“You have a House,” he said. “Solid from the ground up.”

He was right about that. And ironic, I thought, since my father’s first words to me after I told him I’d been made a vampire were to denigrate Cadogan House. “They’re old, but not as old as Navarre House,” he’d said. Perhaps not. Perhaps not as chic, or as historic, and God knew Cadogan had had its share of bumps. But ultimately, when you dug down to it, we were solid. The foundation was solid, because Ethan was solid.

“Yeah,” I said. “I got really lucky. And you got the really short straw in that respect.”

He looked surprised by the admission, as if he’d expected me to rail against him, blame him for the House’s issues. But that wouldn’t have been fair.

I paused, not sure we’d reached total candor. On the other hand, what did I have to lose from honesty?

“Navarre has always been standoffish, at least in my experience. And it’s been harsh when dealing with Cadogan. The city’s faced a lot of crap the last few months, and you haven’t exactly been helpful. How much of that is due to the Circle?”

He didn’t answer at first, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed.

“I’m asking if you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re only responsible for your actions,” I said. “Not hers. And I know you loved her—that you all loved her. That she was very, very important to you. But it sounds like she gave you a crumbling castle.”

Morgan sighed, sat back in the chair, glanced at me. “Yeah. She did. And yeah, I avoided most of your shenanigans because I had shenanigans of my own to deal with. We’ve been walking a very thin line since I came on board. That line keeps getting thinner, but the other vampires don’t seem to appreciate that. They’ll try to take the House for this. Because of what’s happened.”

“Irina’s faction?”

He nodded. “I have tried to do right by Celina’s vision, but how can I, when it was built on sand? I mean, look at this.” He laughed, but the sound was entirely humorless. “We’re on a boat, trying to escape an island of mobsters who’d kill me in a heartbeat if it gave them a chance to get a return on their investment.”

I glanced back. There was only darkness behind us, the gurgling sound of the engine the only thing I could hear.

“We’ve escaped,” I said. “Now we find our way back to shore. And that’s the same thing you have to do. It’s your House, Morgan. For better or worse, and whether Celina chose you for the right reasons or not, you’re its Master. Own it.”

*   *   *

The sky was overcast, the city lights gleaming orange beneath it. The dashboard held a small compass, so we used both to guide our way back to the city.

Chicago looked so peaceful in the darkness, a strip of light at the edge of the world, shapes emerging as we drew nearer. The height of the Willis and Hancock buildings, the sprawl of lights along the lakeshore, of cities stretching from Indiana to Wisconsin, the lights of Navy Pier.

“Where exactly are we going?” he asked.

That was an excellent question. Driving a boat was one thing; parking it was something entirely different. There were several marinas around Chicago, but I didn’t really know how they were arranged.

There was one obvious place in Chicago to park a boat. Lots of boats, as it turned out, were already parked there, if much bigger than this one. I’d have to negotiate around the breakwater, lines of riprap that protected Navy Pier and the Chicago Harbor from the worst of Lake Michigan, but that, I thought, would be relatively easy. The entry point was beside the Chicago Lighthouse, which also served as headquarters for the RG. Hell, I could even wave at Jonah on the way in. Not that I’d do that right now.

I directed the boat toward the lights. “We’re going there.”

Morgan glanced at the horizon, then back at me. “You’re not seriously going to park this thing at Navy Pier.”

“It’s a pier, isn’t it? And a navy pier at that. It’s in the damn name. If they didn’t want boats parking there, they should have called it something else.”

“You’re getting loopy.”

“My adrenaline has run its course,” I admitted. “I’m going to crash really, really hard later.”

I pulled the boat up to the end of the pier where a ladder dropped down into the water, grimaced as fiberglass groaned against concrete.

“Grab the ladder!” I told him, then switched off the engine and ran around the chair, flipping the buoys over the side of the boat to provide some protection against the waves that already lifted it. Morgan tied off the boat, climbed up the ladder, and gave me a boost. When I’d followed him up, we stood on solid concrete, but I could still feel the phantom movements of the water beneath my feet.

“They’re going to be pissed,” Morgan said, eyes on the water.

I looked down at the boat, which looked ridiculously small bobbing in the waves against the dock, its significantly larger brothers and sisters—a yacht for dinner cruises, a three-masted schooner for the historical experience, a bevy of tour boats—parked along the dock in front of it.

“Probably so. But all things considered, this is just a drop in the bucket.”

Morgan sighed, ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. And that little guy got us halfway across Lake Michigan, so we should be grateful for that.” He looked at me, and for a moment I saw Morgan in there, not just the Master he was trying to be. “You did good.”