“Just the usual door-darkening crap. First item on the agenda—some kind of G.I. Joe–wannabe organization, led by a man named McKetrick.
They set up a roadblock not far from the House.
They had full military gear—combat boots, black clothes, black SUVs without license plates.”
“No black helicopters?” Jeff asked.
“I know, right? McKetrick has styled himself as some kind of human savior from the vampire invasion. He thinks fangs make us a genetic mistake.”
“A mistake he’s going to remedy?” Catcher asked.
I nodded. “Precisely. He says his goal is getting vamps out of Chicago and, I assume, filling that vacuum with his sparkling personality.”
“We’ll do some digging. Find out what we can.” Catcher tilted his head curiously. “How’d you get out of the roadblock?”
“Ethan called our favorite Pack members.
Keene brought the family and then some.”
“Nice,” Jeff said. “Um, was Fallon there?”
“She was. But in a Cardinals cap. Can’t you do something about that?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “I know how to pick my battles. So no. Oh—and did you hear? Tonya had the baby. A nine-pound boy. Connor Devereaux Keene.”
I smiled back at him. Tonya was Gabriel’s wife; she’d been quite pregnant the last time I’d seen her, and they’d already decided on
“Connor” as a name. “Nine pounds? That’s a big boy.”
Jeff smiled knowingly. “That’s what she said.”
Catcher cleared his throat. “What’s the second thing?”
“Raves.”
They both looked up at me.
“What about them?” Catcher asked.
“That was actually my first question. At best, we have raves popping into the public eye—for real this time.”
“And worst?” Catcher asked.
“We have something with the markings of a rave, but that actually involves psycho-vamps committing atrocities against multiple humans.
Three supposed deaths so far, but there’s no physical evidence.”
There was silence in the office.
“You’re serious?” Catcher asked, voice grave.
“Aspen serious.” I gave them the details on Mr. Jackson and his experience, on the mayor’s investigation, and on our visit to his home. It worried me that they didn’t already have these details; my grandfather, after all, was the city’s supernatural Ombudsman. He should have been the first person Tate called.
“Is it because of me?” I asked. “Is Tate keeping information from him because I’m his granddaughter? Because I’m in Cadogan?”
Catcher pushed away his plate of fruit, propped his elbows on the table, and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know, and I really don’t like that idea. But I do know Chuck won’t be pleased at the possibility that we’re a figurehead group, an office Tate keeps open to make sups think he gives a shit—”
“While he’s keeping important information from us,” Jeff finished.
“On the other hand,” Catcher thoughtfully said, “it wouldn’t be our job to investigate.
That’s the role of CPD detectives. But he’d normally give us a heads-up so we could make contact with the Houses or the Rogues.” He shook his head. “We always thought Tate was a little cagey. I guess this proves you have to keep one ear to the ground even when you’re supposedly in the loop.”
“And speaking of keeping an ear to the ground, what’s the word on raves? Anything new in the ether?”
He frowned. “I assumed you’ve talked to Malik or Ethan and you know about the three we tracked?”
“I’ve heard,” I growled out.
With a nod, Catcher rose and went to a whiteboard newly installed on one end of the office, uncapped a green marker, and began writing. Accompanied by the squeak of the pen, he started by drawing what looked like an angled, limp fish.
“What’s that?”
“Chicago,” he said without turning around.
“Seriously? That’s how you represent the city you work for? As a fish?”
“It really does look like a fish,” Jeff said excitedly. “Oh, maybe it’s an Asian carp. Are you making a metaphor about raves and invasive species?”
“Clever,” I said with a smile for Jeff.
He leaned back in his chair, smiling proudly.
“That’s what the ladies say.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to Catcher, who was glaring at both of us above his Buddy Holly glasses. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud.
“As I was saying,” he continued, before placing stars on the map in different locations, “we know about three new raves in the last two months.”
“Intel from the secret vampire?” I wondered aloud.
“Two of them,” Catcher admitted. “The third from Malik. All were second- or thirdhand reports.”
Okay, so that pretty much blew my Malik-is-the-secret-source theory.
“There’s also the rave we visited along the lakeshore,” Catcher added, placing another star on the board.