“There are also the raves we knew about before we visited that rave. And the one Tate identified. It was in West Town.”
Catcher nodded, grabbed a blue marker, and filled in those stars.
I squinted at Catcher’s “drawing,” but still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Except that it still looked like a fish. “Could you at least show us where Navy Pier is?” I asked him. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”
Catcher grumbled, but obliged, and drew a tiny rectangle poking out from one side of the fish.
Jeff chuckled. “Is that Navy Pier, or is Chicago just happy to see me?”
I laughed so hard I snorted a little, at least until Catcher pounded a fist on the top of the closest table.
“Hey,” I objected, pointing at him, “my Master might be in Cook County lockup by the end of the week, and that won’t exactly be good for me. Sarcasm is my way of relieving stress, as you know, since you’ve seen me and Mallory at it.”
Ironically, saying the jail bit aloud again made my stomach crumple with nerves. But Catcher’s expression softened. He glanced back at the board, a smile at one corner of his mouth. “I guess it does look kind of ridiculous.”
“And since you’ve acknowledged that, you may continue,” I magnanimously offered.
“So the raves,” he said without delay, “are sprinkled across the city. No apparent pattern.
No apparent locus of activity.”
“That’s telling in itself,” I said, sitting up.
“That says there’s no rave headquarters, not where the parties are held, anyway, and that the vamps are smart enough to move the party around.”
“So no humans or Masters—if these are Housed vamps—get suspicious,” Jeff added.
“Exactly,” Catcher said.
“What about the size?” I asked. “The scale?
Mr. Jackson was convinced there were dozens of vamps there, and that the entire thing was American Psycho violent.”
“Just like the site we visited, our current intel says raves are a handful of vamps and a few humans. Small, intimate. Focused on the act of giving and accepting blood. To continue the movie analogy, this isn’t Fight Club.”
“More like Love at First Bite,” Jeff said.
Catcher rolled his eyes again. “So this new incident we’re talking about is something unprecedented in terms of size and violence, without matching missing persons reports, and no actual evidence of a crime.” He shrugged. “That suggests Mr. Jackson wasn’t entirely honest.
Problem is, we haven’t talked to any vampires who were actually there. That would be the real coup—getting someone in from the beginning.
On the ground floor. Figuring out who’s there, how the information is being passed, who’s participating, and whether they’re participating willingly.”
“Can you pull in data from the CPD?” I asked.
“See what their files have to say?”
“Done and done,” Jeff said, sitting forward and beginning to tap on his keyboard. “I might have to dig a little to find it—their IT architecture is for shit—but I’ll let you know.”
Of course, just because the Ombud’s office didn’t have information didn’t mean there wasn’t information to be had. It was probably time to tap my next source. . . .
“Thanks,” I told both of them. “Can you give me a call if you hear anything else?”
“Of course. I assume Sullivan’s going to send you out on some sort of crazy psycho-vampire-hunting field trip?”
“The forecast is strong.”
“Call me if you need backup,” Catcher said.
“Of course,” I agreed, but I actually had an idea about that, as well. After all, Jonah had been offered up as a partner.
“And if you do go,” Catcher added, “look for identifying information, listen for any word about how they’re contacting vamps or identifying humans.”
“Will do.”
“You want me to find Chuck before you leave?” Jeff asked.
I waved him off. “No worries. He’s busy. Let him handle his open house.”
“I’m pretty sure I can manage a job and family both,” said a gravelly voice at the door. I glanced back and smiled as my grandfather walked into the office. He was dressed up tonight, having traded in the long-sleeved plaid shirt for a corduroy blazer. But he’d stuck with the khaki pants and thick-soled grandpa shoes.
He walked over to where I sat at the edge of the desk and planted a kiss on my forehead.
“How’s my favorite vampire?”
I put an arm around his waist and gave him a half hug. “Are there any others in the running?”
“Now that you mention it, no. They tend to be rather high maintenance.”
“Amen,” Catcher and Jeff simultaneously said.
I gave them a snarky look.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“I was filling in Catcher and Jeff about our latest drama. Long story short, black ops and raves two-point-oh.”
He grimaced. “That wouldn’t thrill me even if I weren’t your grandfather.”
“Nope,” I agreed.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news myself,” he said, “but your father tells me you haven’t spoken in a few weeks.”
I didn’t care for my father, but I cared even less for the fact that he’d put my grandfather in the middle of our feud.
“Actually, I saw him leaving the mayor’s home last night. We had a very pleasant exchange,” I assured my grandfather.