By Jonathan Kingsman, Sun-Times Staff Writer

JOLIET -- The woman with whom the late Sen. George Roberson was accused to having an affair has been identified on Wednesday as a vampire, according to an anonymous source within Roberson's office.

Roberson, a three-term Democrat from Springfield, was found dead in a Joliet motel room on June 26. The police report told of two tiny holes in the right side of Roberson's neck, and a puddle of what coroners discovered was his own blood on the carpet beneath him.

"Sen. Roberson was clearly the victim of a vampire feeding," the report read in part. "Cook County Coroner is suggesting Roberson's body be incinerated to prevent potential rising."

( See MISTRESS, page 4 )



[Submitted by Jeff.]

"Are you telling me that you consort with demons?"

"Duh," the girl drawled with a snap of bubblegum a few moments later. "I dunno what century you're from, but vampires are the hottest thing since..." Her voice trailed off and she looked at her friends.

"Justin Timberlake!"

The brunette in the short skirt and with the incessant chewing and snapping of gum grinned from ear to ear. "Oh yeah, he's hot! Like super hot!"

( Heavy Price )

There was a rope line, and people waiting to get in. This was good; it showed the power of good marketing and word of mouth in the modern world. Thierry sat at a table near the bar, looking at the door to The Secret World, the new hot spot night club opened in the refurbished Lincoln Park district.

There had been plenty of press, you see. While Lincoln Park had reopened, and people and businesses had moved back in, this was huge: a major club developer opening his new club. And Raoul de la Croix was a big name. Theirry should know; he’d been Raoul’s right hand man for forty years.

After the… unpleasantness in Las Vegas, Thierry hadn’t been sure what his boss had in mind. He’d been shocked when he was told Chicago was where they were headed. And even more shocked when he was told that they were going to be selling some of their usually designer drugs on the streets. But the Vegas incident had cost them a lot of money. And it was done at such a remove that it would be next to impossible to trace it back to them. And the money had been great.

But this was what it was really about. A new club. The big band was playing, and the singer not only sounded like Sinatra, but looked the part. Raoul had never been a fan of these new dance clubs. He preferred an older style. But at least he had moved out of the nineteenth century. There was a dance floor, there were lovely waitresses in elegant dresses serving from the bar, and the clientele was all up scale. No hotel heiresses or ‘tween acting sensations. This was all class.

( Enter a Slayer )

( The Real Secret World (Mature for Sexuality and Drug Use) )

(Raoul & Company by Matt)

When he'd signed up for the graveyard shift in the emergency room, Alec had been working under the impression that he might actually get a chance to sit down and sift through his paperwork, but it wasn't meant to be.

Apparently every crazy person had taken to the streets this evening.

He'd seen six car crashes, three stabbings, two pregnant teenagers with a higher alcohol to blood ratio and a couple interesting... inanimate objects in... a couple of interesting places.

Alec was finally catching his breath, pushing his hands into his hair and blinking his eyes blearily. He had another three hours left to go and he almost welcomed the next thing to come through those doors, figuring after the guy with the cucumber up his ass then he could handle pretty much anything.

( Worse Thing )

The beer in front of her was sweating, condensation running down the sides of the mug to gather on the cardboard coaster she'd been provided with. She'd never been in a bar this close to the Loop before, and the place was crowded. The conversations around her were both soothing and aggravating, the tendency to jump every time someone brushed past her like an itch she couldn't reach. It had been two days since the unknown vampire had attacked her outside of her office, and she couldn't stop looking over her shoulder.

The police had questioned her for half an hour before letting her go home, and she'd paid the sitter extra when she picked up her son. Her wrist turned out not to be sprained, just sore. Michaela picked up her beer and took a drink, finished off the shot of whiskey she'd ordered along with it. She hadn't talked to anyone about what had happened yet, not except to give a description of her assailant. She wondered how much Logan actually knew about this guy, but hadn't called him either. She wasn't sure she wouldn't start screaming at him for putting her in the cross hairs, no matter how inadvertently.

The business about her wallet concerned her. The things in it were replaceable except for a couple of pictures, but it meant this creep had her home address. If he came after her again, what then? The ex-cop took another drink, wiped her mouth on a thin paper napkin. Her leg still ached where she'd banged it against the fender of the car. Maybe she should have aimed for his head after all.

( Handsome Stranger )

NPC Lucas was written by Jessica

The file drawer banged shut with a hollow noise, and Michaela stretched as she rose to her full height. It was ten o'clock, and she'd just finished filling out the last of the billing for her most recent client. There had been a small upswing in business since she'd started talking to the detectives at the nearest station house, and she'd been burning the late-night oil for a couple of weeks. Real cases, even, a few missing persons and a couple of other in-house matters. If this kept up, she'd be back up to speed in no time.

The ex-cop glanced at the digital clock, started gathering up some papers and putting them in her messenger bag to take home. Cory was at a sitter's, Denise had gone to spend the night with a girlfriend. She'd heat up some leftovers before picking her son up, then catch some shut-eye. It had been a very long day.

Outside in the small parking lot, Michaela listened to her keys jangle as she made her way to her Toyota. She always parked the Corolla under the streetlight, wary of downtown at night. The light blue paint-job was dusted with both summer pollen and dirt. "You need a wash," she muttered, putting her bag on top of the vehicle after taking a quick look around. "Maybe this weekend, depending on what the weatherman says."

( Confrontation )

NPC Diego was written by Jessica

From here.

By the time Juliet reached her car she was shaking, but managed not to drop the unconscious girl again. Fingers fumbled with her waistband, finally finding the remote and pressing it to open the doors. Fortunately the girl had ID on her, and Juliet slammed the back door after depositing Emily Dansforth on the backseat, quickly getting into the driver's seat herself and closing the door behind her.

Next thing she pulled out was her phone. She punched in the speed dial for Rhiannon on the second attempt, her fingers still a little shaky, and lifted the phone to her ear as she waited for Rhiannon to answer. The clock on the dashboard glowed softly, announcing to all who looked that it was 1:49am. As the phone buzzed softly in her ear she pushed the palm of her free hand against the steering wheel in front of her, stretching her fingers out wide then curling them around the wheel, gripping it as if hanging on for life itself.

"C'mon Rhi, pick up!" she murmured, even the hushed tone of her voice sounding loudly in the sealed compartment of her car. Her eyes darted up to the rear visions mirror, then automatically to both the side mirrors, her fingers fumbling for the button that would turn on the in-built cameras that would feed to the screen in the top of the panel just to the left of the steering wheel. It slowly flickered to life, giving a better picture of what was going on behind the vehicle, not that there was much to show.

( The cell phone vibrated the nightstand, jangling loose change and Rhiannon's zippo in a metallic cacophony. )

George was nervous, more than nervous, he was scared. Kris was looking for him, apparently somebody had sold him out and given her his name.

Now she wanted to talk, about everything.

He found his way back to that bar he'd spoken to the brunette in, hopefully she was there and he could talk to her. Maybe she knew something or could do something. All he knew was he didn't want to die at the hands of some crazed Slayer.

"Hey," George said once he got close to the bar. "You know that lady I spoke to before? You seen her around?"

( Time's Up )

[NPC George was written by Mands]

Kris was stubborn and she absolutely refused to stand idly by whilst the neighbourhood tried to walk all over her for reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom. Nobody had enough balls to tell her to her face what she'd done wrong so clearly she had to find out for herself. Which she had done by crashing some sort of goodbye dinner for a guy who worked in the grocery store. If they wouldn't come to her then she would go to them.

She knew it wasn't the most tactful approach, but screw tactful, she wanted answers.

"So," she began as she regarded the crowd of faces in front of her. "Is nobody going to tell me why I'm being victimised in my own neighbourhood?" She tapped her fingers against her biceps and stepped closer, finding each and every face on purpose and looking at them intently. "Come on, you know something, I know you do. I want to know what I did that was so wrong that you took it upon yourselves to turn on me?"

Kris made sure to keep her back to the door so if for any reason this turned ugly she could get out and away, but she wasn't leaving without answers.

( Torches And Pitchforks )

( Secrets )

[NPC Mob was written by Willow]

Dear Mr. Guevera,

THE NEW YORK POST is proud to inform you of our interest in your services. We are prepared to offer you a full-time position as supernatural affairs reporter with our paper. We are aware of your previous journalistic experience at The Clark County Beacon, as well as your internship with The New York Times. We are also aware of your expertise in matters supernatural, and we feel you would be a perfect fit for our staff.

Enclosed is all the information you need should you decide to pursue this opportunity. If you have any questions, feel free to contact our news editor, Grant Norris, at the phone number atop this letter.

Thank you for your time and we hope you seriously consider our offer.

( Ramen and Diet Coke Diet )



[NPC Laurel was written by Dew.]

There were some things that Bethany Richards considered unacceptable above all others: one of these was stealing from her and then lying about it to her face.

A dancer who went by the stage-name of 'Gold Dust' had been doing exactly that, helping herself to money out of the tills courtesy of a stupid boy behind the bar. The boy had already been taken care of, he wouldn't be seen in the club again. There was just 'Gold Dust' to attend to.

Bethany would do it herself.

She waited until the girl's shift was over and then caught her shoulder, sliding her fingers to curl persuasively in the young woman's collar. "Hilary, could I have a word with you? In private?"

( Game Of Chance )

Logan wasn't the sort of person to drown his sorrows in a beer after losing someone important in his life, but for some reason, he saw fit on this night to frequent one of the establishments about a block away from Thoth's Library for a drink. It wasn't so much because he was having a rough day -- though that was certainly part of it -- Logan just couldn't remember the last time he went to a bar without the intent of investigating something out of the ordinary.

Which, side note? When would people realize vampires loved bars? Logan was constantly aware of this, which was why he wore a silver cross around his neck under his olive green button-down ... well, that and the ever-constant spectre of Diego. There was no telling when the vampire would show his face again, though the former Watcher wondered how losing Izzy would change the game.

Knowing Diego, it probably wouldn't.

Still, it helped to be prepared. Logan did his best to drown out the live band "performing" on the stage to his left. The former Watcher didn't mind local music as a general rule, but this band was particularly grating. It wasn't that they lacked talent; Logan just didn't particularly care for the songs they chose to play.

( Rough Band )



[NPC Sandra was written by Jessica.]

Following her conversation with William, Faith felt as if this whole thing would work itself out sooner than she expected. She'd actually begun considering the possibility of trying to prove her innocence in a courtroom -- sans lawyer, more than likely -- and though she hadn't relished the thought, the Slayer wondered if maybe it hadn't been such a bad thing.

But the former Watcher's offer of assistance, coupled with the CCTV feed idea, had Faith in a slightly more optimistic frame of mind. It made the taunting from some of the other prisoners a little easier to bear, made it easier to ignore the cautious stares from the guards who weren't the one she helped that day in the cafeteria. The justice system hadn't always worked throughout Faith's lifetime -- especially for the less fortunate -- but because of who she was and the people she knew, the Slayer thought maybe just this once, she'd finally get what she deserved ... in a good way.

She hoped so. Faith was too old to be rotting away in a jail cell again.

( Pain in My Ass )



[NPC Meg was written by Dew.]

Sitting at bar table across from a man in a dark blazer and dark gray shirt, she slowly sipped from her drink with her eyes on the people dancing below on the lower floor. The rhythmic music beat transitioned to the next dance mix without pause.

“Cigarette, Kathleen?” asked her date.

( Let's go Dance )

(Twitter Conversation)

(Text Message for Jill Andersen )

He took the maroon-colored cap off and set it on the bathroom counter. Frowning at his reflection, he brushed his hair out with his fingers. It was still a mess. Avery looked out of the bathroom window, eyes fixed on the sunny side street. Polyester graduation gown on over a white dress shirt and black slacks. It didn't feel real. This house, he would be leaving it soon. His parents' home, the little proverbial nest they had built for him. This bathroom, it adjoined his bedroom. Yellow tiles, rooster design on the wallpaper. Soon he'd be living in a dormitory, and he'd only see this on weekends. Maybe it was a little sad, but mostly, he felt excited.

Why they'd forced Zach to attend Avery's high school graduation was beyond him. Sure, they were cousins, but they were anything but close. Avery was older by three years and far too smart, while Zach cared more about his athletic exploits. If he practiced hard enough over the summer, maybe Zach would start the fall on the varsity football team. He had the thighs of a defensive lineman, but the upper body and speed of a linebacker. All the girls fawned over the quarterback, but Zach didn't care; he played defense for one simple reason.

He loved hitting people. Avery had been a favorite target of his over the years.

Holding a basketball under his right arm -- at 6-foot-3 already, Zach could probably be a center if he grew enough and really focused enough on hoops. Basketball was a fun enough sport, but it wasn't as primal or violent as football. If Zach had to choose right now -- and his mother insisted he did, so he could ply his athletic trade to the tune of a scholarship -- he would take football.

( Not What They Appear )




[NPC Zach Adlam written by Jeff]
[NPC Margot Freid written by Jessica]

Grace had become familiar with O'Hare airport since setting foot in Chicago, especially since getting involved with business dealings that involved certain packages being sent out and shipped back. 9/11 had made it more difficult to move stuff back and forth, search procedures having been tightened up to prevent further tragedy, but a few dollars in the right pockets here and there greased the wheels amply. It just paid to pay off the right people.

This wasn't work, though. This was personal.

She was standing outside finishing a cigarette, because the Goddamned uniformed patrolman had been adamant about the 'No Smoking' sign and she didn't want to make a scene. Fucking fascist, like second-hand smoke was so bad compared to some of the so-called food they were vending in those machines in there. If she missed the announcement about that plane landing, somebody was gonna get it. The back of her neck had been prickling for hours, almost like having an itch she couldn't reach, and she rubbed at the spot with her free hand before dropping the mostly-finished smoke onto the concrete and putting it out with the toe of her shoe. Poking her head back through the doors, she looked around for Dudley Do Right before slipping back inside.

( Grace's Bouncing Baby Boy )

NPC Matthew Stone was written by Mands