Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (11 page)

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this in the hallway. You never know who’s listening. I have to be somewhere soon, but you can come in for a minute.”

It wasn’t much of an invitation, but it would work well enough for vampiric purposes. I walked into the condo, keeping my eyes peeled for inflammatory propaganda or anti-vampire ninjas. Instead, there were tasteful Danish furnishings and décor. A lot of brass and wood and sparse lines.

Catcher followed me inside, and as Robin turned around to lock the door behind us, he mouthed,
Be careful
. They were words I intended to obey.

When she turned back to us, her expression had changed completely. Now, behind closed doors, there was a glimmer of obvious excitement in her eyes.

“I am definitely someone you can talk to,” she said.

“Good,” I said, only partly feigning relief. It would have been a relief to find the perpetrator of an anti-vampire riot on the first take. Opportunities like that didn’t arise very often.

“It’s all about special interest groups,” she said. “It’s about the money. The vampires have it; the humans want it. Having the money means they get to run roughshod over the rest of us, because all the human politicians want to get their greedy little sausage fingers around it.”

The factual errors aside, and there were a number of them, Robin got through her entire spiel without taking a breath. Both made me downgrade my initial impression of her stability.

“Huh,” Catcher said, crossing his arms and looking extremely interested in what she had to say. “And that’s what was going on at Bryant Industries?”

“You think a place that supplies vampire blood could have been open for so long without being part of a conspiracy? Without the manager sleeping with the mayor, or significant payoffs?”

“Payoffs?” Catcher asked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have records of that?”

“Somewhere,” she said, gesturing flippantly to another part of the room. “They thought I’d play ball, and when I didn’t, they thought they could throw me out like trash. But I’m not about to cave to pressure. I know what’s right, and I know what’s legal. My sister is a lawyer.”

“Is that why they pressured you to leave?” I asked, choosing my words carefully. I wasn’t sure how much of her diatribe I believed, but she was clearly convinced.

“They
fired
me,” she said, “because I found out who they were and what they were doing.”

“And you confronted them,” I said, “like any good citizen would do.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “That’s
exactly
what I did. They think they can skirt the rules, while the rest of us have to follow them? Is that fair?”

“It’s not fair,” Catcher said. “I don’t know if you heard, but there was an attack on Bryant Industries last night.”

She stilled and looked at both of us again. “Who did you say you are again?”

“Mary and Boudreau,” Catcher said. “We’re just looking for folks who think like us, I guess you could say.”

As far as I knew, we hadn’t slipped up, and we hadn’t given her any reason to doubt us.

She reached a different conclusion. She bolted, running for the front door.

“Merit!” Catcher prompted.

“On it,” I said, racing after her. But Robin Pope wasn’t unprepared for a vampire engagement. She reached a ceramic umbrella stand beside the door and pulled out a wooden stake as long as a baseball bat. Aspen through the heart was the only wood that could kill us, and I had a sinking feeling Robin Pope knew that quite well.

She thrust out the stake like a fencer trying to win a point. I dodged her first shot, but not the return slap, which slammed into my shin with enough force to bring tears to my eyes. I doubled over in pain, and Robin used my distraction to her advantage, flipping the deadbolt and opening the door. She ran into the hallway, the stake still in hand.

“Little help,” I said to Catcher.

“Vampire fail,” he muttered, running into the hallway after Robin. I limped after them, an electric tingle in Catcher’s wake as he gathered his magic in preparation for an assault.

By the time I made it into the hallway, Robin had reached the bank of elevators and moved behind the pedestal table, plucking up the vase of flowers.

“Robin—Ms. Pope,” Catcher called out, cautiously moving forward. “We just wanted to talk to you.”

But Catcher’s attempt at a détente didn’t dissuade him from continuing to power up. My hair lifted in the cloud of magic he brought to bear, spinning it together in the palm of his hand into an orb of glowing blue light.

“Get thee behind me, Satan!” she yelled out, throwing the vase at us. It hit the floor hallway between Pope and Catcher, shattering across the floor.

He didn’t wait for another attack but launched the magic at her.

Paranoid or not, Robin Pope wasn’t helpless, and she wasn’t about to go down swinging. She wrenched a round mirror from the wall near the table, then dropped to one knee, using the mirror like a shield.

Magic and mirrors didn’t mix, a fact I knew all too well. I’d actually used the trick on Mallory during her Unfortunate Crazy Times, although Catcher hadn’t been there to see the trick, and apparently didn’t know about it.

The ball of blue energy hit the glass . . . and bounced right back toward us.

“Crap,” Catcher said, yanking me to the ground just as the ball of magic flew over our heads. It grazed my ponytail, singeing the edges and sending the scent of burning hair into the air.

The fireball hit the fire door behind us, exploding with a sound like the firing of a jet engine, the force throwing open the door hard enough that it clanged against the back wall.

“Good Lord, man!” I said. “Are you trying to kill us?” I swatted at the sparks in my hair, wincing as the sparks bit into my fingertips.

“It would have only disabled her. The mirror must have distorted the magic.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, glancing up just in time to see Robin disappear through the fire door at the other end of the hallway. “She’s getting away.”

“Little busy here,” Catcher muttered behind me. When I looked back, he was stomping out sparks in the carpet behind us.

Robin Pope was gone, and we’d just torched a hallway in a very posh apartment building. I could only imagine the shit we were both going to get when our bosses found out how poorly this particular mission had gone.

“So much for Robin Pope not having any fighting skills,” I said.

Catcher stepped out a final bit of smoldering ash and glanced back at me. “I didn’t know she did. It didn’t turn up in her background search.”

“I think it’s safe to say she knows something.”

He nodded. “She’s involved in it. We don’t have the resources to tail her. I’ll talk to Chuck about getting Jacobs involved. I’ll also have Jeff run a deeper background, see if she has any other connections to the rioters, a Web site, whatever.”

I swirled a finger in the air, gesturing at the burn marks on the carpet and bubbled paint on the door. “I think we also let the condo association believe Ms. Pope was at fault here with all this. Pope’s a cowardly racist; I’m not letting her off the hook for that. She can pay for a little paint and carpet.”

“A lot of carpet, actually,” Catcher grimly said. “And technically, she was at fault. The damage only happened because she attacked you and bolted.”

A siren began to wail in the distance.

“And that’s our cue to exit,” I said.

“Agreed,” Catcher said, glancing back at the crispy door. “Fire exit?”

“It seems appropriate.” The pain in my shin was already beginning to subside, so I half limped, half ran to the fire door and followed Catcher down the stairs.

“Ha-ha,” he said.

“Vampires have a highly developed sense of humor. What building would you like to destroy next?”

“None. But I want to visit the one that was nearly destroyed. Let’s see what Ms. Bryant has to say about her former employee.”

—

I got into the car and rolled back into traffic and away from the scene, trying my best to look completely uninterested in the CPD cruisers that passed me, lights blazing.

I hopped onto the freeway, heading northwest for Wicker Park, and didn’t stop checking my rearview mirror until I’d reached the Milwaukee Avenue exit. I pulled into the first parking lot I could find, then took a breath and picked up my phone.

There was no message from Jonah, which I took as a good sign, even with the blacklisting. If he’d discovered something really important, he’d have found a way to get the information to us.

I called the Ops Room, hoping to get Luc, and possibly Ethan, on the phone.

“Jimmy’s House of Vampires,” Luc answered, in a really poor Bronx accent.

“That was unimpressive,” I said, “but our visit with Robin Pope was not. She thinks the Bryants are involved in a conspiracy—paying off government employees and maybe sleeping with them to stay open—and she bolted when we mentioned it.”

“That’s good stuff,” Luc said. “Except that when you say ‘bolted,’ it sounds like she got away from you and Catcher. A vampire and a sorcerer with extreme magical powers.”

“Which, it turns out, don’t work that well indoors,” I said. “And she did get away from us, after a minor battle in her apartment building’s hallway. But her behavior was suspicious enough that Catcher thinks the CPD will be interested. He’s going to make the call.”

“I like the part about the CPD involvement,” he said. “I’m less crazy about the ‘minor battle’ bit. Did anyone see you there?”

“Other than Pope, not that I’m aware of. Security desk was empty.”

“Where are you heading next?”

“The distribution center. I’m halfway there.”

“Be careful,” he said. “It sounds like you’ve already had a full night.”

“Fuller than I’d intended,” I admitted. “And feel free not to mention that to Ethan. He’d only worry.”

Luc snorted. “He’ll worry regardless. It’s his job to worry. But you’re right—no sense in adding to the night’s list. And keep us posted.”

I assured him I would, and I hoped the next report would leave me feeling considerably less guilty.

—

Unlike the hallway of the building in Greektown, Wicker Park actually looked better than it had last night. Broken windows had been boarded up, battered cars had been moved, and streetlights had been repaired. It was surprisingly quick work for a city often slogged by bureaucracy.

I hadn’t seen Bryant Industries the night before, or ever that I recalled. The building was easy enough to spot—a large, low structure surrounded by a tidy hedge.

The damage was easy to spot, too. Half the front was a blackened husk, from the door, which sat right in the middle, across one side. Charred interior beams were visible through the gap in the front, and they hung down at odd angles. The rest of the building bore marks from the fire and smoke, and the small lawn in front was littered with blackened debris. Yellow police tape kept members of the press and curious onlookers away from the building.

I pulled into a parking spot on the street. Snow and ice crunching beneath my feet, I quickly crossed the street toward the building and the crowd. The smell of smoke and charred wood grew stronger as I moved, along with something else . . . the copper smell of blood.

I was walking toward a blood distribution center, and I hadn’t bothered to drink blood before leaving the House. The croissant I’d grabbed on the way out wasn’t doing much. I felt a sudden perk of vampiric interest, and my stomach rumbled ominously. I’d been so busy thinking about the motivations for the crime that I hadn’t prepared myself for it. That had been thoughtless, but there was nothing to do about it now except try to maintain control and hope I didn’t fang out in front of the human bystanders.

I sucked in a breath, promised myself a liter of blood when I made it back to the House, and waved at Catcher, who stood at the edge of the crowd, scanning it as if looking for clues.

“Enjoying the show?” I asked.

“As much as one enjoys watching idiocy,” he grumbled, then gave me a sideways glance. “Do you notice anything unusual here?”

I glanced around, assuming I was being tested, and trying to figure out exactly what he was looking for. Ironically, I guessed he wasn’t referring to anything present at the scene, but what was missing.

“There’s not a single protestor here,” I said.

“There’s not a single protestor here,” he agreed. “They went to the trouble to firebomb the place, and they didn’t even show up to protest afterward? What’s the point?”

“Grandpa said they lawyered up. Their lawyers probably advised them to stay away.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “Or maybe this isn’t about vampires, not really. Maybe this is about a crazy lady and her vendetta against her employer.”

“I presume you told my grandfather about Robin Pope?”

“I did. He’s calling Jacobs, thinking he’ll be interested enough to at least bring her in for questioning.”

“Excellent.”

Catcher nodded and looked back at the smoldering building. “I suppose she’s technically innocent until proved guilty, but innocent people, in my experience, don’t tend to run. At least not when they’re well-heeled northsiders living in a posh apartment building.”

I nodded and stuffed my hands into my pockets, although that didn’t help with the rest of my freezing body parts. The temperature was dropping, and my ears had begun to ache with cold.

“I assume we’re out here because we’re waiting for someone from Bryant Industries?”

“Ms. Bryant herself. And there she is,” Catcher pleasantly added.

A woman appeared on the lawn. She was tall, with a wide smile, dark eyes, and ebony skin. Her straight hair swept her shoulders, and even while standing in the rubble of the building, she looked smartly dressed in a fitted red trench coat and black patent galoshes. She was, as far as I could tell, quite human.

Catcher moved forward through the crowd to the edge of the tape, and gestured to get her attention. At the sight of him, the woman nodded and walked toward us, raising the police tape so we could walk through.

“Charla Bryant,” she said, extending her hand.