by Megan Morgan
“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.
“I have some wonderful lesbian friends,” June said. “But no, just because I have tattoos doesn’t mean I don’t like cocks. Straight women can have tattoos, you know. And I happen to like leather. It's sexy.”
Cindy shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry.”
An awkward silence fell, though Micha had his lips pressed in a tight line, rubbing his jaw.
June looked back out the window. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that Millennium Park?”
“Yes.” Micha's voice was tight with stifled laughter.
Jason had been looking forward to visiting Millennium Park. He loved sculpture. She could see him sitting on the plane, book open in his lap, rattling on about his favorite sculptors. He thought she didn’t listen, but she did. Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate in Chicago. His Sky Mirrors were in front of Nottingham Playhouse and Rockefeller Center. His piece Taratantara stood outside the Baltic flour mills. She could take a test on Jason’s favorite sculptors and pass with flying colors.
She hoped she’d still get a chance to.
When they reached Navy Pier, the place looked like a carnival, complete with a Ferris wheel and the entrance boasting a huge lit-up sign akin to a funhouse. She sensed not much fun would go down, despite appearances. Cindy parked the car on the street in front and swiveled around.
“Robbie will stay here with the car. I’ll come with you to meet him.”
“Good idea,” June said. “You know where he is, after all. Unless we’re gonna just wander around like idiots.”
“I don’t, actually. Sam doesn’t like to be predictable. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Cindy paused. “I’m really sorry about—”
“It’s cool.” June held a hand up and quirked the corner of her mouth. “You do have a great rack.”
They had to walk through what looked like a shopping mall to get to the outer part of the pier—a broad concrete walkway empty of people, the steady wind off the lake making the January cold fucking cold. The wind cut through June’s T-shirt like a thousand evil icy razor blades and forced her to zip up her jacket. The immense plane of bleak and choppy water was filled with big ice chunks like the ones she’d seen in the river. Farther out, solid sheets spread like snowy islands. The city stood across the water, thrust in a jagged line
against the stark sky.
“First time I’ve seen any of the Great Lakes.” June's teeth chattered.
“Really?” Cindy asked. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“I guess neither of us is a world traveler, huh?”
Micha huddled into his coat. “Let’s walk down to the end.”
June kept a cautious eye out as they started down the pier. They saw no one else, as all other people in the city were smart enough not to be walking next to the lake in freezing temperatures.
“So what do you do when you’re not fighting the good fight?” June asked Micha, trying to keep her mind off the fact her face had already gone numb. They’d been acquainted nearly a week, but with fearing for their lives and June grievously worried about her brother and spending every waking minute trying to figure out a way to rescue him, they hadn’t made much small talk. She knew little about Micha beyond him being altruistic and sexy.
“I’m an administrator at the College of Paranormal Science. That’s where the Institute gets most its staff. I run a couple non-profit organizations too. Keeps me pretty busy. In fact, things are probably falling apart without me right now.”
“And you?” she asked Cindy to be polite.
“Bartender,” she grunted from inside her coat. “Some of us can’t be constant heroes.”
“Bartenders have always been my heroes,” June said.
They passed by the closed patios of restaurants, kiosks shut down for the season, moored boats, and a glass building called the Shakespeare Theatre. They were walking briskly to keep from freezing to death. After what seemed like a terrifically long, ridiculously cold time, they reached a round ochre building with a huge dome and two towers rising on either side.
Beyond was the end of the pier, the area deserted save for two people. They stood against the stone railing at the end, facing the water.
“Is that—” Micha slowed.
“It’s either who we’re looking for or a star-crossed couple contemplating suicide,” June said. “No other reason to be hanging out here in East Frozen Hell.”
Flags on a series of flagpoles popped in the wind. The place felt eerie and empty, thrust out into the void of frozen water. In the distance, a lighthouse loomed, caught in the ice.
“It’s him.” Cindy picked up the pace.
June flexed her stiff fingers inside her jacket pockets. She couldn’t feel her feet, even in her expensive weather-resistant leather boots. She needed to hear some good news, the promise someone could help. One of the figures was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a black coat, and the other one was short and tiny, a woman dressed all in white.
The couple turned in unison as they approached.
Chapter 3
“Sam?” Cindy said.
The man—Sam Haain, apparently—had a square jaw, a heavy menacing brow, straight black hair past his shoulders, and dark eyes. He was tanned and appeared perhaps not entirely Caucasian. He wore a black pea coat and a maroon scarf. The woman was narrow-faced and pale and had short platinum blond hair. She was wrapped in a fuzzy white coat and looked like a little snowball. She seemed a gentle light next to the man’s brooding darkness.
The sight of them was unaccountably unnerving—two lonely, strange figures pressed against the backdrop of the gray, blank world around them.
“Finally.” Sam gave an exaggerated shiver. “I’m freezing my cock off out here.”
June didn’t detect an accent, but he sounded overfull of testosterone.
“We didn’t have to meet here, you know,” Cindy said. “This is June Coffin, Sam. And that’s Micha Bellevue.”
“The activist.” Sam gave Micha a once-over, thick lips pulled in a grimace. He then jerked his head toward the little white girl. “My bodyguard,” he said, without a hint of irony. “Muse Sagan.”
Muse stared at June with her wide silvery eyes, irises washed out like the winter sky. She had a facial tick, the corner of her mouth jerking.
“She’s good.” Muse nodded. Her voice was breathy and scratchy.
“What?” June asked, a little creeped out.
“She’s a telepath,” Cindy said. “We had Robbie check her out already, Sam. I wouldn’t have brought her here without having her scanned first.”
June turned on Cindy. “You—”
“We had to make sure your story was legit!”
Sam focused on June, his eyes hard and appraising. “Welcome to Hell, Siren. Aural captivator, whatever it is the normals call you.”
“My name is June.”
“I know what your name is.” He stepped forward. “June Coffin. Is that your real name?”
She clenched her jaw. She got tired of people’s reactions to her name.
“Yes, it’s my real name. My brother is the actor. Your ‘bodyguard’ should have already known that.”
“Your brother. Cindy tells me he’s in the Institute’s slimy grip.”
“He is.”
“What’s going on at the Institute is incredibly complex, Siren. You’ve gotten yourself mixed up in a much bigger and more convoluted game than you could ever imagine.”
“I don’t give a damn. My brother is being held prisoner there. I want to know how to get him out. Whatever else is going on isn’t my problem.”
“But it is mine.” Sam drew his hands from his coat pockets. They were swaddled in thick, knitted gloves, the same color as his scarf.
June wanted to steal them.
“Last I heard, you were at the Institute with your brother. Yet here you are.” Sam turned his attention to Micha. “And here you are, though I heard you disappeared.”
“I busted out four days ago,” June said. “Unfortunately, Jason was caught trying to escape with me.”
“And they…killed my wife,” Micha said. “That’s what I’m told, anyway.”
Muse cleared her throat, a disgustingly wet, unladylike sound. The corner of her mouth still twitched.
“His mind is all messed up.” Muse sounded like an eighty-year-old woman who had been smoking two packs a day for fifty years. “What happened to you?” she demanded of Micha.
“I happened to him,” June said.
Muse flashed her gaze to June.
“I would love to see the Institute blown up,” Sam said. “I would even provide the dynamite. I’ve never let them put their filthy hands on me. Why would you let them touch you or your brother? Maybe you got what you deserved, Siren.”
“June.” She gritted her teeth. “And a lot of persuasion and a boatload of money was involved. I didn’t come here to justify anything to you. I need to get my brother out of the Institute, and they said you could help.”
“Oh, really? Because I can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Much as I would like to rip the Institute apart piece by little piece, I don’t have any power over them. At least not right now. I certainly can’t just walk in their doors and get him out for you.”
“What are we doing here then?” She snarled at Cindy. “Why did you say he could help?”
“Sam,” Cindy pleaded. “I know you might not be able to do anything directly, but maybe you know someone who can. Surely if you agreed to this meeting you had something in mind.”
“Do you know how many sad-eyed, beleaguered fools come begging for my help per day?” Sam asked. “Why should I help this yapping little pipsqueak? She got herself in this mess.”
June lost her composure. “I will kick your ass, I swear to God. All the shit I’ve been through the past few days, I don’t need anyone else’s bullshit, certainly not some swaggering asshole I don’t even know! I will stab you in the face if you say one more—”
Muse cleared her throat. “She doesn’t have a knife, Sam.”
“You.” June pointed at her. “You, I will pick up and throw over that railing.”
Sam grabbed June’s finger with his gloved hand, looking her in the eye. He was quite a b
it taller than she, but then, everyone was. He leaned in close, and she caught a faint whiff of understated musky cologne on the cold wind.
“You passed the first test.” Sam let go of her finger.
June stared at him.
“I don’t help those who can’t help themselves,” he said. “Come to my door whimpering and crying, I will kick you like a stray dog. Come ready to fight, we can do business.”
June closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them. “Great. Now can we—”
“Do you know what this is?” Sam flung his arms out. “All of this?”
He spun in a circle, scarf dangling, his hair moving in the wind. Muse watched him placidly. Cindy watched him too, hands clasped and eyes wide.
“Uh,” June said.
Sam turned back to them, arms still extended. “Do. You. Know. What. This. Is?”
June looked around, figuring she had to either entertain the madman or remain on the pier forever, encased in a block of ice. “A lake?”
“It’s my world.” Sam darted forward and got right in her face.
June took a step back, eyes wide.
“This is…” Sam turned slowly to Micha. “Our world. It belongs to the paranormal, it always has, and it always will.”
Micha clenched his jaw.
“The Paranormal Alliance will own this city when the Institute is finally in ashes.” Sam lowered his arms. “I will gladly do anything to help undermine them and lead them to their inevitable fiery end. So if you aren’t a blithering child, if you’re willing to fight the fight, then yes, I will help you, but”—he held up a finger—“there will be a price. You will owe me something.”
June shifted. “I—they took my wallet at the Institute. But when I get back to California…”
Sam chuckled and pushed a gloved hand through his hair, which was healthy-looking and thick. He was handsome; she finally had the mindset to notice.
“I don’t want money,” Sam said. “I don’t need money.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I’ll tell you, when the time comes. You have more tests to pass.”
June scowled. “I’m not jumping through any hoops for you.”
