Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires 9)

“That’s bureaucracy. And never mind that you can buy Blood4You at every supermarket in town.”

“What about the feds? Andrew thought he might have some luck there.”

“They’ve declined on jurisdictional grounds,” he mockingly said. “They’ll send in troops if there’s a ‘legit’ threat to public safety, but they don’t feel that’s happened yet.” He turned back to the screen. “That might change, now that Ethan’s fan club has taken the stage.”

“See anyone you know?” I asked Luc, who squinted at the screen.

“Not that I can tell.”

“How’d it get started?”

“We aren’t sure. Rogue vampires seem like the best bet, but we haven’t heard anything from Noah suggesting this was going on or asking us to participate.”

Noah was the unofficial leader of Chicago’s Rogue vampires. “And are we participating?” I wondered.

Before he could answer, a crowd of vampires in jeans and parkas tromped down the stairs and paused in the foyer, checking in on us. I recognized the ringleader, a sable-haired vampire named Christine, whose father was a famous Chicago criminal defense attorney. Not Ethan’s attorney, but it wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’d been in contact.

She pulled down the hood, revealing sharp cheekbones, sharper eyes, and a lovely face. “We’re going to the protest,” she said, meeting Malik’s gaze. He stood on the other side of the arc of vampires in the parlor and watched her mildly.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace?”

“What you do on your time, including supporting our woebegone Master, is your business. But don’t get yourselves arrested.”

She grinned, nodded. “Liege,” she said, and her troops left the House.

“I hope that doesn’t make more trouble,” I murmured. Christine had always been the boisterous sort.

“They want to support their Master,” Luc said, “and unlike you, they don’t get many chances to do it.”

He had a point there. How many times had I had the opportunity to wield steel for Ethan and the House? Too many, by my count.

“It warms the cockles of my heart to see all those sups stepping out in support of our Master. And probably some of that support is legit, and not just because they want to sleep with him.”

I goggled, stared at him. “They what?”

Luc snorted. “He’s not my type, but there are plenty of folks out there who appreciate your vampire boyfriend for more than his strategic mind.” He tapped a finger against his temple.

I blinked. “And where is this coming from?”

He pointed to the screen and the gaggle of teenage girls who grinned and smiled at the camera, holding signs bearing glittery hearts and professions of love for one Ethan Sullivan. The girls, who had pink cheeks and infatuated smiles, couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen.

“Where are their parents?” I murmured, thinking I wasn’t thrilled that my “vampire boyfriend” had a fan club.

On the other hand, they had excellent taste.

“Anything new on the carnival?” I asked him, lest we forget about the other supernaturals potentially in danger.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “The librarian found one more location—Paul Revere Park. Carnival was there last year. But it’s empty again. They appear to be laying low.”

Which meant we had no other leads on where Regan, the carnival, or the missing sups might actually be—assuming our theory was correct and they were still alive. It was beginning to look like we’d have to wait for them to make a move, which didn’t thrill me. A harpy attack in the woods beside Loring Park was one thing; a harpy attack at Soldier Field would be something altogether different.

My phone beeped, a message from Jonah. NEED BODIES AT PROTEST. WEARING MIDNIGHT HIGH SHIRT?

It was an RG assignment, signaled by the reference to the Midnight High School T-shirt. The school was fake, but the T-shirts were real, worn by RG members to secretly signal their membership.

I glanced at Luc and the others. I could get away, but I was going to have to explain to him why I was leaving and where I was going. The odds I’d end up arrested or on television by the end of the night were too high otherwise.

I tucked the phone away again, leaned toward Luc. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”

Luc’s brows lifted, but he nodded and followed me to the foyer.

We stopped in a quiet spot beyond the staircase, where he crossed his arms, looked down at me with chin tipped down. “What’s on your mind, Sentinel?”

I moistened my lips nervously. “I have to go to the protest. For reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss. But I didn’t want to sneak out of here without telling you I was leaving.”

He looked at me for a moment, then leaned closer. “This have something to do with that secret project Ethan has you working on?”

I opened my mouth, closed it again. I wasn’t working with Ethan on a secret project, at least to my knowledge. I was only aware of two real secrets: Lakshmi’s GP challenge invitation, and my RG membership. Maybe Ethan had prepared Luc for the inevitable fallout of one or both of those things.

“Yes?” I offered.

That must have been the right answer, because he nodded. “Be careful, and keep your phone on.”

I messaged Jonah, arranging a meeting place, a spot two blocks north of the Daley Center, where we could find each other before we reached the chaos of the plaza and protestors.

Even from two blocks away, the sound was deafening. Much like during the human riots that had plagued the city last week, there were chants of protest, supernaturals demanding Ethan’s release, demanding rights for the city’s preternatural population. And like the humans, they weren’t especially subtle about what they’d do if their demands weren’t met. “No justice, no peace,” was a common refrain.

But unlike the human demonstrations, this protest carried the signature sensation of magic. A lot of it—chaotic and unfocused, like eddies of water swirling in the rapids of a rocky stream.

Jonah rounded the corner, walked toward me. There was no denying it: The Grey House guard captain was a looker.

Tall and trim, with shoulder-length auburn hair that framed clear blue eyes. He’d gotten his fangs in Kansas City, but he looked more like a warrior from a windswept cliff in Ireland, with his honed cheekbones and chiseled chin. Tonight he wore jeans and a navy pea coat, which only added to the effect. I half expected him to speak with a lilting accent but probably would have enjoyed it too much if he had.