Chicagoland Vampires: Wild Things Part 11

"That's what it looks like."

We found the Pic-N-Pac on the edge of town, a run-down area far from the wealth of the Breck estate.

The facility, a few rows of low-slung metal storage sheds, was situated between a mobile home park and a closed skating rink, the FOR SALE sign fading and cracked, not unlike everything else we saw.

We pulled through the gate, pa.s.sing only a couple of pot-bellied guys in a beat-up truck loading very large boxes into storage. They stared at us as we pa.s.sed, clearly not happy about the company.

"What number?" Damien asked.

"Forty-three," I told him. It was the last locker on the second row, its aluminum sliding door closed with a silver padlock.

We climbed out of the car, waited until Damien had built a bed for Boo on the front seat from his leather jacket. Boo immediately climbed inside, pawed at the leather, and snuggled in.

We glanced at the lock. "I don't suppose either of you has a bolt cutter?" I asked.

"Bolt cutters lack subtlety," Damien said, stepping forward and pulling a couple of small silver implements from his pocket. He inserted them into the key slot while Jeff looked nervously around.

"Might want to do that quickly," Jeff suggested. "In case there's security?"

"Camera's busted," Damien said without looking up. "Check Merit's seven o'clock."

Jeff and I both looked back to the position Damien had indicated, found a small camera perched on the wall between Aline's locker and the next one, its unconnected wires dangling below like tentacles.

Little wonder Gabriel trusted Damien with "sensitive" matters. His attention to detail was impressive.

With a snap, the lock flipped open. Damien replaced his tools and tossed aside the lock.

He put a hand on the lever but looked back at us. "Anybody think anything's in there?"

I lifted the block on my vampire senses, which was usually down so I wouldn't be driven mad by an excess of sensations. But even with my shields down, I sensed nothing at all.

"Not that I can tell," I said, but unsheathed my sword anyway. Better to be safe than sorry. Or leave Boo without a father.

"In that case . . . ," Damien said, pulling up the door with a ratcheting sound. He flipped a penlight from his pocket and shined it into the s.p.a.ce.

It was empty except for a cardboard box on the ground, the top flaps woven closed.

"That was anticlimactic," Jeff said as I slid the sword home again.

Damien moved forward and nudged the box with a toe. When nothing happened, he crouched in front of it and pulled open the flaps.

"Looks like trash to me." He stepped back, gesturing for me to take a look.

The box was filled with ephemera. Old photographs and paper sc.r.a.ps, notes and holiday cards. I reached inside, pulled out a black-and-white photograph. It was an old-fashioned Polaroid, a pretty woman kneeling on the ground, each arm around a cute kid.

I turned the picture around. "Chas and Georgie," it read.

I glanced back at Jeff and Damien. "What were the names of the boys Aline wanted the Pack to shelter?"

"Jack?" Jeff asked, looking at Damien. "Something with a 'J'?"

"George," Damien said. "And Charles."

Wordlessly, I handed over the picture, let Jeff and Damien reach their own conclusions.

"I somehow doubt this is a coincidence," Jeff said, dropping the photograph back into the box. "But why would she bother to get a storage unit for one box of stuff?"

"Maybe this stuff was important to her," I said. "The boys certainly were. Maybe she wanted to keep these things separate and safe when she decided to run."

"Or she needed the s.p.a.ce for more h.o.a.rding," Damien said, rising again. "And this is the first thing she decided to store here."

That was certainly the easier answer. The more obvious answer. But either way, the case against Aline was getting stronger.

Without another immediate lead, Jeff and Damien decided to take a break and work through what we knew about her reason for leaving. They picked a twenty-four-hour chain restaurant not far from the Pic-N-Pac, a diner-style joint at the end of the parking lot where the carnival held court.

It was late, music still blasted from the carnival's speakers, and the Ferris wheel rolled lazily, the spokes outlined in lights that flashed in patterns as it turned. The air smelled deliciously of fried food and sugar. Damien tucked Boo into his nest, and we walked inside, found plenty of quiet booths. While the guys slid into one, arguing about the best way to serve hash browns-plain, or covered with cheese and onions-I stopped at the jukebox inside the door, bosom buddies with a cigarette machine that now held packs of gum. I hadn't seen a jukebox in years, so I scanned the music choices, which ran the gamut from Top 40 to cla.s.sic country, heavy on the big hair and sequin vests.

My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket, found the number blocked.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"It's Lakshmi," said the prettily accented voice on the other end of the line.

My heart began to pound, and I glanced back at Jeff and Damien, who were looking over laminated menus. I had only a moment to talk.

"Hi," I nervously said. "Are you trying to reach Ethan?"

"I am trying to reach you," she said. "I'd like to discuss our previous arrangement."

I cursed silently. It wasn't as if I hadn't known this was coming, but her timing could hardly have been worse. "You need a favor?"

"I do. But it would be better to discuss in person."

I wouldn't renege on our deal. That would be dishonorable for me, the House, and Jonah, who'd put his a.s.s on the line to get the favor from Lakshmi in the first place. On the other hand, I was rather involved in something at the moment.

"I can't really get away right now."

"Ah, yes. The murder investigation and the shifters," she said, apparently aware of what was going on.

"Yes. I don't suppose you have any pull with Mayor Kowalcyzk? Or know anything about harpies?"

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 b.u.t.tered."

"Hon?" she asked, glancing at me over gla.s.ses 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 circ.u.mstances 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 pa.s.sed 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 Dancingstyle.

"It fell into disrepair," Jeff said. "The Packs got together, bought it, rehabbed it. Now it's private, and it holds a h.e.l.l of a lot of shifters. Nothing fancy, but it does the job. Plenty of s.p.a.ce to act human, plenty of s.p.a.ce 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."