"That's Eve's phone," he solemnly pronounced. "I'd know it anywhere. It's old and does pretty much nothing but take calls, but she refuses to upgrade. Rose is probably trying to reach her - to check on her again. She's worried. She keeps calling. I've told her to stop, but . . ."
I understood that fear, and sympathized. But I didn't think finding Eve's phone in an alley signaled very good news.
"Perhaps Eve just dropped it here?" Ethan wondered. "Oliver did call Rose earlier. There's a chance this is all a misunderstanding."
Ethan's tone was optimistic, probably intended to keep Noah calm. And he was right: We really had no idea how or why the phone had ended up here, although it did confirm that Eve had been in the alley. But it also made her and Oliver's disappearances look less and less like they might be voluntary.
"It seems unlikely she'd have just left it," Noah said. He rubbed a hand over his face, seeming suddenly exhausted.
The ringing stopped, leaving the alley silent . . . and a little grim.
"Do you have a handkerchief?" Ethan asked. "We'll want to get it to the Ombud's office - they have connections - but we don't want to disturb any evidence."
He was right. There could be fingerprints or biological material on the phone, evidence that could help us figure out exactly what had gone on.
"Bandanna," Noah said, pulling one printed in pixilated camouflage from his pocket and handing it over.
Gingerly I picked up the phone with the cloth. While I was gathering evidence, I walked back to the pile of glass and snagged a square. I folded the packet carefully, then looked at Noah.
"I'll give this to Jeff Christopher, and we'll have him check Eve's call log. Maybe there's a clue about where she might be."
Jeff was one of my grandfather's pseudo-employees, an adorable and quirky computer genius. He was also a shape-shifter and member of the North American Central Pack. Along with Catcher, a rogue sorcerer, my grandfather's admin, Marjorie, and a "secret" Housed vamp I hadn't heard about in a while, they kept an eye on supernatural comings and goings and helped us manage whatever crises popped up. Since their office had been closed by the mayor, they'd all been working together at my grandfather's house.
A black cat hopped down from the neighboring yard's retaining wall, gazed at us warily, and trotted to the Dumpster, presumably to look for a snack. Oblivious to the danger, birds began to chirp nearby, a cheery song that announced the impending break of morning.
I glanced up at the sky. The eastern horizon was just beginning to pale. Sunrise was on its way, which meant we were running out of time. Vampires and sunlight didn't mix, not without fatal consequences.
Ethan checked his watch. "We've not quite an hour before dawn. We should get back to the House."
"The world continues to turn," Noah said.
"So it does," Ethan agreed. "And hopefully for Oliver and Eve, as well." We walked back toward the alley entrance, the birds singing behind us.
"We'll find them," Ethan said.
Noah nodded, but didn't seem convinced. "I hope so. They're good kids."
"We don't doubt it," Ethan said. They shook hands, and Noah walked back to his car. We followed and climbed silently into the Bentley.
"Do you really think we're going to find them?" I asked, leaving unspoken the fear that we'd find them, but too late.
"I don't know," Ethan said. "But we will do our damnedest to try."
Of course we would. But would our damnedest be enough?
* * *
I had evidence that might help lead us to Oliver and Eve, but I was about to be forced offline. The sun was our ultimate weakness, an allergy that rendered us permanently nocturnal. This being winter in the Midwest, we were out of the investigation game for the next nine hours.
On the other hand, the members of the Ombud's office - the Ombuddies, as I preferred to call them - who usually adopted supernaturals' overnight hours, were at least capable of venturing about in daylight. So I used the fancy electronics in Ethan's car to dial Jeff's number, hoping he'd be sympathetic to our predicament.
"Yo," Jeff answered, his voice ringing through the Bentley's impeccable stereo system.
"Hey, it's Merit."
"Merit. Have you finally decided to ditch the zero and get with the hero?"
Ethan cleared his throat - loudly - while I bit back a smile. I didn't see anything wrong with reminding Ethan that I had other options. Even if they were slightly goofy options I'd never actually take advantage of.
"Jeff, you're on speakerphone in Ethan's car. He's driving."
There was an awkward pause.
"And by 'zero,'" Jeff quickly corrected, "I meant, you know, you should . . . um . . . start liking the White Sox. Go, Sox," he weakly added, as I was a notorious Cubs fan with an unwavering love of all things Cubbie.
"Hello, Jeffrey," Ethan dryly said.
Jeff laughed nervously. "Oh, hi, Ethan. Hey, look, it's Catcher. Catcher, why don't you join us?"
"Vampires?" Catcher asked, his voice a bit farther away in the room.
"Ethan and Merit," Jeff confirmed.
Catcher made a sarcastic sound, but whether a snort or grunt was impossible to tell through the phone.
"Trouble?" I wondered.
"I've got a River nymph panicking about a zoning change on Goose Island and another who's panicked some Oak Street shop won't hold a pair of designer heels until she has time to pick them up. Because that's the kind of work our office does. We are personal assistants for the supernaturals of Chicago."
Catcher's tone was dry, and I sympathized. The River nymphs were petite, busty, and fashionable ladies who controlled the ebb and flow of the Chicago River. They tended toward the dramatic, and they liked expressing that drama in public screaming matches and other shenanigans. Catcher might not have liked listening to their quarrels, petty or not, but he was performing a service by keeping them out of the paper, even if it made him grouchier toward the rest of us. And his baseline level of grouchy was already pretty high.
"I'm sorry about the theatrics," I said. "And not to add to your plate, but we have a problem. Two of Noah's Rogues - Oliver and Eve - are missing."
"We've just left the last location where we can place them," Ethan put in. "Near the registration center in Little Italy."
"Find anything?" Catcher asked.
"What looks like safety glass and Eve's cell phone," I said. "We talked to the doorman across the street, and he saw Oliver and Eve go into the reg center, then come out again and approach a car in the alley. No info about the car's make or model; he only saw the headlights. Oliver and Eve didn't come out again. The glass and cell phone were all we found."