Women attacking spouses with chickens. Bar fights with pickled eggs and sports memorabilia pulled from the walls. River nymphs fighting over aesthetician appointments in the middle of Michigan Avenue. So many weird things, in fact, that it was hard to figure out which ones might have been demon-spawned versus the usual Chicago nonsense.

“Based on the timing,” Roger said, head turning from the chronology we’d sketched of her movements to the map, “she’s hit four spots in a row without finding anything.” He looked back at us. “She’s probably due for a win.”

“So we stop her before she gets there,” Theo said. “And that’s that. And how do we do that?”

“We pick one of the hot spots,” I said, “and Roger sends her a message telling her to meet us there.”

The office went quiet.

“You want to try to trap her,” Theo said.

“I’m completely open to alternatives. But I don’t know of any, and my parents’ lives are on the line here, and like Roger said, we’re running out of time. I’m more than willing to take the risk.”

“She’d be interested,” Petra said. “It’s one of the hot spots, so there’s potentially a Cornerstone and a corresponding ward.”

“There are risks,” Roger said. “To you, to the neighborhood.”

“Or she could make us hostages,” Theo offered. “Or use us for bait, information, ransom money. The possibilities are boundless.”

“I’m beginning to think you aren’t into this quest,” I said dryly.

His smile was mirthless. “Oh, I’m into it. I just don’t see the point in hoping for the best where chaos demons are concerned.”

I couldn’t blame him.

“If you can’t safely bring her in,” Roger said, “you let her go. You don’t risk yourselves, property, or other citizens.”

“So that’s a yes,” Theo said, and Roger picked up his screen.

“I’ll call Gwen and have CPD get ready. Give me twenty to get protections in place,” he said, “and I’ll send the message.”

* * *

While he made the necessary calls, Theo and I tried to strategize. There wasn’t much preparation we could do—not for a Sup whose calling card was the unpredictable. But we did what we could.

Petra put a map on-screen. Peony Park was a former stone quarry in the Bridgeport neighborhood and was now home to athletic fields, a pond, and a hilltop meadow.

“Ghosts?” Theo wondered. “I mean, if it is a ward?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s a pond, and they like variety. Maybe water monsters.”

Theo cursed. “We go in armed. As many arms as we can carry. Octopus-level armament.”

“And every bullet we send her way will probably ricochet into a person. Chaos,” I noted.

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.