Chicagoland Vampires - Some Girls Bite Part 9

"Why buy the cow?" I asked.

He nodded with approval. "Precisely. When the technology was developed to preserve blood, to bag it, most vamps turned away from humans. Immortality makes for long memories, and some Houses thought they'd be safer if they cut contact with humans almost completely, relied on bagged blood, or shared blood with each other." At my raised eyebrows, he added, "It happens. The vamp biology needs new blood, a new influx, so it's not a reliable source of nutrition. But it happens-sometimes ritually, sometimes to pa.s.s along strength."

Jeff's throat clearing filled the brief pause in Catcher's explanation. "And there's the other thing," he prompted, a flush coloring his cheekbones.

Catcher rolled his eyes. "And some vamps find there to be a . . . sensual component in sharing." I felt a blush cross my own cheeks and nodded studiously, trying not to think about the details of that act-or any green-eyed vamps it could be performed on.

"Anyway," Catcher continued, "as times changed, a few Houses, Cadogan included, gave their members the choice."

"To drink or not to drink," Jeff put in.

"That was the question," Catcher agreed. "Some vamps think humans are dirty and biting's a little too throwback. Cadogan takes heat on it. Not that doing it in secret is any better."

"Raves," Jeff said, with a knowing nod.

"What are raves?" I asked, leaning forward, eager to gather as much information as they were willing to pa.s.s along.

Catcher shook his head. "We'll save that sordid little chapter for another time."

"Okay, then what about vamps being particular?"

"Vamps think their politics, this House bulls.h.i.+t, is the biggest issue in the world. They think it outs.h.i.+nes human concerns, world famine, whatever. And a lot of supernatural folks agree. Vamps are predators, alpha predators, and where vamps go, a lot of fey follow."

"Fey?"

"You know-sups. Supernaturals," he testily added, at my confused expression. "Anyway, angels, demons, your heavier sorcerers, they pay attention to the Houses. Who's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g who, who's allied with who, all that c.r.a.p. s.h.i.+fters, on the other hand, could give a s.h.i.+t. They're just too laid back."

"And we're too neurotic?"

Catcher smiled. "Now you're getting the picture. Vamps don't appreciate that s.h.i.+fters are lackadaisical about their problems.

Vamps want alliances. They collect friends they can rely on, especially the older ones that remember the European Clearings. Next time you're at Cadogan House, check the symbols above the front door. Those are alliance insignia; they show who Ethan's got signed up as allies. Really, they're backup in case humans get p.i.s.sed or other Houses decide Cadogan's drinking is a little too risky. And because s.h.i.+fters don't play those kinds of games-Keene's never gonna post insignia over Ethan Sullivan's front door-vamps ignore them." Catcher sighed. "There are also rumors that s.h.i.+fters had the chance to step in during the Second Clearing, but chose not to act, not to become involved."

"Not to save lives?" I asked. Catcher nodded heavily, his expression tight, his gaze on Jeff, who looked to be working to ignore the direction of the conversation.

"I see. And who's Keene?"

"My pack leader," Jeff offered, looking up from his keyboard with a bright expression. "Gabriel Keene, Apex of the Central North American. He lives in Memphis."

"Huh." I stood up and paced from one end of the room to the other, then back again. The feast of information he'd just thrown at me-needed to be digested. "Huh."

"Verbal, this one," Catcher said. Then quickly added, "Jeff, quit staring at her a.s.s."

There was throat clearing behind me before typing started again in earnest.

This was so much more complicated than I'd imagined. Granted, before the change, I hadn't thought much about vamps. The few thoughts I'd had-especially after watching Celina Desaulniers seduce her way through a Congressional hearing-weren't flattering. The few I'd had since-Well, they involved too much Ethan Sullivan and too little anything else.

"I'd love to know what you're thinking right now, babe."

I looked around, saw Catcher grinning knowingly, brows lifted as he waited for a response. I felt the blush to the roots of my hair, but waved a hand negligently. "Noth-nothing. Just thinking." His "Uh-huh" didn't sound convinced, so I turned the tables. "Where do you fit in all this?"

No response until, abruptly, Catcher sat up and began flipping through his book again. That was answer enough, I thought.

My grandfather stepped back into the office, and since Catcher was no longer broadcasting, he took the floor, giving his crew the basic facts on recent relevant events in my life-the bite, the threat, the challenge. When he'd given the full replay to Jeff and Catcher, he updated me on the investigation into Jennifer Porter's death. As a potential victim-and the three of them agreed that I'd been next in line-he thought it important to keep me informed.

Unfortunately, a lack of communication was standing in the way of progress on the investigation. Although the Navarre vamps promised to work with the CPD in solving the crime, they'd been tightlipped about their findings, if they had any. Grandpa's vampire connection helped fill in some blank spots, but in Catcher's words, the vamp was an enlisted man, not an officer, so his access to information was limited. Plus, the vamp was skittish about being labeled a traitor by his House, so he reported to the Ombud, not the CPD. That meant any information he did uncover had to be pa.s.sed through channels. And even when it found its way to an investigator's desk, CPD detectives were still suspicious. Cops were old school; they didn't trust information from supernatural sources. Even my grandfather's thirty-four-year service record didn't immunize him from the prejudice. Many of the cops he worked with, served with, just thought he cavorted with phony weirdos.

More important, all the communication in the world couldn't help the fact that the only evidence recovered in Porter's death was the Cadogan medal. Detectives found no other physical evidence, no witnesses, and even the medal had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Unfortunately, with little else to go on, and plenty of prejudice in their favor, the CPD was loath to ignore Cadogan House as the source of their suspect.

By the time we'd gone over all that, I was seated at one of the empty desks, tapping a pencil absently against its top. I looked up, met Catcher's eyes. "Do we agree that he didn't do it?" I a.s.sumed I didn't need to specify who "he" was.

"He didn't do it," was Catcher's immediate response. "But that doesn't mean someone in Cadogan House wasn't involved."

Elbow on the desk, I put my chin on my hand, frowned at him. "He said he was interviewing the vamps that live in Cadogan House.

He doesn't think Cadogan vamps were involved."

"Catcher didn't say a vamp from Cadogan House," my grandfather clarified. "He said someone in Cadogan House. We know a medal was taken from Cadogan. The House probably keeps extra medals on hand in case a vamp from another House defects or a pendant gets lost. And Commendation's coming up. That's when the medals are handed out to new vamps. They're there."

"And for the taking," Jeff pointed out.

Catcher stood up and stretched, his T-s.h.i.+rt riding up to reveal washboard abs and a circular tattoo on his stomach. Gruff was Catcher, but a little delicious.

"Vamps date out of their House," he said, dropping his arms. "And sometimes they bring their dates home. If the medals weren't properly secured, any of the visitors could have snagged one. And if Sullivan wasn't such a G.o.dd.a.m.n tight a.s.s, he'd consider that."

"You two don't get along?" I asked.

Catcher chuckled and sat down at his desk again, the chair squeaking beneath him as he adjusted himself. "Oh, we get along fine.

Sullivan and I go way back."

"How so?

He shook his head. "We don't have time for that story tonight. Suffice it to say"-he paused thoughtfully-"Sullivan appreciates my unique talents."

"Which are?"

Catcher chuckled gravelly. "Never on a first date, suns.h.i.+ne." He ran a hand over his buzzed skull and reopened the book on his desk. "And just because Sullivan and I are friends doesn't mean he's not a tight a.s.s. And that doesn't mean he's willing to admit that he's wrong."

That being the most profoundly accurate statement I'd heard in days, I laughed heartily. "Oh, yeah," I said, patting my heart. "That gets me right here. Ethan said something about Rogue vampires being involved," I offered. "But it doesn't sound like they could have gotten into the House. I mean, security looked pretty tight."

"Rogues are one theory," Grandpa said. "And we've pa.s.sed it along to the bureau."

"So that's your role in all this?" I asked. "Pa.s.sing information along?"

"We're not investigators," Grandpa confirmed. "This office works more like a diplomatic corps. But since our vamp doesn't talk to cops, we've got access to information the cops don't have. The Mayor said to pa.s.s the info along, so we pa.s.sed."

"And to be fair," Catcher added, "you and your little sorceress are involved now. That gives us incentive to pay attention and to get this wrapped up-and this psychopath off the streets-sooner rather than later."

I lifted an eyebrow, wondering how he'd learned about Mallory's secret ident.i.ty, but he looked away. Sullivan, I guessed, had made a phone call.

My grandfather settled a hand on my shoulder. There were bags under his eyes I only just recognized, and I felt suddenly guilty for having waited so long to talk to him, for worrying him needlessly, even as I knew it wasn't me, but the loosed killer, who put the concern in his eyes now."That's all we've got," my grandfather said. "I know it isn't very satisfying, not when you've been a victim. When your life has been turned upside down."

I squeezed his hand, appreciating the validation. "Anything helps," I said, meeting each of their eyes to get my appreciation across.

"It helps."

After a round of goodbyes, Grandpa walked me outside to await my cab. He locked up the building, then guided me to a wooden park bench that sat in one corner of the building's small, neatly clipped lawn.

"I still can't believe you're involved in all this," I told him. "There's so much going on in the city, and people think vamps are the sum total of it." I glanced over at him, worry in my gaze. "And you're right on the front lines."

Grandpa chuckled mirthlessly. "Let's hope it doesn't come to front lines. It's been eight months. Sure, the coming out was a little rocky, but things have been stable for months now. I wouldn't say humans have accepted vamps, but there seems to be a kind of .

. . curiosity." He sighed. "Or we're in the eye of the hurricane. The lull before more rioting, chaos. And there's no telling what that might do to the balance of power. Like Catcher was saying, a lot of sups take the vamps' superiority for granted. They see them- you," he corrected, looking at me over his gla.s.ses, a move so much like my father's, it tripped my heart nervously, "as alpha predators. Sups tend to follow the vamps' lead because of that. But that loyalty, if you want to call it that, was conditioned on vamps staying out of the limelight. Keeping under the radar, keeping human eyes off the supernatural world. They've never had good PR, the vamps. And you saw those nymph posters in there?"

I nodded.

"Who's to say, if the nymphs set out to control Chicago, they couldn't?" He chuckled. "They'd have a pretty easy time getting the male population behind them. Although s.h.i.+fters are probably the only group with the numbers and power to take a national stand against the vamps. I don't think they're interested in that, but then again, we're dealing with unknowns." He shrugged.

"The truth is, Merit, this is the first supernatural outing in modern history, and it happened in the post-Harry Potter era. In the post- Lord of the Rings era. Humans are a little more comfortable thinking about supernatural beings, supernatural happenings, than they were in the days when witches and vampires burned. Hopefully, things will be different this time." He was quiet for a moment, giving us both the chance to consider that possibility-the possibility that we could all just, to put it tritely, get along. That was certainly better than imagining the worst-case scenario. Burnings. Lynchings. Inquisition-like proceedings. The kind of mob violence that arises when a majority fears the loss of its power, the unbalancing of the status quo.

When my grandfather began talking again, his voice was quieter. More solemn. Weighed down, maybe.

"There's just no precedent. I didn't make thirty-four years on the force by making random guesses, so I can't say what will happen or, if worse comes to worst, who would win. So we'll keep our eyes and ears open, hope the sups keep trusting us, and hope the Mayor steps in if it comes to that."

"It's a h.e.l.l of a time to've been changed into a vampire." I sighed.

He laughed cheerfully-the sound sweeping away the sudden melancholy-and patted my knee. "That it is, baby girl. That it is."

The door opened behind us, and Catcher stepped outside, his boots clacking on the sidewalk. "Can I have a minute?" he asked my grandfather, inclining his head in my direction. Grandpa looked at me for permission, and I nodded. He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then put his hands on his knees and rose.

"I brought you here because I wanted you to know that you always have a safe place, Merit. If you need help or advice, if you have questions-whatever. You can always come here. We know what you're dealing with, and we'll help you if we can. Okay?"

I stood and gave him a hug. "Thanks, Grandpa. And I'm sorry it took me so long to come by."

He patted my back. "That's no problem, baby girl. I knew you'd call when you'd had a chance to come to terms."

I didn't think I'd come to terms, but I didn't argue the point.

"Give her some cards," Grandpa directed and, after a quick wave, shuffled back into the building. Catcher pulled a handful of business cards from his pocket and handed them over. They bore only a phone number with the label "OMBUD."

"Consider it a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card," Catcher explained, then sat down on one end of the slatted bench seat. He stretched out, slouching low and crossing his feet at the ankles. "So, you challenged Sullivan," he finally said.

"Not on purpose. I went to Cadogan to show him the note. I was p.i.s.sed about being changed, but I didn't intend to argue with him about it."

"And what happened?"

I bent down to pluck a dandelion from the dewy gra.s.s next to the bench and twirled it in my hand, sending a cloud of ephemeral seeds into the air. "Ethan said something inordinately possessive, and it got to me. I challenged him. I think the vamp genetics were a little more eager for a fight than I was, but he offered me a deal-to release me from my obligations to the House if I landed a punch."

Catcher slid me a glance. "I take it you didn't?"

I shook my head. "I ended up on my back on the floor. But I got a few moves in. I held my own. And he didn't land a blow either.

He seemed surprised that I was strong. That I was fast."

Catcher blew out a breath while he nodded. "If you held your own against Sullivan, your reflexes are better than they should be for a baby vamp. And that means, Initiate, that you're going to have some power. What about smell? Hearing? Any improvement?"

I shook my head. "Not much above normal, unless I get angry."

Catcher seemed to consider that, tilting his head to regard me. "That's . . . interesting. Could be those powers aren't online yet."

A motorcycle raced down the dark street, and we were quiet until it disappeared around the block.

"If you want to harness your power," Catcher continued, "whatever that power may be, you'll need training. Vamps have their own traditions of sword work-offensive moves, defensive patterns. You need to learn them."

Having depleted the dandelion of its seeds, I dropped the empty stem to the ground. "If I'm stronger, why do I need training?"

"You're going to be a power, Merit, but there's always someone stronger. Well, unless you're Amit Patel, but that's not the point.

Trust me-there's going to be lots of vampire kiddies who want to take you for a spin. You'll invite challenges from good guys and bad guys alike. To stay healthy, merely being stronger or faster won't be enough. You need moves." He paused, nodded. "And until the CPD brings this murderer in, it'd help if you could handle yourself. It'd make Chuck feel better, and if Chuck feels better, I feel better."

I smiled collegially, appreciative that my grandfather had Catcher at his back. "Can Jeff handle himself?"

Catcher made a sarcastic sound. "Jeff's a f.u.c.king s.h.i.+fter. He doesn't need martial arts to get around in the world."

"And you? Do you need martial arts?"

In lieu of answering, he flicked his hand in my direction. A burst of blue light flew from his open fingers, aiming straight for my head.

Immediately, I dropped into a crouch again, then angled to the side as he shot a second burst. With an electric sizzle, the bursts exploded a shower of sparks.

I snapped my gaze back to the low-slung man on the bench, muttering a string of curses that would have turned even my grandfather's ears red. "What the h.e.l.l are you?"

Catcher stood and extended a hand to help me up. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. "Not people."

"A witch?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you just call me?"

I'd obviously offended him, so I backtracked. "Um . . . Sorry. I'm a little unclear on all the . . . right labels."

He watched me for a moment, then nodded. "Accepted. That's a pretty big insult for someone like me."

I didn't tell him that the vamps threw the word around with casual ease. "And what is that, exactly?"

"I am-was-a fourth-cla.s.s sorcerer, proficient in the minor and major, greater and lesser Keys."