Hard Bitten cv-4

by Хлоя Нейл

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE BUCKET LIST

  As dawn neared, the rest of the vampires began emerging from the bar, stumbling a little amid the strobelike lights of the police cruisers and the snap of camera flashes. They were covered in bruises that were already green, the result of the speedy vampire healing process. I bet the community wounds would take longer to heal, unfortunately.

  My grandfather and Catcher talked to the cops, probably sharing notes and theories. Jeff eventually carried the laptop into the bar, probably to find out what he could about the security tapes.

  When the police removed their tape and the cruisers began to depart, I headed to the spot where Lindsey and the unaffected vamps were waiting.

  She stood up as I approached. “Do you know anything?”

  “Not yet. Crime scenes apparently involve a lot of waiting and standing around. You?”

  Lindsey glanced back at the vamps, who looked shell-shocked by the combined drama of cops, detectives, rainbow alcohol, and paparazzi.

  “Nothing yet. I heard from one of the EMTs that your grandfather brought in a counselor to talk to the humans.”

  “It was a bar fight,” I grumbled. The humans were certainly entitled to their feelings, but none of them had actually been injured—they hadn’t even really been involved.

  “But it was a bar fight with crazy, scary vampires,” she exaggeratedly said, wiggling her fingers like a menacing monster.

  I humphed, but recognized it wasn’t an argument I was going to win, not when the humans were surrounded by reporters and cameras. I glanced back at the bar. “Maybe we should head back inside. Clean up a little. Do you want to round up the troops?”

  “God, yes, please. Luc wanted us to stay put until the cops gave us the all clear, so I’ve been here and bored. I’m going to consider your request the all clear.”

  That rationalization worked for me. “Give me a minute head start. I want to take a look around.” She nodded, so I headed back inside.

  The floor of the bar was in shambles, not unlike Cadogan after the shifter attack, albeit with more casual decor. The Cubs memorabilia, thankfully, made it through the onslaught, although the tables and chairs were mostly upended. I scanned the room for anything that might give me a clue as to why our vamps were losing it, but assumed anything that would have helped had long since been picked up by the cops. And there was no short man with rave invites to be found.

  If Celina was involved and she was somehow leading the vampire mass hysteria, she’d managed to get us kicked out of our own bar. It was just the kind of thing she’d have enjoyed. As I stood there alone, I imagined Celina popping up from behind the bar, awash in balloons, arms raised in victory.

  “Ah, the power of fantasy,” I murmured, and began picking up overturned bar tables. Lindsey came through the door, her flock of vampires behind her.

  “All right, boys and girls,” she said. “Let’s get this place back into fighting shape. So to speak.”

  The vampires grumbled but obeyed, righting chairs and tables. Colin groaned as he walked back through the door as he surveyed his place.

  He glanced over at me. “You gonna figure this out?”

  “I’m working on it,” I assured him. “And speaking of, I need one more favor. I don’t suppose you can whistle?”

  He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a high-pitched trill. It took only a moment before I had the attention of all the vampires in the bar.

  “Discretion is the better part of valor,” I said, “so I’m going into the back office. If anybody’s got information, this would be a good time to come talk to me.”

  Like an irritated elementary school teacher, I stared them down until I began to see a few sheepish expressions crossing their faces. This probably wasn’t going to do anything for my popularity, but it needed to be done. Playing social chair was secondary to playing Sentinel and actually keeping the House intact.

  I glanced over at Colin and held out a hand until he offered up the office keys. When I had them in hand, I headed back for the office. I unlocked it and moved immediately to the file cabinet. I could use a drink, and I didn’t think he’d mind if I sampled his flask. I popped open the top drawer, pulled out the flask, and gave the contents a warning sniff.

  My nose wrinkled. Whatever was in his secret mix, it smelled pickled. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a sip.

  It was . . . not that bad, actually. It wasn’t a taste I could easily describe—“pickled” came closest, but there were also the tang of blood and a sweet edge that balanced out the taste, not unlike raspberry vinaigrette. Of course, I didn’t want to drink down raspberry vinaigrette, so I put the cap back on and promised myself an extra Mallocake when I finally made it home.

  I noticed her in the doorway just as I closed the file cabinet again. She was a vamp I’d seen around the House but didn’t really know, a cute brunette with long, wavy hair and a curvy figure.

  She looked right and left down the hallway as if afraid she might be seen darkening the teacher’s door.

  “You can shut the door if you want,” I told her.

  She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “I’m Adriana,” she said. “I’m on the third floor of the House.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  She got right to the point. “I don’t like playing tattletale, but I’m loyal to my House, and I’m loyal to Ethan.” There was no doubting the ferociousness of that affection in her gaze. “And someone threatens that, or the House, it’s time to speak up.”

  I nodded solemnly. “I’m listening.”

  “I saw it the first time a few weeks ago. I was at a party—no humans—and a Grey House vamp was using it. He tried it, and twenty minutes later he was pounding someone he said had made a pass at his girl.”

  Adriana paused, seemed to gather her courage, and then looked up at me again. “And then, tonight, I found this in the bathroom.” She held out a clenched fist, and then opened her fingers.

  In her palm sat a small white envelope with aV inscribed on the front. I didn’t need to look inside to know what it would hold.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, irritated with my own stupidity. The drugs hadn’t been for the humans.

  They hadn’t been used to make humans more biddable; that was just good old-fashioned glamour.

  They were for vampires. It wasn’t the spill of magic or a virus or some sort of mass hysteria that was making them aggressive—it was a drug they’d apparently been stupid enough to take.

  Maybe it weakened their inhibitions toward violence; maybe it increased their testosterone.

  Whatever the chemistry, this was the reason the vamps at the rave had been willing to fight over my stumbling, the reason the vamps at the bar were fighting over rainbow booze . . . and probably the reason why Mayor Tate thought three humans had been killed in West Town.

  “Thanks,” I said, opening my eyes again and holding out my hand. She handed over the drugs.

  “If it’s any consolation, immortality makes some of them bored,” Adriana said, “so they do things—they try things—that they wouldn’t ordinarily try. But now it’s making the rounds through Temple Bar, and I don’t want to see it infiltrate the House.”

  “Excellent call. Did you ever meet the seller?”

  I asked.

  She shook her head. “These things move from vamp to vamp. Unless you’re looking to score, which I’m not, you don’t even come in contact with the seller.”

  Another miss, but at least I’d put some information together. Someone out there was selling V to Cadogan vampires. Another someone —maybe the same someone?—was soliciting humans for raves.

  Whoever was orchestrating it, put the two together and you had an explosive situation.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see to it Ethan finds out about the V so we can put a stop to it, but I won’t tell him who told me.”

  I could see the relief in her face, but she quickly squared her shoulders again. “Y
ou find out,” she said. “You find out who is putting this out there, who is putting us at risk.”

  “I intend to,” I promised her.

  By the time I made it back into the bar, the chairs and tables were right side up again.

  Christine was sweeping up broken glass while another member of our Novitiate class held the pail for her. Colin was back behind the bar, cleaning up overturned booze and broken beer bottles.

  Heads turned as I walked in, vamps looking at me curiously. They probably wondered what I now knew—and how much trouble they were going to be in because of it.

  It was a good question. ’Cause right now, on behalf of me, Ethan, the House, I was pissed. I could have been sympathetic to the brawlers when I’d imagined this was some kind of traveling hysteria. But this was something they’d chosen to do. All this trouble—the cops, the bad press we were inevitably going to receive, Tate’s rampage, the raves—was caused because idiot vampires had decided to take drugs.

  They’d made a choice to wreak havoc, and I had no sympathy for that.

  I stalked to the bar and vaulted over it, then grabbed the rope of the giant bell that hung behind it. It was used for vampire silliness, usually to signal the start of a drinking game based on Ethan’s idiosyncrasies.

  But now I used it to signal something more serious.

  I grabbed the rope and slung it back and forth until the bell pealed across the room. Then I pulled an ice bucket from a shelf and put it square in the middle of the bar. I scanned the crowd to make sure only vamps were in attendance, and when the magic checked out, I let the vitriol flow.

  “So this is about drugs,” I said, and felt a little better when some of the unaffected vampires looked surprised; at least they hadn’t been using.

  But they were apparently the only ones.

  “Some of you have been using,” I said. “I don’t know why, and I’m not sure I care. Either way, you couldn’t have picked a worse time.

  Darius is in town, and Ethan is already in trouble.

  The House is on the hot seat with Tate, and this certainly isn’t going to help.”

  I let that sink in for a moment, taking in the hushed whispers and worried looks.

  “Things are changing,” I said, my tone softer.

  “Our House has been through hell recently, and the future isn’t looking much brighter. I’m not going to tell Ethan which of you were here tonight.”

  There were looks of obvious relief around the room.

  “But we can’t let this happen again. We cannot—I cannot—allow V into the House.

  Besides, since I have to tell the cops about the drugs, there’s a pretty good chance everyone will be frisked before they leave.”

  I held up the ice bucket to show them I meant business, then put it down on the bar. “If you’ve got V on you, it goes in the bucket. I’ll take it out of the bar myself and turn it over to the cops. It will be better coming from me than all of you individually. We can’t let things get worse. So for the sake of the House, do the right thing.”

  I turned and faced the wall, giving them the privacy to make their deposits. It took a few seconds, but I finally heard footsteps and shuffling of chairs, and then the ping of a tablet or the quiet thush of an envelope hitting the side of the bucket.

  The sounds of conscience clearing.

  After a moment, Colin called my name. “I think they’re done,” he quietly said when I glanced at him.

  I nodded, then looked back at the crowd.

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure he knows that you helped, that you understood your responsibilities.

  And you can always, always come to me if you have problems.”

  With that said, but still feeling like a total narc, I grabbed up the bucket and headed for the door.

  I now knew why this was happening, knew why the raves were bigger and meaner than before.

  I’d hopefully been able to keep the chaos out of our House.

  Now I had to find the pusher and put a stop to the chaos everywhere else.

  I made my way outside and found my grandfather, Catcher, and Jeff. My grandfather sat at the curb, his expression somber.

  He stood up when I approached. I guided him behind one of the cruisers—and out of the way of the paparazzi—before handing over the bucket.

  “This is V,” I said. “The same stuff we saw at the Streeterville party. Apparently it spread from Benson’s to Grey House to Temple Bar, where Cadogan vamps were stupid enough to try it.” I looked at Catcher. “This is why they’ve been so violent. It’s not the glamour or the magic—”

  “It’s the drugs,” he agreed with a nod. “Not for humans, but for vampires.”

  “I’d guess you’re probably right about that,” my grandfather said, pulling two small, clear plastic evidence bags from the pocket of his jacket. There were pills and envelopes in each.

  “Where did you find those?”

  “On the floor of the bar,” he said. “Someone must have dropped it in the confusion. Maybe the V stands for ‘vampire.’ Or ‘violence’?”

  “Whatever you call it,” Catcher said, “it’s bad.

  V is in the clubs, it’s in the parties, it’s in the vampires.”

  My grandfather glanced back at the paparazzi, who were flashing pictures from behind the police tape, their gray and black lenses zooming in and out as they tried to capture each bit of the scene.

  “I can’t keep them from taking pictures,” he said, “but I’ll hold on to the V issue as long as possible. At this point, the drug’s only targeted at vampires, and there doesn’t seem to be an obvious risk to humans.”

  “I appreciate that, and I’m sure Ethan does, too.”

  A beat cop approached my grandfather, making eyes at me as he did it. Catcher, Jeff, and I were silent as my grandfather stepped aside, chatting quietly with the officer and, when they were done, passing him the bucket.

  When my grandfather walked back over again, his brow furrowed, I assumed nothing good was heading my way.

  “How do you feel about coming down to the precinct and giving a statement?”

  My stomach curled. He was doing me a favor by letting me do the talking—letting me control the House’s destiny, so to speak—but that didn’t mean I was crazy about the idea of going voluntarily to a police station.

  “Not great, to be real honest. Ethan will have a fit.”

  “Not if the other option is a random Cadogan vamp without your training or allegiances. We need to talk to a Cadogan vamp,” he said, “and it’s better you than anyone else.”

  I sighed. Not only was I now the bearer of bad news; I was the rat fink tasked with reporting all the dirty details to the CPD. But my grandfather was right—what better choice did we have?

  I nodded my agreement, blew out a breath, and pulled out my cell phone again.

  I might not be the bearer of good tidings, but at least I could give him a little forewarning—and hope to God he wasn’t waiting to strip me of my medal at the end of the night.

  I rode in the front seat of my grandfather’s Oldsmobile, adrenaline turning to exhaustion as we drove to the CPD’s Loop precinct. He parked in a reserved spot and escorted me into the building, a hand at my back to keep me steady.

  Given the task at hand, I appreciated the gesture.

  The building was relatively new and pretty sterile—the peeling paint and ancient metal furniture of cop dramas replaced by cubicles and automated kiosks and shiny tile floors.

  It was nearly four in the morning, so the building was quiet and mostly empty but for a handful of uniformed officers moving through the halls with perps in handcuffs: a woman in a short skirt and tall boots with undeniable exhaustion in her eyes; a jittery man with gaunt cheeks and dirty jeans; and a heavyset kid whose straight hair covered his eyes, his oversized gray T-shirt dotted with blood. It was a sad scene, a snapshot of folks having undoubtedly miserable evenings.

  I followed my grandfather through what looked like a bull pen for
detectives, rows of identical desks and chairs filling a room bordered by a ring of offices. Detectives lifted their gazes as we passed, offering nods to my grandfather and curious—or just plain suspicious—glances at me.

  On the other side of the bull pen, we moved down a hallway and into an interview room that held a conference table and four chairs. The room, part of the renovation, smelled like a furniture showroom—cut wood, plastic, and lemon polish.

  At my grandfather’s gesture, I took a seat. The door opened just as he took the chair beside me.

  A man—tall, dark-skinned, and wearing a pin-striped suit—walked inside and closed the door. He had a yellow notepad and a pen in hand, and he wore his badge on a chain around his neck.

  “Arthur,” my grandfather said, but Arthur held out a hand before my grandfather could stand up in greeting.

  “Don’t bother on my account, Mr. Merit,” Arthur said, exchanging a handshake with my grandfather. Then he looked at me, a little more suspicion in his eyes. “Caroline Merit?”

  Caroline was my given name, but not the name I used. “Call me Merit, please.”

  “Detective Jacobs has been in the vice division for fifteen years,” my grandfather explained.

  “He’s a good man, a trustworthy man, and someone I consider a friend.”

  That was undoubtedly true given the respectful glances they shared, but Detective Jacobs clearly hadn’t made up his mind about me. Of course, I wasn’t here to impress anyone. I was only here to tell the truth. So that’s what I tried to do.

  We reviewed what I’d seen at the rave, what I’d learned from Sarah, and what I’d seen tonight. I didn’t offer analysis or suspicions—just facts. There was no need, no reason that I could imagine, to insert Celina or GP drama into events that were already dramatic enough.

  Detective Jacobs asked questions along the way. He rarely made eye contact as we talked, instead keeping his eyes on his paper as he scribbled notes. Much like his suit, his handwriting was neat and tidy.

  I’m not sure he was any less suspicious by the end of my spiel, but I felt better for having told him. He might have been human, but he was also careful, analytical, and focused on details. I didn’t get the sense this was a witch hunt, but rather his earnest attempt to solve a problem that just happened to involve vampires.