Jack would be the first to admit that she had dropped the ball.
She could proudly say she had done her own work. Her morning runs and her nightly walks had become patrols around dangerous neighborhoods. Her grudge with James Blood had been revisited on several occasions and it had not been a singular occurrence for her to show up back home, covered in someone's blood, toting a handgun, promising Max that he would feel much better if he just didn't ask.
But she had failed to keep the group really going. She and Kip went on their little missions, like rescuing the children from James Blood's men, and she had even managed to send Gabby out on a little escapade in the hopes of getting more information on all of these werewolves suddenly turned villainous. But she had not managed to gather the group again to check in on them, something she really needed to do.
So she sent them all owls with the time and place and after her family was fed and pajama-ed, she zipped up her jacket and hurried out to Satan's. She gave the doorman his instructions of who was to be let in without a charge and climbed the stairs up to the room that she had turned into her own little office-headquarters, whatever. When she arrived, she folded up the cot that on occasion was occupied by a werewolf or ally in need and stuffed it into the closet. She copied the three chairs in the room until there was enough and set up her maps and posters, taken down for the last visitor. Finally, she wheeled the little bar out and pulled out some glasses, filling up a rum and coke for herself.
She settled into the nearest armchair and nursed her drink, waiting for her friends and allies to arrive.
by 
