The Wicked City (12 page)

“Where was your gun?” June asked Cindy. “You can take it out to shoot a hapless funeral director, but you couldn’t shoot back at someone shooting at you?”

“I don’t have it with me.” Cindy huffed. “I don’t have a conceal and carry license.”

“Because God knows you’re such a law-abiding citizen.”

“That’s it.” Kevin made a slashing motion with his hands. “You guys are out of here. I’m getting this mess cleaned up and then I have to call my nighttime bartenders and tell them not to come in. I’m already done with this day.”

“No.” Sam stood. “I came here for a reason, and you’re going to do what I need you to do.”

“Somebody shot up my bar!”

“And you’re not the only person who can work a broom and make phone calls,” Sam said.

“This is a little more important to me right now than your bullshit.”

“Is it?” Sam stepped forward. “You’ve been summoned to repay your debt, and if you don’t do it, your world is going to get a lot more complicated than it is now.”

Kevin glared at Sam, but his glare lacked conviction. He was clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides.

“Go out the back door.” Sam addressed Cindy and June, jerking his head toward the room beyond the bar. “Wait for us outside. I need to have a little discussion with Kevin, alone. Don’t let anyone see you out there. Assume at all times we’re being watched from here on out.”

Cindy obeyed without question, and June followed her through the bar and the room they’d been in earlier and out a door in the back. The door exited onto a patio surrounded by trees. Bare branches hung over white wrought-iron tables and a bar beneath an awning, closed down and empty of bottles. A high brick wall on one side kept them cloistered from the public.

June fished out her cigarettes and lit one up.

Cindy paced in a circle, arms wrapped around herself. “Do you think they were trying to kill Sam?”

“Er”—June flicked her ash onto the concrete—“I dunno. I thought you were more worried they were trying to kill you?”

Cindy stopped pacing. “I know it was probably him they were after, but I didn’t want to say that in front of him.” Her voice wavered. “I would take a bullet for him, and I almost did. He’s done so much for me, more than my family, more than anyone I’ve ever known. I know he doesn’t see it this way, but he’s like my best friend.”

June didn’t know what to say. Her own best friend had a wicked motorcycle and taught her how to smoke weed.

“Damn it.” Cindy kicked at the concrete. “Why does this have to be so dangerous? I just want a normal life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You could always leave the Paranormal Alliance.”

Cindy wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I couldn’t give up on Sam. He taught me not to fear what’s inside of me.”

“What the hell are you, exactly?”

Cindy’s eyes were bright. “I’m a sex witch.”

“A what?”

“A sex witch. That’s what we call ourselves. The Institute calls it ‘psychic-sexual ability.’ I feed on sexual energy.”

June took a step away from her. This explained a lot, though.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself.” Cindy snorted. “That’s why I drink so much, especially when I’m around a bunch of men. It dulls it. I found that out when I was a teenager. Drugs, too.”

“That sounds like a healthy alternative.”

“Boys were a terrible distraction during puberty. And I did awful things to them.”

“I’ll read about it in a book or something, all right? Please stop sharing.” Shuddering, June imagined the poor teenage boys Cindy molested. “Is that why you’ve had multiple husbands?”

She nodded. “My ability…charms.” She bit her lip. “And too many times, before I wised up, I mistook it for real attraction.”

This at least explained Kevin.

“It could be worse,” June said.

“Could it?”

“Yeah, trust me, it could.”

The door opened. Sam stepped out, his expression blustery, an equally agitated-looking Kevin following him. Kevin wore a leather jacket more tailored than June’s—fashion, not punk. June pitched her cigarette on the concrete and ground it out with her boot.

“Cindy,” Sam said, “do you know where Robbie is right now?”

“No, but I can text him.” She pushed a hand into her coat pocket.

“Do you think he can help us get into a morgue?” Sam asked.

Cindy pulled her phone out. “Is there anywhere Robbie can’t help you get into?”

“Let’s just hope they have what we’re looking for.”

“Like what,” June asked, “a puppy?”

Cindy got in touch with Robbie. He told her he would meet them there. “There,” Sam explained, was the Cook County Morgue, apparently a happening spot, because no one needed directions.

Sam drove them through the neighborhoods of Chicago, past gritty tight-packed urban cluster and alternately lavish blocks of huge beautiful houses. June sat in the back with Kevin, Cindy in the front. They were silent most of the way, Kevin sitting as far away from June as he could physically manage. What the hell were they about to do in a morgue? Maybe she didn’t want to know the answer.

They arrived at a two-story catacomb-windowed building with a low wall proclaiming OFFICE OF THE MEDICAL EXAMINER at the entrance to the parking lot. The gloom of evening had descended, turning the world shadowy and sinister. Sam pulled into a spot and killed the engine.

“This is going to be a group effort.” Sam turned and looked in the backseat. “Kevin, you know your part. June, you’re going to have the most important role.”

“As long as I don’t have to jack any dead bodies,” June said. “I just busted into a funeral home a couple days ago and that was creepy enough.”

“You won’t be stealing anything. But you’re about to get a whole new idea of what ‘creepy’ is.”

“Thanks for the reassurance,” she said.

“What am I going to do?” Cindy asked.

“You’re going to stay here and keep a lookout,” Sam said. “And drive the getaway car, if need be.”

“What am I looking out for?” Cindy asked.

“Everything.”

They waited for Robbie to arrive. No one spoke, making the tension even worse. Finally, a black car pulled into the parking lot and slid up beside them. Robbie sat in the driver’s seat.

“About time,” Sam muttered.

They all got out. Cindy walked around to the driver’s side. June zipped her jacket and shrugged down into the leather.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to do,” she said to Sam.

“We need to get in to where the bodies are.” Sam tugged his own coat closed. “You need to convince anyone we come across that’s a good idea.”

Robbie had a long black coat on, his hair pulled back. In addition to a huge mouth, he had big bulgy eyes as well, like a caricature, and they were luminescent greenish-gray against the dull light. He gazed unflinching at June, strands of loose hair fluttering across his wide forehead. He was creepy, and she couldn’t place her finger on exactly why—it wasn’t just the mind reading thing. He was skulky and looming and weird.

“There’s nothing in my head worth seeing right now,” June said to him. “Get lost.”

Robbie started toward the building. He also had a strange, slippery way of moving, gliding along as if on roller skates. The rest of them followed him up the concrete walkway to the building, pressing against the frigid wind.

“Is that because of his power?” June asked Sam, walking next to him. “He looks like he’s floating.”

Sam stared straight ahead. “Yes. My brother was a telekinetic. He could do the same thing.”

“Was?”

They stopped outside a set of glass doors, and Robbie pulled one open.

Sam glanced briefly at her. “You’re not the only one who’s lost a brother.”

June stood still for a moment, stunned. Kevin went in. Sam followed.

They entered a foyer dominated by a security desk. A guard with a shiny bald head sat behind the desk. He looked up from writing something.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly.

June scrambled for something to say. “We have an appointment.” Her power spread through her chest and welled up her throat, warm and prickling. “Let us inside.”

The man stared at June for a moment, his gaze going glassy. He pushed his chair back. “Right this way.”

They had to pass through a metal detector. June took off her jacket so they wouldn’t encounter any unnecessary hassle. After they stepped through, Sam gestured questioningly at her face as she pulled the jacket back on.

“You didn’t set it off,” he said. “With all those piercings.”

“It’s a myth body piercings set off metal detectors. Unless you’re wearing some huge metal gauge. I can’t believe I finally know something you don’t.”

They entered a lobby with thin blue carpet, the room divided into a small waiting area with chairs and couches and a reception area with a high desk. A woman with long brown hair and glasses sat behind the desk.

“Can I help you?” she asked, with watered-down friendliness.

June readied herself. Cameras peered down from the corners of the room. She had to make her behavior look natural.

“We need to go back to—where you keep the bodies.” June leaned on the desk and lowered her voice. “I want you to send someone back with us so we look like we’re supposed to be there.”

The woman’s eyes were unfocused behind her glasses. “One moment.” She picked up the phone in front of her.

June watched closely as she punched a button. She silently held the receiver to her ear until a faint voice came on the other end. “Jim, can you come up front and escort some people back to the morgue?” She paused. “No, I’m not sure who they—” She lowered the receiver. “Who are you again?”

Robbie stepped up beside June. Suddenly, the end of the phone cord fell out of the receiver and dropped onto the desk.

“Never mind,” June said quickly. “Put the phone down.”

She did.

“Why didn’t you just snatch the phone off her and talk to Jim?” Kevin asked in an irritated whisper.

“Because my power doesn’t work across electronic devices,” June said.

“Jim will come out anyway,” Sam said. “Keep your poker faces on.”

“Stay quiet right now,” June told the woman. “Don’t say anything when Jim comes out here.”

A moment later a door to the right of the desk opened. A tall middle-aged man dressed in a white lab coat emerged.

“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.

June turned toward him. “Take us back to the morgue.”

“We have to hurry this up,” Sam muttered. “Before it starts looking weird on the cameras.”

Jim held the door for them. June followed the others, trepidatious. Beyond the door stretched a long white hallway. Jim led them silently along the corridor, past various office-like rooms. They saw only one other person, an older man behind a desk who gave them a cursory look as they passed.

When they reached the end of the hallway, they faced a steel door; a security panel was mounted on the wall next to it. Jim swiped a card through the reader. A buzz sounded, and he opened the door.

“I’m afraid everyone’s gone home for the day, about a half hour ago.” He sounded politely bewildered. “Most of the people who work back here go home at five, unless a special case comes in. You’re more likely to get someone early in the morning or just after lunch.”

“Stop talking,” June said. “Don’t wonder why we’re here.”

They stepped into a short corridor lit by a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, the air colder than the outer hallway. Two more metal doors loomed in front of them, one labeled MORGUE, the other AUTOPSY ROOM.

“Guess we know our door,” Sam said. “June, make him go away.”

June turned to Jim. “Go back to what you were doing. Forget we’re back here.”

Jim promptly turned and walked out. The door closed behind him with a resounding clang.

“Well, that was easy,” Sam said.

“For you.” June scowled at him.

“Let’s get this over with.” Sam motioned to the doors.

Robbie stepped up to the morgue door. He tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. June hoped they were locked out, but Robbie stepped back, stared at the knob for a moment, and a pop sounded. He tried the knob again. This time it turned, and he pulled the door open.

“Thank you, Robbie,” Sam said.

“Yeah, thanks,” June added ruefully.

She didn’t want to go in. The air streamed out cold, carrying a faintly chemical smell. She tried to find some resolve. She didn’t want to look like a scared little kid.

The others filed in ahead of her. She waited until the lights popped on and then cautiously inched through the doorway.

“I don’t wanna see any dead bodies all cut up,” she whispered. She didn’t know why she whispered.

“You’re not going to,” Kevin said. “They do that in the autopsy room. This is just where they store cadavers.”

The morgue consisted of a warehouse-like room with a white tile floor and gray walls, eerily quiet, the atmosphere like a hospital. Along the back wall were square metal doors two rows high. Metal tables with creepy-looking attachments and sinks built into them stood in various places. As they moved deeper into the room, the antiseptic smell gave way to a cold, clean odor with an underlying scent not unlike meat, like the fresh rank odor of a butcher shop.

“To hell with this.” The scent made something primal inside of June snap, and she started to backpedal. Before she could get far, Sam grabbed her arm.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. “There’s nothing in here that can hurt you. Unlike out there.”

June swallowed and tried to breathe through only her mouth. She reminded herself being in the funeral home had been just as bad and she’d survived that debacle. Sam held on to her arm for a moment and gave it a squeeze before letting go.

“Can we get on with this?” Kevin asked. “Or does your girlfriend need to piss her pants first?”

“Don’t test me, Kevin.” Sam started toward the metal doors. “Or you might end up in one of these coolers.”

June regarded the cooler doors with dread. How many bodies were in them? How did they end up behind those doors? Had they kept Rose in this morgue? Would her brother end up on a slab too? Would she?

“Spread out and start looking,” Sam said.