“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.
Chapter Nineteen
REDEMPTION SONG
The girl also wasn’t entirely in our plane of existence.
She sat on a chair we’d placed in the middle of the Cadogan training room, completely unmoving. She was approximately Regan’s height and build but had short, dark curls in place of Regan’s shock of platinum hair. Her eyes were deeply brown, and at the moment, open and blank.
She hadn’t spoken at all, hadn’t even acknowledged where we were or how we’d gotten there. I’d driven Moneypenny home; she’d been in the back of Jonah’s car.
Cassie had snapped out of her trance and was upstairs in the foyer, where Lindsey had volunteered to entertain her with fashion magazines while they awaited Jeff’s calming presence.
The training room door opened, and Paige walked inside, her vibrantly red hair set off by jeans and a long-sleeved, pale blue shirt with a V-neck. Even in jeans, she had a smoldering sensuality, like a magical, rusty-haired version of Marilyn Monroe.
Eyes mild, she surveyed the room, nodding at me and Luc before her gaze fell onto the girl. She stared at her for a moment, tilting her head at the girl with obvious fascination.
“She hasn’t spoken?”
“Not a word,” I said. “Not the entire time.”
“You said she tried to grab a nymph?”
“Did grab her,” I said. “But we grabbed her back before she could make it to wherever she was going.”
Paige dropped to one knee, looking into the girl’s eyes, then leaned forward and sniffed delicately at the cape. Sniffing out magic wasn’t unusual among sups; it had, actually, been the way Malik had first figured out Mallory’s sorcery.
Her nose wrinkled and she jerked back, looked at me. “Sulfur, as we suspected.”
“Her?” I wondered.
“No, not this girl,” Paige said. She took to her feet again, fisted her hands on her hips. “It’s in the fabric. The girl’s been ensorcelled, but I use that term loosely. This isn’t Order magic. It’s”—she frowned, pursed her lips—“something else.”
“Can you bring her out of whatever this is so we can ask her some questions?” Luc asked.
“I can certainly try.” She glanced at us, wiggled her fingers. “Move back, please. Behind me.”
We did as she directed without objection. I knew what magic sorcerers could make—and the balls of light and fire that usually accompanied it—and I didn’t want to be downwind of it.
Paige stood, shimmied her hair from her shoulders, and looked down at the girl. “On three, you’ll awaken. Refreshed, perhaps a bit confused, and ready to talk.” She lifted curled fingers in front of the girl’s face. “One, two, and three.” Paige snapped her fingers.
Like she’d flicked a switch, the girl looked up, around, and blinked back confusion.
“That was it?” I asked, not disappointed exactly, but certainly surprised by the lack of flash and magic.
“Recall,” Paige patiently said, “that you don’t see everything. Every sorcerer has their own style. In situations like this, I try to keep the physical manifestations as mild as possible. She’ll remember what she saw; it’ll be better for her if it wasn’t traumatic.”
The girl focused glazed eyes on Paige, then us. There was fear in her eyes; if she’d had a run-in with Regan, I didn’t find that surprising. On the other hand, she could be an accomplice. Just as guilty, but a very good actor.
“Are you all right?” Paige asked.
She swallowed thickly, nodded, her eyes still darting around the room, hesitating as she took in the antique weapons that hung on the walls. “I didn’t do anything. It wasn’t me. It was her.”
“Let’s hold on,” Paige said, voice smooth and calm like a supernatural therapist. “One step at a time. What’s your name?”
“I’m Harley. Harley Cutler. Harley Elizabeth Cutler.” With each repetition of her name, her focus became sharper. “Where am I?”
“You’re in Chicago, with vampires. Allies,” Paige said, lest she not think better of us. “You’re at Cadogan House.”