Hard Bitten (24 page)

With that said, but still feeling like a total narc, I grabbed up the bucket and headed for the door.

I now knew why this was happening, knew why the raves were bigger and meaner than before.

I’d hopefully been able to keep the chaos out of our House.

Now I had to find the pusher and put a stop to the chaos everywhere else.

I made my way outside and found my grandfather, Catcher, and Jeff. My grandfather sat at the curb, his expression somber.

He stood up when I approached. I guided him behind one of the cruisers—and out of the way of the paparazzi—before handing over the bucket.

“This is V,” I said. “The same stuff we saw at the Streeterville party. Apparently it spread from Benson’s to Grey House to Temple Bar, where Cadogan vamps were stupid enough to try it.” I looked at Catcher. “This is why they’ve been so violent. It’s not the glamour or the magic—”

“It’s the drugs,” he agreed with a nod. “Not for humans, but for vampires.”

“I’d guess you’re probably right about that,”

my grandfather said, pulling two small, clear plastic evidence bags from the pocket of his jacket. There were pills and envelopes in each.

“Where did you find those?”

“On the floor of the bar,” he said. “Someone must have dropped it in the confusion. Maybe the
V
stands for ‘vampire.’ Or ‘violence’?”

“Whatever you call it,” Catcher said, “it’s bad.

V is in the clubs, it’s in the parties, it’s in the vampires.”

My grandfather glanced back at the paparazzi, who were flashing pictures from behind the police tape, their gray and black lenses zooming in and out as they tried to capture each bit of the scene.

“I can’t keep them from taking pictures,” he said, “but I’ll hold on to the V issue as long as possible. At this point, the drug’s only targeted at vampires, and there doesn’t seem to be an obvious risk to humans.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m sure Ethan does, too.”

A beat cop approached my grandfather, making eyes at me as he did it. Catcher, Jeff, and I were silent as my grandfather stepped aside, chatting quietly with the officer and, when they were done, passing him the bucket.

When my grandfather walked back over again, his brow furrowed, I assumed nothing good was heading my way.

“How do you feel about coming down to the precinct and giving a statement?”

My stomach curled. He was doing me a favor by letting me do the talking—letting me control the House’s destiny, so to speak—but that didn’t mean I was crazy about the idea of going voluntarily to a police station.

“Not great, to be real honest. Ethan will have a fit.”

“Not if the other option is a random Cadogan vamp without your training or allegiances. We need to talk to a Cadogan vamp,” he said, “and it’s better you than anyone else.”

I sighed. Not only was I now the bearer of bad news; I was the rat fink tasked with reporting all the dirty details to the CPD. But my grandfather was right—what better choice did we have?

I nodded my agreement, blew out a breath, and pulled out my cell phone again.

I might not be the bearer of good tidings, but at least I could give him a little forewarning—and hope to God he wasn’t waiting to strip me of my medal at the end of the night.

I rode in the front seat of my grandfather’s Oldsmobile, adrenaline turning to exhaustion as we drove to the CPD’s Loop precinct. He parked in a reserved spot and escorted me into the building, a hand at my back to keep me steady.

Given the task at hand, I appreciated the gesture.

The building was relatively new and pretty sterile—the peeling paint and ancient metal furniture of cop dramas replaced by cubicles and automated kiosks and shiny tile floors.

It was nearly four in the morning, so the building was quiet and mostly empty but for a handful of uniformed officers moving through the halls with perps in handcuffs: a woman in a short skirt and tall boots with undeniable exhaustion in her eyes; a jittery man with gaunt cheeks and dirty jeans; and a heavyset kid whose straight hair covered his eyes, his oversized gray T-shirt dotted with blood. It was a sad scene, a snapshot of folks having undoubtedly miserable evenings.

I followed my grandfather through what looked like a bull pen for detectives, rows of identical desks and chairs filling a room bordered by a ring of offices. Detectives lifted their gazes as we passed, offering nods to my grandfather and curious—or just plain suspicious—glances at me.

On the other side of the bull pen, we moved down a hallway and into an interview room that held a conference table and four chairs. The room, part of the renovation, smelled like a furniture showroom—cut wood, plastic, and lemon polish.

At my grandfather’s gesture, I took a seat. The door opened just as he took the chair beside me.

A man—tall, dark-skinned, and wearing a pin-striped suit—walked inside and closed the door. He had a yellow notepad and a pen in hand, and he wore his badge on a chain around his neck.

“Arthur,” my grandfather said, but Arthur held out a hand before my grandfather could stand up in greeting.

“Don’t bother on my account, Mr. Merit,”

Arthur said, exchanging a handshake with my grandfather. Then he looked at me, a little more suspicion in his eyes. “Caroline Merit?”

Caroline was my given name, but not the name I used. “Call me Merit, please.”

“Detective Jacobs has been in the vice division for fifteen years,” my grandfather explained.

“He’s a good man, a trustworthy man, and someone I consider a friend.”

That was undoubtedly true given the respectful glances they shared, but Detective Jacobs clearly hadn’t made up his mind about me. Of course, I wasn’t here to impress anyone. I was only here to tell the truth. So that’s what I tried to do.

We reviewed what I’d seen at the rave, what I’d learned from Sarah, and what I’d seen tonight. I didn’t offer analysis or suspicions—just facts. There was no need, no reason that I could imagine, to insert Celina or GP drama into events that were already dramatic enough.

Detective Jacobs asked questions along the way. He rarely made eye contact as we talked, instead keeping his eyes on his paper as he scribbled notes. Much like his suit, his handwriting was neat and tidy.

I’m not sure he was any less suspicious by the end of my spiel, but I felt better for having told him. He might have been human, but he was also careful, analytical, and focused on details. I didn’t get the sense this was a witch hunt, but rather his earnest attempt to solve a problem that just happened to involve vampires.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have any information about V or where it might be coming from. Like Catcher had said, as the third-biggest city in the country, Chicago wasn’t exactly immune from drug problems.

Detective Jacobs also didn’t share any strategies with me, so if he had plans to do his own infiltrating, I wasn’t aware of it. But he did give me a card and asked me to call him if I discovered anything else, or if I had anything I thought he could help with.

I doubted Ethan would want me involving veteran CPD vice detectives in the investigation of our drug problem.

But that’s why I’d been named Sentinel, I thought, tucking the card into my pocket.

Ethan sat in a plastic chair in the hallway. He was bent over, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He tapped his thumbs together, his blond hair tucked behind his ears. It was the kind of pose you’d have seen on a family member in a hospital waiting room—tired, tense, anticipating the worst.

His head lifted at the sound of my boots on the tile floor. He stood up immediately, then moved toward me. “You’re all right?”

I nodded. “I’m fine. My grandfather thought it would be better to get the story from me.”

“It seemed like the fairest decision,” said a voice behind me.

I glanced back to see my grandfather moving down the hall toward us. Ethan extended his hand. “Mr. Merit. Thank you for your help.”

My grandfather shook his hand, but he also shook his head. “Thank your Sentinel. She’s a fine representative of your House.”

Ethan looked at me, pride—and love?—in his eyes. “We’re in agreement there.”

“I’m tired,” I said, “and I don’t have a car.

Could we go back to the House?”

“Absolutely.” Ethan’s gaze shifted to my grandfather. “Did you need anything else from us?”

“No. We’re done for now. Enjoy the rest of your night—to the extent possible.”

“Unlikely,” I said, patting his arm. “But we’ll do the best we can.”

But before we could take a step toward the exit, the doors at the end of the hallway pushed open. Tate walked through, followed by a squadron of suit-clad assistants. They looked drowsy, and I sympathized; it was a crappy job that required hangers-on to wear suits at five fifteen in the morning.

Tate strode toward us, both sympathy and irritation in his expression. I figured the irritation was offered up by his strategic half, the political leader anticipating nasty commercials about “the vampire problem.” The sympathy was probably offered up by his baby-kissing half.

He looked at my grandfather first. “The situation is contained?”

“It is, Mr. Mayor. Things at the bar are in hand, and Merit came in and provided us with a very detailed statement so we can get a handle on the issue.”

“Which is?”

“We’re still figuring that out, sir. You’ll have my report as soon as I can type it.”

Tate nodded. “Appreciate that, Chuck.” He glanced at Ethan. “Is this related to the problem I asked you to address?”

“It may be,” Ethan vaguely said. “Merit is spending most of her free time investigating it, including this evening.”

Tate’s expression softened and went all-politician. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

Oh, I could tell,
I blandly thought.
You
probably appreciated it ten to fifteen points in
the polls.

Tate reached out and shook my hand, and then my grandfather’s. “Merit, let’s stay in touch.

Chuck, I look forward to your report.”

He reached out to shake Ethan’s hand, but instead of a simple shake, he leaned toward Ethan and whispered something in his ear.

Ethan’s shoulder’s stiffened, and he stared blankly ahead, barely controlling his anger, when Tate walked away.

Ethan’s car was parked in a secured lot beside the station. I barely made the short walk. The drama was beginning to take a collective toll; for all my extra vampire strength, I was tired. My brain was fuzzy, my body was exhausted, and my temperature was that strange deep-seated cold that you get before the flu starts up.

Ethan opened the door for me and shut it again when I was inside. I checked the clock on the dashboard; it was nearly five forty-five, about twenty minutes before dawn. Another late night—and another race against the rising sun.

Silently, Ethan climbed into the car and started the motor.

I made one final play at being the dutiful Sentinel. “Do you want to debrief now?”

He must have seen the exhaustion in my eyes, because he shook his head. “Luc filled me in on the major points, and the morning news programs are already on the case. Rest for now.”

I must have taken the direction literally, because I remember nodding in agreement—but not the rest of the ride home. As soon as he pulled out of his parking spot and began spiraling back down through the parking garage, I dropped my head onto the headrest. I woke up again as the car descended into the Cadogan parking lot.

“You
are
tired,” he said.

I put a hand over my mouth to hide the burgeoning yawn. “It’s nearly dawn.”

“So it is.”

We sat there awkwardly for a moment, like a couple at the end of a first date, neither quite sure what’s expected of the other.

Ethan made the first move, opening his door and stepping outside. I did the same, wobbling a little as I exited the car, but staying on my feet. I could feel the tug of the sun, my nerves itching with exhaustion, my body screaming that it was time to find a soft, dark place to wait out the day.

“You going to make it upstairs?” he asked.

“I’ll make it.” I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, blinking to keep my eyes focused.

“The sun does a number on you,” Ethan said as he typed in the code to the basement door, then held it open while I walked through like a near zombie. I was conscious enough to realize that he didn’t seem to have the same trouble.

“You’re less affected?” I asked as we walked to the stairs.

“I’m older,” he explained. “Your body is still adjusting to the genetic change, to the differences between being diurnal and nocturnal. As you get older, you’ll find the pull easier to manage. More a gentle suggestion than a grab-and-go.”

I was capable only of muttering a sound of agreement. By some miracle I made it to the second-floor landing without falling over.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Ethan said, and headed for the stairs. But I called his name to stop him. He glanced back.

“What did Tate whisper in your ear?”

“He said, ‘Fix this, goddamn it, or else.’ We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice.

A
s Ethan had pointed out, one obvious downside of being nocturnal was the fact that the sun exerted more power on me than I cared to admit.

On the other hand, I didn’t need caffeine to wake up. I might have spent a few minutes being groggy, but the haze blew off quickly enough, leaving a wideawake (and usually starving) vampire in its wake.

I started the evening with a bowl of crunchy cinnamon cereal and as much blood as I could stomach. I’d done a lot of fighting last night, and my stress level had been pretty high. Fighting and stress generally tripped my hunger trigger faster than anything else.

Well, maybe other than Ethan. I could confirm the bagged stuff didn’t compare in taste to the real thing, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying. Nutrition was all well and good, but the emotional comfort also paid off.

I showered and dressed in my Cadogan black.

I wasn’t sure what the night held in store, but I was confident that after last night’s escapades Darius would be involved at some point. It was probably best to dress a bit nicer than I had been the last time he’d seen me.