Wild Things

Chapter Eighteen OCCUPY CHICAGO

I dropped Jeff off at his car and raced back to Cadogan House. Car keys still in hand, I joined Malik, Luc, and a dozen other Cadogan vampires in the front parlor, where the television had been tuned again to the drama at the Daley Center.

In the time it had taken me to get back to the House, the crowd of protestors had grown to several hundred, many of them carrying FREE ETHAN! and SUPERNATURAL JUSTICE signs. I didn’t see anyone I recognized, but most were bundled up against the frigid night air.

“Any luck?” Luc asked, when I sidled next to him in the crowd of vampires whose gazes were trained on the screen.

“In finding him, yes. In convincing him to talk to the mayor, no. He’s started a new life, and he wants to stay that course. He’s working at a food bank. Noble work, but not exactly helpful here. Any news from Andrew?”

The question made his brow furrow, which made my stomach turn uncomfortably. Luc was usually unflappable. If he was concerned now, we had problems.

“They haven’t released Ethan, and they haven’t allowed Andrew to speak with him. He hasn’t had blood since he arrived. Just water. They’re saying they think blood will turn him into some kind of supervampire.”

“That’s ridiculous.” It was also worrisome. A blood deficit would weaken him, and eventually that need would drive him to find blood wherever—and however—he could.

“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.

“Hey,” I said, a little shyly. I hadn’t seen Jonah in a few days, and I spent so much time dealing with drama on behalf of Cadogan House that I didn’t have much time to serve as his partner in the RG.

“Hey,” he said. “How’s the House?”

“Nervous. They don’t like Ethan being out of reach. How’s Scott?”

“Fine. Pissed. There are a few Grey House vamps out there tonight. He didn’t want them to come but didn’t bar them outright.”

“Ditto at Cadogan.”

Jonah nodded. “Let’s get moving.”

We walked down the street and toward the plaza, each step bringing us closer to the noise and magic.

“Who organized this?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” he said. “Word of mouth, I assume.”

It was a completely rational assumption, but that didn’t make me feel any better about walking into it.

“Plan?” I asked him, now forced to raise my voice to account for the noise.

“We’re monitoring. We’re here as peacekeepers, and we’ll stay on the perimeter. Help anyone who looks like they’re in trouble, or help disperse the crowd if things get dangerous.”

I’d left my katana in the car—all the better to keep the CPD from harassing me about it—but the dagger was tucked into my boot. It was the only weapon I’d have if things got ugly. On the other hand, if things got ugly here, even a sword might not have helped.

Daley Plaza was open on three sides, bounded by Clark, Dear- born, and Washington streets and the Daley Center. It was a large expanse of concrete, punctuated by an insectlike metal Picasso sculpture reaching fifty feet into the air and a square fountain currently closed for the winter.

The plaza was packed with people, the crowd thick and heavy like deep water, so that each person was leaned or shoved into his or her neighbors, sending the wave forward.

Cops in black gear were visible on the edges, as were a few journalists with video cameras on their shoulders, and a few vampires standing in pairs outside the main crush. RG members, I thought, trying to keep the city’s supernaturals safe.

“There are a lot of people here,” he said.

“There are. And a lot of magic.” It was rising and falling like the movement of a symphony, raising uncomfortable prickles on my arms. “Itchy magic,” I said, scratching absently at the back of one hand.

It occurred to me that I was probably within telepathic distance of Ethan, and I called out to him silently but could practically feel the words bouncing back to me. Too much magical interference, perhaps.

“Let’s walk the perimeter,” he said, and I nodded, fell into step beside him. The night was cold, but the crush of bodies in front of us worked like a furnace to push heat in our direction.

The crowd was diverse, from obviously smitten teenagers who grinned with excitement at the cause to vampires and shifters I didn’t recognize, wearing bleak expressions and repeating their pleas for Ethan’s relief over and over and over again.

“Your man has a lot of support,” Jonah said.

“The cause has support,” I corrected, stopping short when two twentysomethings in coats and scarves bounded out of a cab and into the fray with neon posters demanding supernatural rights and Ethan’s release. “I can’t believe how many of them know who Ethan is.”

“He has fan sites, Merit.”

I stopped, looked at him, and found a bemused expression on his face. “He does not.”

“Next time you’re online, look up EthanSullivanIsMyMaster-dot-net. It has fan fiction. You’re not doing a very good job of keeping up with Ethan’s many admirers.”

“There is no such place, and there is no such fan fiction.”

This time, he stopped and looked at me, his expression flat.

My mind whirled at the possibility of hordes of human women lusting over my very vampiric boyfriend. I decided I found it endearing, since I wasn’t worried about his fidelity. Although my Internet research was clearly lacking. I made a mental note to catch up when I had some free time.

Still, the reminder of Ethan dimmed my mood. “Do you think they’ll release him?”

“In his lifetime? Yes. Unfortunately, that lifetime may last an eternity.”

Not exactly the most inspiring of thoughts.

We passed a man and woman who wore Midnight High T-shirts beneath unbuttoned coats. The man was tall and gaunt, with pale skin and thick sideburns; the woman was petite, with dark skin and curls. He was Horace, a Civil War volunteer and member of the Red Guard. I hadn’t yet learned her name.

Horace exchanged the slightest of nods with Jonah as we passed. An acknowledgment of our membership, our partnership, our vampiric fence around the plaza.

We edged around the perimeter and turned to the other side of the crowd just as a woman, petite and dark haired, walked up the sidewalk in a satin coat and four-inch platform shoes, a red dress visible beneath and a cloak of magic flowing around her.

She was barely five feet tall, but with each step, another man or woman in her vicinity trained their eyes on her, awestruck. Like all nymphs, she had the big-eyed beauty of an anime character.

I glanced at Jonah, saw the same glazed expression on his face.

“River nymph approaching,” I warned, a little late. “Although I forget which part of the river she controls.”

“North Branch,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Her name’s Cassie.”

Cassie looked up, discovered us standing there, and rushed over in her platform heels, her coat swirling behind her.

“You’re Chuck’s granddaughter!” she said as she batted her lashes. But when she looked at Jonah, her smile turned pouty. “Where’s Jeff?”

I winced sympathetically for Jonah and for any other man in Chicago who was not Jeff Christopher. Geek or not, he had a way with the nymphs.

“He’s not here tonight. I’m sorry.”

Tears bloomed in her large eyes, and her lower lip quivered.

I did not have time for a nymph on a crying jag. “Jeff mentioned you,” I said. “Just last night. Said he thought you were terribly pretty.”

She clasped her hands together with obvious glee. “Did he?”

“He did,” I assured her, then glanced cautiously at the roaring crowd. I wasn’t sure that was exactly River nymph territory. “Are you here for the protest?”

“I am,” she said brightly. “There’s a party tonight. I got a gorgeous invitation!”

I wouldn’t have called it a party, but before I could protest, she launched forward and slipped into the crowd.

I glanced at Jonah. “A ‘gorgeous invitation’? To a protest?”

That sounded suspicious. And manipulative.

“Regan?” I wondered.

“I think we should keep an eye on her,” Jonah said.

I nodded. “Stay close. If we get separated, meet at the fountain.”

“Roger,” he said, and I moved into the crowd.

Cassie was small, but the crowd parted to let her move forward, as if they were the river she controlled. I kept my gaze on her spot in the crowd as she moved deeper.

“You got her?” Jonah yelled out behind me, the crowd growing thicker and tighter as we advanced, the decibels higher.

“I see her!” I yelled back, holding out my hand behind me so he might grab it and keep us connected in the crowd.

Our fingers brushed just as shoving erupted to my right side, elbows pointing into my back and hips. I pulled back my arm, keeping my gaze on the divot Cassie had made in the crowd, and pressed my feet into the asphalt, trying to gain purchase. But the shoving grew stronger.

My irritation began to rise.

I pushed in the direction I thought she’d gone, panicking when I couldn’t see the shine of her satin jacket or feel the bubble of magic around her.

“Crap,” I murmured, wincing as a foot stomped on mine. The crowd tightened, contracted like a heartbeat. I breathed out slowly through pursed lips as bodies snugged against me, magic and smells and sounds crowding me on all sides.

After a moment, the press of bodies moved in the other direction, freeing me up enough to stand on tiptoes, scan the crowd for Cassie.

I found her, ten or twelve feet away, her arm on a man’s shoulder as she smiled and strained to see over the crowd.

I had only an instant of relief.

She turned around to look, her expression pained, as if she’d been surprised. And her eyes, wide and innocent, went blank. I’d seen those eyes before. The same dead expression, the absence of will. The harpies had worn it well.

Things were about to get very, very bad.

“Cassie!” I called out over the crowd. “Cassie! Are you all right?”

She didn’t turn, but her eyes rolled back, and her head began to loll. And there, only feet away from her, was a girl in a red cape.

I swore, began pushing through the crowd. Regan had found a perfect spot to disappear another supernatural, and she was doing it right before my eyes.

“Cassie!” I screamed out, wedging my body in an effort to push through the crowd, but the people around me were wedged in tight and looked around in irritation as I used elbows and knees to shove through them.

“Get out of the way!” I pled, looking over the top of the crowd for her hair or the barker’s, trying to trace where they’d gone. “Stop! Stop those girls!”

The man beside me threw out an arm, catching me in the stomach. I sucked in breath and swore out a curse that widened his eyes and had him moving back.

“Back off,” I told him, and the sight of my silvered eyes had him raising his hands and giving me what little room he could.

I scanned the crowd but saw nothing. No dark hair, no nymph and captor sliding quickly through the crowd to make their getaway.

“Damn it!” I yelled, loud enough that the people around me gave me nasty looks. I ignored them, just as they ignored my panic and pleas for assistance.

I needed higher ground, so I ran to the Picasso and scrambled up the incline that marked its base, then jumped onto the next ridge of metal, which put me just above the crowd. I surveyed the bodies, looking for Regan.

After a moment I found her, the cape’s hood still lifted, slithering through the crowd, dragging the nymph behind her. They were headed toward Dearborn. If they got clear of the crowd or jumped in a cab, I’d lose them. I didn’t have time to find Jonah. I only had time to haul ass.

I jumped down, hit the ground in a crouch, and took off.

This ended tonight.

She got to the edge of the protestors before I did and slowed her jog to a walk, Cassie walking awkwardly behind her, her wrist in Regan’s hand. To anyone paying attention, it would have looked like Cassie’d had a little too much fun at the protest. But not many were paying attention. The crowd was growing, their calls for Ethan’s release louder with each round.

I reached the perimeter just as she reached the street and took off to the north, toward the River. Appropriate location for a nymph, but not when the nymph was being dragged while under the influence of drugs or magic.

I spied a woman in a red T-shirt as I ran to the sidewalk and yelled, “Find Jonah!” as I passed her, hoping she was an RG member and actually knew who Jonah was.

Regan and Cassie were nearly a block ahead. They dodged the entrance to the Daley Center’s underground parking lot and crossed the street, Cassie jogging along awkwardly behind.

“Regan!” I yelled out, dodging a speeding cab and the curses of the driver, who lowered his window to make sure I’d heard them. “Stop right now!”

She ignored the demand and darted across Dearborn, barely missing the front end of a CTA bus. She hopped the curb but lost her balance in the frozen mountain of ice on the other side and hit the ground, Cassie behind her.

Regan glanced behind, then took off, leaving Cassie in the snow.

I’d gained half a block but stopped at Cassie’s side, taking in her dilated pupils and vague expression.

“I’ll take care of her, Merit!” Jonah said, running across the street and signaling me onward. “Go get the girl!”

I took his word for it and took off. Regan kept running north, dodging people and disappearing into the shadows of an El track that covered Lake Street. I quickened my pace as she began to climb one of the vertical supports that kept the train tracks in the air.

She climbed clumsily, was five feet in the air when I reached her, jumped up, and grabbed her ankle. She kicked it off, catching me in the shoulder. I ignored the shot of pain and grabbed again.

Arms pinwheeling in the air, she fell, pushing me down behind her and landing on top of me with enough verve to leave me momentarily breathless.

She turned, began pummeling me with her fists. A train rushed by overhead, the roar blocking the dull thud of her fist against my breastbone, the crack of her knuckles against concrete when I dodged a second blow.

I reared back, pulled up my legs, and made contact with her abdomen. With a whoop of air, she fell backward, hit the ground, and skidded a few feet behind her.

I climbed to my feet, hobbled toward her, and reached down to pull back the cape’s hood.

The girl who blinked back at me was definitely not Regan.