"Oh hell yeah," he says. "Crazier than moon people? So you know they're puttin' stuff in the water to make the frogs—"
You put your finger to your lips. "You've said too much out in the open. Thanks for the delivery."
"Yeah, yeah," he says, scratching at his face with a long fingernail. "I'm moving up to Algonquin soon anyway. They don't have the surveillance apparatus there yet. Stay safe!"
You wait until he's at least a block away before returning your attention to the envelope, popping it open with your fingernail. It contains a small white card with a short message written in bold block lettering: "Sewers beneath the Greyhound Terminal. 5 AM. Come alone - B"
"B?" It must be Bouchard, but why the cloak-and-dagger delivery? Is he trying to impress you or keep you at a distance?
You take a peek at your watch—there's just enough time in the extra-long winter night for you to feed before the meeting. It's a risk to go to the meet, but you'd been stepping on uncertain ground ever since you suggested allying yourself with the Primogen. Well, as Corliss told you innumerable times while she introduced you to the cutthroat world of the Kindred: "Fortune favors the bold."
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