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

times.”
    “Troubled times?”
    Did he really need me to recite the list? They were the same grievances we’d been leveling against the GP for months now.
    “Our existence was announced to the public without our consent. Celina made attempts on our lives. Mallory threw dark magic across the city. A supernatural mayor, or two of them, are out there somewhere. All problems that we have to solve.”
    “And why you, Merit? Why must you solve them?”
    I didn’t really have an answer for that, except the obvious: If not us, then who? The GP seemed to be stuck in a mode of refusing to make decisions. Who refused to act, even when the choices were clear and present before them? Were they afraid they’d be judged? Afraid they might be wrong? We had allies, unofficial or otherwise—a select few Houses, shifters, nymphs, a few fairies, a rebellious sorcerer or three. Together, we seemed to be the only ones willing to actually do anything.
    It was easy to judge Ethan—or me, Malik, or Luc—when you could stand on the sidelines or quarterback from the couch. It was harder to be in the trenches, to do the best you could . . . and it hurt more when others didn’t believe you were acting for good.
    Darius took a puff on the cigarette, then blew the smoke from his mouth in a slow, steady stream. “I have been alive a long time,” he said. “Not as long as Ethan, but a long time. I have seen much in my life, but I must disagree that these times are troubled. I have seen world wars, Sentinel. I have seen vampires staked in public with no investigation, no remorse.”
    I nodded. “With all due respect, that you’ve seen more troubled times doesn’t mean ours aren’t troubled. It doesn’t take a world war to make a situation precarious. Or dangerous. Before Celina outed us, I had no idea vampires existed. Nor, I would bet, did most people. Perhaps the Houses had troubles then that I’m not aware of. But if they did, they weren’t the kind of issues that face us now.”
    “That’s very poetic.” He tapped the cigarette’s ashes against the wrought iron, and a thousand tiny sparks fell through the sky. “But ultimately, irrelevant.”
    He took a final puff of his cigarette, then smudged the butt against the dark rock of the wall behind us and put the remainder in his pocket.
    “You are young,” he said. “And I don’t doubt your intentions are noble. But those intentions are directed toward this House, its vampires, and its Master. My intentions are necessarily much larger in scale.”
    “We are not trying to make your job more difficult, but we can’t just ignore these problems.”
    “That, Merit, precisely is the problem. You take arms against the sea of troubles, to quote the bard, but you don’t end them. You make them worse.” He held up a hand before I could argue. “The evidence is incontrovertible. Things in Chicago have deteriorated over the last few months, and not just because there are enemies in your midst. Consider Grey House. They keep their heads down and they focus on survival, and we have no arguments with their Novitiates or their leadership.”
    Yeah, but that was only because he didn’t know the truth. He didn’t know the captain of the Grey House guards was a member of the Red Guard and that he was out there mixing it up with the rest of us.
    Maybe that’s precisely why Jonah had joined the Red Guard—to keep his efforts hidden from the GP and out of Darius’s sight. It wasn’t a bad idea. Nevertheless, “Celina didn’t target anyone from Grey House, nor did Tate. Or McKetrick. The shifters didn’t ask Grey House to act as security for their convocation. What would you have us do? Stick our heads in the sand?”
    “I am suggesting,” he said firmly, “that there is a skill inherent in handling a crisis and not making it worse. And I am suggesting the current leaders of this House do not have that particular skill.”
    I was too pissed at the insult to Ethan and Malik to respond. This man sat in a cushy chair in England and complained about what went on here, in Chicago , on the ground. He didn’t have to make the types of decisions we did; he didn’t have to investigate and solve the kinds of problems we did. What right did he have to complain about how we reacted?
    “Compose yourself, Sentinel. I can feel your irritation from here. You need to learn to better guard your emotions. Stealth is difficult when you’re broadcasting your position.”
    I didn’t respond