Wicked City (11 page)

I felt ashamed and then furious with myself for the sensation. Did Amir expect me to be
happy
he'd imported Faust? “Don't sulk, darling,” I said, stepping too close. “It's unbecoming of royalty.”

“Don't preen, sweet,” he said, leaning forward. “It's unbecoming of peahens.”

I opened my mouth—either to gasp or in some automatic, damnable expectation of a kiss. But he didn't wait to see. Without the slightest warning, he vanished in a shimmer of heat.

“I hope you know what you're doing, Zephyr,” Elspeth said, after a moment.

I shook my head. A
peahen
! “Will you help me now?”

She sucked in a breath. “I have found a
sahir
. The most powerful in the city. She has agreed to try, Zephyr, but it won't be for free. How much can you pay?”

I could still smell him. “I have forty dollars saved up,” I said.

She sighed. “It might be enough. We can see. Meet me tomorrow morning at eight. There's a little pastry shop on the east side of Washington Street, between Morris and Rector. It will say Aleppo in the window with a red awning. Sofia is the baker.”

It seemed from her demeanor that Elspeth must have gone through much trouble to arrange this meeting. “Thank you, Elspeth,” I said. “I can't tell you how much this means to me.”

She turned back to her desk. “No thanks, Zephyr. I can't let a friend get mixed up in such business and not try to help.”

I tried not to remember in whose office I had spent my afternoon. No harm would come of it, I told myself. Somehow, I would make it all turn out right.

*   *   *

The next morning was Wednesday. I sat up in bed and watched the sunrise through the tenements across the street. I felt exhausted, yet somehow disinclined to sleep. Too much to do, too many threats and looming deadlines and not nearly enough time to accomplish everything. Eventually, I washed and dressed and left Aileen still snoring in her bed. I didn't know when she had gotten in last night, but it had been hours after me. Judging by the perfume-soaked pile of clothes on the floor and the makeup she had smeared on her pillow, I gathered she had enjoyed a festive evening after her reading at the Spiritualist Society, possibly in Lily's company. My favorite lady reporter had left me a note with Mrs. Brodsky the night before, indicating her triumphant return to the city and her desire for me to drop by the
New-Star Ledger
office this afternoon. She had written the address on the note, so I stuffed that in my pocket and hurried out the door. I was running late for my appointment with Elspeth.

I spent a long minute searching for my bicycle before I remembered: my best friends in the vice squad had taken it into custody. I could have attempted to retrieve my main means of transportation, but I suspected that Zuckerman and McConnell had a nasty surprise in store for me. I refused to give them the satisfaction. No subway was convenient, so I walked, arriving on Washington Street half an hour late.

I'd been past the Syrian neighborhood on Washington Street a few times before, but never taken the time to explore it thoroughly. The pastry shop Elspeth had told me to find this morning was one of a dozen tiny shops in the center of the block. On the street, a few men wearing fezzes smoked hookahs and drank coffee from little cups. I found Elspeth seated at a table inside, reading a newspaper. She'd sat in the far back, closest to the ovens. It felt like walking into a hot pudding; no wonder Elspeth and the woman baking in back were the only people here. But when I sat down across from her, she looked as cool and composed as ever. A wide-brimmed hat and draping overcoat were slung over a chair behind her, but I supposed one of the benefits of vampirism is being relatively unfazed by temperature extremes.

“You're late,” she said, as I sat down. “I was wondering if you'd forgotten.”

“The vice squad has stolen my bicycle.”

“That piece of junk? You should thank them for the favor and get a new one.”

I thought of telling her that Amir had been saying much the same thing for months, but decided that I didn't want to muddy the issue at hand. Elspeth had finally agreed to help me, and might not appreciate any hint that Amir and I could be friendly. Or more than friendly, on occasion. I dabbed at my forehead with a handkerchief.

“It's hot in here,” I said.

Elspeth turned to the woman tending pastries in back. She rattled off something in Arabic, which I recognized from conversations between Amir and Kardal. The woman called back and a moment later placed a tall icy glass before me. I stared at Elspeth.

“Drink,” she said. “You look like a stewed prawn.”

The drink was bright green. This put me off for a moment, but my thirst was too great to resist. Luckily, it turned out to be deliciously strong lemonade mixed with fresh mint. Elspeth slid the paper across the table while I gulped.

“Have you seen this?”

It was the
New-Star Ledger
. I read the headline:
MAYOR'S OFFICE CONDEMNS VAMPIRE “MURDERS”; VOWS TO CATCH KILLER.

“Well, that's new,” I said.

Elspeth waved at the paper. “Keep reading.”

An official close to the mayor has confirmed to this reporter that the mysterious deaths of ten vampires this past Sunday night are a source of ongoing concern for Mayor Walker. Speaking on condition of anonymity, the official called the controversial deaths—occurring after the individuals consumed Faust from a Lower East Side street vendor—“possible murders,” also referencing the long-term Faust consumption in the German cities of Dresden and Berlin. “Vampires in those cities have had access to Faust for several months longer than here in New York, and they have had no similar incidents. Therefore we are pursuing the possibility that the drink was deliberately adulterated,” said the official. Mayor Walker himself declined to comment, but the medical examiner's absolute secrecy regarding the remains of the deceased vampires speaks to the priority this issue has taken in the administration.

Neither the official nor the Mayor would speak about the upcoming Board of Aldermen vote for making Faust legally available. But many other commentators have not been shy about noting the curious timing of these mysterious murders just days before a vote that many expect will take all of Mayor Walker's considerable powers of persuasion to push through.

I looked up from the paper, my mouth suddenly dry. “So he's admitting it's murder?” I said. “But it doesn't say how.”

“I doubt they know,” Elspeth said. “My best guess is poison or tainted blood.”

“A taint? I've never heard of one that could kill a suck—vampire outright.” I blushed at my slip. “Sucker” wasn't exactly a pejorative, but I still felt uncomfortable using the slang in Elspeth's presence.

Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “Neither have I,” she said. “But what better place to test how much humans can poison their blood than New York City?”

Some human donors were so ill that they passed on that illness—or “taint”—to unsuspecting vampires. I remembered an indigent I had met while investigating Rinaldo. The man had lived in the subway and had a line of needle marks up his arm from injecting alcohol. He'd smelled of rot and death; Judah had said he wouldn't drink the man's blood. Laudanum, alcohol, cocaine, illnesses like tuberculosis and syphillis … Elspeth was right. Who was to say that some combination of these taints—which were known to sicken vampires—might not actually kill them?

“But the Banks screen donors,” I said. “Anyone whose blood was so tainted must be near death. How could it have gotten past them?”

Ysabel was always very careful about who she would let give blood to the “bruxa,” as she called vampires. But Elspeth dismissed this objection. “Banks are hardly the only place vampires obtain blood, Zephyr,” she said.

I knew richer vampires had other means of obtaining their vital sustenance—often through an arrangement with one or two willing humans, carefully vetted and well-remunerated. But even that didn't make sense. “But why would anyone take obviously tainted blood?”

“To kill vampires?”

I took a deep breath. “I don't know if it's Madison,” I said. “Honestly, I would be surprised if he did it himself, or even directed someone to do it. He would approve of the murders, I think, but he's interested in political power.”

“Fanatics can do irrational things. You don't deny the man's viciousness?”

“Goodness, no. I managed to speak with him yesterday and do a little snooping, well, look at this.” I handed her the pamphlet I had taken from his office. I wondered if I should also mention the graphic pornography I had found stashed in his desk.

Elspeth flipped through the pamphlet, her eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown. Eventually she slammed it down with a snarl. “The man's a danger to society! Even if he's savvy as you say, Zephyr, I can't believe that he wouldn't have a hand in this. He has men who would die for him, strays he picks from the lines in soup kitchens. They'd certainly murder for him.”

I nodded slowly. Perhaps this explained the strange, wild-eyed man who worked in his office. But still, I wondered if Madison would risk sending even a loyal servant for such grisly work. Getting caught could end all of his political ambitions.

As would an intrepid journalist discovering his stash of vampire bite pornography. Elspeth was right—anyone could act irrationally.

“But still,” Elspeth continued, “if it is one of his strays or someone else, I want to know how these vampires died. Taint or poison or both…”

“Could the mayor be lying?” I asked suddenly. “It would be a blow to his designs on Faust if the drink itself turned out to kill vampires.”

Elspeth smiled ruefully. “You and Iris can be remarkably tenacious, really. Yes, I know it would be best for us if it turned out to be the Faust itself. But wishing doesn't make it so. The article is right, Faust has been available to vampires in Germany far longer than it has here. If the effects are cumulative, there should be dozens dead across a dozen cities, not ten dead from one Faust stall on one night.”

Murder, then. It was the most likely possibility, as Elspeth said. I sighed and sucked down the last of my lemonade, leaving the chunky mint leaf pulp in the bottom.

“How do they get so much mint in there?” I asked.

“Mortar and pestle,” Elspeth said, not meeting my eyes. “That always tasted of summer to me, when I was alive.”

“You're still alive.”

She snorted. “And all my mother's food now tastes of rust and dirt. You don't know how lucky you are, Zephyr, to be human. No, don't argue, of course I still believe in the cause. We want equality—both for those who embrace this life and for those like me.”

Those like who?
I wanted to ask, but I had never seen Elspeth quite so contemplative or raw before. I knew that many vampires lived with the regret of their condition. Elsepth was right: this didn't diminish in any way the need for their fight for equality, but it did sometimes fill me with this aching sadness. Thanks to whatever my daddy had done when Mama was still pregnant with me, I was immune to all vampire bites. That fact had saved Amir's life, but had also turned me into his living vessel, a bond that would last until my death. Unless I found some unorthodox means of breaking it.

“So you said a woman here could help me?” I asked.

Elspeth blinked as though I had startled her. “Sofia,” she said. “She made you the
limon nana
.”

I turned around to study the woman pulling a tray of pastries from an oven. Sofia was younger than I'd imagined a famous
sahir
would be, a robust woman of around fifty, with wiry arms and sun-baked skin. Her smock was liberally coated with flour, and she had a streak or two in her dark hair.

Sofia looked reassuring. I had a hard time distrusting anyone who baked. Memories of my mama's kitchen, I suppose. As though she could sense our topic of conversation, Sofia looked over. Elspeth nodded and waved her hand at me.

“This is the one I told you about,” she said.

Sofia came over a moment later with a plate of pastries. I recognized none of them, but just the smell made me painfully conscious of my lack of breakfast. She smiled and gestured to the plate.

“For you,” she said. She spoke with a thick accent, but her meaning was plain enough. I grabbed the nearest item: a triangular layered wedge, sticky to the touch, that crunched with some unidentifiable nut and melted with honey and a hundred other flavors on my tongue. I might have groaned.

She laughed and clapped her hands. “Good,” she said. “My baklava is best, I always say.”

Baklava. I filed that word away for future use. Perhaps I could ask Amir to magic me an entire box of them the next time we were in Shadukiam. Then I swallowed the last of the baklava and remembered that until I made a wish, my presence in Shadukiam would cause seismic disturbances.

Elspeth regarded the pastries with a twist to her lips that could be construed as derision, but I suspected was regret. She and Sofia spoke for a minute or so in their own language while I tried another pastry: this time a honey-soaked confection that resembled a bird's nest.

“Sofia asks why you would capture a djinni you don't want.”

“I didn't mean to.”

More conversation. “How could you do such a thing by accident? Djinn don't often reveal themselves to humans willingly.”

I flushed—the heat, of course. “It's complicated. I helped him out of some trouble and now I am his vessel and I would very much like to get out of the obligation.”

I watched Sofia take this in—both my own words and Elspeth's translation. “You make wish?” she asked, without waiting for Elspeth.

Her direct gaze made my skin prickle. “No,” I said hoarsely. “It's been six months, but I haven't yet.”