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

I’ll want to get a sense of where she is so I can tell the Order.”
    I nodded. “If you need anything before then, feel free to call Helen.”
    We said polite good-byes, and I closed the door behind me and nearly ran back to the stairs, where hot-water oblivion awaited. I wanted a long, steamy, environmentally irresponsible shower that wrinkled my skin and fogged the bathroom mirror.
    My room was on the second floor of the House. One floor up from the main, one floor down from Ethan’s apartments. In another time, I’d appreciated having space between us.
    A note was tacked to the bulletin board on the front of my door. It was from Lindsey, my best girlfriend in the House.
    Girl! I hope you did lots of nasty with Our Dear Sullivan and made us all proud. Please bring him back in a good mood. And eager to give us all raises. We need shoes. Hearts, Lindsey.
    Unfortunately, there was decidedly no “nasty,” and I doubted Ethan was in a better mood—not when he was returning to political spite and double the number of enemies he’d had when he left.
    When the door was locked behind me, I peeled off my leather jacket and filthy clothes and climbed into the shower.
    It was even better than I’d imagined. I scrubbed the soot from my face and let the heat push the remaining pain from my presumptively broken rib and twisted ankle and the green-purple bruise on my arm where Ethan had grabbed me. There was no doubt they were healing, but the residual aches hadn’t yet gone away.
    When I was pink and clean, I climbed out again and dried my hair. I returned to my basic fall uniform—jeans, boots, a snug long-sleeved T-shirt, and my leather jacket.
    Since Paige was resting, I took the time to check my e-mail and the news of the world, then gave my sword a wipe-down with rice paper and oil. A good thing, too—it was filthy. Catcher would not have been impressed that I’d carried it back from Nebraska without cleaning it. Hygiene, sword or otherwise, took an unfortunate backseat in a crisis.
    When we were both clean again, I made a trip across the hall to the second floor’s small kitchenette.
    There’d been an unfortunate lack of deliciousness in the House when Franklin Cabot, the receiver, had been here; he was a fan of green and organic. I was a fan of cellophane wrapped and seriously processed. Now that Cabot was gone, sugar was back in play. The kitchen was stocked with treats, including Mallocakes and bags of blood from Blood4You, our delivery service.
    I nuked a bag for a few seconds, poked in a straw, and drained it dry. Even steak only went so far. I drank another pint just to be on the safe side, and because I was being mature, I skipped the Mallocakes for a granola bar that I ate while reading flyers posted to a newly hung bulletin board in the kitchen.
    Unfortunately, they weren’t exactly cheery. There were instructions for registering with the city and an article about the attack on the vampires and humans Jeff had mentioned.
    If no news was good news, was all news bad news?
    My stomach (temporarily) sated and Paige (temporarily) out of service, I decided to check on Lindsey. I wasn’t sure she’d be in her room in the middle of the night, but since I hadn’t seen her since before we left for Nebraska, I figured it was worth the time to knock.
    There was silence for a moment, and I almost turned to walk away.
    Oh, if only I’d walked away.
    I heard a bout of giggling, and then the door opened. Lindsey stood in the doorway, blond hair in all directions, wearing only a sheet and, of course, her Cadogan medal.
    And behind her, on her small bed, was Luc. He was also wrapped mostly in a blanket, except for the tooled leather cowboy boots on his feet. He waved collegially, as if I hadn’t just interrupted him midcoitus.
    “I am . . . clearly interrupting . . . something,” I said, taking a step away from the door. “And I don’t want to keep doing that, so I am going to just go on about my business.”
    Lindsey pressed her lips together, then slipped out the door and into the hallway, closing the door behind her. “You good?”
    “Me? Oh, sure. I’m—I’m great. I’m just going to go . . . find something else to do.”
    “Didn’t want to see your other boss half-naked, did you?” she asked.
    “Or wearing cowboy boots,” I agreed. “But I’m glad to see you’re getting along so well.”
    “I’m doing what I can for House solidarity.”
    “I can see that. Okay. You two have fun. Find