The Wicked City

by Megan Morgan

  “While all that may be true,” Sam said, “I think you can stir up enough trouble to get their attention.”

  “I highly doubt that. I’ve been trying to get their attention for years. Thanks to the activists and the SNC, no one gives a shit what the paranormal man on the street thinks. It’s just sanctimony spewing from those two sides like never-ending streams of bile.”

  “You have such charming metaphors,” June said.

  “If you can do this for me, Ethan,” Sam said, “I’ll give you some very important, damning information about the Institute. A real story, better than this one.”

  “I told you, the Institute doesn’t give a damn what I print about them.” He gathered up his sandwich again. “They think they’re above all this. What’s it going to matter?” He took a bite.

  “Because what I’m going to tell you is the truth. Not a rumor. Not speculation. And it’s going to make the Institute incredibly nervous, realizing someone found out what they’re up to. What’s more, Eric Greerson will be made aware of what’s going on. I want him woken up.”

  Ethan chewed, gazing at Sam, and swallowed. “The Institute isn’t shy about replacing their head, if they know too much.”

  “There are forces willing to stand behind Eric that weren’t in place when Michael Paulson was in charge. Hell, I’ll back him with the Paranormal Alliance, if it means closing down shop there.”

  “What exactly do you think I can do to get their attention?”

  “Make up something outlandish,” Sam said. “Something that will cause a huge fuss.”

  “Make up something?”

  “Yes. Something big. Say you got a tip the twins were murdered. Hell, throw Micha in there, too. Maybe the militant vampires took them all out.”

  Ethan held up a finger. “I don’t mess with the militant vampires, Sam. Speculation is one thing. Outright accusation is another.”

  “Whatever. Just something so outlandish people will pay attention. And it has to be about the twins.”

  “You can tell them I’m a lesbian,” June said.

  “It’s unethical to make up a news story.” Ethan kept his focus on Sam.

  “It’s unethical to let the Institute get away with this shit,” Sam said.

  “Even if I make something up and it comes out in the morning edition, so what? How is that going to get her brother out of there?”

  “You need to call the Institute out. Demand they hold a press conference with the twins present to prove the rumors are false. And it has to take place outside the Institute. We can’t trust any broadcast from inside.”

  “Not a bad plan,” June said, duly impressed.

  Sam flashed her a smug smile.

  “It won’t work,” Ethan said. “They still won’t give a shit. They won’t listen to me. Especially when I’m saying things they know aren’t true.”

  “You have connections at the news stations, right?”

  “Of course. I can walk right over to NBC Tower and talk to their top reporters if I want to.”

  “Can you get the media stirred up by tonight? Get them over in front of the Institute?”

  Ethan chortled and pushed up his glasses. “Even if I leaked this false story to the news stations, I doubt you’re going to get that kind of reaction.”

  “Oh, I will. If I get the Paranormal Alliance up in arms.”

  Ethan sat back and draped an arm over the back of his seat. “Perhaps. Depends on the level of belligerence you intend to achieve.”

  “Ethan, you’re talking to me. I fought my way belligerently out of my mother’s womb.”

  June snorted and nibbled on a French fry.

  “Okay, say I can pull this off,” Ethan said. “Make up a story and help you get their attention. What is this information you’re going to give me that’ll be the ‘real’ story?”

  “Give me a fax number. One only you will have access to this afternoon. I’ll send you some documents. But there’s a catch.” Sam sat forward. “You can’t write a story about what I send you until they bring her brother outside the Institute. Because it’s going to stir up so much trouble they won’t be worried about anything else after that.”

  June suddenly started to believe Sam was the smartest man in the city.

  Ethan was silent a moment, tapping his fingers on the table. “All right. He plucked a pen from his shirt pocket. “I’ll be awaiting your fax. And I trust if I do this for you, you’ll finally give some consideration to my bid for—”

  “We’ll talk about that at a later time.”

  Sam and June left, most of their food uneaten. Plowing through the freezing wind and bustle of Michigan Avenue, Sam tied his scarf.

  “This better work.” His steaming breath was whisked away on the wind. “I’m about to use my biggest bargaining chip.”

  After the traffic passed, they started across the street, close together.

  “I hope it works, too.” June's teeth chattered. “I don’t want to talk to any more dead people.”

  Chapter 10

  They drove back to Robbie’s house and picked up Micha, who seemed to be his normal self again, aside from acting sluggish, and they returned to the hotel. Sam sent them up to the room with Muse while he faxed some things from the hotel’s media center. June was starting to think she ought to give Sam a blowjob or something for all his help.

  She smoked a cigarette on the balcony. When she stepped back inside, Sam was just returning, a leather folder under his arm and the duffel bag from the car over his shoulder.

  “Now we wait for the shit to hit the fan,” Sam said. “From several angles, I have a feeling.”

  Waiting would be just as agonizing as before. However, they didn’t wait long. They ordered room service, and after the food arrived, Sam’s phone went off. He looked at the screen, one eyebrow arched.

  “That has to be record time.” He answered. “Hello, Ethan.”

  The conversation was brief.

  “Consider it done,” Sam announced, as he clicked off. “I had a feeling that would get him eating out of my palm.”

  “Christ, what did you send him?” June asked. “The Institute’s blueprints showing their weak spot? Is it like the Death Star?”

  “Not far off. I might not have evidence yet, but I have the information.”

  The serum—the one used to turn normal people paranormal. “You gave him…”

  Micha, sitting beside June, raised his eyebrows at them.

  “That’s a pretty big bargaining chip.” June needed to upgrade from a blowjob. She might even let Sam marry her.

  “It has to get out sometime.” Sam took a drink from the glass of wine he’d ordered. “No time like the present. I can’t believe you still doubt my prowess.”

  “I can’t believe you’re putting this much on the line for me,” June said.

  “You shouldn’t always think everything is about you. That’s my area of expertise.”

  Afternoon faded into evening as they ate and watched the news. More snow fell, though not as heavily as the night before, swirls of fine glitter in the gloom on the other side of the windows. Sam and Muse left. If Micha was curious about what they’d been discussing, he didn’t ask. He seemed to bounce between moments of alertness and a trance-like, listless stupor.

  June was horrifically tired, both physically and mentally. The waiting, the expectation, and the fear exhausted her. She lay down on the bed, sprawled on her back, arms flung out as if waiting for something to strike her.

  Micha walked in the bedroom and crawled onto the bed next to her. “Do you mind?” he asked softly.

  “No.”

  She listened to the silence. Micha rested in shadow beside her, a long silhouette against the faint glow of the window.

  Wordlessly, June sought him out, clutched his wrist, and urged him closer with a gentle tug. He scooted over and pressed against her side. His skin was unnaturally warm, as if he had a fever. She slipped
a hand around the nape of his neck and drew him in for a kiss. His lips were hot and soft, as gentle as June’s emotions weren’t.

  They kissed, slow and lingering, and Micha slid his hand down her chest, to her stomach, to the top of her pants. She wasn’t in the mood for sex, or anything sexual, but she didn’t stop him from undoing the button on her jeans or tugging the zipper down. She recalled Micha’s delirious words outside Robbie’s house: “You want me even more now.” She didn’t know what the hell was going on in Micha’s head, but he was right, and the wrongness of it all made the whole thing even hotter. She wanted him. She undid his pants as well.

  Sometimes, in June’s estimation, the best kind of sex didn’t involve penetration. She liked a little mutual fondling, and the lesser act seemed perfect just then, so sleepy and close in the quiet darkness. They continued kissing while Micha pushed his fingers into her and started working them, slow and deep. His hand, like the rest of him, was over-warm.

  June tried to get her senses about her enough to return the favor. Micha’s cock, once she got it out, was thick and hard. As she stroked him and was stimulated in return, she grew more alert, less tired, and more aroused. A nap could wait until after her orgasm.

  Micha toyed with her ring with the pad of his thumb, working it in firm circles. The sensation was almost too sharp, too intense to be pleasurable. She wanted to come though, so she tried to focus on Micha’s cock and keep her senses from being overloaded. She bit into his lower lip. He moaned, and his hot breath gusted against her nose and cheeks. Then suddenly, he pushed her onto her back and got on top of her.

  “Micha,” she gasped.

  He fingered her harder and faster, and the abrupt change of speed and pressure, coupled with his aggressiveness, sent her shooting straight for her peak. She barely had time to think before she was clenching around his fingers and shuddering.

  “Fuck,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. She rode out the tremors as he continued working his fingers and his thumb, drawing it out. “Micha, Jesus Christ.” She didn’t think she had ever actually writhed during an orgasm, but she was totally up for new experiences.

  Micha didn’t stop until she pushed his hand away, the stimulation overwhelming in the wake of her orgasm. She gripped his cock in both hands, her palms slick with sweat, and stroked him with the same aggression. He pressed his forehead to hers, hot, sweaty. He went tense and silent above her, not breathing. Then he let out a low, deep groan, and his cock pulsed in her hands. His release splattered her stomach and she was glad her shirt—his shirt—had gotten hiked up. The wetness trickled down her side and over her hip.

  June slowed her strokes, her fingers slippery. Her lips tasted like sweat and Micha’s mouth.

  After Micha rolled off her, she went to the bathroom to clean up. Though the majority of the mess had gotten on her, she brought a towel back for Micha as well.

  “I was gonna take a nap,” she said. “But since you convinced me otherwise…”

  “A nap sounds good.” He hadn’t bothered to tuck his cock away yet.

  June tossed him the towel and crawled back on the bed.

  “Thanks,” Micha said.

  After righting their clothes and settling down, he rested his head on her shoulder, an arm slung across her stomach, holding her, not possessively, but a gesture of comfort. This helped ease the tension under her skin enough to allow her to fully relax.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. “I didn’t even know I needed that.”

  “I did,” Micha whispered.

  The words were eerie and weighted with meaning, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer to worry what he meant, or why he knew what she was thinking when she was unaware herself. Sated and exhausted, she slipped into much-needed sleep.

  * * * *

  June was dreaming. Or she thought she was. She opened her eyes to the darkened room and the air around her was distinctly cool, in sharp contrast to Micha’s warm body pressed against her side. Her heart leapt into her throat. She knew what the chill meant before she even turned her head.

  Rose stood between the open French doors, a silhouette in the darkness.

  Despite being little more than a shadow, June could make out her pale, blank face and her dead, staring eyes. They caught the light from the window and glistened, as if they were corporeal instead of an illusion from beyond the grave. Rose stared fixedly at June on the bed with her husband. June tried to speak, to cry out, to move, but all her muscles were frozen. She could only lie still and vulnerable, heart pounding, trembling. Micha didn’t stir.

  “Nothing is what it seems,” Rose whispered, though her voice carried in the silence, as loud as a scream. “Both sides have secrets.”

  June tried to respond, fighting the urge to cry like a scared little kid. She didn’t want Rose to come any closer to the bed. When the apparition took a few slow, stiff steps into the room, June was on the verge of passing out from fear. Or pissing herself. The mounting dread in her chest swelled like a black bubble about to burst.

  “You will find the truth,” Rose said.

  Though Rose’s voice lacked inflection, June could easily decipher what the statement meant. Rose didn’t speak to bestow hope—she was making a demand. June would find out the truth, or else Rose would curse her with her presence forever.

  “The truth,” Rose whispered. “Find it.”

  June’s paralysis broke. Rose disappeared in a flicker, as if someone had turned off a movie projector. June jerked against the mattress, letting out a gasp, the only release of a pent-up scream.

  Something thumped out in the main part of the room.

  Micha jerked up his head. June’s shoulder was hot where he’d been resting. He looked up at her in sudden wide-awake fear, his eyes glittering.

  “Someone’s in the room,” June whispered. This intruder was flesh-and-blood and much more dangerous than a ghost, though. Probably.

  Micha quickly rolled away. June sat up, heart pounding. The air in the room was still chilly. The darkness left her on edge, as if something might be lurking in the shadows near the bed. She scrambled off the bed and to her feet, looking around for a weapon. She’d rip the TV off the wall and use it as a bludgeon if she had to.

  Like an idiot, Micha called out, “Who’s there?” He hadn’t even grabbed something to defend himself with.

  A familiar voice replied, making June jump.

  “It’s just me, don’t panic. Where the hell are the lights?”

  An immediate rush of relief spread through June's chest, followed by a quick, burning anger. “For God’s sake,” she snarled and marched across the room. “Cindy, what the hell are you doing, coming in here and scaring the shit out of us like that?”

  “Sam sent me over.” A light popped on in the outer room.

  June hesitated to pass by the spot where Rose had stood, but she made herself do so. She stepped through the doorway and squinted at Cindy in the light. Cindy stood between the sofas, wearing a fuzzy brown coat and matching boots.

  “He sent me to watch over you,” Cindy said. “Muse is—busy.”

  June ruffled her hair, scowling. “Great. Did you bring your gun?”

  Cindy patted her bag at her hip. “Yes.”

  June lowered her arm. Micha walked out of the bedroom behind her.

  “Good.” June wanted to ask if ghosts could be shot.

  “You need to turn on the TV.” Cindy took her bag off her shoulder, tossed it on one of the sofas, and grabbed up the TV remote. “You gotta see what’s going on.”

  “What channel?” Micha turned and went back in the bedroom.

  “All of them,” Cindy said.

  As the screen between the sofas blazed to life, a female reporter stood in front of the Institute courtyard. People were huddled behind her, bundled up in coats and scarves and hats, livid faces caught by the camera lights. On the bottom of the screen were the words, “Nancy Cleary, live from the Chicago Institut
e for Supernatural Research.”

  “What the hell?” Micha asked from the bedroom.

  He had turned on the TV too, and the woman’s voice was in stereo.

  Nancy was about to interview Sam, who stood beside her, looking the angriest of all. At the bottom of the screen, they flashed, “Sam Haain, leader of the Paranormal Alliance,” as Nancy thrust the microphone in his direction. She didn’t look happy to be given the task.

  “We refuse to stand aside and be silent.” Sam glowered at the camera. “We’ve put up with enough of the Institute’s lies. Now they try to orchestrate a cover-up? If I don’t get some answers, I’ll have every single member of my group down here on their doorstep, twenty-four hours a day, and Eric Greerson will not rest until he comes out and answers my questions.”

  Nancy pulled the microphone back. “Mr. Haain, this still begs the question: where is the information coming from that has your group so upset? We’re trying to substantiate these claims about the Coffin twins, and there doesn’t seem to be any—”

  Sam grabbed the microphone and jerked it back to him. He had a huge hand compared to Nancy. She now looked more frightened than angry.

  “I have sources your ineffectual reporters couldn’t begin to tap.” Bile dripped from Sam’s words. “We’re tired of normals thinking they have a better grasp of our kind than we do. That you know so much more about us than we know about ourselves. That the only place reliable information comes from is this unholy edifice of lies and sanctimony.” He pointed damningly at the Institute.

  The people behind him shouted in agreement.

  Nancy forcefully pulled the microphone back. “Mr. Haain, we’re simply trying to confirm the claims that have been made. For the sake of your own validation, some proof—”