Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires 9)

We drove sullenly back to the Breckenridge house, none of us thrilled that we’d been so easily thwarted.

As we neared the house, we began to pass cars. A single car here and there, and then groups of four or five in succession. It was more traffic than I’d ever seen on the rural road that led to the estate.

“The shifters are going home,” Catcher said, as we pulled into the driveway. There was something sad about that—it was morose that they’d departed under such unfortunate circumstances. Or maybe it was just the magic in the air, or the growing absence of it.

Gabriel met us at the door, Ethan beside him. We migrated into the front parlor, now empty of shifters, and out of the cold.

“Nothing?” Gabriel asked.

I shook my head. “They’re gone.”

“The entire carnival was packed up, moved out,” Catcher said. “Merit found one of them in the grocery store, chased her down, but wasn’t able to nab her.”

Gabriel lifted slightly amused eyes to me. “That true, Kitten? Did you actually miss your prey?”

I decided not to tell him that I missed her because I fell in a ditch, as that would only add a thick layer of humiliation to the existing regret. I settled for glum.

“I missed her,” I confirmed.

“And I might have found her,” Jeff said, rocking proudly on his heels. “I was busy on the ride back.”

I thought the backseat had been quiet. “Grocery store footage?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out a sleek square of glass that looked like a miniature version of the screens in the Brecks’ operations room, began to skim his fingers across it. The glass went smoky and nearly opaque, and images and text began to scroll across the front.

“Another new toy?” I asked. I wasn’t much for gadgets, but it looked so deliciously tactile.

He kept his eyes on the screen, but a corner of his mouth perked up. “A portable to match the rest of the hardware. And here we are.” He held up the glass, swiveling it so the rest of us could see.

“That’s her,” I said immediately, recognizing the light hair, dark eyes, dimpled cheeks. The shot, remarkably clear, was taken at the front entrance of the grocery store.

“The grocery store was robbed about a year ago, and they invested in some quality hardware. I told them we were investigating the dark-haired girl with the leather jacket”—that was me—“and the manager was more than happy to pass the photo along.” He lifted his gaze, grinned full out. “He also asked about billing Papa Breck for the damages. Said they’d agreed to pay.”

Gabriel flicked a glance my way.

“Technically, we were there on Pack business.”

“We’ll pay the store,” Gabriel dourly said. “And we’ll remember this incident the next time we hire vampires to do our dirty work.”

“Do that,” Ethan said. “And consider paying us next time instead of extortion. But back to the girl?”

“Her name,” Jeff said, flipping the screen back and typing furiously, “is Regan, and I only found that because she’d been interviewed in one of the older articles about the carnival we uploaded. No last name, no date of birth, no last known address.”

“Much like the carnival,” Ethan said, “her history has been wiped.”

“Indeed,” Jeff said. “She’s now a ghost. Except for the grocery store footage, anyway.”

“Ghost may not be too far off,” I said. “She smelled like Dominic Tate.”

Gabe’s and Ethan’s reactions were pretty much the same as ours had been—surprise, doubt, concern.

“Dominic Tate is dead,” Ethan said.

“He is. And there shouldn’t be any other fallen angels out there. But I know what I smelled.” I’d been held by Dominic Tate in a prison of sunlight; I wasn’t likely to forget the smoky stink of it.

Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “Ethan’s told me about this menagerie theory, if that’s what we’re calling it. But Merit said she didn’t see an attraction like that at the carnival. What’s the point of having a menagerie if you aren’t going to show it off?”

Mallory raised a hand. “I’ve actually been thinking about that. It’s like an invitation-only sample sale.”

I got the comparison immediately, but the men just blinked with obvious befuddlement.

“Is this a food thing?” Catcher asked, earning a dramatic eye roll from Mallory.

“It’s a fashion thing,” she said. “It’s when designers sell their samples for a very large discount. Very exclusive.”

Understanding dawned in Ethan’s eyes. “You’re suggesting the public who attend the carnivals are not the target audience.”

She smiled. “Exactly. So maybe the menagerie is also exclusive. They bring the carnival to town but you don’t get in without an invitation.”

“And they also bring the sups,” Gabriel said with a nod. “Not as a carnival attraction, but a traveling menagerie. Same town, but separate location. Secret location, available only to certain well-heeled clientele.”

Ethan nodded. “That could fit. The motive, perhaps, isn’t about the sups. It’s about the ego, or perhaps the money. Impressing the hard to impress with an attraction they can’t see anywhere else in the world.”

Puzzle pieces fell into place. “And with every attack.”

They looked at me.

“Sentinel?” Ethan asked.

“Having a menagerie is one thing. But when you’ve got powerful magic, it’s not exactly a great story to just pluck someone off the street using it.”

“Like they might have done with Aline,” Ethan said.

I nodded. “Exactly. But if, to get the supernaturals, you have to fight for them? You set up an attack, claim your prey that way? Much more interesting story.”

“It’s a supernatural safari,” Ethan said.

“And it demands a higher ticket price,” Catcher said.

I nodded. “It would make sense, based on what we know.”

“So if you’re right, we’d be looking for someone insecure, or someone with a desire to impress,” Jeff said.

“Someone who needs to be needed,” Mallory added, “but doesn’t feel any obligation to follow the rules in doing it. Being popular is better than being good.”

“And yet,” Ethan said, “someone who believes they’ll find that fame or fortune in this fashion.”