"No, we need the syringe. It's our evidence. We need it, Ethan."
"Okay," he said, gently pulling me to my feet. "I'll look for the syringe, okay?"
I nodded, my mind still racing, my heart still racing. "It's our evidence," I repeated.
Ethan put his hands on my face and searched my eyes. "Merit. Breathe."
I shook my head. I'd already been overwhelmed once. I didn't want to be overwhelmed again. I just wanted a solution.
"I was so afraid," I said. "I thought I'd lost my grandfather."
Ethan smiled. "You didn't lose him. You saved him, Merit. You rushed into a burning building to save him, and I have never been so proud or so angry. You could have gotten yourself killed."
"I'm okay," I said. "I had to go in there. I couldn't not go in there."
"I know," he said, brushing bangs from my face. "And that's the only reason I'm not throttling you right now."
"The house was firebombed. There were rioters. One of them is over . . . there," I said, pointing to the second ambulance, but the rioter was gone.
"Jeff nabbed him," Ethan said. "He's in the back of the CPD car."
I turned around to check that out. Sure enough, the pouty rioter was in the back of the cruiser. I couldn't hear his words, but he appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs, probably about the unfairness of his arrest and the injustices he was facing at the hands of vampires . . . after he'd firebombed my grandfather's house.
"My grandfather's house is gone," I said.
"But your grandfather is not," Ethan pointed out. He kissed me hard, reminding me that I had my own life to be grateful for, then wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. My tears began anew.
"I'm here," he said. "Be still."
-
Half an hour and one retrieved piece of evidence later, we sat in the dated waiting room of a hospital on the south side of Chicago. Grandpa was in surgery, and we were waiting for an update.
Chairs with pink tweed cushions and rounded wooden arms were grouped together in seating areas for family and friends, and televisions showing twenty-four-hour news channels played quietly in the corners. There was a small area for children to play, with a handful of wooden books and plastic toys with the decals and paint worn off. They seemed tired, and sadder for it.
I'd washed the soot from my face in the sink of the bathroom down the hall, using hand soap and brown paper towels. Soot was weirdly greasy, and it took a few tries before my skin was clean again. On the upside, I wouldn't need an exfoliating mask any time soon.
I sat beside Ethan, our hands entwined, my head on his shoulder. The rest of the Cadogan House vampires had stayed at the house out of fear the rioters might seek another target. They clearly meant business - whatever that business might have been.
Other vampires were also absent, but Jonah sent a text message: SOUNDS LIKE I MISSED ALL THE FUN.
YOU DID, I responded. BUT YOU SHOULD STAY WHERE YOU ARE. KEEP YOUR PEOPLE SAFE.
YOU'RE ONE OF MY PEOPLE, he messaged. AND I'M GLAD YOU'RE OKAY. BEST WISHES TO CHUCK.
My grandfather was well loved, and the waiting room was stuffed with people who'd been able to check in and wish him well. Catcher and Mallory sat on the chairs across from us. Catcher looked guilty, I assumed because he hadn't been at the house when the shit went down. Not that that would have done anything.
Jeff and Marjorie were there, as were a handful of supernaturals I knew only through vague acquaintance - a couple of the snub-nosed River trolls and a small gaggle of River nymphs - but they kept to themselves.
Detective Jacobs and some of my grandfather's friends from the CPD were there. Ethan had passed the syringe over to Catcher, who in turn gave it to Detective Jacobs. He promised to have the lab take a look as soon as he could.
Gabriel, Tanya, and Connor even dropped by to wish my grandfather well. Connor was asleep in his father's arms, and Tanya looked sleepy, too. I hadn't realized how late it was - only a couple of hours from dawn, I thought.
"You're all right?" Gabriel asked, giving me a half hug and pressing a kiss to my cheek. That act of kindness, so personal and so unusual for Gabe, nearly made me break into tears again.
"I'm okay," I said. "Hanging in there."
"Only thing you can do," he said, shaking Ethan's hand.
"Your compatriot was a brave man tonight," Ethan said. "Jeff helped rescue him."
We glanced at Jeff, who was now cradling Connor in his unbandaged arm, Tanya looking over them both with a smile.
"He's a good man," Gabriel said. "And a good member of our Pack."
"Any word on my car?" I asked. "I don't want to wear out my welcome with the Mercedes, I mean."
Gabriel and Ethan shared a look I couldn't decipher, but I bet it was related to the car's history - and the fact that Ethan wanted it.
"As it turns out," Gabe said, "they're having trouble tracking down a windshield."
I frowned. "I thought Mallory had said it was repaired?"
"Only the hood," Gabe clarified. "That was easy enough to find. Intact glass for a Volvo that was manufactured before you were born is trickier. And don't worry about the car. You have bigger things to think about. Family things. That comes first."
"Agreed," Ethan said, slipping his hand into mine.
The Keenes didn't stay long, begging off in order get Connor home and safely tucked in. They were quickly replaced by my parents, who were the last to arrive. Both were formally dressed; she in sequins, he in a tux. They probably hadn't learned about the fire until after whatever event they'd been attending.
My mother was teary eyed. My father looked haunted, as if he'd suddenly been reminded of his own mortality.
We rose when they came in. My mother practically ran to me, embracing me in a hug strong enough to leave sequin imprints on my arms.
"You've talked to the doctor?" my father asked.
"Not yet," Ethan said. "He's still in surgery."
My father looked at me, and for the first time that I could remember, there was fear in his eyes. The man who'd bought his way through life had discovered that death always had a card to play and rarely lost a hand.
He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. "You could have gotten yourself killed, Merit. You could have gotten yourself killed."
It was tragedy's unique ability to cross rifts between people, even deep crevasses between family members.
"I'm all right," I said, patting him on the back. I appreciated the hug, but that didn't make it any less awkward, considering our history. "I'm fine."