I put a hand on his arm. “Maguire will soon be behind bars, and Navarre is safe again—or as safe as it’s likely to be. Tomorrow night, we deal with Balthasar. And we end this.”
“I end this,” Ethan said, with conviction that chilled me to the bone.
* * *
I was mature enough to admit we weren’t on the best of terms, but this was a crucial time, and sometimes one had to face one’s fear.
So when I had a moment to get away, I walked upstairs to Helen’s office, passed the closed door of Ethan’s office, and rapped knuckles on the door. She looked up, face utterly blank.
“Yes, Merit?”
“I’ll need a dress for the Investiture.”
“Ethan has already spoken to me,” she began, but I shook my head.
“Not black,” I said. “Not black and not demure. I need something more. Something different.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “For what purpose?”
I took a step toward her desk. “For the purpose of baiting this man pretending to be Balthasar, this man who wants to take the House from Ethan. Look, Helen, I know we haven’t gotten along very well since—well, since the beginning.”
Her expression stayed impressively blank.
“But let’s put that aside. This man is a threat to Ethan, and I will not let anyone—or anything—hurt him. I need a dress,” I said again. “A dress that will draw the man’s attention, keep him focused on me. Because if he’s focused on me . . .”
“He won’t be focused on Ethan,” she finished. She closed the binder on the desk in front of her, clasped her hands on the desktop, and looked me over from head to toe in a heavy and uncomfortable silence. She didn’t need to say anything to make clear she was cataloging every curve and plane.
“Red,” she finally said, lifting her gaze to my face again. “With some movement, and sufficient décolletage to keep his attention.”
I could not have in a million years have imagined Helen referring to my décolletage, and I broke into a brilliant smile. I guess protecting Ethan brought out the best in her, too.
“You have a concealable weapon?”
Also technically a vampire no-no. The question didn’t bother me, as I was used to my dagger, and relied on it often. But Helen was usually a rule stickler. Maybe I hadn’t been giving her enough credit.
“Yes. Dagger and thigh holster.”
She nodded, opened the binder again, began writing. “Heels. Support garments. You’ll have to work on your walk,” she said, looking up at me again. “You walk like a student. Possibly his Sentinel, but not his queen.”
Nope. I had been giving her exactly enough credit. But me and my ego weren’t the point.
I walked to her office door, closed it, looked back. “Show me.”
* * *
I emerged from her office an hour later. An hour later, and in between had had to field several messages from Luc and Ethan wondering where I was. The answer, at least, was honest enough. PARTY PREP WITH HELEN. I AM SOCIAL CHAIR, AFTER ALL.
I didn’t mention that she’d strapped me into heels, had me walk back and forth across her office until she was satisfied my posture was acceptable, my speed was appropriate, and my expression held just the right amount of “confident demureness.” Her phrase, not mine.
“The grass will be soft,” she’d said. “You’ll want to stick to the sidewalks or the hard floor under the tent.”
Or I could just take the damn things off and throw them at Balthasar, I thought, but wisely kept the thought to myself.
When the practice session was over, I gave the shoes back to her and walked down to Ethan’s office. The door was open, representatives from the other Houses already there: Scott and Jonah, Morgan, Ethan, Luc, and Malik.
“This room is decidedly lacking in chicks,” I said, practicing the walk as I moved to the conference table and joined the rest of them. I did not trip over the edge of the expensive antique rug, so I considered that a victory.
“I don’t disagree in principle,” Ethan said, “but the chicks are working while we run our mouths, so there’s a current dearth.”