While my grandfather and Jeff headed back to the bar, I scanned the block.
Lindsey and Christine had corralled the unaffected vamps at the corner opposite me. The humans, now witnesses, were milling around inside the perimeter of yellow tape. Paparazzi had already gathered at the edges, snapping photographs like they were going out of style.
The click of their shutters sounded like a plague of descending insects.
Darius and Ethan both were going to have a conniption about this one. And speaking of, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I hated being the bearer of bad news, but I needed to update Ethan. I settled for a text message with a quick recap (“FIGHT AT TEMPLE BAR. COPS HERE.”) and a warning (“PHOTOGS ON LOOSE. DON’T LET DARIUS NEAR A TV.”).
A text would have to do for now.
That done, I looked down the street in the other direction. The block was segmented by an alley that ran alongside the bar. If our rave solicitor had been scoping out Temple Bar, would he have moved through the alley? That seemed as reasonable a step as any, so I decided to check it out.
I wrinkled my nose as soon as I’d moved a few feet into the alley. It was a warm summer night, and it smelled like most urban alleys probably did—garbage, dirt, and urine from unknown sources. It was dark, but wide enough for a car to pass through. A sign on one wall that had once read NO BIKES OR SCOOTERS now read NO IKES OR COOTERS. I managed to hold in a juvenile laugh, but still smiled a little.
About halfway down the alley, I reached the bar’s service entrance. The heavy metal door was red and rusted and marked by DELIVERIES ONLY and PROTECTED BY AZH SECURITY signs. Flattened beer boxes were stacked in a neat pile beside the door. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to see.
For the hell of it, I walked to the other end of the alley. There were a couple of Dumpsters and two more service entrances to other businesses, but that was about it.
I frowned with disappointment. I’m not sure what I’d expected to see, although a short, dark-haired man standing beneath a floating neon arrow that read BAD GUY HERE would have been nice. A suspect and quick confession wouldn’t have been amiss, either.
This was a lot harder than in the movies.
Oh, lightbulb. That was it.
My heart suddenly pounding with excitement, I jogged to the bar’s back door. Sure enough, poised above the door was a security camera.
The area was dark and grubby, so the camera may not have captured anything Oscar-worthy, but at least it was a lead. First things first, I needed to find Jeff.
I ran back through the alley, but Jeff hadn’t yet emerged from the bar. Since I wasn’t about to head inside and jump into the middle of CPD drama, I decided to check in with Lindsey.
I hadn’t gone two feet when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Is everything okay?”
The voice was familiar, but he’d startled me enough to merit a full-body shiver. I turned around and found Jonah standing behind me in a snug T-shirt and jeans. Two vampires I didn’t know stood beside him. One wore a blue and yellow jersey with a number on the front. The Grey House uniform, I assumed.
Jonah was here with friends, which meant we were playing Sentinel and captain, minus the RG connection. And in those roles, since no one had seen us together at Grey House, we hadn’t met. I could play along with that.
“You’re Merit, right? Cadogan Sentinel.”
“Yeah. And you are?”
“Jonah. Captain. Grey House.” He glanced back at the bar. “You need help here?”
“I think we’re okay. There was a fight at the bar.”
Jonah’s eyes widened. “A fight?”
I glanced back to the guys behind him. I might give Jonah information, but these two were complete strangers. “I don’t know your friends.”
“Danny and Jeremy,” he said, pointing to each of them in turn. “They’re Grey House guards.”
Danny smiled and nodded his head; Jeremy offered a half wave. “What’s up?” he said.
“You can be candid,” Jonah said, and I had a sense he was talking to me as a potential RG member, not just a witness to chaos.
In that case, “There were a lot of vamps in there. They got riled up over relatively nothing, then went crazy. The bar practically exploded with it.”
“We’ve heard there’ve been some gatherings.
Violent ones.”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes.” I glanced from him to the guys behind him. “What are you guys doing out here?”
“We were in the neighborhood, but we’re heading back to the House.” He pulled a white card from his pocket and handed it to me. It was a business card with his name, position, and phone number on it. “My landline’s on there.
Feel free to call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer.”
“Nothing like a little inter-House cooperation,” he said. “Best of luck.”
“I appreciate it.”
With a nod, the captain of Grey House and his employees moved on and disappeared into the crowd. It would have been nice to ask him for help again—but what could he have done tonight?
I tucked the card into my pocket and, when I turned around again, found Catcher behind me.
“You know Jonah?”
“I do now,” I said, my stomach clenching at the lie. “He’s the Grey House captain.”
“So I’ve heard.” He stared at me for a moment.
“What?” I asked, my own curiosity aroused.
Did he suspect I knew Jonah? Did he suspect Jonah knew more than he was admitting?
But Catcher stayed silent, keeping whatever suspicions he might have had to himself.
That’s when I saw him—only a shadow at the edge of my eyesight at first, but then a distinguishable man standing across the street, one of his soldiers behind him.
It was McKetrick, dressed in black running pants and a black T-shirt. No obvious weapons, but with all the cops nearby, it was impossible to tell if he was carrying something concealed. He did have a small pair of binoculars in hand, and the man behind him scribbled in a small notebook. Apparently our friendly neighborhood anti-vampire militiaman was working a little recon tonight. He scanned the crowd, apparently unaware that I was nearby with a couple of vampire sympathizers. I can’t imagine he’d have had anything pleasant to say about that.
I leaned toward Catcher. “Across the street on the corner. That’s McKetrick and one of his goons.”
With all the slickness of a CIA operative, Catcher pointed at a building in McKetrick’s direction. “Did you know that building was created by a monkey that lived in the top of Tribune Tower?”