“I don’t get it,” Scout said. “What does this have to do with Reapers?”
“They’re repeating the story like it’s gospel,” Kite said. “Every time they talk about Jeremiah, someone brings up the tale of Campbell.”
“Okay,” Scout said, “but maybe they’re just saying the grass is greener, or whatever. You know, don’t complain about what we have, ’cause the next guy could be worse?”
“Honestly,” Kite continued, “I don’t know if they believe it or if they just want to. They’re completely without magic right now, and they want someone to blame. Jeremiah’s the obvious choice. I think the rumors are making the Scions nervous. Rumors have power, after all.” He slid us a glance. “Have you heard anything else?”
“Not really,” Scout said, and Kite frowned.
Maybe, I thought, it was time to get more specific. “Kite, have you seen Sebastian Born in here lately?”
He blinked, then seemed to mull it over. “Sebastian? Not for a few days. Again, that’s probably because of the blackout.”
“Could you give us a call if he comes in again?” I asked.
“Is there anything in it for me? I mean, to be fair, I am running a business here. And business is slow.”
I was already committed, so I kept pushing along. “How about information?”
He perked up. “What did you have in mind?”
Scout had mentioned that trying to take her Grimoire was a breach of magical etiquette. Maybe if Kite knew about it, and spread the word about it, Reapers would get embarrassed enough to back off. Long shot? Sure. But I was grasping at straws.
“Members of the Dark Elite broke into St. Sophia’s today,” I finally said.
His eyes widened. “Oooh, that is interesting. Why did they do it?”
I glanced at Scout. She nodded. “They’re trying to take magical property that doesn’t belong to them. A spellbook.”
Kite’s mouth dropped into an “O.” “You are not serious.”
“Scout’s honor,” I said. Literally.
Kite stood up again. “That’s definitely interesting. If he comes in, I’ll call you.” He flattened out his box and glanced down at Scout’s basket. “If you’re ready, I can head over to the register and check you out?”
She picked through the stash. “Yep. Got everything I need.”
“Cool,” he said, and we followed him back to the register. He slipped each item into a paper bag with handles after scanning them in. When he was done, he pulled off the receipt and handed it to Scout, who looked it over and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket. Kite took Scout’s money and handed over her bag.
“Thanks, Kite.”
“You’re welcome, Scout. You girls try to have a nice day.”
We always tried; we just weren’t always successful.
* * *
“So now you want to follow Sebastian? Do you think he’s a bad guy?” she asked when we were out the door and a few steps down the street.
“I have no idea,” I said. “And that’s exactly my point. Maybe he really wants to help us. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t think there’s any harm in listening to him . . . or in keeping an eye on him.”
“I guess. I’m glad we went in there, but I’m not really sure it was helpful. I mean, a fairy tale? How could that possibly help us?”
“I have no idea, unless . . .”
She stopped and looked at me. “Unless what?”
An idea began to blossom. “What if the old ones don’t think it’s just a fairy tale?”
Scout frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What if they’re not just repeating the story because it’s like a symbol, but because they think someone named Campbell is going to overthrow Jeremiah?”
She waved a hand. “That’s not the way fairy tales work. They’re just repeating them because they’re nervous about what might happen if someone tries to kick him out—and someone worse gets put in charge. And PS, a little warning about Kite. He’s well-intentioned, but he tends to be kinda dramatic. Just because he heard people talking about it doesn’t mean it’s a big deal.”
“Sure,” I said, as we started walking again, but I wasn’t convinced. Maybe it was just a hunch, and maybe it would turn out to be wrong, but I had a feeling this fairy tale was more than just people talking. I think they were talking about that specific fairy tale for a reason, and I knew someone who might be able to shed a little light on it. I didn’t want to call Sebastian right here; I felt weird calling him in front of Scout. But I would later. The opportunity for more info was too good to pass up.
“Should we tell Daniel about the fairy tale?” I asked.
“For all the good it’ll do, yeah, we probably should.” She patted down her messenger bag. “Crap. I left my phone in my room. Do you have his number?”
I searched through my bag, but it wasn’t in there. I must have put it down after the battle with the cheerreaper. “I apparently do not.”
“No worries. We can tell him tonight at Enclave.”
Perfect. That would give me a little time to do some investigating of my own.
* * *
We’d walked only a couple of blocks when Scout stopped short. “How about a snack?” she asked. “I am starving.”
Since breakfast had been a handful of fruit candy and a bottle of orange juice, I was also starving. “Fine by me.”
“I know just the place,” she said, then headed down a side street. I could smell something cooking—something fried and buttery. The smell was coming from a small shop tucked between two hotels—with a line out the door ten to fifteen people deep.
We walked past the door, but the store was so small I couldn’t see what they were selling.
“This is the place?” I wondered.
“This is the place,” she said, then walked to the end of the line, crossed her arms, and faced the door, her expression all business.
Whatever they sold, this girl was serious about it.
“Any hints about what this is?” I whispered, as more people joined the line behind us. Folks were leaving, but the stuff they’d bought was hidden in small paper bags and coffee cups. Doughnuts, maybe? Muffins? Cupcakes?
“That would really ruin the surprise,” Scout said.
Ten minutes later we reached the threshold, and I could finally see inside the shop. Two men and a woman stood behind a counter. The woman was at the cash register. One of the guys stood in front of a giant round fryer, and the other was mixing a giant kettle with a wooden spoon.
“Churros con chocolate,” Scout said, in a pretty good Spanish accent. “Fried dough and this crazy thick chocolate. You’ll love it.”
Of course I would. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a hard sell. Chicken-fried grasshoppers would have been questionable. Eyeball of eel would have been a no-go from the start. But pastries and chocolate? Yeah, I’d give that a whirl.
The place smelled like grease, sugar, and chocolate. Totally intoxicating. When we finally got to the counter, Scout ordered for us and handed over some cash. The girl took the money, then used tongs to lift long fried thingies into a paper bag. Scout took the bag; I took the two small foam cups that followed.
We took the booty and headed outside again. I felt a little guilty as we passed the other folks in line. They looked longingly at our stuff, probably wishing they were the ones with food in their hands.
I followed Scout across the street to a stone office building with a low concrete railing around it. She popped up onto it, then patted the railing beside her. “People watching 101.”
I took a seat and handed over her cup while she offered up a churro. It was still hot and a little greasy. More crunchy than soft, with ridges along the edges.
“Behold,” Scout said, then pulled out her own snack, opened a cup of chocolate, and dipped the churro into it. “Dip and munch,” she said, then took a bite.
I followed her example . . . and had to close my eyes to take in all the flavors. Hot. Crunchy. Sweet. Bitter. Smooth.
Amazing.
“OMG, you are a goddess,” I said, going back for another bite. At this rate, I’d have the thing finished before she even answered.
“That’s not even the best part,” she said. “Look up.”
Still munching, I lifted my gaze. With the sidewalk in front of us, and streets all around us, we had a fantastic view . . . of people. All shapes and sizes. All genders and ethnicities. A short, prickly-looking man with a tiny dog. A couple of tired-looking tourists with a baby stroller.
“Oooh, peep this,” Scout quietly said, nudging me with her elbow. Two of the tallest people I’d ever seen were walking past us. They wore the same outfits—neon-bright pants and even brighter shirts. They were blindingly bright. Where could you wear that kind of thing?
“Maybe they work in really dark rooms,” Scout said, reading my mind. “Or they direct traffic.”
“Or work in a highlighter factory. Or make paint chips.”
“People are just odd,” she said, and I really couldn’t disagree with that.
* * *
We ate our churros, and when they were gone, I followed Scout’s lead and took a sip from the cup. The chocolate was thick, rich, and delicious. Not that there was a chance it wouldn’t be—we were basically drinking melted chocolate.
“I would take an IV of this every morning,” I murmured.
“Seriously, right? I wish they had a delivery service. I need to wake up every morning with chocolate and churros outside my bedroom door.”
“Oooh, and the brat pack would have to be banned from the store forever. I mean, if we’re talking big dreams here.”
“I like the way you think, Parker. I’ve always said that about you.”
“Speaking of the brat pack, what are we going to do about Veronica?”
“Ignore her?”
“Nicu won’t appreciate that,” I pointed out. “We promised him a meeting tonight. And since he brought my boyfriend back in one piece, I’d really like to keep it.”
“All we have to do is get them in the same place at the same time. I assume we need to do it at night because, you know, Nicu is a vamp, but it can’t be too late, because she’ll be in pajamas and we won’t be able to convince her to leave her suite.”
“We’re going to have a hard enough time convincing her to leave at all. She’ll think we’re up to something.”
“What about during party prep? Can we arrange a meet then?”
I shook my head. “She’ll be there with Amie and M.K., and they’ll follow her. We need to separate her from the herd.”
Scout chuckled. “If that was so easy, I’d have saved her years ago. How do you separate someone who doesn’t want to be separated?”
I thought about that for a minute. “Don’t give her a choice.”
“I’m not going to kidnap Veronica.”
“That’s not where I was going, but good to know.” I shook my head. “No, we need to make her want to be there.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I’m still working on that part.”
While we thought it through, we sat on the stone rail and finished our chocolate quietly, watching the passersby. They all looked normal, but then, so did we.
I turned to Scout. “How many of these people know about magic, do you think?”
“None of them, if we’re playing the odds. There are six Enclaves in Chicago. Figure twenty or so JV Adepts per Enclave.”
“Twenty? That’s a ton.” We had only seven.
“We’re wee. Most Adepts don’t go to school in the Loop.”
She had a point.
“So twenty JVs per Enclave, six Enclaves in the city, that’s roughly one hundred and twenty Adepts total. Maybe add in a few who don’t know they have magic or haven’t been identified—”
“Or just don’t want to be involved,” I added, feeling sympathetic.
“Or that. I don’t know—maybe you end up with two hundred active Adepts at any given time. And in a city of nearly three million, if we’re talking members of the Community, probably more than that. They don’t ‘age out’ like we do, so their numbers grow over time. Well, unless Reapers take them out.”
We got quiet at that suggestion. I didn’t want to think about the Community members I’d met so far being harmed because they agreed to help us. Of course, they seemed to believe in the cause, so maybe it wasn’t a hard choice for them.
“So odds are, most of these people walking past don’t know about us.” I sipped at my chocolate. It was cooling, so it was getting thicker and almost gritty—and it was already chocolaty enough that it made my teeth ache. But it was the best kind of hurt.
“Probably not,” Scout said.
Realization struck as I took the final sip. “We’re thinking about this Veronica thing too hard.”
“How so?” Scout asked.
“She’s already thinking about another guy, right? Someone other than Creed? She said so at her locker the other day. She just doesn’t know who the other guy is.”
“So?”
“So we bring the guy to her.”
“Parker, I am intrigued.”
“I knew you would be,” I said, and laid out our plan.
12
I didn’t waste time when we got back to the suite. Scout headed to her room to unload and organize her stuff from the shop. I was still thinking about the stuff we’d heard at the shop, including that fairy tale the “old” Reapers were supposedly talking about.