“I was filling in Catcher and Jeff about our latest drama. Long story short, black ops and raves two-point- oh.”
He grimaced. “That wouldn’t thrill me even if I weren’t your grandfather.”
“Nope,” I agreed.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news myself,” he said, “but your father tells me you haven’t spoken in a few weeks.”
I didn’t care for my father, but I cared even less for the fact that he’d put my grandfather in the middle of our feud.
“Actually, I saw him leaving the mayor’s home last night. We had a very pleasant exchange,” I assured my grandfather.
“Good girl,” he said with a smile.
I hopped off the desk. It was time to get the rest of the investigative show on the road. “I need to run, and you need to get back to your party, so I’ll let them fill you in on the details.”
“As if there’s a chance I could avoid it,” my grandfather said. He hugged me one more time, then let me go.
I said my goodbyes and walked back to the front door, the river trolls nodding at me when I passed as if I’d been vetted. Not as a vampire, maybe, but at least the granddaughter of a man they trusted.
Friends in high places definitely helped —especially if you had enemies in even higher spots.
My phone rang just as I was getting back into my car. I pulled the door shut and flipped it open.
It was Mallory.
“Hey, Blue Hair. What’s up?”
She didn’t speak, but she immediately began sobbing.
“Mal, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Catharsis,” she said. “It’s one of those catharsis cries.”
I blew out a breath. I’d been prepared to squeal tires in the rush to get to her if she’d been in danger. But every girl knows the importance of a cathartic cry—when you aren’t necessarily crying over something specific, but because
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Kind of. Not really. I don’t know. Can you meet me?”
“Of course. Where are you?”
She sniffed. “I’m still in Schaumburg. I’m at the Goodwin’s off I-90. I know it’s far away, but could you meet me out here? Do you have time?”
Goodwin’s was one of those ubiquitous twenty-four-hour restaurants that you saw in office parks and hotel parking lots. The kind frequented by senior citizens at four in the afternoon and teenagers at midnight. I wouldn’t call Mallory a foodie, but she definitely had an interest in hip cuisine. If we were meeting at a Goodwin’s, she wanted either bland food or anonymity.
I wasn’t crazy about either option.
“I’m just leaving the Ombud’s office. It’ll take me about forty-five to get there. That okay?”
“Yeah. I’m studying. I’ll be here.”
The studying explained the choice of restaurants. We said our goodbyes and I looked back at the office door for a minute, wondering if I should head back in and warn Catcher that his girl was a stressball. But I was a BFF, and there was a code of honor. A protocol. She’d called me, not Catcher—even though he was in the office and clearly reachable. That meant she needed to vent to me, so that was what we’d do.
“On my way,” I muttered, and started the car.
While I drove, I made plans for the second part of my investigation. And that part was a little bit trickier, mostly because I didn’t think my source liked me. The first time we’d met, Jonah had been brusque. The second time I discovered him on the dark streets of Wrigleyville, having followed me around so he could get a look at me.
Test my mettle, as it were.
The Red Guard had been organized two centuries ago to protect Master vampires, but now operated to keep a watchful eye on the Masters themselves. When Noah Beck, the leader of Chicago’s Rogues, made the membership offer, he’d informed me that Jonah, captain of the guards of Chicago’s Grey House, would be my partner if I signed up. I was flattered by the offer, but joining a group whose purpose was to keep an eye on Masters would have provoked World War III in Cadogan House.
Ethan, if he’d learned of it, would have seen the move as a slap in his face.
I considered myself to be a pretty low-drag vampire; purposefully adding to my stockpile of drama wasn’t really my cup of tea.
Jonah, having been singularly unimpressed with me, probably wasn’t bummed that I’d said no. I wasn’t expecting this telephone call was going to go any better, but the RG had details on the raves—including the rave they’d cleaned up.
And since my visit to the Ombud’s office hadn’t exactly been productive on an intelgathering basis (albeit very productive on a river-troll-diplomacy basis), Jonah was a source I needed to tap.
He’d called me once before, so when I was on the move north toward Schaumburg, I dialed his number. He answered after a couple of rings.
“Jonah.”
“Hi. It’s Merit.”
There was an awkward pause. “House business?”
I assumed he was asking if I was calling on behalf of Cadogan House—or our RG connection. “Not exactly. Do you have a minute to talk?”
Another pause. “Give me five minutes. I’ll call you back.”
The line went dead, so I made sure my ringer was turned on and put the phone in the cup holder while I made my way toward I-90.
Jonah was punctual; the dashboard clock had moved ahead exactly five minutes when he called back.
“I had to get outside,” he explained. “I’m on the street now. Figured that would avoid the drama.” Scott Grey’s vampires lived in a converted warehouse in the Andersonville neighborhood, not far from Wrigley Field. The lucky ducks.
“What’s up?” he asked.
I decided to offer up the truth. “Mayor Tate called us into his office yesterday. Told us he had an eyewitness account that a band of vampires had killed three humans.”
“Damn.” His curse was low and a little tired-sounding. “Anything else?”
“Tate suggested the violence was part of the rave culture. But based on our intel, this sounds different. Bigger. Meaner. If the witness, a Mr.
Jackson, was telling the truth, this has the markings of some kind of attack. That it happened at a rave might be the minor issue. In any event, it’s time to do something about them, and in order to do that, I need information.”
“So you called me?”
I rolled my eyes. The question suggested he was doing me a favor—and that he’d ask for one in return. How very vampire.
“You’re my best hope for answers,” I matter-of-factly said.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to tell you. I know about the last rave—the one the RG cleaned up—but only because Noah filled me in.
I wasn’t there.”
“Do you think Noah might have any more information?”
“Maybe. But why not just call him directly?”
“Because you were offered up to me as a partner.”
