Paige had been bummed about missing the wedding. The Librarian had been too excited about the conference—and the books—to be overly concerned.

“I can look,” Mallory said, glancing at her husband, who stood with my grandfather and Pulaski. “He’s going to be tied up with this for at least the short term.”

“The mayor’s going to blow a fuse,” I agreed.

“Yeah. Probably.”

Amit walked over to us. “Not the trip to the States I had in mind,” he said, and glanced at Ethan, concern in his eyes. “There is something about Chicago, isn’t there?”

“Something in the damn water, I’m beginning to fear,” Ethan said.

“Or in the air,” I said, and looked at Mallory. “Gabe’s had the same sense of dread. So whatever you’re feeling, you aren’t alone.”

She looked understandably relieved and concerned by that information.

A reporter had found us, was busily snapping pictures of the carnage, the remains of the wedding party.

“Take this picture,” Mallory said to him, moving aside so that Ethan and I stood alone.

“If you want the real sense of Cadogan House, get Merit and Ethan after battle. Get the shot of them together, bloodied because they tried to make a difference. Those are Chicagoland’s vampires.”

With a somber expression, the reporter nodded and aimed his camera at us.

CHAPTER NINE

BITTERSWEETNESS

We said good-byes to what remained of the wedding party and climbed into the limousine that would take us back to the Portman.

At dusk, we were supposed to take a specially equipped and sunlight-protected plane to Paris for a week of madeleines and espresso and moonlight reflecting on the Seine.

Except I knew that couldn’t be. “We aren’t going to Paris,” I said, and settled my head on his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “And I should request all wedding guests leave Chicago as soon as possible. There’s no point in dragging them further into this.”

I felt suddenly, unbearably tired. Emotionally exhausted by a long night of prepping and socializing, physically exhausted by the battle we hadn’t wanted to find ourselves in. And as much as I knew why we couldn’t go, why we couldn’t leave the city in the midst of some unknown supernatural contagion, I couldn’t shake the heavy grief that settled into my bones.

I’d only wanted a honeymoon. That wasn’t so much to ask, was it?

Ethan put an arm around me, drew me closer. I shut my eyes and let myself be calmed by the warmth and nearness of him. “I suppose I was wrong about this not being our problem,” he said.

“It became our problem through no fault of yours. Not much we could have done about that. And it’s better we were there than not. It wasn’t our plan, but if we hadn’t stepped in, things would have been a lot worse.”

Ethan smirked, drew me closer. “I believe I’m the one who should be comforting you, rather than the other way around. Because my beautiful wife deserves peace and comfort.”

“‘Wife’ sounds weird. I wonder when I’ll get used to it.”

“You’ve an eternity,” Ethan said, “as I’m not letting you go.”

• • •

It was nearly dawn, and the Portman Grand was quiet, our footsteps echoing on the marble floor. A woman stood behind the reservation counter, brow furrowed at something in front of her. A man across the room dusted tables in the sitting area, and a lone and exhausted-looking family waited at the bottom of the stairs, all in matching CARTER FAMILY VACATION T-shirts. The parents’ gazes lifted to watch us, eyes widening as they took in our torn clothes, scraped bodies.

“Sit down,” Ethan quietly said. “I’ll check in.”

I nodded, walked toward the stone fountain against the far wall.

“Big fight over the bridal bouquet,” I said to the parents, with the only hint of a smile that I could manage, and hoped that would be enough to soothe their fears.

Water trickled from a lion’s head mounted to the wall in a quatrefoil base. I sat down on the edge, watched koi dart across the water toward me, probably hoping for breakfast.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the water, tried to forget everything I’d heard and seen and felt tonight. Everything except love. Because when all was said and done, that might be the only real thing we had left.

I was tired enough that I didn’t know he’d joined me again—hadn’t even heard him cross the marble lobby—until his hand was on my shoulder.

“Sentinel, I believe you are nearly done for today.”

I nodded. “I think I am, too.”

“In that case, let’s go upstairs.” He pulled me to my feet, kept my hand in his.

• • •

The honeymoon suite was even more grand than the rooms in which we’d prepared for the wedding—and not just because of the sleek grand piano that faced a long wall of windows overlooking the city. Like the other, this room had been divided into separate living spaces, including a dining room, an enormous sectional sofa facing the windows, and a library’s worth of books on a wall that must have stretched twenty feet to the ceiling. A door in the window wall led to an outside terrace dotted with boxwoods and low furniture.

Several doors led from the hallway at the other end of the room. A floating staircase monopolized the interior wall, leading to what I guessed was the bedroom. And beside the stairs, a suite of suitcases, dark brown leather with the Cadogan “C” embossed across the front in silver, stood ready for Paris.

I’d been prepared to wax poetic about the glory of the penthouse, but the sight of them brought that grief into full focus again.

I walked to the windows, looked out at the city. It seemed dark and peaceful from this height, although I knew that was a mirage. That we’d see more of whatever it was that we’d seen tonight. And until we figured out exactly what that was, we wouldn’t be able to stop it. More people would die.

I sighed heavily and with much self-indulgence. “Sometimes I wish our lives were normal.”

“We just got married,” Ethan said, walking to a standing champagne bucket and checking the vintage. “That’s a fairly normal thing to do.”

“And we were attacked by a mob of housewives and coffeehouse kids. That is not.”

Ethan slid the champagne home again, looked up at me.

“Think of everything that we might have missed, Sentinel. So many full moons. So much magic that others have missed. So many Mallocakes that a slower metabolism might not have handled.”

I knew he was trying to make me laugh, and looked back at him. “Now who’s comforting whom?”

“I owed you one.”

I smiled at him. “I’d like a hot bath. Maybe you could comfort me in there?”

His smile was slow and hot and promising. “I believe I could arrange something.” He glanced at the stairs. “Shall we go upstairs, wife?”

I smiled at him. “Let’s do, husband.”

• • •

“Damn,” I quietly said.

We’d made it up the stairs, but gaped in the doorway.

The bedroom was enormous, with silvery paper on the walls and pale carpet across the floor. The bed was a pool of blue in front of a wall of windows that faced Lake Michigan and below a chandelier of sculpted glass teardrops that sent soft orbs of pale light across the room. Eucalyptus and lavender scented the air, and soft, chiming music played in the background.

“It is a room for relaxing,” Ethan said. “For rest and sleep. And since tomorrow will come quickly enough—and whatever fallout that includes—we’ll rest while we can.”

Rest sounded delicious, but somehow defeatist. This was, after all, the only bit of honeymoon we’d get. Paris was a memory. Fallout was our future.

“You may need some assistance getting out of your dress. Or what remains of it.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Turn around,” he said, spinning a finger. I was too tired to argue or make a seductive response, so I turned, waited as he unfastened the hooks, unzipped the back. The dress was ravaged enough that it fell to the floor in a heap of stained silk and satin.