Biting Cold: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (CHICAGOLAND VAMPIRES SERIES)

nearly bit one of them, and yadda yadda yadda, we learned they had nothing to do with the color change.”
    “You can’t yadda yadda yadda nearly biting a fairy,” Paige said.
    “You can if the fairy queen baits you into it by shedding fairy blood. Tip for the future: Fairy blood is rather alluring for vampires.”
    “Noted,” Paige said, selecting another book and bringing it back to the couch.
    “While we’re on the subject of Tate,” I said, “I think . . . something about him has changed recently.”
    “How do you mean?” Paige asked.
    “He’s not the man he used to be. For years he was campaigning for antipoverty measures and pushing his ‘Tate for a New Chicago’ agenda, and all of a sudden he’s flipping drugs to vampires?” I shook my head. “That seems odd.”
    “He’s an actor,” Ethan pointed out. “And a magical one. The entirety of it was an act.”
    “For ten years?”
    “Ten years could barely be a drop of time for him, for all we know. And he did destroy my car, you’ll recall. I’m not exactly feeling friendly toward Seth Tate right now.”
    “I know. And I’m not, either. If it wasn’t for him, you and Celina . . .”
    Tightness clutched at my chest at the memory of that look in Ethan’s eyes—just as the stake hit him, and just before he disappeared. “Anyway, I’m not suddenly a Tate fan. I just think there was a transition.”
    Silence, until Paige slapped the book closed and placed it on the floor again. “Enough with the doom and gloom. The sun’s nearly up, and I know you need to avoid that. How about I show you to your rooms, and tomorrow night we can take a look at the silo?”
    “Is it a good idea for all of us to sleep?” I wondered. Tate and Mallory didn’t seem like the types to hunt for the Maleficium in broad daylight, but who knew?
    “I’ll set the house alarms,” she said. “They’ll alert us if there’s magic in the vicinity. Well, they’re supposed to.” She cast a wary glance at the front door. “Maybe I’ll just turn on the regular alarm, too.”
    “I don’t suppose you have any blood?” Ethan asked. “Our stock was in the car, and it didn’t survive the trip.”
    My appetite suddenly perked up.
    Paige nodded. “I thought you might need it, especially if things got complicated with Mallory. I’ll grab some.”
    We picked up our bags and swords, then waited for Paige to emerge from the kitchen with a tray of old-fashioned glass tumblers. “This way,” she said.
    We followed her to the staircase, then to the second floor and a long, straight hallway of rooms.
    “The farm’s original owners had six children,” Paige explained. “The master bedroom is downstairs, and there are six bedrooms up here. You can take your pick.” She cast an appraising glance at Ethan. “Unless you’re single and interested in sharing the bedroom downstairs?”
    “As thoughtful as that offer is,” Ethan said, “I must decline. Merit would undoubtedly take another of my lives.”
    “Disappointing,” Paige said. “I’ve always wondered about vampires. And the biting.”
    “Every word is true,” Ethan cannily said.
    Pity I couldn’t talk to him silently right now. I might have a few words about his flirting with Paige Martin. Instead, I settled for an arch look that had him grinning back at me. Both the look and his grin made me feel better.
    Paige gave us the tray and said her good nights, then disappeared down the stairs, leaving me and Ethan alone again.
    The house’s six bedrooms were remarkably similar, and it looked like they hadn’t changed much since the 1940s. Each held a cast-iron bed, a nightstand, and a bureau. Pale floral wallpaper adorned the walls. The floors were well-worn hardwood, and the bed linens were old-fashioned chenille spreads. They looked like the types of rooms in which children would have hidden old baseball cards and Cracker Jack toys in the backs of the bureau drawers or under the mattresses.
    Each room had a single window covered by a heavy velvet curtain. I guessed Paige hadn’t wanted to encourage snoopy neighbors.
    “Do you have a room preference?” I asked Ethan.
    “Whichever you prefer,” he said, “since I’ll be staying with you.”
    There was no equivocation in his voice. No question, no request for permission. It was a statement, an announcement of something he meant to do. Something he would do.
    “Of course you will,” I said. “It would be rude to muss two of her bedrooms. We