The Wicked City

by Megan Morgan

  “You want proof?” Sam yelled, loud enough the microphone still picked him up. “Ask the vampires. Ask those who have been scarred by the Institute’s research! The Institute is run by normals, for normals, for the express purpose of—”

  “Mr. Haain!” Nancy backed away. “Most people believe the twins went home after Rose Bellevue’s death.”

  “Why hasn’t the Institute released a statement?” Sam got in her face. “Why haven’t the twins talked to the press? This is a cover-up. I want someone to come out here right now and prove me wrong!” He seemed on the verge of pounding the wide-eyed woman into the pavement. A couple of large men became involved. Nancy swiveled toward the camera, eyes glittering with irritation as the men forced Sam away. The scene switched to a studio, where a somber-looking, white-haired man sat behind a desk. He perked up at the camera.

  “Well, things certainly seem volatile there, Nancy,” he said, with no particular emotion. “Folks, if you’re just tuning in: unrest tonight at the Chicago Institute for Supernatural Research. Nothing new in that vein, but tonight we have Sam Haain, leader of the Paranormal Alliance, along with members of his group outside the facility, reacting to a rumor that the Coffin twins—who came to Chicago for the purpose of research earlier in the week—have been murdered,” he nearly chuckled, “and that the Institute is covering it up.” He looked to his right. The camera panned over to take in a younger dark-haired man with eyebrows arched in mild, affected surprise.

  “Well, Dennis,” the younger man said, “as you know, this isn’t the first time Mr. Haain has organized a protest or reacted passionately to an unsubstantiated rumor. It’s believed the Coffin twins went home in the wake of Rose Bellevue’s murder, though this hasn’t been confirmed.” He turned fully toward the camera. “We hope to get a statement from the Institute, and we’ll keep you informed of any further developments at the scene.”

  “Holy shit.” June started pacing. “He wasn’t just blowing smoke. He can put on one hell of a show.” Hope finally burned inside of her, but something else, cold and bitter, warned her not to get too excited yet. A million things could still go wrong.

  Micha walked out of the bedroom. By the look on his face, he thought the same thing. “This is too much,” he said. “Just because Sam’s throwing a fit doesn’t mean anything will happen. He’s like a comic book character as far as the media is concerned. It’s hard to take him seriously.”

  “Well, they did film Batman here,” Cindy said, as if this were some sort of defense. June frowned at her.

  “I’m not going to stop holding my breath until he actually gets the Institute to respond,” Micha said. “And you shouldn’t either, June.”

  “I haven’t been able to breathe for days,” she said. “No problem there.”

  Cindy stayed, and they left the TVs on tuned to the news station. Sam kept the protestors lively all evening, even getting them to accost a heavily-guarded Eric Greerson on the way to his car. June finally couldn’t handle the sound of the reporter’s voices. She fell asleep as a means of blocking further anxiety.

  She awoke to morning light and Cindy sitting on the edge of the bed with a coffee cup in hand and a newspaper thrust in June’s face.

  June lifted her head and squinted at her with one eye.

  “Read,” Cindy said. “Ethan ran the story.”

  June tried to find the clock. Micha was asleep on the other side of the bed. “What time is it?”

  “A little before seven.”

  “You have the paper already?”

  “The concierge delivers it at six thirty.”

  June sat up. She rubbed her face, pushed a hand through her hair, and took the coffee and newspaper from Cindy. Cindy made a sound of protest when June grabbed the cup. The paper was folded over to the front page of the Paranormal section.

  “There’s more coffee out in the room,” Cindy said pointedly.

  June took a sip. Even though the coffee had sugar in it and tasted like sweetened crap as a result, she needed caffeine, stat.

  “Yeah, so go get yourself some.” June gazed at the paper.

  Cindy huffed, but didn’t move.

  The headline at the top of the page screamed COVER-UPS AND CONSPIRACY AT THE INSTITUTE. Below the headline was a picture of Sam outside the Institute, surrounded by a small group of belligerent-looking people. None of them looked as belligerent as he did, though. He stared crazy-eyed at the camera, as if trying to set the morning’s readership on fire with his mind.

  “I see they got his good side,” June said.

  “They’re still at the Institute,” Cindy said. The TV behind her was still on, volume turned down low. “I don’t think Sam sleeps. He’s like the Devil, always watching.”

  June took another sip of coffee and skimmed the article. Farther down was a picture of Rose, and June’s skin crawled. The caption said, “Unsolved tragedy: the late Rose Bellevue, lead Vampire Studies researcher, responsible for isolating the bacteria causing vampirism.” Below that was another picture, this one of June and Jason on the day they’d arrived at the Institute. The photograph looked like a paparazzi picture, taken in the lobby while they stood near the reception desk, bags over their shoulders. Below, the caption said, “Jason and June Coffin: victims as well?”

  “Yeah, we’re victims,” June muttered.

  “Read the article,” Cindy said. “It’s interesting.”

  June started reading, blinking to focus through the sleep-blur over her eyes. The article described the scene outside the Institute in much more breathtaking terms than June recalled seeing on television. According to Ethan, the Institute was bombarded by “a tumultuous and raucous mob” that was “exploding upon any reporter who would entertain their cries of conspiracy.” He described Sam as “militant and vivacious, an avid and steadfast denouncer of injustice and a champion of paranormal truth.”

  “Is he in love with Sam by any chance?” June asked.

  Ethan speculated extensively and, of course, luridly, on June and Jason’s fate, and demanded a press conference revealing them, if they were in fact still alive, “outside the secretive walls of the Institute, in a neutral venue.” June choked on the coffee when she read herself described as “a primal-visaged, intriguingly raw individual, evoking the mysterious, mythical creature her power is named for.” June tried to imagine herself as the iconic siren on the rocks, luring sailors to their deaths. She would more likely use a harpoon gun than her voice.

  “I can’t stomach his writing.” June tossed the paper on the bed. “I’ve read less lurid shit in Penthouse. Apparently the Tribune doesn’t care about unbiased reporting in their Paranormal section.”

  “Of course they don’t. Then no one has to take it seriously.” Cindy slid off the bed. “But Sam likes him. He’s right up Sam’s alley.”

  “Sounds like he’s up Sam’s alley, all right.”

  Micha woke up a short time later, and June showed him the paper while Cindy went to take a nap on one of the sofas. Cindy had apparently been awake all night as well. Micha took a while to fully wake up and behave as if he were coherent. He still felt feverish.

  “I’m worried about you,” June finally admitted.

  “I don’t feel well.” His voice was gravelly. “Maybe they can send up some cold medicine.”

  She refrained from pointing out colds didn’t usually make a person able to read minds.

  June tried to make herself presentable while Micha read the paper. She hoped Sam would take her on an outing later. Micha told her to get in the duffel bag for some clothes, and June pulled out a fresh shirt: a long sleeve black Henley. The shirt had to be formfitting on Micha because it actually fit her rather well. As she stood at the vanity trying to finger-rake her hair into order, she noticed Micha on the bed behind her, not reading the paper but gazing at her.

  “Don’t get all dreamy-eyed,” she said.

  “Let’s order some breakfast.”

  She
gave up on her hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and fetched the room service menu. The whole thing was written in flourished script and bore a notable lack of prices. “Just as I suspected,” she said. “I can’t pronounce half of what’s on here.”

  “I’ll tell you what ingredients are in things. Should we order some Mimosas?”

  June snorted. “No. Are we at brunch after our yoga class?”

  She picked the gluten-free fruit crepes because at least she knew what those were and they didn’t sound like they would kill her. “And Cabernet Sauvignon.”

  She meant it as a joke, to mock Sam, but Micha wrote the wine down on the pad he was recording their order on.

  “God, no.” She stopped him. “I was kidding. You don’t drink Cabernet Sauvignon with fruit crepes. Get me a Chenin Blanc.”

  Micha scratched it out. “I can’t believe you just made a cultured joke after complaining you can’t pronounce anything on the menu. You’re such a dichotomy.”

  “My mother taught me about wine. She’s far more cultured than I am. Beyond that, I don’t know much. Except cigars. I know a little about them. My uncle smokes them.”

  “You adore your mother, don’t you? I can tell.”

  “I do. And I don’t want her to suffer. Anymore.”

  After Micha ordered breakfast, he switched off the TV and grabbed something from the bedside stand. “Look, I had Cindy go downstairs and get this for me last night, after you fell asleep.” He held up a small blue book titled The Pocket Guide to Chicago.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  Micha turned the book around. “They have these behind the concierge’s desk downstairs. It’s for visitors who want to go sightseeing.”

  “What good’s it going to do me?”

  Micha settled back on the pillows and opened the book. “Since you didn’t get to go sightseeing, I’ll read you some facts.”

  June grunted and lay back too. “Facts. As long as you’re not gonna test me later.”

  Micha read to her about the Chicago River, which sounded like a polluted mess and periodically flooded everything downtown. Parts of it were apparently so nasty organisms couldn’t live in it, and at one point it had to be redirected so as not to fill Lake Michigan with shit and kill everyone. Micha was obviously trying to distract her and give her something to focus on besides her own mental anguish, but it wasn’t working.

  “Your river is depressing me.” She stretched her arms above her head. “Tell me about something else.”

  Micha flipped through the book. “Ah. The Cloud Gate. You said your brother likes stuff like that.”

  June didn’t answer.

  Micha started reading about the sculpture. They were facts she already knew, thanks to Jason’s enthusiasm, but she let him read. Maybe it was distracting him, too.

  “Jason would take a million pictures of it,” June finally said. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the silver blob she’d caught a glimpse of when they passed the park. Yes, Jason would take pictures and get posters printed from them.

  “There’s other things in Millennium Park,” Micha said. “Jay Pritzker Pavilion, Crown Fountain, Wrigley Square. You want me to read about those?”

  “Nah.” She opened her eyes. “I’m gonna go see them with Jason.”

  Micha closed the book and rested it on his chest. He leaned in close and said softly, “Yes, you are.”

  “Thanks.” She stole a quick kiss. His lips were intensely hot. “And thanks for the tour.”

  “See, Chicago isn’t all bad.”

  June shrugged. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “Not really.”

  Breakfast arrived. Micha didn’t eat much. They weren’t far into the meal when a cell phone rang in the other room, followed by Cindy grumbling. June took a bite of her crepe and chewed, listening closely as Cindy answered.

  Cindy didn’t say much except, “All right. All right. Yes. Okay.”

  “What is it?” June called out, after Cindy stopped talking. June needed more wine if bad news was on the way.

  “Eric Greerson announced he’ll give Sam his press conference.” Cindy sounded tired and unenthusiastic. “With you and your brother there to show everyone you guys are still alive.”

  June dropped her fork on her plate. “He’ll be kind of shocked when I’m not there.”

  “Sam’s on his way. I’m sure he has a plan.”

  Chapter 11

  Sam arrived with both Muse and Robbie in tow. Sam was humming. Dark circles under his eyes proved he was human and capable of being tired. He had, after all, been up all night having a fit.

  Robbie, when he walked in, plunked an animal carrier in Cindy’s lap, and she yelped.

  “I’m not leaving this cat at my house,” he told her. “Find someone else to babysit it.”

  “Poor Dipity.” Cindy set the carrier aside on the sofa and opened the wire door on one end. “Has he been manhandling you?”

  Dipity slid out and climbed onto her lap. The cat looked around and, seeing June, jumped down and rushed over to her. She slid around June’s calves.

  “Dipster,” June said.

  The cat hopped up on the back of the sofa next to June with a pleased rumble.

  June petted her. “Don’t worry, you can come live with me. I’ll smuggle you back to Sacramento.”

  Sam tugged off his scarf and wheeled around to June, all puffed up. “I told you I can get attention.”

  “So you’re really getting the press conference?” June asked.

  “Yes, Eric assures me both you and your brother will be there. Safe and sound.”

  Muse sat down beside Cindy, and Robbie sat on the opposite sofa. Micha stumbled out of the bedroom, still in his T-shirt and pajama pants. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed. June had so many things on her mind, her worry for Micha had to go down a few notches on her priority list.

  “How the hell can he assure you I’m going to be there?” June asked Sam.

  “My guess is because his people haven’t told him you’re not at the Institute.”

  “This is gonna be interesting.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m going to order some coffee. God knows I need an entire pot right now. Everyone sit tight for a moment.”

  Micha wobbled on his feet, eyes drooping.

  “Go back to bed,” June said gently. She took him by the arm and guided him back into the bedroom. Dipity jumped down and followed. “You need rest.”

  Micha got back in bed. Once again, he didn’t seem wholly present.

  “Rose’s older sister got turned into a vampire,” he said, as June covered him up. “When Rose was a teenager.”

  June froze.

  “This was before the Institute.” His speech was lazy and slurred. “Before people knew the truth about vampires. Her sister had a boyfriend. He was a vampire. They were in love, so he turned her. After he did it, he was so overcome with guilt he ran away. They never saw or heard from him again.”

  June opened her mouth and closed it. Dipity sat next to her feet, purring.

  “Things were harder back then.” Micha languidly rolled his head on the pillow. “We didn’t understand their natures… Not the way we do now. Rose’s family didn’t believe their daughter was a vampire. They thought she was crazy. They thought she was psychotic when she started attacking people because she couldn’t control her urges. So they put her in a mental institution…” He paused for a beat. “She died three weeks later, because the bacteria infecting her blood depleted it without a fresh supply.”

  “That’s…horrible,” June said. “But—you remember this?”

  “Rose didn’t know exactly what happened, until she isolated the bacteria. That was a rough week…” He slumped against the pillows. “She was a good woman.” His eyelids slid shut. “Just wanted you to know.”

  He went still, as though he’d suddenly fallen asleep or passed out. June watched closely to make sure he
was still breathing. She looked down at Dipity. The cat gazed up at her, yellow eyes complacent.

  “What the hell?” June whispered.

  She joined the others in the outer room. Dipity sat on her lap, and June petted her absently, glancing anxiously now and then toward the bedroom. She wished they could take Micha to a hospital, or at least find a doctor to look at him.

  “Eric wants to know where I wish him to fellate me.” Sam stood between the sofas, mug in hand. “So do you have a plan, June?”

  “A plan?” she asked.

  “When your brother is paraded out at this press conference. What should we do?”

  “I—”

  The others all stared at her. Muse’s mouth twitched.

  “Don’t know?” June said.

  “You haven’t been thinking about it?” Sam asked.

  “This has been your plan from the start!”

  “All right.” Sam took a quick drink of his coffee. “I was just trying to be a gentleman actually, seeing if you had any input. I do have a plan. Simplicity is the best recourse. The Institute wants to bring you and your brother out to show me how much of a big persecuting jerk I am. So you need to be there.”

  June narrowed her eyes.

  “You come out,” Sam said, “show everyone you’re there, and walk out. With your brother.”

  “Gee, why didn’t I think of that? Just walk right up in public and take Jason away.”

  “The public thinks you’re there. So what is the Institute going to do when you show up where everyone thinks you are?”

  “That’s not a half-bad idea,” Cindy said.

  “It’s an amazing idea,” Sam corrected her. “The Institute can’t take you down in front of everyone.”

  “What about when we’re not in front of everyone?” June asked. “Yeah, I show up, they can’t do anything in front of people. But once we’re not in public—”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Sam said.

  “You can get Jason and me safely away from them?”

  “I can get you into a car, which I can’t guarantee won’t be shot at. Is that good enough?”

  “It’s better than anything I have.”