“Maybe research?” Paige suggested. “Could be a group looking for tissue samples, scans, X-rays.”
“That kind of thing would probably be governmental,” Catcher said, “but this doesn’t really smell governmental. The feds prefer black helicopters to harpies. They might be interested in researching magic, but they aren’t the types to use it.”
“Could be ego,” I suggested. “Someone working their way through the supernatural catalogue to prove that they can. To prove they’re equipped and knowledgeable enough to best all kinds?”
“Like an MMA fighter working his way up the ranks?” Catcher wondered. “That’s weird, but we’ve seen weirder.”
“What kind of person has that much ego?” Mallory asked. “Would feel a need to work over, to serially kidnap, supernaturals?”
“And if he or she isn’t killing them,” I wondered, “if these are actual kidnappings—then where are they?”
“That’s the next question,” Ethan said, and lifted his gaze to the librarian. “Suggestions?”
As it happened, he did have suggestions. The librarian pulled dossiers from the missing sups with whatever background information he’d been able to find, and microfiche copies of local newspapers from the days of the disappearances. He sent the electronic files to Jeff, who directed them to video screens that were inset in the large conference table.
We updated Luc with what we’d found, then read and scanned the materials for two solid hours, perusing coupons for white sales and new car deals, stories about sports championships of every make and model, and the local dramas that played out across the pages. And we still came up empty.
Jeff’s whiteboard was littered with potential links between the disappearances, connections we hoped would lead us to the actual responsible parties. Two of the sups had disappeared on holidays—Fourth of July and Labor Day—but only two. The rest were scattered across the calendar like confetti. Most were taken in summer and fall, but we decided that was probably because the sups were more active, more visible, when the weather wasn’t miserable. Who wanted to traipse through four feet of Minnesota snow to kidnap a giantess?
At the end of our two hours, we paused and stretched, and Jeff ordered drinks from the Brecks’ staff, who seemed more than happy to deliver them to a shifter of his repute. But the man who brought them still managed to give the rest of us dour looks on the way out.
We sipped coffee and nibbled the edges of the shortbread cookies, walking around the table to scan the others’ screens, just in case a fresh pair of eyes would help tag something useful.
Turns out, it was a good strategy.
Mallory, who was across the room’s conference table from me, nibbled on a shortbread biscuit and scanned the screen in front of her. She smiled, looked up. “You know what I haven’t done in forever?”
“Sat still for ten minutes without distraction?”
She gave Catcher a childish face, then tapped at the screen. “The carnival. I haven’t been to the carnival in forever.”
Connections tripped and triggered in my brain, and I looked up at her. “What did you say?”
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?”