“Will he want to tell the mayor?” Ethan asked, closing and locking the door behind us.

Catcher tugged his ear. “Not yet, I think. Not until we can really tell her what it is. But that will be his call.”

Ethan nodded. “Let’s meet at dusk. And no magic in the House.”

“Trust me,” Mallory said. “I want no more of this magic until we have some information.”

“A good plan for all of us,” Ethan said, and we headed upstairs.

• • •

“There is not a Margot basket big enough for this day,” I said when we were alone again. I pulled off my boots, let them drop heavily to the floor.

The voice had been so sad, so angry, so frustrated, and it felt like those emotions still clung to me. And when that door was opened, the other emotions I’d pushed aside—the grief I still felt from our visit to the green land—rushed forward again.

Gabriel, Claudia. The messages about the possibility of our child were getting grimmer, and the possibility of having a child seemed to slip further and further away.

Ethan grunted, walked to the desk, looked over the basket she had assembled. And then smiled. “I believe you may want to reconsider that statement, Sentinel.”

I doubted reconsideration was necessary, but indulged him with a look at the basket.

“Mmmph,” was the closest approximation to the sound that I made. “I’m not really hungry.”

I walked to the window, pushed back the heavy silk curtain with a finger. The world outside was dark and cold, frost already gathered on the glass.

“Not hungry?” Ethan joked, pulling his shirt over his head. “How is that possible?”

When I didn’t answer, he moved closer, turned me toward him, and frowned down at what he saw. “You’re troubled,” he said, stroking a thumb along my jaw.

I paused, fearing I’d sound ridiculous, but remembered he was my husband, my partner, my confidant and friend, so I trusted him with it.

“I was thinking about the green land, and the child we saw there. It hurt. Seeing her, and having her taken away.”

“We weren’t really there,” he said kindly, “and she wasn’t really taken away.”

“It felt real. It hurt like it was real, and Gabriel said nothing was guaranteed. What if that’s really our future? In our time, instead of Claudia’s, but the same kind of loss?”

“It wasn’t our future,” Ethan said. “It was an illusion.”

But sadness had gripped me, wrapped fingers around my heart, and wasn’t ready to let go. “And even if it was,” I began, and turned back to the window. “Look at the city, Ethan. This is our legacy: violent sorceresses, enemies on our doorstep, humans driven mad by magic. Why would we even want to bring a child into this world? Into Sorcha’s world?”

“It’s not Sorcha’s world,” Ethan said, his tone as sharp as a knife. “It is our world. She is intruding, and we will handle her as we always have.”

I shook my head. “Even if we could have a child, children are fragile.”

“Children are resilient, and our child will be immortal.”

“So we assume. But we don’t know that. Not really. We don’t know anything about the biology, how it would work. And if she’s the only one—the only vampire kid? What kind of life would that be? What kind of life would she have?”

“Where is this coming from?”

I flung a hand toward the window. “From out there. From in here. From every night we have to fight to stay alive. From wondering if that will ever end.”

“It’s not like you to be afraid.”

“It isn’t every night that I’m facing down a city that is somehow possessed with magic. Only an idiot wouldn’t be afraid.”

“Merit, it’s been a long night punctuated with fear and anger and magic. You just need sleep.” His voice was soft and kind, and that nearly brought me to tears again. I didn’t want pity or consolation; this sadness, this near grief, demanded my full attention.

“I don’t need sleep.” My voice sounded petulant even to me. And that only made me feel worse.

“Then perhaps I might have said that it’s not like you to back down in the face of fear.”

“Is that what we’d be doing? Backing down? Or just being logical?”

This time, his tone was firmer. “Nothing you’ve said is logical.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

Temper flashed in his eyes. “I am not condescending. I am expecting bravery from you. If you’re afraid, we’ll work through it. But we will not back down because of her. We will not let her destroy our family before we have a chance to begin it.”

“Nothing is certain,” I said, thinking of Gabe and Claudia. “And maybe I don’t want any more risk.”

“Then maybe you aren’t acting like the Sentinel of this House.”

I had no words for him, no possible response. I didn’t like feeling afraid, and certainly didn’t like showing that fear to him. But that didn’t seem to matter. The fear still gripped me, dark and icy, just as winter had apparently gripped the city.

We stared at each other in silence until automatic shades descended over the windows, until the sun breached the horizon.

We slept because the sun demanded it, but there was a cold gap between us.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SNOWBALL

I’d planned to go for a run at dusk, hoping the chill in the air would clear my head—and some of the tension that still lingered between Ethan and me.

Wondering what I should wear—how bundled I’d need to be against Sorcha’s chill—I pushed back one heavy curtain. And stared at the canvas of white that glowed beneath a clear, dark sky.

“Ethan.”

He was already dressed, was flipping through the Tribune. He moved behind me, and I heard the catch in his breath when he realized what we were facing.

It looked like the city had been dipped into liquid nitrogen—or dropped into an ice age. There was a foot of snow on the ground, and every surface above the ground—trees, fence, the houses beyond it—was covered in gleaming, blue-white ice or hanging with icicles as sharp as stilettos.

The street outside, usually busy into the early hours of the night, was empty of cars. The vehicles that had been parked on the side of the road were coated in snow and ice so thick it looked like rubber. If the entire city was like this, she’d have brought the city to a standstill.

Dread settled low in my gut.

“I hadn’t checked my phone yet,” Ethan said. “I was giving myself—us—a chance to talk first.”

I looked back at him, saw the same worry in his eyes. “There will be messages galore. My grandfather, the other Houses. The mayor.” I looked back at the window. Hell, if the rest of the city was like this, the Illinois National Guard would probably be beating down our door.

“Everyone,” he agreed. “This is not the type of thing we can push aside or ignore. This will require a response.”

There was a pounding on the door.

“And I guess we won’t have the luxury of that talk,” he said, and looked at me for a moment before turning for the door.

He opened it, found Luc with fist raised, ready to knock again. Luc wore a Cadogan House Track T-shirt with jeans and scuffed cowboy boots, his hair more tousled than usual.

“Sorry for the interruption, Sire, but I’m guessing you hadn’t checked your messages.” He met my gaze, nodded. “Mrs. Sire.”

“I hadn’t clocked in yet,” Ethan said. “What’s wrong?”

“If you’d come downstairs? Mallory and Catcher are already down there.”

Ethan nodded, glanced back at me, saw that I still wore pajamas. “We’ll be down in a moment. As soon as Merit’s dressed.”

Luc nodded. “We’re in your office.”

Snow or not, I wasn’t going for a run.

• • •

We were downstairs in three and a half minutes, and walked into Ethan’s office to find Catcher, Mallory, Malik, Lindsey, and Luc already assembled. All of them were standing, and all had their gazes on the television built into one of the shelves on the far wall.