“Regan,” she said, glancing nervously around. “Where’s Regan?”
Luc stepped forward, crouched in front of her. “We were hoping you could tell us that. Do you remember what happened tonight?”
“Remember?” She looked down at her body, her clothes, seemed to realize she was wearing the cape. She began clawing at it, peeling it off.
“It’s Regan’s,” she said, voice suddenly frantic. “This is Regan’s.” She managed to get it off, threw it to the floor.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Harley looked up at me, and the fear in her eyes transmuted to anger. “I don’t know.” Recognition dawned in her eyes. “You chased me—at the plaza. You saw me grab the girl, and you chased me down the street.”
I nodded. “That was me. You were going to take her back to Regan?”
“Not because I wanted to!” Her eyes went frantic, scanning each of us as if she had to prove to us she was innocent. I’d seen her eyes; I believed her.
“She set it up,” Harley insisted. “Made me wear the cape. Said you’d seen her in it.”
“Why did she want to make you look like her?”
She shrugged. “She didn’t want to get caught. She didn’t think you’d consider the plaza a target. But just in case . . .”
Regan had been right. We hadn’t considered it a target until we’d seen that damn Little Red Riding Hood getup. But it fit her MO—create a chaotic, magical situation and use it as a distraction to lure out a sup.
“The protesters weren’t real,” Harley said. “Not all of them, anyway.”
“They certainly looked real,” Jonah said, glancing at me. “The magic felt real.”
He was right, but he hadn’t seen the harpies. Didn’t know the extent of Regan’s ability to mold magic.
“The magic was real,” I said, getting a nod from Harley. “But the bodies were magic. Solidified magic, but still magic.” I turned back to Luc and Jonah. “There were at least three hundred sups at the Daley Center, all makes and models. Getting sups to do anything together is like herding cats, and suddenly hundreds of them show up at the Daley Center?” I shook my head. “There’s no way that’s real.”
“They were like the harpies,” Harley confirmed. “She knew she only needed to seed the plaza—get enough fake bodies in there to make it seem like a real protest, and folks would join in.”
And they had, I thought. Vampires. Nymphs. Even human teenagers.
“You were one of her victims?”
She nodded. “I’m a sylph. And a waitress—I was a waitress—in Madison. Most sylphs stick to their trees, but I was curious. Wanted something more, you know? I went to college, which nobody did, got a crappy job. Tried to save up some money. My parents haven’t talked to me in a really long time. Because I was trying to pass.”
Pass as human, she meant. Pretending to be human instead of a supernatural. If she’d been separated from her family, it would have been that much easier for Regan to take her without commotion.
“She’s been kidnapping supernatural creatures? Keeping them together?” I asked.
Harley nodded. “She calls it the collection. I was part of it.”
“She has an elf and a shifter now?”
Harley nodded. “Yeah. They’re new.”
Relief flooded me—not that Regan had taken Niera and Aline, but that we’d confirmed their kidnapper. One step closer to solving our elven problem.
“We were with the Pack when the harpies attacked,” I explained. “And the elves kidnapped us, thinking we’d hurt them. We learned about Regan after that.”
“Harley, where’s the carnival?” Luc asked.
“Humboldt Park. But that’s not where she keeps the collection—always somewhere else. It would be too easy for the regular humans to find otherwise. And she doesn’t want the regular humans to find it. That’s what she calls them—the regular humans. She only caters to the fancy ones. Good names, old money.”
Guess that ruled out using my father to help find her. His money was substantial but new. Likely too gauche for Regan.
“That’s what she says. She has a network—people that come to see the collection year after year.”
“And where will we find it?”
“I don’t know. I never know. It’s two train cars—big ones. The carnival travels by train, and then semis pick up the cars and transport them to the locations. We stay in the cars. And even when we’re allowed out, we don’t get to go far. We never know precisely where we are unless we happen to see a sign.”
“All the supernaturals are in two cars?” I asked.
Harley nodded. “They’re not much more than cages. She keeps them sedated with magic.”
“How many supernaturals does she have?” Jonah asked.
“Right now? I think eighteen,” she said, eliciting a low whistle from Luc. “The nymph would have been nineteen.” Harley smiled nervously. “She was really excited about getting closer to twenty. She thinks it’s a milestone.”
For a woman who collected supernaturals, twenty would have been a nice, big number. Unfortunately, it was nearly twenty kidnappings in the span of three years, of supernaturals whose friends, lovers, and parents still had no answers.
“We can help you get back to your tree, your family,” Luc said. “If that’s what you’d like to do. But we’d appreciate any help you can give us to find the rest of them, so we can reunite them with their families, as well.”
Harley nodded, her eyes filling with tears, which she knuckled away. “I’ll help however I can. I would like to see my mom and dad. I don’t know if they missed me, but . . .”
She trailed off, and I put a hand on her arm. “I’m sure they missed you and will be thrilled to know that you’re safe.”
“Why don’t we move to the Ops Room?” Luc asked, apparently no longer believing Harley a threat. “We can get comfortable, maybe get you something to eat?”
Harley nodded shyly.
“Good,” Luc said with a nod. “And we’ll see what else we can figure out about where Regan might be. I’m going to just check in with Malik. Merit, you want to get her settled?”
Harley stood, glancing around the room. “What is this place? Like, some kind of vampire fraternity house?”
“If you only knew,” I said.
• • •
According to Harley Cutler, the cars used to transport and hold the supernaturals were long and silver, like old-fashioned trains or Airstream trailers. The edges were round, the surfaces shiny and reflective. Unfortunately, they did not have KIDNAPPER or ILLEGAL SUP COLLECTION screened atop them in screaming red paint that would have made them visible from the ground.
Still, as Harley ate a sandwich from a tray Margot had pulled together, we passed the information along to Jeff, who’d popped down after calming Cassie and helping her get situated at her home along the River.
“I can check yesterday’s satellite images of the city,” Jeff said, “but a silver train car’s not exactly going to stand out. It could take time—if we’re able to find it at all.”
“Do what you can,” Luc said, then glanced at Harley, who stuffed Cheetos into her mouth like she hadn’t eaten in a month.
She covered her mouth as she chewed. “She fed us,” she said. “But organic stuff. Gave us lunch boxes like we were kids. I miss Cheetos.”
I imagined I’d have felt the same.
“Assuming we do find her,” Luc said. “And speaking of which—and I apologize for interrupting your meal, Harley—but can you tell us anything else about Regan that might help us find her? Where she’s from? Her last name?”
“I don’t know,” Harley said. “I didn’t know her name. She just went by Regan. And I didn’t know her history. One of the other sups told me Regan’s mother was dead, and she didn’t know her dad. But she had this sense, you know, that she knew she was special. That she had a lot to share.” Harley shook her head nervously. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t make much sense.”