The Bloody City (9 page)

June had been stunned Muse actually owned some non-white clothing.

Occam lounged in a curving gray booth, waiting for them. He wore a black jacket and a white dress shirt, the top three buttons undone, his hair a wild blond tangle.

June had no choice but to sit next to him, as Sam and Micha had to sit across the table together to maintain contact. June looked around, seeking out the sommelier, before she had to do this completely sober.

“Hello, Little Red.” Occam draped his arm across the seat behind her. “What a nice surprise. I didn’t expect you to tag along. You smell nice.”

“You don’t,” June informed him.

He reeked of cigarettes. In the light, she could tell he was middle-aged, bony, and grizzled. His eyes were pale gray.

“You look good too,” he said. “Good enough to eat.”

She scowled. “I’ll get up and piss on you, Occam. Right here. I’ll do it.”

“Reminds me of an ex-girlfriend.”

“You’re an asshole, Occam,” Sam said. His voice, disturbingly his own, came out of his pink lipstick-painted mouth. “You could have picked a more discreet location.”

“Discreet.” Occam held his wineglass aloft as a waiter sped by. “Why, so your band of yahoos can attack me?”

“Why would I want to harm you?” Sam’s voice was sardonic. “You’re my only hope right now, unfortunately.”

June tried to slink farther away from Occam and glanced at Micha, silently willing them both to have strength. Micha looked handsome in his current form, like a negative of himself, though she still preferred him the other way. He remained the same size and height.

June had learned a few things about Sam’s power: he could change appearances, but not dimensions. His power worked on the same principle as ghosts, in that it used energy to project an image to the observer. He could stretch it over the available canvas, no farther, and he couldn’t make things invisible. This left him a rather burly woman, though somehow, it worked. She was pretty.

“I’m not stupid enough to think you don’t have people watching me,” Occam said. He held his glass up again and a harried waiter stopped to fill it.

“I’d like something red when you get a moment,” June said to the waiter. “Do you have a wine list?”

“Of course, madam.” He slid off.

“Yes, I have people watching you,” Sam said. “Like you don’t have people watching us.”

The only “people” Sam had was Muse, and as usual, June had no idea where she was.

Occam shifted in the booth, surreptitiously closer to June. “Well, now that we’ve established our mutual paranoia, let’s get down to business.”

Their waiter appeared. He introduced himself and delivered a spiel about specials, and they all listened with mock-attentiveness, except Occam, who downed his fresh glass of wine. He didn’t make an effort to hide his fangs, and the waiter seemed unnerved.

June ordered a glass of high-end Cabernet, since Occam was paying, and Occam ordered an entire bottle of rosé. Amazingly, he didn’t drink straight out of it, but actually poured the wine into a glass.

“What exactly do you want to negotiate about?” Sam asked once they were alone again. “We gave you Micha’s blood.”

“A stick full of blood isn’t enough to do proper research. We want the source.” He flicked a finger at Micha.

“What do you want with him?” June demanded.

“We need him. We need him to help us help you.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

“Our scientists need to examine him.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. Her eyes. Pale green, ringed in silver eye shadow. “The blood is enough to prove the experiments the Institute has been doing.”

“It depends on who you want it proven to.” Occam stroked the stem of his wineglass. His nails were dirty. “You have your stolen files, but don’t you want the evidence as well? Is it the easily swayed citizens of Chicago you want to prove this to? The biased and sensationalized media? Or do you want so much damning evidence the federal government will have to get involved and close the place down?”

They were all silent. This was a much bigger proposition than they’d expected. June could practically sense Sam’s boner, which was weird since he currently had breasts.

“How do we know you won’t do something to him?” June asked. “Like tear him to pieces?”

Occam focused on her and smiled widely. In the light, his natural teeth were markedly more yellow than his fangs. “Now why would we want to do that?”

“Yes, why would you?” Micha asked. “I had nothing to do with my dead wife’s research. I don’t understand your vendetta against me.”

“Call it guilt by legacy.”

“She screwed us both over.” Micha raised his voice. “That’s why I’m a bargaining chip right now.”

“So tragic,” Occam mocked.

“What do you get out of this, Occam?” Sam asked. “If we let you take him, do the research, and get the Feds involved, what will you gain from it? I know you’re not doing this out of the kindness of your black heart.”

The waiter returned with their salads. They all fell silent again. He asked if they were ready to order. Occam obnoxiously ordered for the entire table, but no one intervened. At least in Sam’s case, it was necessary. June would pick at what she could digest, whatever he ordered for her.

When the waiter left, Occam picked up the conversation thread.

“There’s about to be a shift in vampire society. New things on the horizon, changes that have been long coming. Most of them are none of your business. Micha is to be part of that. We’ll need him. So we can’t cut him to pieces, unfortunately.”

“Need him?” June said. “For what?”

Occam leaned forward and lowered his voice, as if imparting a secret. “We’re going to correct the mistakes of the past. When the Institute goes down, he’ll step up.” He jerked his head at Micha. “He’s going to tell the public his wife’s research was false.”

Sam huffed. “Except…it’s not?”

Occam sneered, baring his teeth. “Truth is subjective. He’ll say she made it up, falsified her research. It’ll be easy to believe after the other things they find out.”

“And what about the transfusion clinics?” Micha asked. “They’re making stuff up as well?”

“As I said, there’s going to be a shift. You let us worry about the rest.”

“How am I supposed to convince people her research was false?” Micha asked. “I never had access to it.”

“You’ll think of something.” Occam sat back. “You better, or we’ll call this whole thing off. We take you, get you checked out, let you go. Simple as that, not a hair on your head will be harmed. In return, you call bullshit on your wife when this whole thing implodes.”

“What if I don’t hold up my end of the bargain?” Micha asked.

“We’ll know where to find you. And all your friends.” He slid his hand over and tried to touch June’s shoulder.

She jerked away.

Sam grabbed up his wineglass. “I had a feeling this ‘negotiation’ would be nothing but us bowing to your stupid demands.”

“You’re an astute man, Sam Haain.”

Sam drank his wine, glowering over the rim of the glass.

“Your options right now are slim,” Occam said.

“Obviously”—Sam lowered the glass—“or I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

June pushed everything off her salad that would make her break out in hives, or worse: croutons, cheese, nuts, the cup of dressing—she was okay with oil and vinegar, which were on the table, at least. She wanted to just ask for a pile of washed vegetables and make things easier.

Occam drowned his salad in dressing and gorged disgustingly, making June lose what appetite she had.

“Let’s hash out the details,” Sam said. “We’re not sitting around here waiting for someone to figure out who we are. This isn’t a fun night on the town.”

“There’s nothing to hash out.” Occam grabbed a handful of bread from the basket in the middle of the table. “Micha’s coming with me when I leave.”

June swiveled toward him, alarm rising.

“Now wait a fucking minute,” Sam said.

“There’s no waiting a fucking minute.” Occam scooped up a glob of butter on his knife and slapped it on the bread. “No time like the present.” He crammed the bread in his mouth.

“While I appreciate haste,” Sam said, “I’m not assured you’ll leave him in one piece. I need to know you’ll actually let him go when they’re done with him.”

June spoke up, “I’ll go with him.”

Sam looked at her. So did Occam, chewing lustily, eyes dancing with bemusement.

“I’ll go along,” she said. “I’ll make sure they don’t do anything to him.”

“And how will you do that?” Occam asked, launching several soggy pieces of bread from his overfull mouth.

June jerked away from him. “Listen, you disgusting piece of shit. Either you stop acting like a fucking savage, or I’m going to break your fangs off and shove them up your ass. And I don’t give a damn who’s watching.”

Occam laughed. Sam pressed his pink lips in a tight line. Occam didn’t speak again until he chewed, swallowed, and gulped down some wine.

“Fine,” he said. “Come along. The more the merrier.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Micha said softly to June. “It’s me they want.”

“And I may need you,” Sam said.

“You need me to protect your ace in the hole. Isn’t that what the whole thing was about, sending me to the vampires in the first place?”

“Still don’t know how you plan to protect him.” Occam took another drink of wine.

“I may not be able to affect vampires with my voice,” June said, not looking at Occam, “but I can do a whole lot of things you’ve probably never seen a woman do.”

Occam laughed again.

When the food arrived, Occam dug in. Sam crinkled his nose at the fish Occam had ordered for him. Micha picked at his pasta dish. June had gotten some sort of vegetarian stir-fry.

She seethed at the overwhelming ridiculousness of it all, the playacting. Occam pulled out a phone and started texting.

“Since we’re going to be spending some time together,” he said, “we ought to get to know each other. Little Red, you go first. Tell the class something about yourself.”

June stabbed at her vegetables. “Well, let’s see. I hate vampires, I’d like to blow Chicago up, and I’d kill for a cigarette right now because you reek of smoke.” She popped a piece of zucchini in her mouth and chewed angrily.

Occam laughed, loud enough to draw attention from the tables around them.

“Quit bullshitting, Occam,” Sam whispered. “Is this necessary?”

“I have a car coming to pick us up,” Occam said. “We have to wait until it gets here.” He smiled at Micha. “What about you? Any hobbies?”

“Staying alive,” Micha said.

June grew distracted by something—a tingling, burning sensation in her mouth. She peered down at her bowl. Telltale numbness spread quickly to her lips, her throat tightening.

“Oh no.” She dropped her fork. “There’s something bad in this.” She clutched at her throat, a spike of panic shooting through her.

Sam dug into the small handbag he had, one that Cindy had given him. As he did, he let go of Micha under the table, apparently, and Micha blinked back to himself. Occam laughed.

“Sam!” June croaked.

“Fuck!” Sam scooted closer to Micha, and the disguise slipped back over him.

June tried to breathe slowly. Sam pulled out a narrow yellow tube and tossed it over to her. Aaron had supplied them with some necessary medical items.

June uncapped the needle, hiked her skirt up, and stabbed herself in the right thigh. A few seconds later a euphoric rush washed over her, and her lungs seemed to expand beyond their usual size—hurting under her right ribs—and sensation returned to her mouth.

“I brought antihistamine too,” Sam said.

“You all right?” Micha reached across the table and gripped her wrist.

“I didn’t taste anything in this. There’s no sauce or anything….” She picked up her fork with a shaky hand and pushed the vegetables around, examining the dish closer.

Occam had been watching all this with interest. “Food allergies that bad?”

“Yes.” June squeezed Micha’s hand and released it. She pulled the needle out of her thigh with a wince. “They must be getting worse.”

“How long have you had them?” Occam asked.

“All my life. Started when I was a kid.” She tossed the needle on the table and pushed her bowl away.

Sam handed her a blister pack of pills.

“Huh.” Occam glanced at Sam. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

Sam grabbed up the needle and tucked it back in his purse.

“What?” she said.

“Oh, nothing.” Occam reached over and grabbed up June’s bowl. “Since you’re not going to eat this…”

Thankfully, Occam forced them to play his game only a little while longer. He dumped a pile of money on the table, drank down the rest of his wine—straight from the bottle this time—and they left the restaurant. June’s lips were still tingly and her tongue thick. Technically, she should visit a hospital after having to take a shot. Technically, that wasn’t going to happen.

Out on the street, Occam turned to Sam. “This is where you get off. I’ll be in touch with you. Have your little snowflake keep her ears open.”

Sam had his arm linked with Micha’s. “I don’t like this,” he said to June. “I don’t like both of you going with him.”

“I’ll keep an eye on Micha,” June said. “Someone has to.”

“And who will be keeping an eye on you?” Sam asked.

A long black car slid up to the curb, the windows so darkly tinted they were impossible to see through.

“Our chariot has arrived.” Occam jerked the lapels of his coat.

June stepped up to Sam. “Listen. I know you want me to go home, but I have to do this, even if it’s the last thing I do in Chicago. I’ll make sure Occam keeps his word.”

“You can’t make sure a vampire keeps his word.” Sam kept his voice down, the people passing by them oblivious. “He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to hurt both of you.”

“He needs Micha.” June kept her voice down too. “He’s not going to hurt him. He needs him to do his bidding. And he’s not going to hurt me, because he has no need to.”

“Then why even go with him?” Sam jerked his free hand upward. “If you think Micha will be fine, why even bother tagging along?”