Wicked City

by Alaya Johnson

  Mrs. Brandon frowned. “They found a bag of blood in his room, along with the letters. The writer sent it, apparently.”

  “Poisoned blood? So she provided the murder weapon,” Amir said, and his frown was a little too deep, his worry a little too obvious, for a man who believed in my innocence. He was afraid I had written Madison’s assistant those letters to further my political cause! I seethed, but of course I had to keep my rage to myself. Of all the unmitigated gall—to have brought the plague of Faust to this city and then to believe me capable of murdering for it. I felt quite glad that I hadn’t kissed him. He didn’t deserve it.

  “The blood came from a Blood Bank,” Mrs. Brandon said. She paused as though she had said something shocking.

  “Isn’t that where blood generally comes from?”

  “No, you don’t understand. The blood was tainted—not from a poison, as the police originally suspected. And certainly not from Faust. The blood itself. Someone with tainted blood gave it to a Bank with no trouble. If this gets out, who knows what could happen? Vampires who don’t trust Blood Banks…”

  “Might turn to other sources,” Amir finished.

  * * *

  Mrs. Brandon had hardly shut the door behind her before I toddled to the living room, snatched up the letter, and collapsed none-too-steadily into the nearest chair.

  “I’m sorry—” Amir began, but I shook my head.

  “Quiet,” I said. “I’m reading.”

  He waited. I squinted. “Does it generally take you this long?” he said.

  “You are an ass.”

  “I can read it aloud if you’d like.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair—not as comfortable as I would have wished, given how much money seemed to have been wasted on its appearance. To be honest, I had forgotten the way blows to the head tended to hamper one’s vision.

  I scowled and squinted at him. He was kneeling in front of me, with a look of far greater concern than I had expected from his voice.

  “Oh, read the blasted thing,” I said.

  Amir responded graciously to my gracelessness.

  “From letter May 30th, 1927. ‘It’s low season at the Blood Banks, Brad. Those who can give in the summer, but not all of their blood can nourish. Some hurts. Some kills. Did you know that? Faust kills, too. It kills humans and makes vampires mad, just as Madison says. But what if you could get rid of them all? What if you could kill them with the blood they need, through the drink they crave? This blood will kill the scourge, which is your mentor’s greatest desire. And if you poison the drink, even the mayor won’t be able to push through Faust’s legalization. I don’t want Faust on the streets, Brad. Madison doesn’t. I don’t think you do, either. Will you take up the mantle? Will you mete out justice? I used to defend my fellow humans, like you and Madison. I was raised to do so by my father, but my path has changed. I can do more good in disguise. This blood is a weapon, but a woman cannot wield it. Only you.’”

  Amir’s face was damningly blank. He put down the note. I stared at it. The room seemed to tremble. I realized it was me.

  “Christ,” I said. “Bloody Christ.”

  “Zephyr,” Amir said, very carefully, “if you perhaps did something ill-advised, in the heat of entirely justified anger at Faust or … or myself and the responsibility I bear for it, I…”

  His eyes implored me—to do what, I wasn’t sure. Though he clearly tried to hold himself in check, emotion gripped him so strongly that a slight haze of smoke drifted over his shoulders.

  I wasn’t inclined to sympathy.

  “You what, Amir?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath. “I will do anything in my power to help you,” he said.

  I laughed. “You get your wish at last!”

  “You think that’s what matters to me? You wouldn’t want your wish anywhere near this. You’ve waited too long to make it, Zephyr. I couldn’t possibly control the outcome. I have other, more mundane, skills. I’m inviting you to use them.”

  I was surprised by his answer, but too angry to let it show. How could he believe me capable of such ugliness? “To spare me the consequences of inciting murder for political gain? What will you do, haunt all of City Hall? Such lengths for a murderous hypocrite.”

  Amir winced. “If so, only because she was desperate.”

  “You mean you aren’t sure?”

  “I’ll help you either way. I owe you that much, after what I’ve done.”

  I suppose it should have reassured me that Amir felt such guilt for bringing Faust to the city, but it only fueled my anger. But infuriating or not, I needed his help. Confused as I was, I knew I hadn’t written that letter. Which meant only one thing.

  “Someone is trying to frame me for the murders,” I said.

  “Someone would have to hate you very much. They would have planned it very far in advance. Mrs. Brandon said the letters dated from February.”

  “A month after the affair with Rinaldo,” I said.

  “And Faust,” he said.

  Amir and I looked at each other. We didn’t have to say it out loud: if they knew what had happened in January, too many people to count might hate me just enough.

  * * *

  I had every intention of going back to the boardinghouse that night for news of Aileen, but my exhaustion betrayed me. No sooner had I realized the truly frightening number of people who might wish me ill than I was taking such cheery thoughts into my dreams. I roused to warmth and a gentle bobbing sensation—Amir had plucked me from my uncomfortable slouch on the brocade chair.

  “How undignified,” I murmured into his chest. Something beat inside, but it didn’t sound like the other hearts of my acquaintance. In addition to pounding, it produced the occasional hiss and rattle, like a cranky steam engine. In my somnambulant state, I somehow found this comforting.

  Amir lay me on the bed. The sheets felt as marvelous as I remembered, but I forced myself to sit up.

  “But I have to get back,” I said.

  “Whatever it is can wait till morning.”

  I squinted at him. “Are you trapping me in your bower?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. But your brother made me promise to keep an eye on you tonight, so your toddling back to that puritan boarding-house would pose certain logistical constraints.”

  I yawned. “Mrs. Brodsky could use the excitement,” I said, and fell asleep again with his laughter in my ears.

  When I awoke, sun streamed through a crack in the heavy red curtains. Amir was gone. I indulged a moment of pure disappointment—all the more ridiculous for having no plausible basis—and then took deep, calming breaths. A murderer had been caught last night, but unfortunately the person who had goaded him to do it seemed to want my head on a stick. I wouldn’t give it to them without a fight.

  I was in my slip—a fact which seemed to not have registered last night, indication enough that I had been in no fit state to go anywhere. Amir had draped my clothes neatly over the chair of the vanity. I dressed and checked myself in the mirror.

  “Goodness,” I said, fingering the purpling bruise on the right side of my head. That certainly justified this morning’s headache, though thankfully sleep had taken care of the wooziness and nausea. It looked a fright, however. Not as though I ever looked precisely smashing, but this seemed a little much even for my usual state of disarray. I pulled my hat down very low, and then carefully arranged the curls that stuck out. Not perfect, but at least I was unlikely to be pointed at on the street.

  Suitably attired, I opened the bedroom door.

  “Amir?” I called. I looked in all the rooms—one bathroom, another bedroom, and the foyer and kitchen. He was absent from them all. Only after my second time through did I discover the note he’d left for me on the parlor table.

  Zephyr,

  I am pursuing a lead, but will find you in the evening. I believe I promised you a trip to the morgue? In the meantime, I hope to present you with something useful when ne
xt we meet.

  I hold my tongue lest I make it known.

  Amir

  (Sorry, habibti, that last is Nuwas, another part of that poem you knew)

  I held the note far longer than necessary. I stared at it as though into a well, or the stars on a clear Montana night. I didn’t understand why, only that I was furious. For his leaving when I had woken up with the thought of him. Furious for his poetry, for his contrition, for his surprising conscientiousness in the face of what I realized was extreme provocation. If Kardal would say what he had to me, I could only imagine the family dinners in Shadukiam. Amir had probably gone off to do something else to help me, but instead of being grateful I could only process my fury at his presumption.

  Typical Amir, of course. Half the disastrous mess of this January could have been averted if he had managed to overcome his pig-headedness and tell me the truth of his dealings with Rinaldo. But apparently princes of the djinni weren’t taught to admit bad judgment or confusion. It never occurred to him to talk to me about his problems. He much preferred to bumble ahead on his own, and use me to get out of the sticky aftermath.

  “Damn you, Amir!” I said, with much satisfaction.

  I nearly tore the note, but my hands froze.

  I hold my tongue lest I make it known.

  I didn’t know what it meant, but my breath caught just the same.

  I would see him this evening. I could yell at him then. In the meantime, I had more than enough to do without worrying about him. I tucked the note into my pocket before I left.

  * * *

  It was just as well that I’d slept on Amir’s silk sheets, because Lily had spent the night on mine. She and Aileen were both awake by the time I made it back, and if I was surprised to see Lily looking more or less at home on the worn chintz of Mrs. Brodsky’s living room, I didn’t say so. I owed her for taking care of Aileen after the séance—Lily possessed greater depths than she preferred to let on.

  Aileen noticed me first, standing awkwardly in the entrance to the parlor. “Why, hullo. We were wondering when you’d return. Is that frankincense I smell?”

  I grimaced. “Purely innocent frankincense.”

  Lily looked between the two of us, confused. “Is that some new slang?”

  Aileen leaned back in the armchair. “Yes,” she said gravely, “for handsome djinni who are angling for a certain suffragette’s bloomers.”

  Lily was aghast. “You wear bloomers!”

  “I do not! Well, not unless I’m too busy to do the laundry—”

  “Zephyr has perfectly respectable undergarments, Lily,” Aileen said, patting her hand.

  “So did you make it with your djinni?” Lily asked.

  I blushed and made a fuss sitting down on the ottoman across from them. “I told you,” I said. “I’ve been chaste as a preacher’s daughter.”

  Lily arched her brows. “Pity,” she said.

  “When did you wake up?” I asked Aileen. “Are you all right?”

  Aileen smiled thinly. “As I ever am,” she said. “I woke up as soon as that doctor started prodding me. I hadn’t really been asleep, besides. Just in too deep. It took me a while to crawl back out.”

  “Crawl out?” I said.

  Lily sighed. “I don’t understand either. However, as I’m not a famous medium, I have taken her word for it. She seems okay.”

  “I am okay,” Aileen said. “And in the room, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “I’m so glad!” I said. “I was worried, of course, but with so much happening at once…” I leaned forward and embraced her. She returned the gesture, then froze.

  “Christ, Zeph, what’s that on your head?”

  Whoops. I’d forgotten it would be visible without my hat. “War casualty,” I said. “After the man knocked you out.”

  “And I thought I had a bump! Did he use a billy club?”

  I squirmed. Harry was right—I was becoming as helpless as a civilian. “Oh, you know,” I said, “it was dark. More importantly, what do you remember? You got stopped at a nail-biter.”

  Lily sighed theatrically. “She’s not saying.”

  Aileen bit her lip and shook her head. “Lily doesn’t understand. It’s not that I don’t want to tell, it’s that I’m not sure. I wasn’t parroting what Zuckerman said to me, I’d allowed him to, well, inhabit my body. It’s not very pleasant!”

  I shuddered. “Doesn’t sound like it.”

  “I could hear him a little,” she said, her eyes staring into a place I couldn’t follow, “but it was muffled. Distant. I had to focus so much just to hold myself together, to make sure that I could push him out when the time came. Then I felt something like an earthquake and Zuckerman spoke to me. To me, I mean, not to the audience.”

  “And what did he say?” Lily had pulled out her notebook. This struck me as crass, though I understood the impulse.

  Aileen frowned at her, her eyes returning to sharp focus. “Not for the paper, Lily.”

  “After last night, you’re a news item whether you like it or not.”

  “Not about this,” Aileen said, drawing herself up with a dignity that surprised me. “And if you think so, you’re free to leave.”

  Lily pouted. “You’d kick me out? She was the one who left you unconscious. I stayed with you all night!”

  “And I’m grateful for it, but this isn’t news. Or at least, I won’t be the one to make it so. Besides, I don’t see you with a bruise the size of a goose egg on your temple.”

  I beamed at her. “You are my dearest friend, you know that?”

  “You aren’t going to like this, Zephyr,” she said.

  I sighed. “I haven’t liked much since Zuckerman and McConnell caught us on the roof. But in current circumstances, forewarned is forearmed,” I said, echoing Mrs. Brandon’s dictum from last night.

  With a distressed sigh, Lily put her reporter’s notebook and pen down carefully on the coffee table. “Off the record,” she said, and then looked at me sharply. “Current circumstances?” she repeated. “Has something else happened?”

  “Oh, just that the murdering spree had an anonymous mastermind, and apparently top brass is betting on me. Someone wrote Madison’s man very particular letters, and that someone seems to have an uncanny knowledge of private details of my life.”

  “You’re being framed?” Lily said, inching toward the notebook as though she were hardly aware of it.

  Aileen smacked her hand away. “No quotes,” she said, biting off each word.

  “About Zuckerman, not Zephyr’s latest headline!”

  “You will see,” Aileen said, “that the one seems to be the other.”

  My scalp tingled and my head gave a single, bell-like throb. “What did he say?” I asked.

  Aileen cleared her throat. “He said…” She closed her eyes. “He said that he remembered me from the roof. He said that I should watch out for you, Zephyr, and I said yes, she’s in danger and he said no, watch yourself around her. ‘She’s been cursed,’ he said. ‘I’m almost positive of it.’”

  I hadn’t expected that. I didn’t know much about curses—or any spell working at all, since I was incapable of performing them. “Who would have cursed me? What kind of curse?”

  “He didn’t say. Maybe he didn’t know? He said ‘Tell McConnell to look up the Nussbaum murder file from oh-three. There’s blood in the Faust and it isn’t normal.’”

  “He was right,” I said. “The blood in the Faust was tainted. The police found the bag and the man confessed to as much.”

  Lily clapped her hands. “Well then,” she said, “that seems the place to start. Someone has acquired deeply tainted blood. We find out how and perhaps we can exonerate Zephyr and I can have my headline.”

  “I’m so grateful you’d deign to not destroy my life for newspaper inches, Lily.”

  “And I’m grateful you’ll let me save your reputation and future liberty by helping you solve this crime, Zephyr.”

  “Good!” Aileen sa
id, cutting through the tension with well-timed obliviousness. “This Nussbaum case is clearly the place to start—”

  The doorbell rang. Aileen cut herself off.

  “I will get it,” called Mrs. Brodsky, and then, “You! What do you want with her now? No, you cannot come in today. Later, when she feels better.”

  We all looked at each other. “I don’t think I want to meet whoever is at that door,” Aileen said.

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” said a male voice I recognized.

  “You don’t,” I said, sinking so low I nearly fell off the ottoman. “But McConnell won’t care.”

  * * *

  “So,” McConnell said, alone on the large couch beneath the window, “what do you remember?”

  Lily had wanted to stay, but he recognized her as a reporter and sent her off with the same frightening intensity that had gained him entry to the parlor. Lily made some cryptic references to research before she left, and I hoped she would uncover something useful about whatever this Nussbaum case had been. In the meantime, Zuckerman’s partner was eyeing me and my roommate like he wished to impale us on tiny pins for a museum exhibit. It would have been disconcerting even if we hadn’t had so much to hide.

  “Nothing,” Aileen said, wisely.

  McConnell nodded. “I understand it must be difficult for you. But it’s of utmost importance to our investigation that you tell me what you know.”

  “I know I found your partner. He was in a strange place … I’m not sure, I’ve never encountered a vampire spirit before. I asked him if he would speak to the living one last time and he didn’t seem too bothered by it.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I let him enter my body. I don’t remember a thing he said, officer. When possession occurs, I enter a different state. The next thing I knew, I was lying in my bed with a hot water bottle on my feet and a doctor poking me.”

  I was duly impressed. Aileen took a sip of cold tea while Officer McConnell stared at his hands. I felt momentarily guilty that Aileen was refusing to give a departing soul his final wish in order to protect me. I was sure that Zuckerman wouldn’t approve of her collusion, but Zuckerman hadn’t liked me very much, and whatever he had uncovered, he was sure to see it in the least flattering light. McConnell would learn the truth just as soon as I did—and in the meantime, he couldn’t put me in jail for something I didn’t do. Or something I did do, for that matter.