I’d been one of those Initiates. My Initiate status had been listed in the Tribune by the NAVR, which kept me from going back to grad school. I hadn’t been thrilled, and I’d stormed into Ethan’s office for the first time to protest it. We hadn’t had an opportunity to select Initiates this year; there’d been too much drama.
“So it’s unlikely her selection was an attempt to pin this on vampires.”
“Considering the pentagrams,” my grandfather said, “it appears they’re trying to blame sorcerers.”
“Considering the reporters’ questions,” I said, “it’s working.”
My grandfather nodded. “I sent Catcher a photograph. He confirmed they’re magical symbols but said they weren’t used much by ‘legitimate’ sorcerers—his word. Since the last murder had vampire connotations—the swords—we wanted to get your take on it, too.”
Jonah nodded. “They’re magical. Ancient in nature, related to King Solomon’s key. But I’m not aware of any symbolic use by vampires. Vampires don’t have much in common historically with sorcerers. We have rituals of our own, but they’re based in feudalism, not sorcery.”
“Oath swearing, calling our Masters ‘Liege,’ that kind of thing,” I explained.
“What about the placement of the pentagrams on the body?” Jacobs asked.
“They’re roughly over the heart, which obviously has an important connotation for blood-drinking vampires. But other than that, not that I can think of.” He looked at me. “Anything in Cadogan House?”
I shook my head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“She was strangled?” Jonah quietly asked.
“That’s our initial conclusion,” Jacobs said. “We’ll confirm when we see Lin’s report. Could we get a copy of her Initiate application?”
“I’ll have to ask Scott,” Jonah said. “We want to protect her privacy, but I guess that’s moot now.”
“Do we know if Samantha knew Brett or Mitzy Burrows?” I asked.
“We don’t,” Jacobs said. “But that will be one of the first things we’ll look into. The presence of the connection—the crosses—suggests some relationship between them, but we’ll have to ferret that out.”
“Any sign of Mitzy since the raid?” Jonah asked.
Jacobs shook his head. “None. No sightings, no credit card activity, and she hasn’t gone back to the house; we’ve been watching it.”
“Smart enough to lay low,” Jonah said.
Jacobs nodded. “Some are. Chicago is a big city, and there are many places to hide.” He looked back at Samantha Ingram, who’d only just missed her chance at immortality, and possibly thought of his son, who could have used it.
The thought was unbearably sad, and I touched Jonah’s arm in sympathy.
“No murder is perfect,” Jacobs quietly added. “We’ll find her.”
* * *
“You can go home if you want,” I told Jonah, as we avoided the press and took the long way to the parking lot. “I can handle Catcher and Mallory. I’ve got to deliver the obelisk and the bobblehead, anyway.” I was, admittedly, a little afraid of the nymphs, but as long as Jeff was there, I’d be fine.
Jonah snorted. “Do you honestly think there’s a chance in hell I don’t want to see a nymph dinner party?”
“You’re a pervert.”
“I’m a healthy American vampire,” he said, stretching his arms like he was preparing for battle.
Considering the nymphs’ personalities, not a bad analogy.
Chapter Eleven
AIN’T NO PARTY LIKE A NYMPH PARTY
Because they were nymphs—giggly and busty and short-skirted women—I’d assumed a dinner party would be pretty much the same.
I was wrong. Truly and utterly—and pretty judgmentally—wrong.
They’d turned Catcher’s River North gym into a Moroccan festival. The equipment and mats had been removed, and the entire space had been draped in colorful printed fabrics gathered together in the middle of the ceiling like a tent. Metal lanterns with intricate shades hung from the ceiling, and a dozen low, round tables were placed at intervals around the outside of the room, with low cushions for seating. The floor was covered in threadbare rugs in glorious colors and patterns, and an enormous buffet was stocked with tagines of meat and rice. Music played softly in the background.
“I have seriously not been giving the nymphs enough credit.”
When three of them emerged from a back room with petite bodies, braided hair, and flowing jewel-toned gowns dotted with silver coins—the fabric nearly transparent—Jonah’s smile turned dreamy. “Neither have I.”
I elbowed him, caught his following “Urck,” and walked forward.
Each nymph had control of a segment of the river and a signature color. I recognized two of the three who approached us. Cassie was raven haired and controlled the river’s North Branch. Melaina was platinum blond and controlled the West Fork. Cassie had also recently been the victim of a magical attack by a woman intent on creating a menagerie of supernaturals.
The nymphs were notoriously temperamental—going from giggles to tears to catfights in seconds flat—so I stayed perfectly still, kept my eyes on them as they moved forward, ready to dart if they arched their wolverine nails.
But Cassie, apparently realizing who I was, bobbed toward me, hands clasped together. “You saved me!” she said delightedly. “You should feast with us.”
“Oh, that’s okay. We don’t need anything. We actually just came to talk to Catcher and Mallory.”
Her lower lip quivered as the other nymphs joined her. “You won’t feast with us?”
Crap, I thought. I didn’t have time to babysit nymphs tonight. I needed to get this job done and get back to the House for the supernatural delights that undoubtedly awaited me there.
Jonah took a step forward. “We would be delighted to feast with you, but we don’t want to interrupt your party or take the attention away from you and your invited guests. Maybe we could enjoy just a small taste of what you have to offer if Mallory and Catcher also could join us? It would help them have energy for the rest of their work this evening.”
The nymphs, who hadn’t so much as glanced at Jonah, now regarded him with interest. They’d made a deal with my grandfather and Catcher to hold this event. Maybe that was the secret to their affection: much like vampires, they liked to negotiate.