headline switched to read, “Vamp Violence in Wrigleyville.” The female anchor —polished in her jewel-toned suit, her stiff hair a helmet above her head—offered up the rest.
“In this morning’s top local news,” she said, “an uptick in violence in the city is deemed the result of a drug called ‘V’ that’s circulating among the city’s vampire community.”
They cut to an image of a white V tablet in someone’s hand, and then to a shot of Temple Bar.
“One such event was last night’s disturbance at a Wrigleyville bar with ties to Cadogan House.
We were live on scene last night, and here’s what one local resident had to say.”
They cut to video of the two frat boys from Temple Bar.
“Oh, those traitorous little shits,” Lindsey muttered. “Those are the humans Christine talked to.”
“It was awful in there,” said the taller of the two boys. “All those vamps just wailing on each other. It was like they just went crazy.”
“Did you fear for your life?” asked an offscreen reporter.
“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “How could you not? I mean, they’re vampires. We’re just humans.”
“The atom bomb was invented by ‘just humans,’” Malik muttered. “World War II and the Spanish Inquisition were perpetrated by ‘just humans.’” We were clearly not a receptive crowd for muckraking journalism.
“Aldermen Pat Jones and Clarence Walker issued statements this morning calling for investigation of Chicago’s vampire Houses and their role in this new drug. Mayor Tate responded to events this morning after meeting with his economic council.”
The newscast cut to a shot of Tate shaking hands with a woman in an unflattering suit.
Beside a plain-looking bureaucrat, he looked that much more like a romance-novel hero: seductive eyes, dark hair, wicked smile. You had to wonder how many votes he’d gotten because voters just wanted to be near him.
When reporters began peppering him with questions about the bar fight, he held up both hands and smiled affectionately. That smile, I thought, walked a thin line between empathy and condescension.
“I have made Chicago’s Houses well aware of their responsibilities, and I’m sure they’ll take whatever precautions are necessary to put an immediate stop to the spread of V and the violence. If they don’t, of course, steps will have to be taken. My administration is not afraid to take those steps. We’ve done a lot of work to remake this city into one that Illinois can be proud of, and we will continue to ensure that Chicago remains a place of peace and prosperity.”
The anchor popped on-screen again. “Mayor Tate’s approval rating remains consistently high even in light of the recent violence.”
With that, Luc reached up with the remote and stopped the video again.
The room went silent and heavy with concern.
I guessed I now knew why my father had called.
He was probably dying to berate me for being a vampire and sullying the family name—despite the fact that I’d had no say in becoming fanged, and I was trying my best to keep the peace in Chicago.
Unless his tone had changed about that, as well.
“Well,” Ethan finally said. “It does comfort me so to know that Mayor Tate’s approval ratings remain strong.”
“Tate must be feeding the anchors with information,” I offered. “We only barely know about the uptick in violence, and my grandfather promised to keep V out of the press.”
“So Tate’s using vamps to make political hay?” Luc offered. “I guess it’s not the first time a politician’s taken advantage of chaos, but it sure would be nice if it wasn’t at our expense.”
“And if he didn’t have an arrest warrant ready,” I agreed.
“Way to put the city first,” Lindsey said.
Luc glanced over at Ethan, concern in his expression. “Anything from Darius?”
“He’s still on radio silence.”
“It’s not going to go over well.”
“Drugs and violence in my bar? Drugs and violence covered by local paparazzi that will probably spread to national coverage, if it hasn’t already? No, I don’t imagine he will be pleased, and there’s a good chance the House will suffer for it.”
“Tell him the other part,” Kelley said.
“The other part?” Ethan asked, his gaze shifting from Kelley to Luc.
“The other part,” Luc confirmed, picking up the tablet and tapping its screen. The image on the projector shifted from the newscast to a black-and-white live feed of a dark neighborhood street. During my stint as an on- duty House guard, I’d seen that feed enough times to be familiar with it.
“That’s outside Cadogan House.”
“Good eye, Sentinel,” Luc complimented.
“Indeed it is.” He tapped the tablet again and zoomed into the feed, fixing on a boxy sedan that held two passengers. Both wore suits.
“Kelley went for a run. She noticed the sedan when she left, and she noticed the sedan when she came back.”
“Twenty-six miles,” Kelley put in. “It took me an hour and twenty-four minutes.”
Not bad for a marathon-length run. Chalk one up for vampire speed.
“That’s a long time for two guys in suits to be sitting in a car outside the House,” Ethan said, then looked back at Luc. “It’s an unmarked CPD car.”
“That’s our thought. Neither the car nor the suits seemed like McKetrick’s crew, so we figured detectives. We called the Ombud’s office to confirm, but they had no idea about the car.”
I muttered a curse. “They had no idea about Mr. Jackson’s rave, either. Tate isn’t being entirely candid with the office right now.”
“A lack of trust?” Ethan wondered.
“Or perhaps a fear that the Ombud’s office is tied too closely to Cadogan House,” I suggested.
“Tate’s office doesn’t give the Ombud’s office all the information, which acts like a check and balance on my grandfather.”
Lindsey grimaced. “That’s a slap in the face.”
“Yes, it is,” I agreed. “I guess the cop car signals Tate’s lack of trust in us, too?”
Ethan shuffled in his chair. “Given the fact that he’s got a warrant for my arrest ready to go, I’d say so.”
My cell phone buzzed. I pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “Speak of the devil. It’s Jeff.” I flipped it open. “Hey, Jeff. Got anything for me?”
Jeff chuckled. “Of course, I do. But I’m strictly off-limits now. You know, ’cause of the little lady.”
“No disrespect meant to you or yours. Hey, I’m in the Ops Room with Ethan and everyone.
Can I put you on speaker?”
“Knock yourself out. Probably helpful for all to hear.”
I put the phone down in the middle of the table, then pressed the speaker button. “Okay.
You’re live. What do you have?”
“Aw, if only I’d prepared a monologue.”
We heard Catcher’s voice in the background.
“Focus, kid.”
“Well,” Jeff said, and I heard the clacking of keys, “it turns out the security cameras are live, and Colin and Sean do record the video. It’s stored in the bar on a dedicated server, and there are also external backups just in case some bad stuff goes down. I was actually pretty impressed.
You don’t expect bars to have that kind of security protocol.”
From the looks of the crusty back room, Temple Bar definitely did not seem like the kind of establishment with a “dedicated server,” not that I could differentiate a dedicated server from an undedicated server.
“So, anyway, I grabbed the video and uploaded it.”
I leaned forward, linking my hands together on the table. “Tell me you found something, Jeff.”
“It took some spooling,” he said. “Trucks use the alley quite a bit to make deliveries. There’s also the
