“Where did you come from?” one of them countered.
“Tongue-Cut Sparrow.”
He looked surprised. “I thought that place was off-limits. Too conspicuous.”
The man beside him nodded. “Too hot.”
Because of the missing girls? The first woman Jamie and I had met there, the one who’d propositioned us, had flagged that a handful of girls she’d known through the Sparrow later went missing. Perhaps the Paters were avoiding recruiting there because the connection had grown too obvious.
I concentrated on the reassuring itch of the recording device inside my bra, arranging my face so it was inviting. Talk to me. I am a weak, defenseless creature.
“The colleges are better, anyway,” Angelo said. “The girls are younger and cleaner.” He grinned at me. “As the wolves like to say… Not me, of course.”
“I thought the schools around here were practically feminist communes,” I said, repeating things people used to say about us. “I can’t imagine you find many girls who aren’t already brainwashed.”
The man who’d insulted Angelo—the head wolf—grinned. “Those girls are the best. They tell themselves they’re being sexually liberated when I take them home and chain them in my basement. Owning their sexuality, and all that.”
“Maybe they are,” I said, trying not to visualize.
“What he means is that the feminists are far more agreeable than they used to be.” Angelo smiled. “The third-or fourth-or whatever-wavers are practically Paters themselves. Empowering women to bend the knee if it feels right. It’s delightful. They’re never suspicious because they always think they’re in control.”
“Let them think they’re in charge,” said the head wolf. “Doesn’t make a difference to me, as long as they keep giving me what I want.”
“It’s one point on which I disagree with our great leader,” Angelo said. “We don’t need a culture war. We’re already winning.”
“No,” growled the Lieutenant. “The Philosopher is right. There’s no living side by side. We need to take back control. There are people who need us to free them.”
My heart raced, practically lifting out of my chest. This was the bigger thing—Don’s ambition, what he was really after. Some sort of culture war that ended with the Paters in control. But how? When? Control of what? This had to be how real journalists felt when the story started coming together. A hit of pure dopamine, an electric buzz—
A prickling sensation ran down my neck. I recognized the feeling: I was being watched.
In the midst of the conversation, the three wolf men’s attention had silently turned to me. A smile snaked over the loudest one’s mouth. “Tell me, new girl. When I chain you in my basement, will you think you’re in control?”
They were tightening the space between us.
Over Angelo’s shoulder, I spotted a flash of red on the faraway country house balcony. A woman, standing alone, arms spread over the railing like a figurehead on the bow of a ship.
Nicole.
A lifeline.
“Excuse me,” I said, twisting my arm from Angelo with a little too much force. “I see a friend I need to speak to.”
“No,” said the Lieutenant, his eyes dark. “No more slipping away.”
I had to obey. Even if I tried running out of the sculpture garden—blowing my cover—there were five of them. They’d catch me.
That feeling again: I was trapped, backed into a corner. Already, I could feel my mind trying to dissociate. I worked to tether it back, keep steady.