“She did and does,” I agreed. “And she’s making amends, as I’m sure you know.” My tone was icy. But if it bothered him, it didn’t register in his face.
“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.