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."