Hard Bitten (22 page)

I looked back at the crowd, and first spied a couple squeezed back into a booth, eyes wide. I ran to them, hustled them to their feet, and pointed them toward the now partially secured exit.

“Out that way,” I said, and as they headed for the door, I rounded up the rest of them. The humans were pretty easy to spot. The few vamps who hadn’t been affected by the violence were trying to help; the humans mostly cowered, probably shocked by the violence and trying to stay out of the way. I located as many as I could and sent them toward the door, police sirens getting louder as they ran outside.

When I’d cleared out the last of the humans, I moved to the door and found the street awash in blue and red lights as humans ran from the bar like hostages released from a bank robbery.

Cops began to emerge from their vehicles, and I began to fear the worst—that we’d all be arrested for inciting public mayhem. Of course, that would make Tate’s arrest-warrant threat moot.

I moved slowly toward the sidewalk, not eager to be shot by cops who thought I was an emerging perp. Adrenaline began to pulse again as I prepared to face round two—the aftermath.

But when a familiar Oldsmobile rolled to the curb, I breathed a sigh of relief.

My grandfather stepped out of the car’s passenger side, wearing khaki-colored pants and a butter yellow, short-sleeved button-down shirt.

Jeff stepped out of the backseat, and Catcher popped out of the driver’s side in a dark T-shirt advertising “Bang Bang Home Repair.” His wearables might have been kitschy, but his expression was all business.

The three of them nodded at the cops they passed. I walked their way.

“Problems?”

“Violence,” I said. “Lindsey was mixing drinks at the bar, and the vamps started fighting over who was going to get which drink. The aggression spread like a virus after that.”

“Same thing you saw at the rave?” Catcher asked, and I nodded my agreement.

“Looks like it. Something in the air, maybe, or slipped into their drinks? I don’t know.” I gestured to the cluster of humans. “We got the humans out of the bar, but things are still tense inside. They’re still going at it, and pulling them off each other hasn’t really worked.”

“How’d you get them calm at the rave?” Jeff asked.

“We didn’t. We basically faked a fire alarm and fled the scene. Since it didn’t make the news, I assumed they’d calmed down on their own.”

A bar table suddenly flew through the open doorway and crashed on the sidewalk outside, rolling to a stop at the front tire of one of the CPD cruisers.

“We may not have that kind of time,” Catcher said.

“Get in there,” my grandfather prompted, gesturing to get the attention of one of the CPD

cops. They exchanged some sort of secret cop code, the other officers standing down while Catcher jogged toward the bar and disappeared inside.

It was only a moment before Lindsey and the rest of the nonfighting vamps were jogging out onto the sidewalk. Colin was last in line, a dour expression on his face.

“What’s Catcher going to—” was all I managed to get out before the bar went silent. No more crashing glass, no more screamed epithets, no more flat
pop
s of flesh against flesh.

Although I knew it probably wasn’t possible, my first thought was that Catcher had somehow taken out every vamp in the bar with his mad fighting skills. But Jeff leaned in with a more likely answer.

“Magic,” he whispered. “Catcher got the happy vamps out of the bar. That gave him room to work the Keys on the rest of them.”

“By putting them to sleep?” I asked.

“Nah, probably just a little calming juju. He’s good at that—willing folks to chill the eff out.

It’s a skill that comes in handy with sups on occasion.”

I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that juju. Although I trusted Catcher, I wasn’t thrilled a sorcerer was using his abilities to sedate vampires. I would have preferred to be in there with him, keeping an eye on things and providing a little oversight.

But before I could even give voice to the concern, it was over. Catcher appeared in the doorway again and waved a hand toward the rest of the cops. By now, there were a dozen milling around our corner of Wrigleyville. Most wore uniforms, but a few were detectives in button-downs and suits, their badges clipped to their waists or on a chain around their necks.

“We’ll head in,” my grandfather said. “My hope is that no one will be arrested until we sort this out. These officers know this isn’t just a drunk and disorderly call—but that there’s more going on here supernaturally.”

“And we’ll keep an eye on the vamps until they come to their senses,” Jeff added, putting a hand on my arm. “That’s part of our job description—occasionally playing guardian angels.”

“I would appreciate that.”

“We’ll be in touch as soon as we can,” my grandfather said. “You stay out of trouble until then.”

I looked back at the bar and thought about my investigation. Our frat boys and Sarah might have been solicited by the same guy, at least based on their minimal descriptions. That was worth a few more questions. “Actually, I think I’m going to take a look around.”

My grandfather frowned. “I’m not sure I’m crazy about your wandering around out here when there’s something strange in the air.”

“I have a dagger in my boot, and I’m surrounded by cops.”

“Fair point, baby girl. Just do me a favor—be careful? I’ll take a lot of heat if the uniforms end up arresting my granddaughter, not to mention the phone call I’d have to put in to your father.”

“Neither one of us wants either of those options,” I assured him.

While my grandfather and Jeff headed back to the bar, I scanned the block.

Lindsey and Christine had corralled the unaffected vamps at the corner opposite me. The humans, now witnesses, were milling around inside the perimeter of yellow tape. Paparazzi had already gathered at the edges, snapping photographs like they were going out of style.

The
click
of their shutters sounded like a plague of descending insects.

Darius and Ethan both were going to have a conniption about this one. And speaking of, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I hated being the bearer of bad news, but I needed to update Ethan. I settled for a text message with a quick recap (“FIGHT AT TEMPLE BAR. COPS

HERE.”) and a warning (“PHOTOGS ON

LOOSE. DON’T LET DARIUS NEAR A TV.”).

A text would have to do for now.

That done, I looked down the street in the other direction. The block was segmented by an alley that ran alongside the bar. If our rave solicitor had been scoping out Temple Bar, would he have moved through the alley? That seemed as reasonable a step as any, so I decided to check it out.

I wrinkled my nose as soon as I’d moved a few feet into the alley. It was a warm summer night, and it smelled like most urban alleys probably did—garbage, dirt, and urine from unknown sources. It was dark, but wide enough for a car to pass through. A sign on one wall that had once read NO BIKES OR SCOOTERS now read NO

IKES OR COOTERS. I managed to hold in a juvenile laugh, but still smiled a little.

About halfway down the alley, I reached the bar’s service entrance. The heavy metal door was red and rusted and marked by DELIVERIES

ONLY and PROTECTED BY AZH SECURITY

signs. Flattened beer boxes were stacked in a neat pile beside the door. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to see.

For the hell of it, I walked to the other end of the alley. There were a couple of Dumpsters and two more service entrances to other businesses, but that was about it.

I frowned with disappointment. I’m not sure what I’d expected to see, although a short, dark-haired man standing beneath a floating neon arrow that read BAD GUY HERE would have been nice. A suspect and quick confession wouldn’t have been amiss, either.

This was a lot harder than in the movies.

Oh,
lightbulb
. That was it.

My heart suddenly pounding with excitement, I jogged to the bar’s back door. Sure enough, poised above the door was a security camera.

The area was dark and grubby, so the camera may not have captured anything Oscar-worthy, but at least it was a lead. First things first, I needed to find Jeff.

I ran back through the alley, but Jeff hadn’t yet emerged from the bar. Since I wasn’t about to head inside and jump into the middle of CPD

drama, I decided to check in with Lindsey.

I hadn’t gone two feet when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Is everything okay?”

The voice was familiar, but he’d startled me enough to merit a full-body shiver. I turned around and found Jonah standing behind me in a snug T-shirt and jeans. Two vampires I didn’t know stood beside him. One wore a blue and yellow jersey with a number on the front. The Grey House uniform, I assumed.

Jonah was here with friends, which meant we were playing Sentinel and captain, minus the RG

connection. And in those roles, since no one had seen us together at Grey House, we hadn’t met. I could play along with that.

“You’re Merit, right? Cadogan Sentinel.”

“Yeah. And you are?”

“Jonah. Captain. Grey House.” He glanced back at the bar. “You need help here?”

“I think we’re okay. There was a fight at the bar.”

Jonah’s eyes widened. “A fight?”

I glanced back to the guys behind him. I might give Jonah information, but these two were complete strangers. “I don’t know your friends.”

“Danny and Jeremy,” he said, pointing to each of them in turn. “They’re Grey House guards.”

Danny smiled and nodded his head; Jeremy offered a half wave. “What’s up?” he said.

“You can be candid,” Jonah said, and I had a sense he was talking to me as a potential RG

member, not just a witness to chaos.

In that case, “There were a lot of vamps in there. They got riled up over relatively nothing, then went crazy. The bar practically exploded with it.”

“We’ve heard there’ve been some gatherings.

Violent ones.”

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” I glanced from him to the guys behind him. “What are you guys doing out here?”

“We were in the neighborhood, but we’re heading back to the House.” He pulled a white card from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a business card with his name, position, and phone number on it. “My landline’s on there.

Feel free to call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

“Nothing like a little inter-House cooperation,”

he said. “Best of luck.”

“I appreciate it.”

With a nod, the captain of Grey House and his employees moved on and disappeared into the crowd. It would have been nice to ask him for help again—but what could he have done tonight?

I tucked the card into my pocket and, when I turned around again, found Catcher behind me.

“You know Jonah?”

“I do now,” I said, my stomach clenching at the lie. “He’s the Grey House captain.”

“So I’ve heard.” He stared at me for a moment.

“What?” I asked, my own curiosity aroused.

Did he suspect I knew Jonah? Did he suspect Jonah knew more than he was admitting?

But Catcher stayed silent, keeping whatever suspicions he might have had to himself.

That’s when I saw him—only a shadow at the edge of my eyesight at first, but then a distinguishable man standing across the street, one of his soldiers behind him.

It was McKetrick, dressed in black running pants and a black T-shirt. No obvious weapons, but with all the cops nearby, it was impossible to tell if he was carrying something concealed. He did have a small pair of binoculars in hand, and the man behind him scribbled in a small notebook. Apparently our friendly neighborhood anti-vampire militiaman was working a little recon tonight. He scanned the crowd, apparently unaware that I was nearby with a couple of vampire sympathizers. I can’t imagine he’d have had anything pleasant to say about that.

I leaned toward Catcher. “Across the street on the corner. That’s McKetrick and one of his goons.”

With all the slickness of a CIA operative, Catcher pointed at a building in McKetrick’s direction. “Did you know that building was created by a monkey that lived in the top of Tribune Tower?”

“I did not know that. A monkey, you say?”

“Fur, bananas, crap throwing, the whole bit.”

He turned back again and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Don’t know the face. But he’s in black, and he’s got binoculars and an underling.

Former military?”

“Given the way he was outfitted the other day, that was my guess. What do you think he’s doing out here?”

“He probably has a police scanner,” Catcher said, the grumble in his voice giving me all the info I needed about his opinion of them. “He probably heard the call and decided to come out and see what kind of trouble vamps were getting into tonight.”

“Damn vampires,” I muttered.

“Always getting into something,” he agreed.

“Since he’s focused on the vamps, I’ll run a Chicago Shuffle and get eyes on him.”

“Chicago Shuffle?”

“I’ll head in the opposite direction and catch him from the back.”

“Sure thing, boss,” I said. “Just watch out for the brass and any dames with nice gams.”

Catcher gave me a dark look. “Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother.”

“Because I’m awesome, and you supplanted me in my own home.”

He smiled slyly. “That does lessen the sting.

You keep an eye on him from here and give me a text if it looks like he’s planning on joining in the fun.”

“Will do.”

Catcher pulled down his ball cap, then slunk into the darkness of the street in the opposite direction.

“Chicago Shuffle,” I quietly murmured, just wanting to say the phrase aloud. I decided all future operations needed names as slick as that one.

Jeff popped back over as soon as Catcher disappeared. “Where’s he off to?”

“We saw McKetrick—the vamp hater—across the street. Catcher went to gather some intel.

What did you find out inside?”

“There’re a lot of dopey vamps in there, and the cops aren’t thrilled they’re causing trouble in public. They’re going to want to pin this on Cadogan, you know.”