“Sickbitch.” Though Lenore’s voice was little more than a murmur of sound, it stirred up a fierce, burning indignation deep in my chest, as well as a craving for violent vengeance I chose to attribute to thefuriae—the spirit of vengeful justice the universe had decided it was my fate to wield, and the reason the rest of the world believed me to be a cryptid. “That’s even worse than the cop who opened fire at that county fair in Virginia last week.”
“Twenty-four dead,” I continued. “Six more suffering critical organ failure. The police found one kid unscathed in the supply closet, where he hid when everyone started getting sick. His parents say he’s allergic to milk. School is out all over the state for a full week.”
“Well, that explains the middle-school playdate.” Lenore nodded at something behind me, and I turned to see two mothers drinking lattes from huge white mugs at a long table across the café from us. At the other end of their table, three school-age kids were each holding one of the tablets tethered to the table, absorbed in separate, solitary games.
The mothers held their mugs in white-knuckled grips. They were whispering to each other, glancing every few seconds at their kids or at the café’s entrance, as if they expected to have to run any moment. Or defend themselves and their children.
“Oh, that is not good,” I said softly as I turned back to my own table. The palpable rising of tension in town kept everyone on edge and on alert for anything out of the ordinary. Which made it even more dangerous for us to be there.
“What happened to the teacher?” Zyanya leaned over to scan the story.
“She drank three of the cartons and was dead before the cops arrived. The kids who survived said she hadn’t been herself all morning.”
“No wonder parents are terrified. You should be able to trust teachers to teach your kids, not kill them.” Lenore sipped from her cup, then gave her head a shake, as if to clear it of unwanted imagery. “Anything more relevant to us, and hopefully a little less horrifying?”
I nodded, scrolling through the rest of the headlines. Then I clicked on one. “There’ve been a couple of cryptid arrests in the DC area,” I whispered, scanning the article. “Two succubi and a berserker. But they weren’t ours.”
Ours, meaning fellow escapees from Metzger’s Menagerie and/or the Savage Spectacle. We’d been trying for months to find Zyanya’s brother and small children, Rommily’s sisters and the other friends and relatives we’d been separated from, but the best we’d managed was monitoring the news to see if any of them had been captured.
So far, none had. Unfortunately, the news was not all good. Less than a month after our escape, three of our former dormitory-mates had been shot on sight by civilian hunters eager to cash in on the dead-or-alive reward.
“Shit,” Lenore whispered, and I glanced at her tablet to find her staring at a picture of her husband, Kevin, wearing an orange prison uniform. “The verdict’s in. They found him guilty.” She sounded more angry than surprised.
Kevin was one of three humans who’d helped us take over the menagerie more than a year ago. When we were recaptured, all three were arrested, and their trial had been a circus of its own, lasting months and generating headlines full of hate and hysteria—and keeping the Spectacle disaster in the news.
“What about Alyrose and Abraxas?” Zyanya asked.
“Guilty on all counts. Sentencing begins next week.” Lenore’s eyes closed. “I just wish I could talk to him. Tell him I’m okay. I mean, he probably thinks I’m dead.” The wistful tone of her voice struck harmonic notes within me, and suddenly I had the urge to call Gallagher, just to tell him I was okay. Because we all knew he was worrying about the three of us in town alone, in such a tense climate. But there was no one else we could bring without giving ourselves away.
And we’d needed a little girl-time.
“Maybe it’s better that way,” Zyanya said with a shrug. “We can’t get to Kevin in prison. You’ll never see each other again. He needs to let you go.”
Near tears, Lenore turned back to her tablet and opened a new search engine window. I went back to my own search, averting my attention to give her at least the semblance of privacy in her grief.
“What else did you find?” Zyanya asked me as she dumped a fourth packet of sugar into her steaming paper cup.
“Not much. Vandekamp’s legislation is officially dead. There isn’t a member of congress left who would touch his collars with a ten-foot pole.” Willem Vandekamp had invented steel collars that had tapped into his prisoners’ spinal cords with a series of three small electrodes, allowing him to exert total physical control over us at the press of a button. He’d become so reliant upon his new technology—so confident in it—that he’d used few other methods of restraint at the Spectacle. Once Gallagher and I had managed to deactivate the system controlling the shock/paralyzing collars, there’d been nothing standing in the way of our escape other than a staff of security guards and handlers who’d grown complacent and too dependent upon the technology.
“I’m surprised it took that long to kill the bill,” Lenore whispered, lifting her coffee cup toward her mouth.
“It didn’t. I’m just now seeing the story, because Kevin’s conviction has the Spectacle back in the news.”
And suddenly I felt conspicuous for more than just my huge stomach. What if the lady who’d asked about my baby saw my face tonight on the news? If she recognized and reported me, the authorities would descend upon this area with guns and handcuffs and cages. They’d examine security footage and release current pictures of us, including the fact that I was now largely pregnant.
Even if we managed to sneak out of town, abandoning our cozy if cramped cabin, we’d be on the run again, when my baby could be born any day. Or, at least, any month.
“We need to go,” I whispered.
Both Lenore and Zyanya turned to me with a questioning look, then began scanning the café for whatever had spooked me, their posture tense. Ready to flee.
“Nothing’s wrong.” Nothing new, anyway. “This just feels like too much of a risk now, with the townsfolk gathering pitchforks, our names back in the news and this baby on the way. We have to stop coming to town for a while.” I turned to Lenore and lowered my voice even further. “Which means we need to make a sizable cash withdrawal before we head home.”
“How sizable?” she whispered.
“Whatever you think you can manage.”
“We haven’t hit the food truck park in a couple of weeks,” Zy said as Lenore and I deleted our search histories and logged out of the tablets tethered to the table. “It’s next door to a bank with an outdoor ATM.”
