Читать книгу The Wicked City - Megan Morgan - Страница 9

Cindy changed into a brown shirt-dress thing, black leggings, and fuzzy brown boots. The colors looked good with her pale skin and shock of short, choppy brilliant red hair. At least she knew how to dress. She made some tea and proceeded to slosh a shot of Jack Daniels into her cup. June looked at the clock on the wall—just after ten a.m.

“My nerves are shot,” Cindy said.

They were sitting in her living room, June in a chair, Cindy on a big cushy stool. The kitchen and living room flowed into each other, small and sparsely decorated and as colorless as the bedroom. June didn’t mind. She could handle minimalism.

“I’ll take your word for it,” June said. “But who puts Jack Daniels in tea? That’s not even right.”

“I have an excitable condition. It keeps me calm. Trust me, you don’t want it to get out of hand.”

“Trust her.” Micha sat on the couch, legs tucked under him. He looked wide-eyed and tousled and stupidly cute.

June wanted to hug him and tell him she didn’t mean to call him a Nazi. And maybe give him an apologetic hand job.

“Let’s get down to business.” Cindy plunked the bottle of whiskey on the black lacquer coffee table in front of her.

June was tempted to snatch the bottle and take a swig. Without the tea. She hated tea.

“June,” Cindy said, “this is Robbie Beecher.”

Cindy’s friend was a slender sharp-shouldered man, with neck-length dark brown hair. Cute, but not exactly June’s cup of…well, straight Jack Daniels. He wore all black—black pants and a black sweater under a black tailored jacket, fashionable, suave. He smiled at June and she couldn’t stop herself from flinching. He had a wide mouth and thin lips, making him appear to have too many teeth, like a shark. She and her friend Diego in Sacramento would classify him as a “surprise horse face.”

“Robbie’s deaf,” Cindy said.

“Well that’s inconvenient.” June sighed.

“It’s all right,” Robbie spoke up, voice smooth, words well pronounced, not at all like the slow, labored speech of the deaf. “I’m a powerful telepath. I can hear your voice in my head. That’s how I can speak so well, since you’re wondering. And thank you for the compliment.” He smiled a tiny toothless smile.

“Most telepaths are courteous enough not to stick their faces in other people’s heads,” June said.

“I need to read your mind to hear your voice.”

“I wasn’t talking when I was thinking about your huge mouth.”

Cindy pursed her lips together, and took a drink of her tea.

“Robbie’s a member of the Paranormal Alliance, just like Cindy,” Micha said. “He’s a powerful telekinetic in addition to being a telepath. The Institute has solicited him for years. He’s also compiling an enormous collection of pre-research era supernatural documentation.”

June blinked a few times. “What?”

“Books and other written works documenting supernatural phenomena throughout history,” Robbie clarified. “Back when they still thought vampires turned into bats and gypsies put curses on you. I have quite the collection. The Institute would love to get their hands on it.”

She detected smugness.

“How titillating,” June said. How very goddamn boring she thought at Robbie.

Robbie flicked his gaze to the bottle on the coffee table; it slid smoothly across the surface and stopped at the edge, in front of her.

“Hey!” Cindy lurched forward.

“There,” Robbie said. “Since you want some.”

June hated telepaths.

A smile tugged at the corner of Micha's mouth, and his eyes glittered as he glanced at June.

“Oh, you won’t get any of that,” Robbie said.

June really, really hated telepaths. “I might not be telekinetic, but I can throw something at you.”

“Guys,” Cindy said. “Can we stick to the subject? As Micha said, Robbie’s a member of the Paranormal Alliance, like I am.”

“Great,” June said. “I’m not clear on what the hell that is, but let’s pretend it’s going to get my brother out of the Institute, since you keep bringing it up.”

Cindy plunked her teacup on the table. “The Paranormal Alliance is the only organized group in Chicago made up entirely of paranormal humans. We hate the Institute.” She focused a sour, tight-lipped look on Micha. “And Institute lovers.”

“They’re supposed to be doing some greater good for their people,” Micha said, “but they mostly spend their time harassing the Institute. They have a lot of reasons. Some don’t trust the Institute. Some don’t like that they’re uncovering paranormal secrets. Some believe their culture should be kept underground as it’s always been, away from the ‘normals.’”

June resisted the impulse to point out they had the right idea. He probably had enough salt in his wounds.

“I don’t like the Institute,” Robbie said. “I’ve never trusted them. Do you know ninety percent of the Institute’s staff is non-paranormal? What does that say?”

Micha opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut.

“So these guys are your friends.” June looked between them, brow furrowed. “But you’re an activist who supports—supported—the Institute?”

“I believe a good activist understands all sides of a conflict.” Micha spoke reasonably. “We may have differing views, but we both want safety and rights for the paranormal. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“We’ve known Micha forever,” Cindy said. “And he’s right, we both want the same thing when it boils down to it. But”—she leaned forward, eyeing Micha—“we don’t allow normals into the Paranormal Alliance.”

“Not that I want in it,” Micha said.

It sounded like a war, but instead of two countries fighting, it was sixty of them, all with their own set of self-righteous ideals. People like Micha wanted equal rights for everyone. And June hated everyone equally.

“So you guys are extremists,” she said to Cindy. “Kind of like that SNC group. Just on the flip side.”

Cindy gaped. “We are not like them!”

She sprang up and charged at June. June braced herself, calculating quickly she could take Cindy out at the knees with a swipe of her leg, maybe, if she acted fast enough. Cindy stopped in front of her, though, and snatched up the bottle.

“We’ve never used violence to get our point across,” Cindy said.

Behind Cindy, Robbie made a shifty glance to the side.

“Go sit down.” June, leg lifted defensively, bobbed her foot at Cindy. “Get outta my face.”

“Watch your mouth.” Cindy pointed a finger at her.

June scowled after her as she retreated, and then narrowed her eyes at Robbie, finding something strange about the way he’d reacted to Cindy’s statement. Maybe he wanted to bash a few skulls in. She could get behind that.

“So can you help us or not?” Micha asked. “We have to get June’s brother out of the Institute.”

Cindy sat back down on her stool and twisted the cap off the whiskey bottle. “Don’t worry. We’re gonna take you to see someone.” She took a drink straight out of the bottle.

“Someone powerful,” Robbie said. “His name is Sam Haain.”

Micha groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh God. Not him.”

“Yes, him.” Cindy sat up straight with a bright smile.

“Who’s Sam Haain?” June asked.

Micha lowered his hand. “He’s the leader of the Paranormal Alliance. If you want to know why his members are so…adamant, it’s because their dogma and paranoia trickles down from the top. I don’t know if Sam Haain is his real name. Maybe his mother had a terrible sense of humor. But he certainly enjoys being the ominous specter of the disenfranchised and mistreated.”

June didn’t know why, but the way Micha talked heated her panties up. Normally, if someone were in her tattoo shop spouting crap like that, she would tattoo “loser” across his forehead and shove him out the door. Maybe having a hot body to distract from the piousness made all the difference.

She reminded herself today was Micha’s wife’s funeral and she needed to be respectful.

“Sam is a very effectual man,” Cindy said, overloud. “Are you calling us zealots?”

“The last thing I want to do right now is talk to Sam Haain.” Micha deftly sidestepped the question. “There’s got to be another way.”

“You name it.” Cindy shrugged.

“Sam is our best bet right now, Micha,” Robbie said. “We had to do a lot of groveling to get him to agree to this meeting.”

“Now, I don’t buy that at all.” Micha snorted. “Sam Haain is always looking for an opportunity to be affronted.”

“I think he handles the bullshit in this city quite gracefully,” Cindy said. “He’s had to deal with people hating and fearing us ever since the Institute opened, and he, unlike you, never bought into their ‘benevolence.’ I admire his poise and rationale.”

“Two constructs I’ve never associated with Sam Haain,” Micha said, “but if you say so.”

“Sam has all kinds of connections,” Robbie explained. “With city officials, the media, independent researchers… Not all paranormal scientists work for or believe in the Institute.”

June actually knew this, but she figured Robbie could dig around in her brain like a gopher and pillage her childhood memories. The Institute was a big scary entity, but the world had always been full of scientists studying the paranormal who didn’t need the government to tell them to go ahead. Chicago just decided to make everything official.

“Great.” June lifted her hands. “So this guy is going to, what? Bust into the Institute with guns blazing? Help me get Jason out of there?”

“I hope not,” Micha muttered.

“You have to speak to him,” Robbie said. “This afternoon, Navy Pier. He won’t meet anywhere else.”

“I want to go, too.” Micha sat forward. “Much as Sam Haain rankles me, I want to hear what he has to say.”

“You can’t go out in public.” Cindy gasped, wide-eyed. “I know you don’t remember, but they killed your wife, Micha. That makes you next on their list. I didn’t even think you should have gone out last night, and that was sneaking around, not out in public.”

“They expect me to be hiding. They won’t look for me in a public place. Besides, today is my wife’s funeral, right? So they’ll probably be watching for me there.”

“He’s got a point,” June said.

Cindy slammed her cup down on the table. “All right then.” She got to her feet. “We’ll just have a parade right down Michigan Avenue.”

“Awesome.” June got up. “I’ll twirl a baton.”

* * * *

Chicago was a living metropolis, a brilliantly modern and majestically primeval creature breathing and teeming and issuing forth a steady cacophony of human noise. Under the stark winter light, the buildings loomed as monoliths, an overwhelming collection of glittering glass, gleaming steel, and earthy stone. At street level, the world was narrow and claustrophobic, life chugging along under the shadows of the great towers like thick blood pulsing through deep, dark veins.

It was beautiful and horrible at the same time. Like most great monsters.

“Where’s Sears Tower?” June craned her neck, trying to see out the moon roof of Cindy’s car. She had seen the skyline from the freeway, the tallest building in the country rising like an obsidian deity amongst a gray court.

“You can’t see it from Michigan Avenue.” Micha sat next to her in the backseat. “And it’s Willis Tower now.”

“What?”

“Willis Group Holdings moved into it. It’s called Willis Tower now.”

“Are you serious? It’s an American icon.”

“They renamed Comiskey Park ‘U.S. Cellular Field.’” Micha shrugged. “Corporations buy things; they change the names. If you think you’re shocked and outraged, you should hear the people who live here.”

“Killing traditions,” June said. “Your city is pretty good at that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask all the pissed off paranormal people.”

Robbie, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned his head and shot a close-lipped smile at her. June mouthed turn around. He did.

“Not that I’ll get to go up it,” June said, “but are you outside on top of the Willis Tower?”

“No.” Cindy snorted. “It’s glassed in.”

“So no spitting over the edge,” June said.

“It would never reach the ground from that high up.” Cindy rolled her eyes in the mirror.

“And it would be so windy up there you wouldn’t be able to stand,” Robbie added.

“Quit bringing me down. What’s next? You’re gonna tell me there’s no God?”

They crept along slowly, the streets choked with cars and the sidewalks alive with pedestrians even in the intense, blustery cold. They passed over a wide stone bridge, and June sat up. The water beneath the bridge was murky green and choked with a mosaic of ice chunks.

“Is water supposed to be that color?” she asked.

Micha sat up as well. “They dye it even greener for St. Patrick’s Day.”

“Sounds totally safe.”

“It is safe. The original stuff they used was flourescein, but it was harmful to the organisms in the river, so they changed it.”

“I bet it’s still flourescein.” She relaxed against the seat. “When three-eyed fish start washing up on the banks, you’ll know.”

“Mmm, three-eyed fish.” Micha tilted his head and gave her a crooked smile. “Extra eyeballs means extra delicious.”

June was titillated—yes, titillated—to be called out on her sarcasm.

“Just imagine,” Robbie spoke up. “Once, none of this was here. It was just a peaceful river flowing through the wilderness. No people, no buildings, no cars, no pollution. You couldn’t look at it and imagine that someday civilization would rise up on its decimated banks and all this terrible progress would stand where once there were trees and hills.”

Everyone stared at him, even Cindy.

“I wish we’d brought the Jack Daniels with us.” June envisioned smashing the bottle over Robbie’s head.

Robbie looked over his shoulder at her.

“What’s Sacramento like?” Micha asked.

June shrugged. “Smaller. Brighter. More laid back.”

“Is there a prevalent paranormal community there?”

“Not really. It’s not as out in the open as it is here.”

“Do they have organizations for paranormal people?”

“I don’t get into that stuff.” The buildings crawled past. “Ending up here is a reminder why.”

“I read in the Tribune,” Micha said, “you were discovered by an entertainment reporter.”

She snorted. “Yeah. This girl from a local rag came into my shop to get some work done. I’ve known her for a long time, did most of her ink. She was talking about supernatural stuff, and I let it slip, told her about Jason and me. I thought I could trust her. Then she went and wrote a frickin’ article about it.” She fidgeted, looking down at her fingers. “Jason was pissed. Hell, I was pissed. He’s an actor, and he thought if it got out it would hurt his career, thought people would assume he’s charming his way into roles. Not that he would ever do that.”

“If he did, he’d have an Oscar by now,” Micha said. “A million of them.”

“Still, I didn’t think anyone read that stupid paper, certainly not people in Chicago.”

“The Institute is vigilant,” Micha said. “They keep a sharp eye out for the smallest things. The paranormal is still an underground community for many reasons, so they have to canvas far and wide. And your power is uncommon, being an aural captivator, a Siren.” He scoffed. “‘Siren’ is such a misleading term, though. Sirens are mythological creatures. Hypnotic voice phenomenon isn’t gender specific, either.”

“Thank you, Mr. Encyclopedia. I don’t give a damn. I should have kept my mouth shut. That’s what I get for trusting people. I don’t understand why you like being so involved in it.”

“My family had a lot of paranormal friends when I was growing up. Before it was recognized scientifically. Back then it was all about getting people to accept it as a reality. People like my mother campaigned for her friends to get recognition. Now I’m trying to convince people not to hurt them.”

“So you inherited a legacy.”

“And my family is paranormal.” He waved this off as if it were a lesser reason. “My sisters both have paranormal abilities. So does one of my aunts. Marked telepathy and mild telekinesis, but Emily, my oldest sister, is also a pyrokinetic.”

“A pyrokinetic? She sets things on fire with her mind? Like that Drew Barrymore movie?”

Micha's voice darkened. “It’s not exactly like that. She can make certain substances heat up. If they’re flammable, yes, they can catch on fire. It’s not easy to do, though.”

“So you’re the odd one out. In this case, the white sheep of the family.”

“It bothered me when I was younger. I guess I felt left out. But not many people in this city want to be paranormal.”

June turned her attention back out her window. A building with a diamond-shaped roof loomed over them, and she craned her neck. “Well, go ahead and feel like you’re doing something noble. Me, I don’t shove it in everyone’s face. It’s my damn business.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Cindy said. “I mean, you’re persecuted on two fronts. Society is so goddamn prejudiced, it hurts. Why can’t people just be who they are, be the way they were made?”

June narrowed her eyes. “Two fronts?”

“I mean, your preference. You’re still harassed for that, I’m sure.”

“My what?”

Robbie looked at Cindy, frowning. “She’s not a lesbian, Cindy.”

Cindy glanced in the mirror at June, brow furrowed. “You’re not?”

June goggled at her. “No!”

“I—you were checking out my rack, though. And the leather, and all the tattoos, I thought…”

“Oh my God,” June said.

Micha started snickering. June scowled at him. He snickered more. Robbie rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I have some wonderful lesbian friends,” June said. “But no, just because I have tattoos doesn’t mean I don’t like cocks. Straight women can have tattoos, you know. And I happen to like leather. It's sexy.”

Cindy shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry.”

An awkward silence fell, though Micha had his lips pressed in a tight line, rubbing his jaw.

June looked back out the window. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that Millennium Park?”

“Yes.” Micha's voice was tight with stifled laughter.

Jason had been looking forward to visiting Millennium Park. He loved sculpture. She could see him sitting on the plane, book open in his lap, rattling on about his favorite sculptors. He thought she didn’t listen, but she did. Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate in Chicago. His Sky Mirrors were in front of Nottingham Playhouse and Rockefeller Center. His piece Taratantara stood outside the Baltic flour mills. She could take a test on Jason’s favorite sculptors and pass with flying colors.

She hoped she’d still get a chance to.

When they reached Navy Pier, the place looked like a carnival, complete with a Ferris wheel and the entrance boasting a huge lit-up sign akin to a funhouse. She sensed not much fun would go down, despite appearances. Cindy parked the car on the street in front and swiveled around.

“Robbie will stay here with the car. I’ll come with you to meet him.”

“Good idea,” June said. “You know where he is, after all. Unless we’re gonna just wander around like idiots.”

“I don’t, actually. Sam doesn’t like to be predictable. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Cindy paused. “I’m really sorry about—”

“It’s cool.” June held a hand up and quirked the corner of her mouth. “You do have a great rack.”

They had to walk through what looked like a shopping mall to get to the outer part of the pier—a broad concrete walkway empty of people, the steady wind off the lake making the January cold fucking cold. The wind cut through June’s T-shirt like a thousand evil icy razor blades and forced her to zip up her jacket. The immense plane of bleak and choppy water was filled with big ice chunks like the ones she’d seen in the river. Farther out, solid sheets spread like snowy islands. The city stood across the water, thrust in a jagged line against the stark sky.

“First time I’ve seen any of the Great Lakes.” June's teeth chattered.

“Really?” Cindy asked. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“I guess neither of us is a world traveler, huh?”

Micha huddled into his coat. “Let’s walk down to the end.”

June kept a cautious eye out as they started down the pier. They saw no one else, as all other people in the city were smart enough not to be walking next to the lake in freezing temperatures.

“So what do you do when you’re not fighting the good fight?” June asked Micha, trying to keep her mind off the fact her face had already gone numb. They’d been acquainted nearly a week, but with fearing for their lives and June grievously worried about her brother and spending every waking minute trying to figure out a way to rescue him, they hadn’t made much small talk. She knew little about Micha beyond him being altruistic and sexy.

“I’m an administrator at the College of Paranormal Science. That’s where the Institute gets most its staff. I run a couple non-profit organizations too. Keeps me pretty busy. In fact, things are probably falling apart without me right now.”

“And you?” she asked Cindy to be polite.

“Bartender,” she grunted from inside her coat. “Some of us can’t be constant heroes.”

“Bartenders have always been my heroes,” June said.

They passed by the closed patios of restaurants, kiosks shut down for the season, moored boats, and a glass building called the Shakespeare Theatre. They were walking briskly to keep from freezing to death. After what seemed like a terrifically long, ridiculously cold time, they reached a round ochre building with a huge dome and two towers rising on either side.

Beyond was the end of the pier, the area deserted save for two people. They stood against the stone railing at the end, facing the water.

“Is that—” Micha slowed.

“It’s either who we’re looking for or a star-crossed couple contemplating suicide,” June said. “No other reason to be hanging out here in East Frozen Hell.”

Flags on a series of flagpoles popped in the wind. The place felt eerie and empty, thrust out into the void of frozen water. In the distance, a lighthouse loomed, caught in the ice.

“It’s him.” Cindy picked up the pace.

June flexed her stiff fingers inside her jacket pockets. She couldn’t feel her feet, even in her expensive weather-resistant leather boots. She needed to hear some good news, the promise someone could help. One of the figures was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black coat, and the other one was short and tiny, a woman dressed all in white.

The couple turned in unison as they approached.