“I don’t necessarily disagree,” Tate said. “He doesn’t make the announcement, and we end up having to arrest every shifter there for assault and disturbing the peace. We couldn’t just let them off without some justification. The announcement gave us that reason, helped the public understand why they’d joined the fight and why we weren’t arresting them on sight.”
“I’m sure they appreciate your understanding.”
Tate offered a sardonic look. “I doubt that kind of thing interests them. Shifters don’t strike me as the most political types.”
“They aren’t,” Ethan agreed. “But Gabriel is savvy enough to understand when a favor’s been done, and when a favor needs to be returned. He wasn’t happy about making the announcement, and he has even less interest in his people getting pulled into the public’s fear of vampires. He’s working on that now, keeping his people out of the public’s notice.”
“That’s actually the reason I’ve asked you to meet with me,” Tate said. “I realize it’s an unusual request, and I appreciate your coming on such short notice.”
He sat down in the throne behind his desk, the onlookers in the portrait now pointing down at him. Tate gestured toward two smaller chairs that sat in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Ethan took a chair. I took point behind him, Sentinel at the ready.
Mayor Tate’s eyes widened at the gesture, but his expression turned back to business fast enough. He flipped open a folder and uncapped an expensive-looking fountain pen.
Ethan crossed one leg over the other. The signal: he was moving into political-chat position.
“What can we do for you?” he asked, his voice oh-so-casual.
“You said the mood at the House was anticipatory. That’s the concern I have about the city more broadly. The attack on Cadogan has reactivated the city’s fear of the supernatural, of the other. We had four days of riots the first time around, Ethan. I’m sure you’ll understand the tricky position that puts me in—keeping the citizenry calm while trying to be understanding toward your challenges, including Adam Keene’s attack.”
“Of course,” Ethan graciously said.
“But humans are nervous. Increasingly so.
And that nervousness is leading to an uptick in crime. In the last two weeks, we’ve seen marked increases in assaults, in batteries, in arson, in the use of firearms. I’ve worked hard to get those numbers down since my first election, and I think the city’s better for it. I’d hate to see us slide backward.”
“I think we’d all agree with that,” Ethan said aloud, but that was just the precursor to the silent conversation between us as Ethan activated our telepathic link. What’s he building toward?
Your guess is as good as mine, I answered.
Tate frowned and glanced down at the folder on his desk. He scanned whatever information he found there, then lifted a document from it and extended it toward Ethan. “Humans, it seems, are not the only increasingly violent folk in our city.”
Ethan took the document, staring silently down at it until his shoulders tensed into a flat line.
Ethan? What is it? I asked. Without bothering to answer, Ethan handed the paper over his shoulder. I took it from him. It looked like part of a police transcript.
Q: Tell me what you saw, Mr.
Jackson.
A: There were dozens of them.
Vampires, you know? Fangs and that ability to get inside your mind. And they was blood-crazy.
All of them. Everywhere you looked—vampire, vampire, vampire. Bam! Vampire. And they were all over us. No escape.
Q: Who couldn’t escape?
A: Humans. Not when the vampires wanted you. Not when they wanted to take you down and pull that blood right out of you.
All of ’em were on you and the music was so loud and it was pounding like a hammer against your heart. They were crazed with it. Crazy with it.
Q: With what?
A: With the blood. With the lust for it. The hunger. You could see it in their crazy eyes. They were silver, just like the eyes of the devil. You get only one look at those eyes before the devil himself pulls you down into the abyss.
Q: And then what happened, Mr.
Jackson?
A: [ Shaking his head. ] The hunger, the lust, it got them.
Drove them. They killed three girls. Three of them. They drank until there was no life left.
The page stopped there. My fingers shaking around the paper, I skipped the chain of command and glanced up at Tate. “Where did you get this?”
Tate met my gaze. “Cook County Jail. This was from an interview with a man who’d been arrested for possession of a controlled substance.
The detective wasn’t sure if he was drunk or disturbed . . . or if he’d actually seen something that required our attention. Fortunately, she took the transcript to her supervisor, who brought it to my chief of staff. We’ve yet to find the victims of whom Mr. Jackson spoke—no missing persons match his descriptions—although we are actively investigating the accusation.”
“Where did this occur?” Ethan quietly asked.
Tate’s gaze dropped down to Ethan and narrowed. “He said West Town, and he hasn’t been more specific than offering up the neighborhood. Since we haven’t identified a crime scene or the victims, it’s possible he exaggerated the violence. On the other hand, as you can see from the transcript, he’s quite convinced the vampires of our fair city were involved in a bloodlust-driven attack on humans.
An attack that left three innocents dead.”
After a moment of silence, Tate sat back, crossed his hands behind his head, and rocked back in the chair. “I’m not thrilled this is going on in my city. I’m not happy about the attack on your House and whatever animosity lies between you and the Packs, and I’m not happy that my citizens are scared enough of vampires that they’ve lined up outside your home to protest your existence.”
Tate sat forward again, fury in his expression.
“But you know what really pisses me off? The fact that you don’t look surprised about Mr.
Jackson’s report. The fact that I’ve learned you’re well aware of the existence of drinking parties you call ‘raves.’ ” My stomach clenched with nerves. Tate was normally poised, politic, careful with words, and invariably optimistic about the city. This voice was the kind you’d expect to hear in a smoky back room or a dark restaurant booth. The kind of tone you’d have heard in Al Capone’s Chicago.
This was the Seth Tate that destroyed his enemies. And we were now his targets.
“We’ve heard rumors,” Ethan finally said, a master of understatement.
“Rumors of blood orgies?”
“Of raves,” Ethan admitted. “Small gatherings where vampires drink communally from humans.”
Raves were usually organized by Rogue vampires—the ones that weren’t tied to a House and tended not to follow traditional House rules.
For most Houses, those rules meant not snacking on humans, consenting or not. Cadogan allowed drinking, but still required consent, and I didn’t know of any House that would condone outright murder.