On the other hand, I didn’t want to check in with Ethan. Didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to not talk to him about things that were obviously important, didn’t want to deal with his pissy way of turning fear into anger and irritability.
But I was a grown-up, which meant eating the proverbial broccoli before dessert. So I walked to his office, promised myself a Mallocake later for doing the right thing.
When I found him staring out his office window, shoulders tight and buzzing magic in the air, I gave myself permission to have two.
I waited until he acknowledged me. When he finally glanced around, his eyes were cold marble. “Long night, Sentinel?”
I put my sword on the conference table, walked to the bar, grabbed a bottle of water. “Well, I was unconscious for most of it, due to saving your life and the resulting concussion. Most recently, I had dinner with Jonah and the Ombuddies.”
I enjoyed too much that his eyes flashed at Jonah’s name. If he wasn’t going to be civil, I wouldn’t be, either.
“I didn’t realize your schedule was so . . . pliable.”
I uncapped the bottle, took a drink. “It wasn’t. I investigated a murder, provided an update to Mallory, Catcher, and Jeff, who were assisting my grandfather with a nymph truce, was served dinner by nymphs—an offer I didn’t have the luxury of refusing—and got one step closer to a killer. In other words, I was doing my job.”
His eyes changed, just a little. “One step closer?”
“The woman found tonight was Samantha Ingram. A potential Initiate at Grey House.”
“That’s a miserable thing to discover.”
“It was. And a miserable Jonah to have to tell Scott. She had the same mark as Brett Jacobs—a small blue cross painted on her hand. That’s how the CPD figured out they were connected. And Mallory realized their deaths are related to the tarot.”
“How so?”
“Brett’s murder involved two swords. Samantha’s involved three pentagrams.”
“The Two of Swords and Three of Pentacles,” he said, with a nod.
“Yep. So the CPD will move forward there, look for connections between Samantha, Brett, Mitzy. Did you hear from Darius tonight?”
“Only that he’s landed. He hasn’t made any pronouncements, if there are any to make.”
I was home safe and he’d had no contact from Darius, but his shoulders were still as stiff as granite. Something else was going on. Damn the space he thinks he needs, I thought, and asked the question. “And your blackmailer? Has she contacted you again?”
The tightness in his eyes was answer enough.
“She did.”
He wet his lips, turned away again.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Short and brittle answers were beginning to piss me off. “Do you think I’m going to walk away because you’re being snarky? Or let you walk away from me because of something you think you did? Some wrong you committed centuries ago?”
He turned back, his eyes green fire, as if angry that I’d guessed his darkest secret, the cancer on his psyche.
“You don’t know who or what I was.” There was danger in his voice and in his eyes, as if he meant to remind me he was Master of his goddamned House.
“Then tell me.”
He shook his head.
“You know what? I think that’s bullshit. I think it’s a cop-out.”
“I don’t care if you think it’s a cop-out. I’ll do whatever I think is best—whether or not that includes you.”
I stiffened, leveling him with a glance that should have stripped the hide off a lesser man. There was a time I’d have been afraid to challenge him. But we’d come well past that time.
“While you’re doing that thinking, I hope you manage to pull that stick out of your ass.”
He stared at me, shock in his eyes.
Good, I thought. It was about time. Maybe a little anger would allow him to work through the fear.
“Don’t test me, Sentinel.”
“I’m not testing you. I’m promising you. If you think for one moment that I’d do anything less than give my life to protect you—again, since I’ve already done it once this week—regardless who you were back then, then you can just kiss my ass. And after all we’ve been through, that you don’t trust me enough to tell me.” I shook my head, fury burning in my eyes. “That’s beneath you, Ethan. It’s beneath both of us.”
I walked out of the office and slammed the door, hard enough to hear pictures fall and break behind me.
That made me feel a little better.
* * *
It wasn’t often that I needed to train to let off physical steam. There was usually trouble enough brewing in and around the House that regular workouts took care of any excess energy.
Ethan was afraid, and shutting me out, and I was hurt and angry and frustrated.
But instead of my training ensemble, I opted for old friends. A black leotard, tights that reached midcalf, and a cropped wrap sweater in pale pink that I hadn’t worn in at least a year. It had been too long since I’d worn toe shoes. I guessed I’d be able to make the transition, but I didn’t have the time or materials to break in a new pair of toe shoes, so I opted for ballet slippers.
Shoes in hand, I closed the apartment doors as I shrugged into the wrap sweater, then went downstairs to the basement training room. I cracked open the door, found the room empty. I walked inside, closed and locked it, and leaned back against it with a smile.
This was my time, and it had been much too long.
I rolled back the tatami mats that covered the center of the floor, then turned on the audio system. Music was one of Luc’s favorite ways to ensure we fought with appropriate rhythm, which he was convinced was crucial to defending an attack. Tonight, it was crucial to maintaining my sanity.
Music—a diva singing over a heavy bass line—filled the air. Perfect, I thought, adjusting the volume so Luc, in the Ops Room next door, wouldn’t think the building was under attack.
I walked to the middle of the room, racked with a sudden bout of self-consciousness. I hadn’t done this in a really long time. I closed my eyes, rolled my shoulders, and began to stretch out. Arms, back, calves, hamstrings. I imagined one of my former ballet teachers’ favorite cadences: Plié! Relevé! Plié! Relevé! Over and over again.
When my body was warm, I pulled off the shrug, tossed it near the door. I closed my eyes, dropped my head, and let my body feel the thud of the bass.