“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.”

“It makes perfect sense,” he said. “And it’s very helpful. Please—keep going.”

“Um, well.” Harley pushed a tight curl behind her ear. “She had some insecurities, I think. Issues about the fact that her dad left. I mean, she didn’t talk about that stuff with me.”

“She made all the magic?”

Harley nodded, crossing her arms, more comfortable now. “Did it all herself. Not with us—she has a separate place where she stays, sleeps. Most of the carnies just stayed in cheap hotels, but that wasn’t for her.” She nodded again, leaning forward. “She thought of us as family. And I think the collection was a family for her. A way to say, ‘Look at this amazing thing I built, this family I made from scratch. Look at me, world.’”

Luc nodded, put a hand on Harley’s. “That’s very helpful. We appreciate it.”

“Sure,” she said, but her eyes clouded again. “I guess I should think about going home or something.”

“You can stay here for a day or two if you’d like to get settled,” Luc said. “We’ve already gotten permission from the boss. Or we can get you back to Wisconsin now.”

Harley considered, looked up at us. “I think I want to go home. How many chances do you get to start over, right?”

That, I thought, depended entirely on whether you were a vampire.

• • •

Jonah, Luc, and I stepped into the hallway, where Luc closed the door behind us, looked at me.

“Go to Humboldt Park. Check it out, just in case. Could be Harley’s right, and there’s absolutely nothing there relating to the collection. But I don’t get the sense Regan trusted her quarry with the details, so you might find something Harley doesn’t even know about.”

“Or we might find Regan,” I said. “She was a barker at the first carnival. Pimping the Tunnel of Horrors.”

He glanced at Jonah. “You got time for a ride along?”

“If Scott clears it, sure.”

“The magic that Mallory used to find Tate,” Luc said. “We have Regan’s cape. Can’t we go that route again?”

I shook my head. “It’s not that specific. It got us to a city, but not an address. We still had to find him on our own.” And in a city as big as Chicago, that was going to take time, even with satellite images and a description.

“What about the protest?” I asked Luc.

Luc nodded. “Catcher’s keeping an eye on it. He still has your grandfather’s contacts at the CPD, and they’ve reached out to him for advice on the sup angle. Fortunately, the CPD still has domain outside the halls of the Daley Center.”

“And Ethan?” Jonah asked.

“Andrew’s calling with updates. He’s got a libel and slander complaint against the city ready for filing based on the public enemy list. He’s just waiting for Scott’s lawyers to look it over. No word from Morgan, of course, but that’s not unusual. He prefers to ignore problems while we deal with them.

“Still no word on a release time, but Andrew says they let him visit Ethan a couple of hours ago. He’s looking worse for wear—the terrorism hounds are apparently using this unique opportunity to test the boundaries of the Eighth Amendment.”

Since that one, I remembered from a lone history class in college, involved cruel and unusual punishment, it didn’t make me feel any better.

I braced myself. “How bad is it?”

“Bruising, broken cheekbone. The goons believe they’re saving the world. In many cases, they might be correct. But not in this one.” Luc patted my arm. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. Go check out the park. We take this one step at a time.”

• • •

Humboldt Park was a large, slightly L-shaped expanse of grass, trees, walking paths, and baseball fields between the Humboldt Park and Ukrainian Village neighborhoods. The grass was still covered with snow, except in the bottom corner of the park, where Jack Frost’s Winter Wonderland had set up shop. Regan had changed the name again, but the rest of the carnival looked and smelled the same.

Jonah parked along the street. “Katana?” he asked as we climbed out of the car and over the hillock of snow that still marked the curb.

“I think not tonight. Too suspicious. I have a dagger. You?”

“Same. Plus a couple of extra toys.”

It was generally considered déclassé for vampires to carry concealed weapons. The katana, roughly three feet of honed steel, was difficult to hide, which made its use more honorable among the vamps who actually cared about such things. I understood the sensibility, but in twenty-first-century Chicago, one needed to be a little more practical.

“And what toys are those?” I wondered, stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets to protect against the chill, as we walked toward the carnival entrance.

“Shuriken,” he said. “Ninja stars, in American parlance.”

I nodded. “Sure. I look forward to seeing those in action.” It was late, and there weren’t many humans around. But the occasional couple wandered past us, so this probably wasn’t the best time for shuriken.

We walked inside, started at the midway. We could buy tickets for the ring toss, duck shoot, baseball throw, or water gun game, or funnel cakes with any number of toppings.

My stomach began to growl. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.

“Need dinner?” Jonah asked.

“Not from here.” And not now, when there was a chance we’d end up pushing and shoving an unidentified sup around. “But I wouldn’t object to a drive-through on the way home.”

“Duly noted. Hey,” he said, brightening as he saw the pirate- ship ride, the boat swinging back and forth while a few brave humans raised their arms victoriously. “I’ve always wanted to ride one of those.”

“Need a ticket?” I slyly asked.

Jonah humphed, and while he watched the ride’s pendulum motion, I checked out the man working the controls. Thin, dark skin, bored expression. Human, with a giant wad of gum in his mouth. Not obviously a part of any magical scheme, which meant we needed to move on.

Regan, not surprisingly, was nowhere in sight. She’d probably have known by now that Harley wasn’t coming back, and she’d lost her nymph. The rest of the ride and game operators were human, and there was no other scent or feel of magic in the air.

We made a full circle around the block and were about to start a second pass, when I caught a pop of red through the trees.

“Jonah,” I said, stepping off the path and onto the snow beyond it. He stepped beside me, peered into the darkness.

“What is that?”

“I’m not sure.” I pulled the dagger from my boot and, when I caught the glint of silver in his hand, moved forward.

It sat beneath the bare and stretching branches of an ancient tree, a wooden wagon atop large wooden wheels. The wheels, spokes radiating from a center hub, were probably three feet across. The wagon itself was a long, rectangular base with a tall, rounded top, nearly circular, painted vibrantly red. The back end had two small windows, covered by curtains, with a short, narrow door between. A yellow scalloped ladder ran down to the ground. There wasn’t a single sign of life.

I’d seen pictures of tinkers and travelers, of families who lived in wagons outside the strictures of normal society. This was nearly too picture-perfect to seem real.

“A vardo,” Jonah quietly said.

I glanced over at him. “What?”

“A traveling wagon. Often used by the Romani in Europe. Not often seen in Chicago.”

I closed my eyes, dropping the defenses that kept my sensitive vampire senses from overwhelming me, and listened for any sign of life. I heard nothing, felt nothing, magical or otherwise.

I opened my eyes again, glanced at him. His eyes were focused on the wagon, gaze intense. I wouldn’t have to worry about Jonah.