Wild Things

“They aren’t the only ones who can make magic,” Damien said.



“They aren’t. There are three others in the Chicago metro area.” I gave him the details about Simon, Paige, and Baumgartner—and what we’d learned so far.



He looked surprised. I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t figure we’d bother to ask, or because the sorcerers were potentially alibied.



“So who did this? Aline couldn’t do it alone.”



“No,” I agreed. “She couldn’t. But we don’t have anything that suggests who else was involved.”



Damien lifted hopeful eyes to me, and I felt him shift the weight of that hope to my shoulders. “Gabriel thinks that’s what you’re good at. Finding out who was involved.”



“I’m not sure about ‘good,’” I said honestly. “But we do tend to get wrapped into things.”



“Well, you’re wrapped up good and tight in this one,” Damien said. “And good luck to you.”



• • •



The waitress brought our food, offered ketchup and hot sauce, which the guys declined. As they ate and I sipped my orange juice—and ate a piece of bacon Jeff had thoughtfully offered—we came up with a to-do list.



Damien would check with the resort to see if Aline had made arrangements to stay there, and find out if other Pack members had information about her travel plans.



Jeff would continue to check her computer for anything that suggested she was involved in the attack—or offered any clue about her whereabouts; I’d look through the box we’d found in the storage unit.



When the waitress topped off coffee and brought the check, I put a couple of dollars on the table for my orange juice. Damien looked up at me with irritation.



“What?”



“You think I can’t cover your orange juice?”



“I have no idea whether you can cover my orange juice,” I said. “But I don’t expect anyone else to pay my way.”



He looked at me for a moment, considering. “I wondered if you’d expect it.”



Jeff whistled low in warning, aware of the sensitive spot Damien had poked. My father may have been wealthy, but I’d worked my way through college and grad school, and I’d bled, quite literally, for the pay I’d earned as Sentinel. I had the scars and aching cheekbone to show for it. I wasn’t thrilled I had to defend myself against others’ assumptions, but such was life as the daughter of a real estate mogul. I’d grown up with enough of an advantage that I could suck it up.



“I make my own way,” I quietly said, not taking my eyes from his. If he wanted to confirm the truth, he could read it in my eyes.



“My bad,” Damien said, and I nodded back, the momentary build of tension dissipating again.



I cleared my throat, thinking my moment had come while the guys sipped their coffee. “I need a few minutes to take care of something.”



They both looked at me curiously, so I broke out the ultimate weapon, the errand it seemed nearly guaranteed they’d want to avoid.



“I need to run down to the grocery store at the other end of the shopping center. We left Chicago in a hurry, and I need to grab a few things.” I cleared my throat. “A few personal items.”



Vampire or not, the mention of unspecified “personal items” was uncomfortable enough to send both of them—the tech genius and the rugged shifter—into awkward foot shuffling and throat clearing.



“Maybe we’ll drink our coffee and wait for you here,” Damien said, raising his mug to his lips.



“Coffee,” Jeff agreed, and I left them in the booth, doctoring their drinks with extra attentiveness and trying not to consider what personal items, precisely, I needed.



None, of course. What I needed was at the carnival.



• • •



I grabbed my katana from the car, thankfully unlocked, and glanced at my phone. I had ten minutes until the meet. Figuring I’d need evidence when I joined the guys later, I followed the sidewalk across the shopping center to the grocery store, where I bought gum and an energy bar, then wrapped up the bag and stuffed it into my jacket.



Humans in coats still milled around the carnival, holding cheap stuffed animals and knickknacks they’d won on the midway. Some enjoyed cotton candy; others tore pieces of steaming funnel cake from paper plates, their shirts and fingers dotted with a spray of powdered sugar.



I walked down the small midway, barkers begging me to throw a hoop or a baseball or use a water gun to take down a target, probably weighted, that wouldn’t move unless the barker wanted it to.



“You look like you’re looking for excitement. I think you’ve come to the right place.”



I glanced over at the woman who’d called out, not to me but to a middle-aged man whose wife looked doubtfully over the entire event.



She was petite, with gray eyes, dimples at both cheeks, and long, wavy, brown hair tucked into a braid that fell over her shoulder. Her bangs fell in a neat trim just above her eyebrows, and a tiny hat was perched coquettishly to one side. She wore a button-up shirt with old-fashioned trousers and suspenders, the pants rolled up to reveal tidy boots with lots of buttons and argyle socks.



She stood in front of the Tunnel of Horrors, where a small car on rails disappeared behind a giant mural depicting a classic Count Dracula character, a mummy, and Frankenstein’s monster.



The man, blushing as the barker tucked her arm into his, looked back at his wife. “What do you think, hon? Should we do it?”



“It’s only five bucks,” said the barker, winking knowingly at the man’s wife. “That’s cheaper than a cup of coffee these days.”



“Honey?”



The wife sighed, then pulled a bill from her jeans pocket and handed it over. The attendant grinned, dimples alight, and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek.



Blushing furiously, he climbed with his wife into the tiny car, which lurched forward, sending them into darkness.



I kept moving before the woman decided I was her next victim, wandering to a quiet spot where I watched a blade-shaped ride flip passengers into the air.



“Merit.”



I glanced beside me, found Lakshmi at my side. She was absolutely gorgeous, tall and slender, with dark skin and long, dark hair that waved at the bottom. She wore trousers and heels beneath a slim, taxi-yellow trench coat buttoned and tied at the waist.



“Hello,” I said.



“Thank you for meeting me.”



I nodded. “I don’t know how much time I’ll have.”



“I understand, and I’ll get right to it. We have reached an unusual time, Merit. A precarious time. Two members of the GP are dead.” She paused. “And the present leadership is weak.” She meant Darius, the current head of the GP.



“So we’ve heard.”



She linked her hands together and rested her forearms on the gate, her gaze on the ride as it rotated. “Leading the GP requires a certain cachet, a certain attitude. Due to recent events, Darius has lost both. It’s time for him to step down. And that brings us to the favor.”



She looked at me, paused for a moment, and then let loose the request she’d flown nearly four thousand miles to make.



“I want Ethan to challenge Darius for the head of the GP. And I want you to convince him to do it.”



Chapter Eight



DEEP-FRIED TRUTH



My heart and head went numb, shocked by the request.



She wanted Ethan to challenge, outright, the head of the GP? I couldn’t imagine anybody, much less Darius, would take kindly to the idea. Just by trying to leave the GP we’d ended up with murder at our doorstep. We were still dealing with the fallout from that decision, which was why I was at a carnival in Loring Park, Illinois, in the freezing air of February.



And then there was the other issue: The GP was in London. Ethan would have to go there, live there, and work there while I stayed in Chicago, honor bound to serve Cadogan House.



My heart jumped in my throat. “We aren’t even part of the GP anymore,” I said. That was the only defense I could think of, the only words I could put together.



“Not the GP as it was before,” she said, turning to lean back against the railing. There was a glimmer of strategic excitement in her eyes. She and Ethan had that in common.



“The GP as it could be. A different kind of organization. A federation of Houses, not a dictatorship. And not led by a vampire who lords himself over the rest of us.”



I almost snorted. If she didn’t think Ethan would lord himself over the rest of us as head of the GP, perhaps she didn’t know Ethan as well as she thought.



“You don’t think he’d try to take control?” I asked. “You don’t think he’d impose his will on the Houses?”



She tilted her head at me, an expression that reminded me she was a vampire—a predator—of repute. “You would convince me he’s ill suited for the job.”



“He’s stubborn.”



“Not so stubborn that you aren’t in a relationship with him.”



She had a point, so I tried a different tack. “He has enemies, and challenging Darius would only make more.”



Lakshmi nodded gravely. “The road would not be easy. Ethan has enemies, certainly. His campaign would be difficult. There would be many to convince, to bring to his side. Travails to overcome.”



“What travails, exactly?” The Canon had been shady about the process of getting a new king.



“He’d have to demonstrate his worth and fitness for the position. Convince the Prelect’s council he is worthy of the task, that he is powerful and strong.”



I grimaced. Harold Monmonth had been the Prelect. And we all knew how that had ended up.



“And then the Houses vote,” she said.



“That all assumes Darius steps down peacefully.”



She nodded, acknowledging that. “There is no point in being coy. Ethan would have opponents from the beginning to the end. But he is worth the battle. He’d bring peace and honor to the GP, which have been lacking of late.”