“Are you involved in her murder?”
“Are supernaturals killing humans?”
That one drew an irritated look—and nearly a verbal barrage—from Jonah, but I took his arm, squeezed. “Keep it in,” I murmured. “And let it go.”
“All right, all right,” my grandfather said, moving forward and guiding us through the tape and ignoring the questions they peppered at him. “That’s enough for now.”
“When Shakespeare said kill all the lawyers,” Jonah said, “he hadn’t met the paparazzi.”
“True enough,” my grandfather said, escorting us to the area where cops and investigators had gathered.
Detective Jacobs stood with several uniformed officers. Jacobs was tall and lean, with dark skin and a short crop of graying hair. Dark freckles were sprinkled across his nose. Tonight he wore a dark suit, overcoat, and matching fedora, always the gentleman, even when grief settled lines across his face.
“I’m surprised he’s here tonight,” I whispered.
My grandfather nodded. “Normally, he wouldn’t be allowed—he’s too close to the crime. But he’s a good man and a good detective, so the lieutenant cut him some slack. He wanted to work. It was important to him that he contribute to the process. It might be therapeutic, I think.”
“And where are Catcher and Jeff?”
“Ah,” my grandfather said. “That’s right. You haven’t gotten that story. They’re actually assisting the nymphs tonight.”
I opened my mouth, closed it again. “Color me intrigued, and give me the quick version.” Nymph drama was invariably entertaining.
“A New York artist created a giant floating hot dog. It’s supposed to represent anticonsumerism and remind folks to donate to food banks, that type of thing. The tourism folks think the project would be a great boon to the city. The nymphs were less enthused. They didn’t want a plastic hot dog in their waterway. Consider it a mockery of the river’s historic significance to the city and their jobs.”
Considering what I’d seen of the nymphs—including screaming and hair pulling—I presumed “were less enthused” was a euphemism for “went crazy.”
“We brokered a deal. The nymphs agreed to let the hot dog sit in the river for three days. In exchange, I have to agree to attend one of their dinner parties.”
I blinked. “You’re going to a nymph dinner party?”
He sighed, nodded. “They’ve been requesting I attend.” He looked over the scene in front of him. “For better or worse, tonight’s the night.”
“And Catcher and Jeff?” I asked.
“Catcher let them borrow the gym for the space, and they’re helping get things set up.”
Catcher owned a spare gym in the River North neighborhood. That was where he’d trained me to use my sword, although I hadn’t been there in months. Considering how much time he’d spent with my grandfather, I hadn’t assumed he’d been there, either.
I squinted, trying to imagine what a nymph dinner party might involve. Giggles, maybe. Pink champagne. Soundtrack by Kylie Minogue.
“How would one go about getting an invitation to a nymph dinner party?”
My grandfather smiled. “Do you want to go?”
“Not in the sense that I want to spend an evening with nymphs, or hear an evening with nymphs, so much as I want to see an evening with nymphs. Oh, actually, I do need to see Catcher. I have the obelisk that was used to control Darius. I’m hoping he and Mallory can give us some thoughts about who made the magic.”
He nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you—and the nymphs, too.” He waved at Detective Jacobs, who walked over and extended a hand.
“Detective,” I said, squeezing his hand. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Merit. Jonah,” he said, and they shook, as well. “Thank you for coming to assist.”
“We’re happy to do whatever we can,” Jonah said.
Jacobs nodded, looked at me. “I understand you took a hit in the line of duty last night.”
It seemed insensitive to mention immortality or vampire healing to a man who’d lost his son, so I kept my answer short. “I did. I’m working through it.”
My grandfather patted my back supportively.
“Shall we?” he asked, then gestured to the woman who lay on the sand. We walked closer.
She wore a simple sheath dress in deep red, the type a businesswoman might pair with a blazer. Her arms were at her sides. Her feet were bare, and her hair long, blond, and wavy. It spread like a halo beneath her.
There were no swords, but there was no mistaking the insult she’d suffered. Her neck was swollen, and there was a purple line of bruising across it. The blue cross my grandfather had mentioned marked her right hand, and added to the insult were the marks across her chest: three red pentagrams.
“You’re thinking a serial killer?” I asked, dread settling low and heavy in my belly. I looked up at my grandfather. “Two killings within a week.”
He looked, first and foremost, sad. Sad, perhaps, that someone in Chicago had turned to murder, or that Chicago would have to face the fear and horror of it.
“We don’t release the cross,” Jacobs said. “The victims are our priorities; finding justice for them. If we say ‘serial killer,’ the press and city will go wild.”
I nodded, and Jonah, who’d walked around, peering at the woman’s face, quietly swore, looked up at me, grief in his eyes. “I know her,” he said on a sigh.
Jacobs looked up. “You do?”
“Her name is Samantha Ingram. She’s a potential Initiate.”
“An Initiate?”
“That means she applied to join Grey House,” I said.
Jacobs frowned. “She’s a vampire?”
“She wanted to be one,” Jonah explained. “Some applicants are already vampires, but most are human. They seek immortality and House membership.” He looked down at Samantha. “She wasn’t scheduled to be interviewed until next week, but she’s on the short list. Good application. Had a history degree from Northwestern.”
“I see.” Jacobs looked back at Samantha, considering the new information.
“Did you publicize that she had applied to join the House?” my grandfather asked.
Jonah shook his head. “Applicants submit their materials; we review them in House, ask some in for interviews. If she’s selected, we tell her and the North American Vampire Registry. They’ll eventually identify the chosen Initiates, but no one’s gotten that far yet.”