She smiled. “The carnival. I haven’t been in years. I love a good corn dog. The deep-fried kind, not the fake ones you can bake at home. If it hasn’t been swimming in oil, it’s not a real corn dog. Who’s with me on that?” She lifted her hand and glanced around the room, looking for support.

But my mind was forming a connection. I held up a hand. “Wait—what made you say that about the carnival?”

“Oh.” She pointed to the screen. “There’s an article about this carnival that was in”—she scrolled to the top of the page—“Clear Lake, Minnesota.”

“Jeff,” I said, and without needing additional direction, he was up and moving the data on Mallory’s screen to the overhead.

The wonders of the Sidusky & Sons Carnival were spread in glorious color across two facing pages of the Clear Lake Anthem, advertising miraculous sights, thrilling rides, and midway games to test the strongest and cleverest of men.

“Sorry—why does the carnival matter?” Ethan asked with a frown.

Jeff and I looked at each other, nodded.

“There’s a carnival right now in Loring Park,” I said.

Jeff gestured to the box. “Aline went to it. We found tickets from the midway in her box.”

“The carnival was here when Aline disappeared. The carnival was in Clear Lake when the giantess disappeared.”

Catcher looked at Jeff. “Can you scan the rest of the newspapers for carnival ads or stories?”

“On it,” Jeff said, and he was sweeping his hands across the screen, arranging files so the newspapers formed a neat grid across the screen. He entered a query into the search box. Almost instantly, matches began popping up across the screen, highlighting articles about the carnival that had visited so many midwestern towns.

The carnivals changed with every pass. Sidusky & Sons. The Bollero Bros. William’s Amazing Traveling Wondershow. But the stories were essentially the same, as were the photographs of the Tunnel of Horrors.

“That’s the same carnival as the one in Loring Park,” I said, excitement building. “I recognize the ride.”

“So what are we looking at?” Catcher asked. “A carnie with a hatred of sups?”

“Or a carnie who loves them a little too much?” I wondered.

Ethan slid me a glance. “Sentinel?”

“Maybe we’re looking at a collector of supernaturals,” I said. “Incubus, doppelgänger, troll, sylph, giantess, leprechaun, shifter, elf. And if they really are being kidnapped, being held, maybe they’re doing it for a reason. Maybe they’re being displayed somehow.”

“A supernatural freak show?” Ethan asked. “Perhaps. Did you see an attraction like that?”

“No,” I admitted. “And it was a pretty small carnival.”

“That makes it easy to unload,” Catcher said. “Easy to pack up and leave again.”

“Which they clearly are doing, considering how much they move around.” Ethan frowned, worried his bottom lip while he mulled the information on-screen. “Unfortunately, we aren’t entirely sure who we’re looking for. Is the entire carnival at fault? An errant employee? If they’re holding the sups, then where? Jeff, can you see what you can find about the carnival, the owners?”

“On it,” Jeff said. Normally, I’d have heard the clack of keys in the background. But since he’d upgraded his tech, his work was silent. I didn’t realize I missed the sound—a comforting reminder that Jeff was there and his magic fingers were engaged—until it was gone.

It didn’t take him long to cringe. “This is going to take a while,” he said, pointing at the screen, where he’d opened a search engine but had gotten no results.

“First run on the carnival isn’t pulling up anything other than the articles we’ve already seen. Not a Better Business Bureau complaint, a business filing, a single online review.”

Ethan frowned. “That’s unusual.”

“Try impossible,” Jeff said. “For a business that’s been around this long, to this many states, there should at least be a review, a social media mention, if not the hard copy articles we’ve already found. But there’s a complete blackout.”

“So they’re careful about what goes online,” I said.

“Very,” Jeff said.

“Okay,” I said. “Let us know if you find anything.” I glanced at Ethan. “We can make this trip just informational. Spy on the carnival for a bit?”

Ethan frowned at the screen again, propping his hands on his hips, mulling his options.

“No,” he finally decided. “There’s too much at stake to risk an opportunity like this.” He looked at me. “I can’t leave the estate, but you can. Go to the carnival. And quickly. Find an employee to interview, peacefully, quietly, and with no collateral damage. We need information before they move on, or we’re going to be out of luck. Especially if they’re so careful about their electronic trail. If Aline and Niera were their quarry, they may already be preparing to move.”

He looked up at the screen, where Paige and the librarian still watched our discussion after their own break for snacks. “Try to identify friends, colleagues, of the missing sups. See what they remember about the carnival. Perhaps their missing friends mentioned it, made an acquaintance there, anything. Perhaps we’ll get lucky. I’ll stay here and get Luc up to speed.”

He didn’t sound thrilled about the possibility, but leaving the Brecks’ house wasn’t an option for him right now.

“Catcher, Mallory, Jeff, could you please accompany Merit on a field trip?”

“I think we can find the time,” Catcher said.

Jeff and Catcher began discussing transportation options while Mallory slipped an arm through mine. “Is this seriously what you guys do all night? Make like Veronica Mars and solve crimes?”

I frowned, nodded. “As it turns out, yeah.”

“It’s fun.” She pulled her hair back and into a ponytail, using an elastic she’d kept around her wrist. “Although I feel like we need embroidered jackets. Like the satin ones? We could be just like the Pink Ladies.”

“I’ll talk to the boss,” I said. My voice was sarcastic, my but heart thudded with excitement I’d never admit aloud. I’d always wanted to be a Pink Lady.

Chapter Thirteen

BARNSTORMING

Catcher drove his sedan. Jeff sat shotgun, while Mallory and I shared the back.

The night was dark, the country roads essentially empty and thankfully clear of elven armies. Still, every time we neared a streetlight or floodlight, my stomach clenched with fear that we’d see the outline of a battalion of soldiers cresting a hill, bows in hand and arrows ready to strike.

Catcher had dialed in Luc and Ethan. “Ladies and gents,” came Luc’s voice through the speakers. “Once again, you’re enjoying an adventure without me.”

“We don’t time them that way.” Ethan’s voice followed Luc’s. “And I’m not there, either.”

“As it should be,” Luc said. “At least you had sense enough not to attempt to lead this particular away team.”

“Star Trek,” I murmured, picking out one of Luc’s ubiquitous movie and television references.

“I have trained you well, Padawan.”

“You’re mixing your Wars and Treks,” Jeff pointed out.

“They’re interchangeable,” Luc said, earning a horrified look from Jeff. “Why don’t you give us the rundown on the carnival?”

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the layout. “It’s in the corner of the shopping center parking lot. A small carnival—five or six rides, a midway.”

“Semis or trucks?” Catcher asked. “I presume that’s how they’ve moved the carnival from town to town?”

“Not that I saw.”

“They probably park the trucks off-site,” Luc said. “Keep them out of the public eye. Merit, what else?”

“There’s a low fence—a gate—around it. Like a crowd-control barrier. Otherwise it’s open. The rides are mostly along the outsides, with the games and food in the middle. The attendants were pretty well dressed. They wore full outfits—costumes.”

As we neared the shopping center, my nerves began to light, my blood running faster, anticipating the coming confrontation. When a rock bounced off the windshield, I nearly fell to the floorboard, my heart palpitating with tangible fear. Post-elven stress disorder was no laughing matter.

But when Catcher turned the car into the shopping center, the parking lot was empty.

“What the hell?” he murmured.

“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked.

“They’re gone,” I said, hope deflating, and barely waiting for the car to stop before I opened the door and hopped out.

Everything was gone—the rides, the ticket booth, the games. The tourists and the carnies. Only the detritus of the carnival remained. The scents of fried food and exhaust, puddles of dirty water, scabs of black tape where cords had been adhered to the asphalt.

“We couldn’t have been that far behind,” I said, turning back to the group, who’d joined me in the lot. “You can still smell it.”

“Maybe they thought their luck was running out,” Mallory said, “so they decided to pick up camp and go.”

“Or maybe they accomplished their goals and they’re moving on to the next spot,” I said, blue that we’d missed our targets. Utterly.

Catcher turned back to the car. “Let’s get back to the Brecks’. Maybe Ethan can get Paige and the librarian started on where it might have gone next.”

I nodded, then glanced up at the shopping center. The grocery store was closest to the carnival, and it was the only shop still open. A few people milled around inside, visible between the stems and serifs of the giant gilded letters that advised passersby of sales and specials.