“It was horrible.” I mumbled it into her shirt. “It was stupid, and it was senseless, and it was... so violent.”
“It always is horrible,” she whispered, rubbing my back. “It’s not an advantage to be numb to terrible things. It means we can’t feel. When we can feel, and we do it anyway, we show our bravery. And terrible times are when we need to act most of all. That’s when we do the most good.”
She held me while I stood there, crying onto her shirt, until I’d wrung out the worst of the emotion. Then I pulled back and wiped my cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said, trying for a half laugh. “I’m not sure why I’m crying. That was... not very professional.”
My father pulled an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket. I took it, swiped at my face. I felt childish for needing to cry, but a little better for having done it.
“You’ve had a long twenty-four hours,” my mother said. “And you care about people, and you care about Paris. That’s as professional as it gets.”
“She’s right,” my father said, earning a thumbs-up from my mother. “You handled yourself well. We were very proud.”
The tightness in his eyes said he was working hard not to replay the discussion we’d already had about the risks of my Dumas service. He knew this was my story to write.
“Thanks,” I said, and gave my face a final wipe, then stuffed the handkerchief into my pocket.
“Now,” my mother said, looking around. “When do we get to meet Seraphine?” She hadn’t been in town when they’d come to my graduation.
I glanced back at the jet, found Seri chatting with Odette at the bottom of the Jetway, and waved her over.
“Bonjour,”she said brightly when she reached us, slipping an arm through mine.
“Seri, these are my parents, Ethan and Merit.”
“It is lovely to finally meet you!” Seri said, and exchanged kisses with them. “Your daughter is a jewel.”
“We agree,” my father said. “And we hope you enjoy Chicago as much as she’s enjoyed Paris.”
“I’m sure I will.” She looked at my mother. “I understand we should discuss, um, cake shakes?”
My mother’s face lit up like she’d won the lottery. “We should discuss them. Maybe we’ll make good progress at the talks tomorrow, and we’ll have time for a Portillo’s adventure.”
“Let us hope,” Seri said with a smile, which quickly faded. “You have heard about the recent attack?”
“We did,” my father said.
“Have there been any threats against the talks?” I asked.
My father lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m in service to Maison Dumas,” I reminded them. “I’m working.”
“No threats,” my mother said, taking my father’s hand and squeezing, probably giving him a signal. They could also communicate telepathically—one of the common vampire skills I hadn’t developed, probably because I hadn’t been made in thetraditional way of vampires—so it wasn’t often I’d heard them disagree aloud about how to handle me or something I’d done.
Because of that, I’d had zero luck playing the “Mom said it was okay” card. Mom and Dad could check with each other without my even knowing it.
“Although the Spanish delegates are still arguing about seating positions,” my father said, clearly not impressed with the behavior.
“You’ve seen the security plan for the Sanford?” my mother asked.
The talks would be held at the remodeled Sanford Theater. And while Chicago might have been peaceful, the event’s organizers weren’t taking any chances. There’d be barriers outside the building, guards inside and outside the facility, and security forces in the room in case anyone got brave. The forces would be a mix of human and supernatural—primarily vampires and members of the North American Central Pack of shifters, as the Pack had made its home in Chicago. Gabriel Keene was its wolfish Apex, no pun intended, and a friend of my parents.
Gabriel’s son, Connor, and I had grown up together, or mostly. He was two years older than me—and figured he was two years hipper and wiser. He’d been the bane of my childhood, the irritation of my adolescence. We’d tolerated each other for our parents’ sake, or at least as much as two kids could.
He thought I was bossy. I liked things the way I liked them.
I thought he was reckless. He said he was the prince and could do what he wanted.