The Wicked City (16 page)

“You all right?” she asked.

She gripped his waist tighter as he swayed, trying to keep him from face-planting on the concrete—not that she would be able to stop him if he went for it.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Micha’s voice was a languid drawl.

“Huh?”

To her surprise, he gripped her chin and kissed her, forcefully and passionately. She didn’t know how to react, and made a sound of surprise into his mouth when he gripped her ass and squeezed hard.

Of course, Sam stepped around the car in time to witness this event. He stopped short. “Is this really the time?”

Micha released her, wobbling as he drew back.

“What the hell, Micha,” June admonished him, cheeks burning.

“Come on, you horny bastards,” Sam said. “Robbie’s waiting.” He turned and marched toward the house, and Muse followed.

Micha leaned in to June and whispered, “You want me even more now. Don’t feel bad. I want you too. You kept thinking about us fucking in the backseat.”

June goggled at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“You two!” Sam barked from the porch.

The inside of Robbie’s house was no more impressive than the outside: kind of cluttered, but normal, with beige carpet, white walls, and drab brown furniture. Bookcases lined the walls of the living room, all of them stuffed full. Micha flopped down on the couch, eyes glazed and face slack, like he’d gone into a trance. June remained standing.

“His mind is a mess.” Muse stepped up beside June. “I can barely understand it.”

“He’s acting really weird.” June wasn't quite over her embarrassment yet. “Like he can read my mind or something. My power’s never made anyone a mind reader.”

“He’s reading your mind?” Sam sounded alarmed.

“Maybe he’s developing late-stage abilities.” Robbie bent over and peered at Micha. “Your power could have triggered them.”

“I don’t know what late-stage abilities are,” June said.

Robbie stood up straight. “Late-stage abilities come on later in life, instead of a person being born with them. Sometimes it happens because of an injury or illness that changes brain chemistry. Sometimes it happens for no apparent reason. If you messed up the way his brain works, it’s a possibility.”

“Awesome.” June’s mind flew back to what Sam had told her at the pier, about the Institute trying to steal people’s abilities. She could save them the trouble of using a serum. Then she realized two mind readers—possibly three—were in the room, and shifted her thoughts to something else in case Sam didn’t want her giving the information away. She managed to conjure up an image of Micha’s cock. Damn it.

“Hi guys,” a female voice said behind them.

June turned as Cindy breezed into the room.

“So what’s going on?” Cindy asked.

“A lot,” Sam said. “Come with me, Cindy, I need to speak to you.”

He turned Cindy around and led her out of the room. Muse followed.

Awkward silence descended, and June looked around to avoid Robbie’s “I know everything you’re thinking” stare. Several locks graced the door and a keypad for a security system hung on the wall. Nothing odd about that. Then she noticed bars at the tops of the windows, the kind that slid down when triggered.

“Sam says this place is pretty secure,” June said. “A real fortress.”

“I’ve had a complex security system installed. You can never be too careful. After all, I may be able to hear your voice in my head, but I
am
deaf and I can’t rely on all my senses to keep me safe. I have a special room in the basement, in case someone does get through. I can survive in it for several months.”

“Normally I’d call you crazy, but given what I’ve seen the Institute is capable of, you’re probably the sanest person around.”

“They’ll have a hard time getting their hands on me. I’ve made sure of that.”

She rocked on her heels. “You sure have a lot of books.”

“My collection.” He made a sweeping gesture. “The Institute would love to get their hands on this, too. Their databases and libraries are woefully lacking.” He scoffed. “I’ve amassed the most comprehensive collection of paranormal documentation in the city. The place that studies it as a science can’t even hold a candle.” He puffed his narrow chest out. “Ironic.”

“You really hate those bastards, don’t you?”

“I was studied at the Institute.” His voice turned icy. “In the early days, before I knew what I know now. They kept me locked in a room like a prisoner and did bizarre invasive tests on me. I escaped, only because my power is strong and I’m clever.”

“So you have good reason to fear they’ll come looking for you.”

“I’m the most powerful telekinetic in the city, maybe the world.” He said this without boast, he seemed to be just stating a fact. “My telepathy is strong because I use it to communicate, but that’s not wholly uncommon. The telekinesis is what they’re really interested in.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“I can move a person.” Now pride seeped in. “In theory, living things, even small animals, are too complex for telekinetics to affect. But I can. I can move a person as easily as I can move that paperweight.” He looked at the table near June’s hip. A glass ball slid smoothly across the surface and stopped at the edge.

“Impressive,” she said. “No wonder they wanna get their hands on you.”

“But they won’t. They get their hands on way too much.” His eyes glittered, expression turning sinister, as if he suddenly had murder on his mind. “The old vampires, they don’t want anyone poking around in their blood, figuring out what makes them who they are, trying to cure them. Telepaths—real developed telepaths—wouldn’t set foot near the Institute because they see the lies. They know behind the gracious posturing there’s only a desire to rationalize and subjugate what those bastards don’t understand. They want us locked in cages. I won’t have that. I won’t let it happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure our kind aren’t used by them.”

June rocked on her heels again. “Well. I can certainly get behind kicking the Institute in the dick. Keep fighting the good fight.”

“Oh, I’m fighting it.”

“I’m sure Sam’s happy to hear that.”

Robbie sneered, but then turned away so June couldn’t see his face. “We’re still playing too nice with the Institute. I know some of the things that are going on in there. You have to fight fire with fire. Protests and debates aren’t getting us anywhere. The Institute isn’t interested in chatting with us and considering our grievances. We have to start speaking their language.”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir here.”

Robbie turned back around and his expression had somehow gotten even creepier, more malicious and dark. “The real problem is that some people don’t know what’s good for them. So you have to show them. There’s far too many misinformed fools. If you can’t put out the fire, you have to stop feeding it.”

June got that weird, uneasy vibe from him again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Robbie waved a hand. “I’m just angry, that’s all. I wish we could actually do something to stop them.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the other three returned.

“June and I are heading out of here,” Sam said. “Keep an eye on Micha, you two. I’ll be back.”

A cat streaked into the room behind Cindy; it stopped at June’s feet and gazed up at her with wide yellow eyes.

“Is that…” June bent over. “Dipity!” She squatted.

“Yes,” Cindy said. “I brought her over here just in case, you know, something happens to me.”

June petted her. The cat rumbled and stretched beneath her touch. “Hey, Dipster. Rough couple of days, huh?”

“I hate cats,” Robbie said sourly. “They steal your breath.”

June frowned. “I thought that was an old wives’ tale?”

“Old wives are wiser than you think,” Robbie said. “Not
all
folklore is fabrication.”

“It’s not cats we should be worrying about putting an end to our breath right now,” Sam said. “Come on.”

June stood up. Dipity wound around her boots, tail in the air.

“Well, Robbie,” June said, “if she steals your breath, come talk to me. I’ll put her in time-out.”

June said good-bye to Micha as they were leaving. He waved. They left the house, and June got back in the car with Sam and Muse, still worried about Micha. She didn’t want to be responsible for screwing up his brain.

“I have a bag back there,” Sam said, as they pulled out. “There’s a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses. You might want to make yourself unrecognizable. We’re not going to be in my territory.”

“Where are we meeting him?” June asked.

“At the Tribune building. That’s where he works.”

The red hoodie June found in the bag wasn’t exactly her style. She zipped it up and made an attempt to stuff her hair under the hood, looking over the seat into the rear view mirror. Sam seemed amused.

“I look like a Christmas version of the Unabomber,” June complained.

“It’s Dolce and Gabbana,” Sam said. “Very stylish. I’m sorry I didn’t have anything leather for you.”

“I don’t care if it’s Dolce and Kiss My Ass. Red isn’t my color.”

“Just try to disguise yourself and shut up.”

June also found a pair of big dark sunglasses in the bag and slipped them on, scowling. She pulled her jacket on over the hoodie.

“I told Cindy where were going,” Sam said, “and that I’d call her within the hour. That way if something happens to us on this outing, she can send people to find us.”

“I feel a lot safer now.”

They drove back downtown. The Tribune building stood near the bridge Cindy had driven over on Michigan Avenue, the one with the radioactive green ice-chunk water flowing beneath it. The building was a gothic granite tower topped with sharp spires, appearing both ancient and foreboding. Sam parked on the street a short distance away. The clock on the dashboard said 1:45.

“Looks Medieval,” June said.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Sam said.

The icy air whipped around them as they exited the car, and June and Sam made their way, heads down and hands stuffed into their pockets, across the street. Muse stayed in the car. When they reached the building, they pushed through a revolving door and stepped into a cathedral-like lobby. June peeked over her glasses, impressed. Chandeliers hung on long chains, providing a gentle glow and illuminating inscribed walls reaching up to a coffered wooden ceiling. Across the vast room stood a long desk, an enormous map of the world hanging over it.

“Come on.” Sam started across the room.

June followed.

A security guard sat behind the desk, a paunchy man with a thick, gray mustache. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“We have an appointment with Ethan Roberts,” Sam said. “At two o’clock.”

The guard sat forward and picked up a phone. “Ethan Roberts?”

“Yes. He works for the Paranormal section.”

June was amazed by the gigantic room. Chicago, for all the pain she’d suffered during her visit, repeatedly revealed itself grandiose in ways to make her both humbled and awed.

The guard spoke briefly to someone on the phone and hung up. “He’ll be right down.”

They waited near the desk. Sam kept his head down, June assumed so no one would recognize him. Several people passed through. The ding of an elevator, somewhere beyond the high arched doorways on either side of the desk, sounded intermittently.

Roughly ten minutes passed before a man walked into the lobby, brisk and purposeful, tugging at his suit jacket. He was slender and gangly and had dark hair slicked back from his narrow heart-shaped face. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, like a classic reporter-on-the-beat. June predicted before he even spoke he would be obnoxious.

“Sam Haain.” The man extended a hand as he approached.

Sam didn’t extend a hand in return. “Ethan Roberts.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Ethan flashed a wide toothy smile. He had a gold cap on one of his incisors. He lowered his hand, as if he didn’t even notice Sam had ignored him.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” Sam said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t explain anything on the phone. It’s not a secure method of communication.”

“Not a problem. And I always have time for you, Sam.” Ethan turned to June. “And who is this?”

Sam nodded at her.

She slipped off the sunglasses.

Ethan widened his eyes behind his glasses and dropped his mouth open. “Is this…” He looked at Sam, and then back at June. “You… Are you—”

“I am.” June slid the glasses back on.

“I heard you weren’t at the Institute anymore, or even in Chicago.”

“Oh, we’re still in Chicago,” she said. “And one of us is still at the Institute.”

“You’re quite famous around here, you know,” Ethan said.

“Famous in Chicago. Just what I always wanted.”

“Ethan,” Sam said. “I need your help. If you do something for me, I’ll do something for you. How would you like a scoop on the biggest damn conspiracy this filth-ridden town has ever seen?”

“You have my interest. Let’s go talk.”

Instead of hanging out at the Tribune building, they went to a diner down the street.

“Most people at work would recognize both of you on sight,” Ethan explained. “Here we can talk without being bothered. I was waiting until you arrived to have lunch anyway.”

The diner was empty apart from a few patrons. The place consisted of an open kitchen with a counter around it and a small dining room with lurid orange plastic booths. A grungy white tile floor and garish yellow walls completed the interior design nightmare. They sat in one of the booths closest to the door, June and Sam on one side, Ethan on the other. The waitress brought waters and menus. Despite being hungry, June didn’t think she could eat for all the knots in her stomach.

Ethan took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the booth. He set his cell phone on the table in front of him. “What can I do for you Sam?”

“I want June to tell you her story,” Sam said. “You need to hear this.”

“Oh, awesome.” June scowled. “Because I love to talk about it.”

They ordered some food first. The menu didn’t offer much in the way of delicate-flowers-with-allergies oriented fare, so June requested some vegetable soup. Sam ordered a burger and Ethan a corned beef sandwich. June rehashed what had happened to them at the Institute, finding she hated the story more each time it passed through her lips. Ethan gave her his rapt attention through the entire sordid tale. June considered not mentioning Micha, but Sam told her to go ahead.