Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel by Neill Chloe

Author:Neill, Chloe [Neill, Chloe]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

NOTABLE NOSTALGIA

Eventually, the boys’ and girls’ clubs came back together, meeting in the dining room at an enormous table (also new) for a meal of roast beast (undetermined origin), mashed root vegetable (undetermined origin), and other assorted dishes. The children were seated at a smaller table in the next room. While we dined on fine china, they got plastic plates decorated with robots and were probably discussing the latest toys and electronic gadgets. I guessed I could have pretty happily integrated into that conversation.

What did not make me happy was the mild buzz of irritated magic that flowed from Ethan as he came back into the room, my father and brother in tow.

I grabbed two glasses of wine from the buffet—my mother hadn’t stocked Blood4You—and took one to Ethan.

“Are you all right?” I quietly asked.

He took the glass but didn’t drink from it.

“Business was discussed,” he said without elaboration. He sounded, frankly, a bit mystified.

“Do we need to step out and discuss anything?”

“No need,” he said, squeezing my hand and, when he realized I still wasn’t satisfied, glancing down at me.

“All is well, Sentinel. Your father made a business proposal of a kind. It was . . . unexpected.”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that my father had cornered Ethan and made a business play. I shouldn’t have been surprised that we’d probably been called to the house on this February night just for that purpose, because I’d once agreed to talk to my brother about family business, and my father was collecting on the debt.

“Never mind,” Ethan said, taking a sip of his wine. “How about you? How was girls’ time?”

“It was odd. Unusually drama free.”

He chuckled. “What had you expected? Hair pulling?”

I shrugged. “I’ve always been the odd one out. I just figured the transition would be harder than it is.”

“The transition to society dame?”

That narrowed my eyes. “I am not a society dame.”

“All right,” my mother said, interrupting the parrying. “I think we’re ready for dinner!”

Right on cue, women and men in black pants and crisp white button-downs emerged from the kitchen. That explained the food; she’d hired caterers. They took up positions behind the buffet and drink station, tools in hand, ready to meet our every culinary whim.

I wasn’t sure I would ever understand my parents. But I understood dinner, so I let the caterers place food on my plate and sat down at the table beside Ethan, the tension between him and my father nearly palpable when everyone took seats.

“A toast,” Robert said, holding his glass aloft. “To a family united, to our health and well-being, to our prosperity and happiness.”

We said, “Cheers,” and clinked together our very expensive glassware, and then began our meal.

The conversation was typical. My father and brother argued about politics and money, and my mother and sister discussed neighborhood gossip. Each set tried to draw me into the conversation, but I generally preferred to watch and listen. That was probably what made me a good research and

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