The Wicked City (3 page)

“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.