I guessed Jeff had declined to play escort, and Catcher had taken up the standard.
I passed the phone back and forth in my hands, considering my options. I definitely wanted to talk to Robin Pope about Bryant Industries and the riots. I also wanted to visit Bryant Industries and take a look at the destruction myself.
But there was also another stop I wanted to make, a conversation I wanted to have with a man who'd caused plenty of pain and suffering to Chicago vampires.
SURE, I responded to Catcher. MEET IN 1 HOUR?
I figured I didn't need much time at the Marquesa Theater. Maybe just long enough to put in an appearance, and remind him we were watching.
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.
Chapter Seven
ONCE MORE INTO THE BREACH
The 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.