Nicodemus' home was a few houses off Fifth Avenue and Central Park on a well-kept tree-lined block.
When I'd arrived at the place after dusk the night before, I'd failed to notice a great deal about the place, preferring to huddle in my room and mull over what I'd just agreed to do with an odd sense of disquiet. It had taken hours of mental backflipping to justify the choice to myself. I'd finally come to the conclusion that it was the best and most expedient option available. Building up the resources I needed to take down the Red Court would take time. Lasciel knew how to game the system and make bank, but it would take years. And if I wanted to build up the mystique and power needed to command my own group of Fallen, it would take longer still.
I wanted vengeance for the vampire's victims a hell of a lot sooner than that. So here I was.
The light slanted into my room early. Even the smallest room that I'd claimed the night before had enormous windows. The gossamer curtains did very little to stop the light, so I rolled out of bed after only a few hours of sleep and padded barefoot across the plush carpet. It was high time I explored the dimensions of the lion's den.
The place was simply enormous. The sweeping wrought-iron staircase wound through no less than six levels, each looking as tasteful and elegant as the last. The upper floors seemed mostly dominated by bedrooms, which I left largely alone. I had no desire to walk in on Nic and Deidre doing...whatever it was they were doing.
The entry hall opened to a rotunda. The great room at the rear was palatial in and of itself and sported French doors that opened to Juliette balconies. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in dazzling sunlight from the east. There was a library on the ground floor as well that seemed to belong to some sort of old-world patrician. It spoke of long, indolent hours before a fire. I could picture Nicodemus sitting at one of the distressed Italian sofas, reading while Anduriel flickered behind him like a fire-cast shadow. His presence saturated the room. I backed out of it quickly, like I was a naughty kid who'd been caught peeping. If I needed books from the library, I'd take them when Nic wasn't awake.
The basement level boasted a freaking swimming pool, a sauna, and a bath. And if that weren't enough, there was an in-house movie theater in the back, just in case the twosome wanted to stay in and snuggle over a bowl of popcorn some night while they were taking a break from world domination.
I didn't encounter another living soul until I reached the kitchen. It was at least forty-feet wide, with brick floors, adding an oddly rustic air to the otherwise sophisticated place. The cabinets were painted olive green and contrasted with more brick in the backsplash. The counters were marble, the appliances scattered all around very sleek and modern. The table was made of yet more wrought iron and meant for more casual affairs, instead of the clandestine meetings that than one of the upstairs dining rooms would have demanded.
There was only one person in residence at the moment. A young man, probably my age or a little younger, was setting the table and arranging what looked to be a continental breakfast. He stood up straight and backed a step away from the table when he spied me lounging in the door. I didn't see what he was getting worked up about. Sleep-deprived and clad in green flannel pajamas, I wasn't exactly the picture of intimidation.
"My lady," he said, bowing a little at the waist.
It was my turn to be caught off guard. This guy could talk? I'd always been told the Squires had their tongues ripped out.
"He is an initiate. He will keep his tongue until he graduates to full Squire," Lasciel informed me.
"Why the hell would anyone sign up for that?"
"They serve in hopes that at some point they will be graced with a coin. And until then, those who survive are well-cared for."
I sensed mild disdain from her. All I could feel was pity. These poor bastards. I didn't understand how they didn't see the utter futility of it. As if Nicodemus was going to promote his cannon fodder. And I couldn't imagine what sort of background they had to come from that life as a tongueless lackey was the better option.
"You don't have to bow," I said, words coming out on a yawn.
"You are our lady. We have been instructed to bow."
I frowned. Had Nicodemus already let his Squires know that I'd joined up? For reasons I couldn't put my finger on, I didn't like that thought. It made sense though. I was a full member of the Order now. He couldn't let one of his yes-men get away with disrespecting one of the Knights of the Coin.
That gave me even more pause. I was...a knight. There was a point that I wanted to be a knight and now I was. A Knight of the Coin. A general in the coming apocalyptic confrontation.
Sometimes dreams aren't all they're cracked up to be. Disillusionment is a bitch.
The guy looked about ready to piss himself at the expression on my face and I quickly wiped away the scowl, offering him a pleasant smile instead.
"I'm Catherine Lenhardt. What's your name?"
He hesitated a fraction of a second. "Brother Jordan."
No last name. I had an odd pang for Nixon, accompanied by a rush of mixed anger and grief. It was a subtle reminder of what had brought me into the fold in the first place. To protect people.
I examined Jordan critically. He was cute, in his way. Close-cropped dark hair. He filled out the suit the Squires were made to wear very well. Broad-shouldered and strong. There was something guileless in his face that freaking broke my heart. The poor kid really had no idea. Nicodemus was going to chew him up and spit him back out again. Losing his tongue was the best-case scenario.
"You'll have to forgive me for asking questions, Brother Jordan. I'm new. But we have that in common, don't we?"
He looked flattered, like just being mentioned positively in respect to me was the highlight of his whole week.
"Yes, my lady."
"How old are you?"
Another pause. "I'm capable, Lady Lenhardt. My Lord vets us."
"I'm just curious."
"Seventeen."
Exactly the same age as me give or take a few months in either direction. God, that made me feel even worse. I was painfully aware of how young and powerless I felt without Lasciel. What must it be like to be cast into this world of monsters without that aid? Poor kid.
I sank into one of the wire chairs and plucked a roll from the wicker basket he'd placed on the table. It was still warm, and there had been three place settings prepared. Nicodemus prepared to have breakfast with me, then. I picked pieces of the biscuit apart and let them settle onto my plate.
He opened his mouth and I thought he might say more, but at that moment the door opened and more Squires spilled in, followed by Nicodemus and Deidre.
Nicodemus was wearing a red velvet smoking jacket, a la Hugh Hefner. His hair was a trifle mussed, but he looked well-rested. Deidre trailed behind. She was wearing a blue silk kimono robe that plunged around her collarbone, gapped a little at the belt, and barely covered her thighs. I got a really good look at the long expanse of her legs and just the hint of her ass when she went to sit beside her father. Jordan tried to act as though he didn't see, but he was a young man. His gaze flicked just a hair toward her.
Nervous that the act would get his eyes plucked out, I spoke before either of them could take notice.
"Brother Jordan, would you mind preparing me an espresso? I'm afraid I didn't sleep well."
"Of course, my lady."
He hurried away from us, ducking behind the counter and kept his eyes very deliberately on the machine until he'd delivered the cup to me. He gratefully left the room when Nicodemus ordered the Squires out.
Silence fell thick between us as soon as they were gone. Great time and effort were put into slathering jam or butter onto bread. I felt like I'd become the third wheel during someone's awkward morning after. As I had in Jean-Georges, I got the sense that I was the classless bumpkin, and everyone was too polite to say it to my face.
I downed the expresso, grimacing at the taste before setting the cup gingerly beside my plate so I could pour myself orange juice instead.
"Miss Lenhardt," Nicodemus began after consuming a biscuit smeared liberally with apricot jam. "I once again welcome you aboard."
I pumped my fist weakly in the air and said unenthusiastically; "Rah, rah, go team."
He chuckled, the sound thick and darkly amused. "You will do well with Lasciel. She tends to be equally as recusant as you appear to be."
"Strong independent women. Gotta love 'em."
"I have made arrangements. You will receive a partial report of our current holdings later in the day. Within you should find enough material to formulate a plan with which to execute lex talionis."
"You should get the thesaurus syndrome checked. Word vomit that purple can't be healthy."
He smirked and sipped his coffee. He took it with cream but no sugar.
"I enjoy you, Miss Lenhardt, but do not press me too far."
"We'll steer clear of each other. Better for me that way. Not sure I can look at your insufferable face for longer than one mealtime anyway. Say, updates at supper?"
"Agreed. Send a Squire to make additional requests not brought up around mealtimes."
That gave me a thought, and I seized on it at once. This was probably my only opportunity to do something about the problem that had been bothering me since I entered the kitchen.
"I'd like Brother Jordan, as well, if you're in a giving mood."
He paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. "Jordan?"
"Yes. I prefer someone still capable of conversation. And since I'll be doing a lot of legwork as well, I'll need someone to accompany me. Consider it a test of his mettle."
Nicodemus mulled it over for a few minutes before rolling one shoulder in an elegant shrug.
"Very well then. You may have him."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. Would it kill you to serve bacon?"
He snorted. "And watch you devour a side of pork once more? I think not."
"Stingy bastard."
"Cormorant."
"Dick."
Deidre sighed and sipped her coffee.
"Ah, mornings."