Hard Bitten - Chloe Neill [70]
I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that juju. Although I trusted Catcher, I wasn’t thrilled a sorcerer was using his abilities to sedate vampires. I would have preferred to be in there with him, keeping an eye on things and providing a little oversight.
But before I could even give voice to the concern, it was over. Catcher appeared in the doorway again and waved a hand toward the rest of the cops. By now, there were a dozen milling around our corner of Wrigleyville. Most wore uniforms, but a few were detectives in button-downs and suits, their badges clipped to their waists or on a chain around their necks.
“We’ll head in,” my grandfather said. “My hope is that no one will be arrested until we sort this out. These officers know this isn’t just a drunk and disorderly call—but that there’s more going on here supernaturally.”
“And we’ll keep an eye on the vamps until they come to their senses,” Jeff added, putting a hand on my arm. “That’s part of our job description—occasionally playing guardian angels.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“We’ll be in touch as soon as we can,” my grandfather said. “You stay out of trouble until then.”
I looked back at the bar and thought about my investigation. Our frat boys and Sarah might have been solicited by the same guy, at least based on their minimal descriptions. That was worth a few more questions. “Actually, I think I’m going to take a look around.”
My grandfather frowned. “I’m not sure I’m crazy about your wandering around out here when there’s something strange in the air.”
“I have a dagger in my boot, and I’m surrounded by cops.”
“Fair point, baby girl. Just do me a favor—be careful? I’ll take a lot of heat if the uniforms end up arresting my granddaughter, not to mention the phone call I’d have to put in to your father.”
“Neither one of us wants either of those options,” I assured him.
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.