I nearly snarked back - Ethan was not keen on my jeans-and-layered-T-shirts fashion sensibilities - but decided I appreciated the gesture more than I needed the last word.
Tonight I was returning to the fold. Returning to Chicago's most elite social circle. This was my chance to don a dress and an attitude, to act like I belonged. To use my name as the entry ticket it truly was. But that name or not, that task would be a helluva lot easier in a nice dress than in anything I had in my closet at the moment.
So, "Thank you," I said.
He looked down and flicked up the cuff at his wrist, revealing a wide, silver watch.
"You'll find shoes to match in your closet. I had Helen drop them off last night. As I'm sure you know, it's quite a drive to Loring Park, so we need to leave directly. Be downstairs in half an hour."
"Forty-five minutes," I countered, and at his raised eyebrow, offered, "I'm a girl."
His gaze went flat again. "I'm aware of that, Sentinel. Forty minutes."
I saluted crisply after he turned and walked down the hallway, then shut the door behind him. Curiosity getting the best of me, I went to the bed and spread the garment bag upon it, then clasped the zipper.
"Five bucks says it's black," I bet, and unzipped it.
I was right.
It was black taffeta, a cocktail dress with a fitted bodice and just-above-the-knees swingy skirt. The taffeta was pleated in well-constructed tucks, turning a classic little black dress into something much sassier.
Sassy or not, it was still fustier than my usual jeans and Pumas. It was the dress I'd successfully avoided wearing for ten years.
I pulled it from the bag and slipped it off the hanger, then held it up against my chest in front of the full-length mirror. I looked, at twenty-eight, almost exactly as I had at twenty-seven. But my straight hair was darker, my skin paler. Barring some ill-advised trip into the sun or a run-in with the wrong end of a katana or an aspen stake, I'd look the same as I did now - the twenty-seven years I'd owned when Ethan changed me - for the remainder of my life. For an eternity, if I managed to last that long. That, of course, would depend on how many enemies I made, and how much I was asked to sacrifice to Cadogan House.
To Ethan.
That thought in mind, I blew out a slow breath and offered a silent prayer for patience.
The clock ticking, I spread the dress back on the bed and headed for the shower.
Maybe unsurprisingly, it took time for the water in the antique House to heat. I slipped into the claw-foot tub and pulled the ringed shower curtain around me, then dunked my head beneath the spray, relishing the heat. I missed daylight, being able to stand in the warmth of a spring day, my face tilted toward the sun, basking in the heat of it. I was relegated to fluorescent lights and moonglow now, but a hot shower was a surprisingly good substitute.
I stayed in the tub huddled beneath the water until the tiny bathroom was fogged with steam. Once out, I toweled off and turbaned my hair, then arranged my ensemble. The shoes Ethan had mentioned were in the closet, carefully wrapped in white tissue paper and nestled inside a glossy black box. I unwrapped them. They were evening pumps, an arrangement of spaghetti-thin straps atop three needle-sharp inches of heel.
I pulled them out by the straps and dangled them in the air, giving them a once-over as they twirled. I used to dance en pointe, but during my grad school days, I'd gotten used to Converse and Puma, not Louboutin and Prada. I'd do Ethan a solid and wear them, but I truly hoped I wouldn't have to make a run for it at the Breckenridge estate.
I arranged undergarments, prepped and dried my hair, and applied makeup. Lip gloss.
Mascara. Blush, since it was a special occasion. When my dark hair gleamed, I pulled it into a high ponytail, long bangs across my forehead, which I thought looked modern enough to match the kicky cocktail dress and heels.
I looked at myself in the mirror, pleasantly surprised at the result. I glowed beneath the makeup, my blue eyes a nice contrast to pale skin, my lips a bee-stung pink. When I was human, I'd been called "pretty," but I'd been too busy with books and library stacks, glasses and Chuck Taylors to play up my more feminine attributes. Ironically, now that I'd been made a predator, I'd become more alluring for it.
Satisfied that I'd done what I could, I went to the bureau and pulled out a small box of indigo velvet that I'd brought with me from Wicker Park. It held the Merit pearls, one of the first purchases my father had made with his newfound fortune, bought for my mother for their tenth anniversary. My sister, Charlotte, had worn them for her debut, and I'd worn them for mine. Someday, I would pass them to Mary Katherine and Olivia, Charlotte's daughters.
I fingered the silk-soft globes, then glanced over at the thin gold chain that lay across the bureau's top. Hanging from it was my own gold Cadogan medal, the thin, stamped disk bearing the Cadogan name, Cadogan's North American Vampire Registry number (4), and my name and position.
It was an interesting decision - should I accessorize according to the dictates of my father or my boss?
I dismissed both choices and picked a third - I opted to dress for Merit, Cadogan Sentinel. I wasn't going to the Brecks' because I had an urge to see my father, or out of some misdirected sense of family obligation. I was going because that's what I'd promised to do - to act in Cadogan's best interests.
Decision made, I fastened the medal around my neck, pulled on the dress and slid into the heels, arranging the straps. I filled a small clutch purse with necessities, then grabbed my sword. I was working, after all.
I checked the clock - two minutes to get downstairs. Since I'd run out of time for procrastination, I plucked my cell phone from the bureau, and as I left the room and shut the door behind me, dialed Morgan's number.
"Morgan Greer."
"Merit, um, well, Merit. 'Cause I only have the one name."
He chuckled. "For how long remains the question," he said, which I took as a compliment regarding my future Master status. "What are you up to?"
"Work," I quickly answered, unable and unwilling to give him more details than that. I had the sense that Morgan had questions about my relationship with Ethan, no need to fan those flames. But I could do one thing...
"Listen, Mallory starts her sorcery internship on Sunday, so we're having a kickoff dinner thing tomorrow night. Her and Catcher and me. Can you join us?"
There was brightness in his voice, relief at having been asked. "Absolutely. Wicker Park?"
"Yeah, I mean, unless you're eager to lunch in the Cadogan cafeteria. I hear it's chicken fingers and a Jell-O cup tomorrow."