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I jumped aside and missed the falling tower, tripped over a box behind me, and ended up on my ass one way or the other.
Footsteps echoed through the room.
“What the hell is going on here?” asked the meaty voice behind me. The back door clanged shut as the woman slipped through it.
I rose, ignoring the manager and his threats of police calls and litigation, but decided to send a little thank-you to Papa Breck in consideration for all the kindness he’d shown us.
“The Breckenridges will be happy to pay for any damages,” I said, jumping over the messy pile of pallets and vaulting toward the back door. I slammed through it only to see her dart across the drive that ran behind the shopping center to the chain-link fence that separated it from the next property. A scrubby and empty lot, by the look of it.
I ran to the fence, jumped up a few feet, and began to climb. There was nothing remotely movielike about it, or elegant. The chain link wasn’t securely attached, and it bobbed beneath my feet like I was climbing a rope ladder. I hit the top, felt skin slice as my palm caught one of the bare prongs of chain link. Ignoring the pain, I threw my body over the top and hit the ground.
Only then did I recall the fact that I could have simply jumped over the damn thing. Maybe the House library was the place for me.
The girl was already running full out across the lot, which was pockmarked with piles of dirty snow, frozen hillocks of dirt, and construction debris. Something had been planned for this space, but considering the cracked and peeling WILL BUILD TO SUIT sign that lay abandoned on the ground, it wasn’t going to be finished anytime soon.
She ran with the long-legged grace of a marathon runner. I had vampiric speed and enhanced bone and muscle, but she was the running type, with a long stride and smooth motion that made it look completely effortless.
She reached a large concrete pad, hopped onto it, glanced back, searching the darkness to see if I was still behind her.
Because I was busy watching her, and not the ground in front of me, I didn’t see the ditch until it was too late.
I fell down into the three-foot-deep depression, hit my knees on the ice and inches of muddy water that had accumulated in the bottom. The fall jarred me, and it took a moment to get my brain unscrambled. I got back onto my feet and toed up a knobby dirt incline until I was at ground level again.
I spat out a curse that would have raised even my liberal grandfather’s hackles, and put my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
She was gone.
“She couldn’t have just disappeared,” Catcher said.
We stood on the edge of the lot, surveying the darkness, eyes straining for any sign or scent of the girl who’d so handily eluded me.
“She disappeared,” I assured him, trying my best to squeegee mud from my leather pants. “I hit a ditch, wasn’t down for more than a few seconds. When I looked up, she was gone. And she’s fast. I never got closer than ten feet, and that was in the building. Out here, she was like a rocket.”
“Supernatural?” Jeff asked.
“Actually, yeah.” I glanced at Mallory, worried how she’d react. “She smelled like smoke and sulfur.”
Jeff frowned. “Smoke and sulfur?”
He might not have understood the connection, but Mallory clearly did. She paled. “Like Dominic Tate. It’s what the fallen smell like.”
“Oh, damn,” Jeff murmured, clearly understanding.
“Dominic’s dead,” Catcher said.
“Seth said there could be more Messengers out there.”
“But not the fallen ones,” Mallory said. “They were magically bound together into the Maleficium. Seth and Dominic only separated because Claudia kept Dominic safe all those years ago.”
Or so we thought. This, I feared, was not going to help Mallory’s recovery—having the Messengers and Maleficium thrown back in her face again.
“I’m sorry,” Mallory said. “If this has anything to do with me, I’m sorry.”
Catcher rubbed her back. “Let’s not worry about what she is right now. Let’s think about who she is and how we can find her.” He looked at me. “Did she have any other physical characteristics we can search on? Piercings? Tattoos?”
“Nothing. Clothes looked expensive. Hair was blond, short. She had darker hair on the midway. It must have been a wig.” I glanced at Catcher and Mallory. “Can you do some kind of searching spell and find her?”
“Locating spells are actually pretty complicated,” Mallory said. “They don’t work like bloodhounds. Otherwise we’d just use that box of stuff from the storage locker to find Aline. We’d have to have something substantial—something marked by her magical signature.”
If only she’d whipped that expensive purse at me.
“Maybe the grocery store had security cameras,” I suggested, looking at Jeff. “Could you do something with facial recognition?”
“I’ll ask,” he said, already thumbing his phone.
“What was she buying?” Catcher asked.
“Medical supplies—bandages, gauze. That kind of thing.”
“So either she’s a conscientious employer or a zookeeper with wounded animals,” Catcher suggested.
I nodded. “If she’s still here getting supplies, the carnival can’t be too far away.”
“The trucks pulled out about half an hour ago,” Mallory said with a smile. “I followed up with the store. Pretended I had no clue why a woman had wreaked havoc in the back room. Made a few pithy comments about the state of the world, and the cashier opened right up.”
“Cat’s ears?” I wondered.
Mallory frowned. “What?”
She clearly hadn’t spoken to the same cashier. “Never mind. Continue.”
“So, Rhoda—that was her name, Rhoda—said the carnies kept to themselves, but before and after shift they’d come into the store for provisions. Snacks, drinks, deli food, booze, depending on the mood. She likes to travel—she and her husband have a camper—so she tried to make conversation about their route, but they wouldn’t talk about it. Paid for their gear and left again.”
“Even if the cashier had known where they were going next,” I said, “there’s a good chance they’ll change their schedule. She knew we’d found her. Took one look at me and bolted.”
“So where do we think they’ll go next?” Mallory asked.
I smiled mirthlessly. “You’re looking to add to your collection of sups, and you’re an hour from the Windy City, which has the largest proportion of vampire Houses in the nation, not to mention nymphs, trolls, and God knows what else. I’ll give you one guess: You aren’t going to Disneyland.”
