House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,25

speaking of, how’s yours?”

I meant Mallory, of course, because I wanted—from at least one of them—an update about their relationship.

Uncharacteristically, Catcher blushed. I took that as a good sign.

“We’re talking,” he said.

“That sounds promising. Especially since you’re living in her house.”

Before the onset of her magical addiction, Mallory and Catcher shared her brownstone in Wicker Park. When Mallory decamped to live with the shifters, Catcher stayed put.

His blush deepened, and I gave myself five more points. Advantage: Merit.

“Our relationship is a movie of the week,” he admitted.

Jeff, having quickly changed, walked into the room wearing a pale-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and khakis. The combo was his unofficial uniform. He sat down at his desk and began tapping on his keyboard, which was actually a conglomeration of keyboards he’d turned into one Frankensteinian monstrosity.

“I checked Eve’s calls,” he said. “She’d cleared out her call list within the last day or two, so there are only a couple of phone calls on it: to Rose, to the registration center.”

“Crap,” I said. “I was hoping for more of a lead there. She probably called the registration center to see if they were open.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“What about biological material on the phone? Fingerprints, anything like that? Or the glass?”

“We’ve asked Detective Jacobs to take a look,” Catcher said. Detective Jacobs was a solid cop and a friend of my grandfather’s. Unlike some of the other CPD members, he didn’t assume we were troublemakers just because we were vampires.

“Good,” I said.

Jeff swiveled in his chair to face me, fingers intertwined over his abdomen. “It is good. The problem is, the CPD is already backlogged. Even pulling in a favor, it could be a few days before we find anything out.”

I sat down and blew out a breath, deflated. I’d been hoping for something more from those two little bits of evidence. They were the only leads we had, and they were looking like pretty crappy leads.

“I’m out of ideas,” I said.

“It’s possible there’s nothing to this,” Catcher said. “Maybe they aren’t missing. Maybe this is just about two vampires who decided to make their own decision, go their own way. They are Rogues, after all.”

“Yeah, but even Rogues follow patterns. And from what Noah was saying, it was out of character for these two to completely up and disappear.”

“Merit?”

We all looked up. My grandfather stood in the doorway. “There are some folks here I think you’ll want to see.”

His expression was neutral, and I found my hopes lifting. Was it Oliver and Eve? Had they dropped by to tell us they were fine, and this had all been a big misunderstanding?

I followed him into the hallway, Catcher and Jeff at my heels, and then back into the living room.

In front of the door, tucked into jackets against the cold, stood Noah, Rose, and a third vampire I didn’t know. Rose’s eyes were red and swollen. The new girl, who had tan skin and sleek, jet-black hair, had an arm around Rose.

Their expressions didn’t bode well; nor did the melancholic magic that accompanied them into the house.

“We’re sorry to barge in,” Noah said.

“Not at all,” my grandfather said. “Please come in. I can take your jackets, if you like.”

“No, we’re okay,” Noah said, as they stepped inside.

My grandfather smiled gently and gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Noah nodded, and the trio moved silently to the couch.

“You know Rose,” Noah said when they were seated. “This is Elena.”

“Catcher and Jeff Christopher,” I said, motioning to the pair, who stood behind me. “And my grandfather Chuck Merit. What’s happened?” I asked Noah.

“We found them,” Noah said.

As Rose broke into a sob, Noah pulled his cell phone from his pocket, pushed a button or two, and handed it to me.

CHAPTER FIVE

VAMPIRES, INTERRUPTED

I’d braced myself for the worst, and that was hardly preparation enough. The picture was grainy and the colors were mottled, but there was no denying the subject matter.

Oliver and Eve were dead.

There were few guaranteed ways to kill a vampire—aspen stake, sunlight, total dismemberment, decapitation. The latter two options were why vampires carried swords into battle. Our blades were a sure weapon to fell an immortal foe.

Whoever had done this deed, whatever dark-hearted monster, had chosen decapitation.

They lay side by side on a wood floor in a pool of blood. They were holding hands, their fingers intertwined in a final act of love—a denial of death. Their arms were covered in tattoos that seemed to flow together, as if they’d