Biting Bad: A Chicagoland Vampires Novel (10 page)

Catcher texted me Pope’s address, and he agreed to meet me there in an hour.

With Catcher on my mind, I sent a message to Mallory:
EVERYTHING OK, BLUE HAIR?

I waited for a moment for her to answer, but smiled when she did.

GABRIEL POUTING, BUT HAIR STILL BLUE
, she reported.

She’d be fine, I decided. At least until she could find a route out of Shifterville.

When I was dressed and armed, I walked down to the first floor and advised Luc and Ethan I was heading out for my site visits. I also gave Luc Robin Pope’s address, just in case of an emergency that I hoped wouldn’t arise.

I walked to the front door, nearly forgetting my Volvo replacement wasn’t parked on the street, but was tucked into its basement space.

Its warm and snow- and ice-free basement space.

That was yet another bit of high living I could definitely get used to.

ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH

T
he Marquesa Theater was a souvenir from Chicago’s history. There were baroque balconies, red velvet curtains, giant chandeliers, and murals galore. All of it, supposedly, built to give the moll of a Chicago gangster a place to sing arias no one else wanted to hear. The motive might have been regrettable, but you couldn’t deny the beauty of the place.

Tonight, that beauty was marred by a mix of fear and suspicion. I stood in the lobby and watched people of every variety march into the theater, their expressions dubious, as if they might be attacked at any moment by lingering vampires and shifters, as if we weren’t citizens who paid taxes and were as much a part of the town as they were.

Maybe they were simply ignorant. Maybe they’d been raised on prejudice. Either way, I doubted McKetrick would offer them solace or comfort, or remind them that we had coexisted in Chicago for centuries. McKetrick had made a deliberate and conscious choice to hate us, if the look I’d seen in his eyes last night was any indication. Tonight, he would probably raise questions. He would probably imply we were troublemakers, that Chicago was worse off with us, and subtly encourage them to reach the same conclusions.

My heart began to race, and my palms moistened with fear. I’d left my sword in the car, thinking it would be more a liability than help in a building crowded with humans. Maybe I also should have warned Luc or Ethan—or even Catcher—that I was coming. Maybe I should have considered what, precisely, I was going to do if I managed to corner McKetrick.

I glanced through the front doors as a black limo pulled to the curb.

My target had arrived.

Heart pounding, I walked outside through the current of people flowing into the building, the wind swirling briskly in the February evening. A blocky man in a dark suit opened the limo’s back door, and McKetrick climbed out. He wore a well-fitted suit and tie, but the skin still stretched awkwardly across the scarred portion of his face, drawing the attention of passersby.

He steadfastly avoided making eye contact with anyone but the man who’d opened the door—likely a bodyguard, given the vibration of steel around him—and another guard who quickly appeared at his side. But it took only a moment for him to see me, to realize that I was watching him.

I was fifteen feet from the car, but when our gazes locked, the world seemed to shrink around us.

I’d met, not long ago, two fallen angels—one virtuous, one not—who’d been joined together by a freakish act of magic. In the instant McKetrick and I made eye contact, I had a distinct mental image of the eviler angel, Dominic, sitting on my shoulder, imploring me to step forward and end the man who’d caused so much pain to vampires. He was responsible for the deaths of men and women who’d done nothing more than exist, which he apparently took as a personal affront. He’d hired an assassin, and he was now engaged in spreading hate around the city.

He didn’t deserve his position, or his limo, or his bodyguards.

My imaginary devil was insistent, but I knew better. Killing an unarmed man wouldn’t make me better than him. It would make me just like him.

I wouldn’t hurt him—not here and now. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do what vampires did best.

Manipulate.

McKetrick’s jaw locked; his gaze narrowed. One of the bodyguards, apparently aware of his boss’s sudden irritation, glanced at me.

“Sir?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” McKetrick assured them. “We’re well acquainted. Could you give us a minute?”

The guards looked at him for a moment, obviously concerned by the request, but he was the boss, so they relented. McKetrick and I moved closer and they moved past us, creating a barrier between us and the rest of the crowd.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” McKetrick said. “I’m glad you’ve come to hear what the rest of Chicago thinks of you.”

“As you well know, we aren’t a threat to Chicago or anyone else. We’re trying to live, to love, to go about our business. You’re spreading discord because you like being the center of attention.”

“You think the violence in this city isn’t because of you?”

“If you mean last night’s riot, it had nothing to do with us. It had to do with humans. Humans who were willingly destroying their neighbors’ property and businesses because they’ve been told we’re the reason for their misery.”

McKetrick buttoned up his suit coat. “And how do you know that, Merit? Were you at the riot?”

I had been, of course, but only inadvertently. But I wasn’t about to admit it to McKetrick; he’d hardly believe the excuse.

“The riot was
against
vampires,” I reiterated, “not because of them. You’re helping fuel the fire, McKetrick, and one of these days, it’s going to come back on you.”

His smile was a dare. “Are you threatening me?”

“Not at all. Just reminding you.” I gestured toward the theater. “The people in there might believe you. They might think you’re here for them. But we all know the truth. You’re here for you, and you alone. And maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, they’re going to realize the type of person you really are.”

“That doesn’t sound so scary,” he said, smiling with reptilian ease.

I gave him back a smile that was equally predatory. “Maybe not. But do remember one thing.” I leaned in. “Whatever happens between us down the road, I’m immortal. And you, Mr. McKetrick, are not.”

McKetrick opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, the guards moved back to us.

“Time to go, sir,” said the guard who’d opened the door, hustling him toward the theater.

McKetrick, I was pleased to see, had a little less swagger in his step.

—

My interaction with McKetrick wasn’t a victory. It wasn’t even a three-point lead. I’d been, at most, a temporary mild irritant. But maybe—hopefully—I’d reminded him of the stakes (pun very much intended) and the fact that we were paying attention. And specifically—paying attention to him.

That mission accomplished, I drove to Robin Pope’s Greektown address, which wasn’t far from Lincoln Park.

Robin Pope’s building was a fairly new, sleek tower of condos, with coffee shops and other retail on the first floor. I didn’t know much about her background, but it seemed an affluent building, not bad for a woman who’d given up her job over a personal dispute.

I parked on the street and left my katana in the car—there were too many cops undoubtedly suspicious about vampires right now to risk pulling it out—but double-checked my dagger was securely tucked into my boot.

I locked the door, glancing back to ensure I’d parked it close enough to the curb to protect it from traffic, but not so close I wouldn’t be able to get out without marring the rims. Moneypenny, it seemed, was going to be a high-maintenance mode of transportation. For a moment—a very brief moment—I longed for my Volvo.

At the sound of a car door slamming, I glanced behind me. Catcher emerged from his sedan in jeans and a leather jacket. He was tall and lean, with a shaved head and pale green eyes. He was undeniably handsome, but since his features were usually pulled into irritated frowns or glares, it was sometimes difficult to tell.

Tonight, Catcher wore a typically grim expression as he looked over the building. I gestured toward it, ready to get the show on the road, and we fell into step together.

“I hear you’re taking your vampire home to meet the parents.”

A surprising revelation, since I’d heard it myself only a little while ago. “How did you hear about that?”

“Your grandfather told me. Ethan RSVP’d, and your father passed along the good news. You’re a brave girl.”

“Ethan will be perfectly well behaved. It’s my family I have to worry about.”

“Your father?” Catcher asked.

“More my mom and sister. They’ll start obsessing about Chicago wedding locations and whether we should select gold- or platinum-banded china patterns.”

Catcher snorted. “I’d almost pay to see Sullivan’s footwork on that one. It’s bound to be impressive.”

“Probably so,” I agreed. “Anything I need to know before we go in there? Is she a black belt in martial arts? Does she carry a crossbow? Is Buffy the Vampire Slayer her personal savior?”

“Because that would bum you out?”

“The slaying part would, yeah. Not the Joss part. We all love Joss.”

“Her background’s clean,” Catcher said. “She’s got a degree in human resources, but most of her jobs have been admin or lower management. She didn’t last long in any one position.”

“Sounds like she has trouble playing nice with others. Did she file grievances against anybody else?”

“Not that I could tell. She’d been at Bryant Industries for four months. We can get details on her time there from Charla.”

“Charla?”

“Charla Bryant. Her family owns Bryant Industries.” We reached the front doors, and Catcher opened one, gesturing for me to precede him inside.

The foyer was dark and sleek and still smelled like new construction: lumber, paint, and adhesives. I liked that smell; it reminded me of childhood trips with my grandfather to the hardware store.

We passed an empty security desk and headed for a bank of elevators. Catcher pushed a button, and we stood in silence until the elevator dinged and the door opened up.

“So what’s our backstory with this lady?” I asked when we were in the elevator and moving upward.

“Backstory? What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t have badges, and we’re both supernaturals. She isn’t going to just up and divulge her nefarious rioting plot, certainly not to us. If we want information from her, we’re going to need a convincing backstory.”

“In other words, we need to lie.”

“That sounds much less pleasant, but yeah.”

“You really are a vampire, aren’t you?”

That comment was worth the slugging I gave him. “We need to figure out if she’s connected to the riots. So, we play like we’re vampire haters?”

“Can you do that convincingly?”

I smiled with saccharine sweetness. “I’m sure you can cover for me if I can’t. But yeah, I think I can pull it off. I’ll just remember some of my initial hatred for Darth Sullivan.”

“Have you ever told Ethan you called him that?”

“I have not. And you won’t, either, if you know what’s good for you. I’m not above biting a sorcerer.”

“I’m taken,” he flatly said, although I actually took that as a pretty good sign regarding his relationship with Mallory.

We reached the eleventh floor, and the elevator opened into a hallway with muted paint, and carpet in a complicated and probably expensive pattern. A round pedestal table sat in the middle of the elevator area, topped by a vase of very tall trailing flowers.

I followed Catcher to a door near the end of the hall. He lifted his hand to knock, but paused to glance at me. “You ready?”

I nodded, and he tapped gently on the door.

A few seconds later, she opened the door. She was an attractive middle-aged woman with neatly styled hair, blouse tucked into jeans, and high-heeled boots. Her makeup was impeccable, and large diamonds twinkled in her ears.

If this was Robin Pope, she wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. Overt bitterness tucked into a
VAMPIRES SUCK
T-shirt, maybe. But the woman and the apartment behind her seemed posh and completely devoid of an anti–Bryant Industries or anti-vampire sentiment. There were dark wood floors and sleek midcentury modern furniture.

“Hi,” I said. “Sorry to bother you. We’re looking for Robin Pope?”

“That’s me.” She smiled a little. “What’s this about?”

“We’re really sorry to bother you. We just—we hoped you could help us with something. We understand you used to work at Bryant Industries?”

“That’s right,” she said, her smile fading. “But I have a lawyer now, so any inquiries regarding that situation should go through him.”

“That’s actually why we’re here,” I said, feigning discomfort. I gestured at Catcher. “We heard about your grievance, and, well, we kind of agree with you.”

“Oh?” she asked. “About what, exactly?”

Catcher and I exchanged a glance and a nod.

“Vampires,” he said. “We think they’re getting special treatment, ahead of working-class folks like us, and we don’t think that’s fair.”

“We saw your grievance online,” I said, “and we thought, well, maybe she’s someone we could talk to, you know?”

She looked at us for a moment, probably evaluating whether we were telling her the truth. Whether we were like her, or leading her on for some endgame she couldn’t yet see.

“And you’re who, exactly?”

Well, I should have prepared for that. “I’m Mary,” I said, tossing out the first name that came to mind. “And this is my brother . . . Boudreau.”

“Mary and Boudreau,” she repeated, obviously dubious, so I laid it on a bit thicker.

“I was hurt by vampires before. Attacked by one of them one night, with no warning.” That was the absolute truth. “I was hoping to find someone to talk to, someone who would understand. I ran across your case, and I thought—there’s someone who
knows
.”

She looked at us again. A door opened and closed a few apartments away, and her eyes flicked nervously to the sound. She peeked into the hallway and seemed satisfied when footsteps disappeared down the hall.