Hard Bitten - Chloe Neill [27]
“On my way,” I muttered, and started the car.
While I drove, I made plans for the second part of my investigation. And that part was a little bit trickier, mostly because I didn’t think my source liked me. The first time we’d met, Jonah had been brusque. The second time I discovered him on the dark streets of Wrigleyville, having followed me around so he could get a look at me. Test my mettle, as it were.
The Red Guard had been organized two centuries ago to protect Master vampires, but now operated to keep a watchful eye on the Masters themselves. When Noah Beck, the leader of Chicago’s Rogues, made the membership offer, he’d informed me that Jonah, captain of the guards of Chicago’s Grey House, would be my partner if I signed up. I was flattered by the offer, but joining a group whose purpose was to keep an eye on Masters would have provoked World War III in Cadogan House. Ethan, if he’d learned of it, would have seen the move as a slap in his face.
I considered myself to be a pretty low-drag vampire; purposefully adding to my stockpile of drama wasn’t really my cup of tea.
Jonah, having been singularly unimpressed with me, probably wasn’t bummed that I’d said no. I wasn’t expecting this telephone call was going to go any better, but the RG had details on the raves—including the rave they’d cleaned up. And since my visit to the Ombud’s office hadn’t exactly been productive on an intelgathering basis (albeit very productive on a river-troll-diplomacy basis), Jonah was a source I needed to tap.
He’d called me once before, so when I was on the move north toward Schaumburg, I dialed his number. He answered after a couple of rings.
“Jonah.”
“Hi. It’s Merit.”
There was an awkward pause. “House business?”
I assumed he was asking if I was calling on behalf of Cadogan House—or our RG connection. “Not exactly. Do you have a minute to talk?”
Another pause. “Give me five minutes. I’ll call you back.”
The line went dead, so I made sure my ringer was turned on and put the phone in the cup holder while I made my way toward I-90.
Jonah was punctual; the dashboard clock had moved ahead exactly five minutes when he called back.
“I had to get outside,” he explained. “I’m on the street now. Figured that would avoid the drama.” Scott Grey’s vampires lived in a converted warehouse in the Andersonville neighborhood, not far from Wrigley Field. The lucky ducks.
“What’s up?” he asked.
I decided to offer up the truth. “Mayor Tate called us into his office yesterday. Told us he had an eyewitness account that a band of vampires had killed three humans.”
“Damn.” His curse was low and a little tired-sounding. “Anything else?”
“Tate suggested the violence was part of the rave culture. But based on our intel, this sounds different. Bigger. Meaner. If the witness, a Mr. Jackson, was telling the truth, this has the markings of some kind of attack. That it happened at a rave might be the minor issue. In any event, it’s time to do something about them, and in order to do that, I need information.”
“So you called me?”
I rolled my eyes. The question suggested he was doing me a favor—and that he’d ask for one in return. How very vampire.
“You’re my best hope for answers,” I matter-of-factly said.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to tell you. I know about the last rave—the one the RG cleaned up—but only because Noah filled me in. I wasn’t there.”
“Do you think Noah might have any more information?”
“Maybe. But why not just call him directly?”
“Because you were offered up to me as a partner.”
Jonah paused. “Is this call an indication of interest in the RG?”
It’s a last-ditch effort to glean information, I thought, but offered instead, “I think this is big enough that it transcends Houses or RG membership.”
“Fair enough. I’ll ask some questions and get back to you if I learn anything. I assume you won’t tell anyone we’ve talked.”
“Your secret is safe with me. And thanks.”
“Don’t thank me until