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He nodded, looked at Petra. “You can zap her if she needs it.”
“Eager” was how I’d describe Petra’s expression.
“Oh, sure. The sky is awesome tonight. There’s a storm coming in, and it’s brimming with energy.” She held up her double espresso. “Ditto.”
“How do we play her?” Theo asked.
“We’ll have to see how it feels,” I said. “I’ll go in front and talk to her. You two stay behind me. Petra, be ready to blast her if she even thinks about wiggling her nose.”
“What?” her stare was blank.
“Old witch joke,” I said. “Never mind. Just have the lightning ready. Getting her unconscious may be the only way we get her out of there.”
“And then what do we do with her?” Petra asked.
“We bring her back here,” I said. “And put her in one of the concrete boxes.”
A portion of the brick factory had been converted into a supernatural prison—a large room that held individual concrete cells for particularly dangerous supernaturals.
“I don’t know if that will hold her,” I said. “But it’s the best option we’vegot.”
NINETEEN
Officers would be stationed around the park’s perimeter. I could have used a wolf or two—or at least some howls—but I didn’t think this was the time to ask Connor for help. At least I had an extra dagger tucked into my boot, and Theo had charmed zip ties in the event we were able to bring her down. And monster, should it deign to help.
I felt its matter-of-factNo, thank you. It was a creature of bravado except, apparently, where demons were concerned. Or when the odds were against us.
“Fuel,” Petra said from the passenger’s seat, and handed me a bottle of blood. Theo got cold brew, and she got electrolytes. For presumably electrolytic reasons.
We parked three blocks away from the hill and climbed out of the car. She was near—the air was tinged with bitterness—but the park was quiet. I’d forgotten the meadow was dotted with large, blocky animal sculptures. They’d been created for a Gilded Age exhibition and had been saved for the park when the exhibition had been dismantled. They’d freaked me out as a child, so this wasn’t a park we’d visited often.
“Be careful,” I said, and we started forward.
The grass was soft beneath our feet, and lightning darted in the west from the new storm pressing toward us. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees in the time it had taken us to cross town.
Rosantine stood, as promised, in the semicircle created by the sculptures, ground lights aimed at her like a diva at a concert. She wore head-to-toe black tonight—boots, skirt, long jacket.
As we got closer, my heart began to speed up. I wanted her in handnow. I wanted my parents back now. And I had to force myself to stay calm.
“Eglantine,” I said. “Are you ready to surrender?”
Her expression, well lit as it was, stayed dry. “I don’t surrender.”
“Where are my parents?” I asked.
“Not here,” she said.
“Why did you take the House?”
“Because I have work to do.”
“Because the people in the House could stop you? Or because there are things in the House that scare you?”
Her eyes flared with anger. “I’m scared of nothing.”
“Then bring back the House.”
“All right,” she said. “Tell me the location of the remaining Cornerstones.”
