She was silent for a moment. “That’s what attacked the Pack? Harpies?”
“Well, a magical manifestation of harpies, anyway.”
“And the Pack is holding you hostage?” she asked.
“We’re helping them investigate.” That was only partly the truth, but enough for her purposes. I wasn’t about to incite a war between shifters and vampires by telling the GP we were at their mercy.
“When can we meet?” she asked.
I stood there dumbly for a moment, the phone in hand, debating my next move. I’d have to meet with her, one way or the other. But to do it, I’d have to get away from the shifters, the sorcerers, the house, and Ethan. He knew about my RG membership, but he didn’t know Lakshmi was a source. This was going to be tricky.
“I can come to you,” she offered. “It’s a matter of some urgency. Where can we meet?”
I looked back at the table, and Jeff caught my eye, waved me forward. I was nearly out of time.
“There’s a carnival in Loring Park,” I said, providing directions to the first place that came to mind. It would be busy—full of sounds and smells and people—and would give us a bit of anonymity.
“One hour,” she said, and disconnected the call.
I checked the clock on the wall, ensuring I knew when to make my exit. Now I just had to figure out how to do it.
I rejoined the shifters, sliding into the booth beside Jeff. “Cadogan House,” I said. “Just checking in.”
“News from home?”
“Not at the moment,” I said. “What looks good?”
“Waffles and bacon for me,” Jeff said, handing over his menu. “And Damien’s looking at crepes.”
“I do not eat crepes. Eggs, sausage, toast,” he said, when the uniformed waitress walked over, a notepad in hand. “Eggs over hard. Toast buttered.”
“Hon?” she asked, glancing at me over glasses with square frames.
“Just orange juice.”
She nodded and disappeared through a door that flapped back and forth.
“Just orange juice?” Jeff said with a chuckle, sliding his menu back into place. “Since when do you just have orange juice?”
Since a member of the GP asked for a secret meeting, I thought, my stomach roiling with nerves. But I couldn’t exactly tell them that.
“Stress,” I said, crossing my arms against the chill. Patrons moved in and out of the diner, which sent blasts of cold air careening across the restaurant.
“Ah,” Jeff said, linking his hands on the table. “So Aline. What are we thinking?”
“The receipt says she left town,” Damien said. “Although the circumstances are suspect. She left a cat and a single box in a storage locker. She left one day into Lupercalia, when she could have avoided it altogether.”
I tilted my head at Damien. “So you think the receipt’s bogus?”
He glanced up at me. “I am not sure. But I think it’s suspect.”
“She could have been set up,” Jeff said.
“Do we know of any specific enemies?” I asked. “Other than the Keene family, I mean.”
“I do not,” Damien said.
The waitress came back bearing drinks, which she passed out with smiles.
“Does she have any friends in the Pack?” I asked, when the waitress disappeared again. “She seemed to know Berna. They talked last night, anyway.”
“Good thought,” Damien said. “I’ll ask her. Other than that, I believe she kept to herself?” He glanced at Jeff for confirmation.
“Far as I know,” Jeff said.
“What about people in Aurora?” I asked. “Would she have told anyone she was coming? Made arrangements to stay with a friend? I mean, I don’t imagine there are lots of hotels up there.” I leaned forward, curious. “Actually, how do you accommodate everyone if the Packs get together up there?”
“Giant puppy piles,” Damien dryly said. “Curled up on an old plaid blanket by the fire.”
I knew he was joking, but it did make for an interesting mental image.
“There’s a resort,” Jeff said. “A former resort, anyway. The Meadows. Had its heyday in the fifties and sixties.”
I imagined well-heeled men and women playing badminton in long white skirts and pants, staff members carrying watermelons to their bunkhouses, Dirty Dancing–style.
“It fell into disrepair,” Jeff said. “The Packs got together, bought it, rehabbed it. Now it’s private, and it holds a hell of a lot of shifters. Nothing fancy, but it does the job. Plenty of space to act human, plenty of space to roam.”
Visiting the Meadows popped up to the top of my bucket list. “How does a vampire get an invitation to such a place?” I wondered.
“They don’t,” Damien said. “Unless you’re volunteering to be kibble.”
“I am not,” I crisply said, sitting back again. He was joking, but considering the mood at the house, I decided there was still a kernel of truth in it.
“We wouldn’t make kibble of you,” Jeff said. “We’d serve you up with fava beans and a nice Chianti.”
I pointed at him. “You’ve been hanging out with Luc too much, and you’ve reached your quota for movie references today.”
Jeff grinned. Damien rolled his eyes.
“Even if she skipped town because she’s the cause of this, she couldn’t have done it herself.” Damien looked at me and Jeff, eyebrows knitted over those dark eyes. “Tell me about the sorcerers.”
His implication was clear, and it had Jeff shifting in his seat. “They’re solid, both of them.”
“The girl—Mallory—caused a lot of trouble. Has a lot of power.”
“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.