Even in the dream, my eyes welled at the sight of him. "Hello, Sullivan."
Ethan half sat up, propped his head on his elbow. He wore his usual suit, and I took a moment to enjoy the sight of the long, lean line of his body beside me. When I finally made my way back to his face, I smiled at him.
"Is this a dream?" I asked.
"As we've not been burned to ash, I would assume so."
I pushed a lock of blond hair from his face.
"The House is lonely without you."
His smile faltered. "Is it?"
"The House is empty without you."
"Hmm." He nodded, laid his head back on the grass, one hand beneath it, and stared at the sky.
"But you, of course, don't miss me at all?"
"Not especially," I quietly answered, but let him take my hand in his, entwine our fingers together.
"Well, I believe, if I were alive, I'd be hurt by that."
"I believe, if you were alive, that you'd manage, Sullivan."
He chuckled, and I grinned at the sound of his laughter. I closed my eyes again as we lay in the grass, hands linked between us, sun above us, baking in the warmth of the afternoon.
My eyes were still closed when he screamed my name.
Merit!
I woke gasping, thunder booming as rain pelted the window. I jumped out of bed and threw on the light, positive the voice I'd heard - his voice - had come from inside my room.
It had seemed so real. He had seemed so real.
But my room was empty.
Dusk had fallen again, and he was gone. I fell back in bed, my heart pounding against my chest, and stared at the ceiling, body aching with the remembrance of loss.
But even the ache of remembrance was far better than the empty vacuum of grief. He was gone. But I knew now that he'd been the man I'd come to believe in. I had the memories of him, and if dreams were the only way I could remember him, be with him, so be it.
After scrubbing my face clean and pulling my hair into a ponytail, I pulled on clean clothes and headed downstairs. The House was quiet, as it had been for two weeks. The mood was somber, the vampires still grieving for their lost captain.
But for the first time in two weeks, I walked through the House like a vampire warrior, not a zombie. I walked with purpose, my heart still rent by grief, but at least now the emotion was clean, without the confusing additions of anger and hatred.
The door to the office was closed.
Malik's office now.
For the first time, I lifted my hand and knocked.
It was time to get back to work.
THE END
