Wicked City

by Alaya Johnson

“Fashion,” Lily said, with her particular emphasis, “is just something you don’t grasp, Zephyr. Trust me. This will make an impression.”

  Lily had decided upon a more subdued ensemble for herself—crushed velvet in midnight blue with a high neck and a long rope of pearls—though I had no doubt it was every bit as modern. Lily looked smashing in everything she wore, a trait I had come to accept philosophically.

  Heads turned when we stepped into the hotel lobby. Lily regally took this as her due. We were accompanied by a dozen or so other early arrivals, none of whom I recognized. We were easily the youngest of the group and far more fashionably attired. Velvet ropes and smartly attired attendants directed us to the ballroom. I tried to appreciate the surreptitious, whispering attention as we glided past, but any pride I might have taken in my appearance was tempered by overwhelming panic. I looked around, relieved to see no evidence of the mayor.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I whispered, while we waited in the receiving line.

  Lily raised her chin. “Get me in and you can do whatever you please. But there’s no need to let irrationality spoil a good time.”

  This seemed like a good mantra, so I repeated it several times before we reached the doorman. He took my invitation and waved us through after a check of my name on the list. As though we had passed through a magic portal, my vague worries about being trapped this evening evaporated. I took a glass of punch from a passing waiter’s tray, tingling with a feeling of being young and beautiful and carefree.

  “Is this what it’s like to be Lily?” I said softly.

  Lily laughed. “Hardly. I don’t make a habit of attending dry parties. Dreadful dull.” She sipped her drink and made a face. “And sweet.”

  I sipped mine and realized she was right: the punch had no kick at all. It hadn’t even occurred to me, but the mayor could hardly serve illegal hooch at an official dinner—even if his regular consumption of liquor was an open secret.

  I surveyed the banquet hall. The space could have fit Mrs. Brodsky’s entire boardinghouse, and quite possibly the smaller tenement beside it. From the cavernous ceilings hung crystal chandeliers the size of two grown men, bathing the room in a fractured, sparkling glow. I felt as though it had lit my dress on fire, while I stayed within it, serene and devastating.

  “Not many people, yet,” Lily said, looking around with significantly less enchantment. “I knew we should have come later. Ah well. There’s Marlowe, from my old paper. Society beat. I might as well say hello.”

  Lily departed before I could so much as nod. I didn’t mind. Lily wanted her picture in the paper; I wanted the canapés that had lain untouched on the refreshment table since we arrived.

  As usual, I hadn’t managed to eat much beyond the toast from this morning’s breakfast. I could have tried, but my argument with Amir had made me feel vaguely queasy for hours afterward. I had passed a hot dog vendor on the way to Lily’s apartment and nearly burst into tears—which I had sworn would be the last of my sentimental effusions. I was well rid of him. Or I would be, once Sofia was done.

  I was on my second canape when I heard—faintly, but unmistakably—a woman say, “I can’t believe she dared!”

  I stiffened, the pastry frozen halfway into my mouth. In my mind, a frantic litany of I knew it, why did I come ran in merry circles. But then the man with her laughed. “Nothing we can do about the old bird if she wants to make a fool of herself with a married man.”

  They walked off, still gossiping, while I blushed. Get a hold of yourself, I thought sternly. No one here gives two figs about you. I looked around and saw that this was true. The room was slowly filling with guests, everyone dressed to the nines, and they had more important people to pay attention to. I laughed a little and popped the rest of the canapé into my mouth. I was sure we would be served plenty of food for dinner, but I didn’t imagine I’d run out of room.

  From my position between the snack table and a listless piano player, I could watch the room unnoticed. I recognized the ancient, stooped figure of John Voorhis, the Grand Sachem of Tammany Hall, surrounded by aldermen, Tammany sachems, and other functionaries of the political machine. For the people invited to this party, there were connections to make, deals to attend to. In the end I was just a pawn, not a player. Lily sauntered back over a few minutes later, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

  “What a shindig!” she said. “Everyone’s here. Just wait till Breslin sees my article tomorrow. He spent an hour trying to get an invite yesterday.”

  I laughed. “Don’t rub his nose in it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream—oh!”

  As one, all heads in the room turned to the doorway. I didn’t understand why, at first. The object of admiration was a little too far away, at the center of a bobbing mass of people who blocked my view. But I heard someone nearby whisper his name: Al Smith. New York’s recently elected governor had his sights on the president’s seat, it was said, and his chances were considered good. He was a Tammany man, just like Jimmy Walker, and the ripples from our city’s struggles with Faust had made themselves felt in Albany. The state senate had abstained from passing its own legislation on Faust so far, preferring to let the city bear the brunt of public scrutiny. Faust hadn’t made inroads elsewhere in the state the way it had in New York City. Still, I’d read that Al Smith and the Tammany democrats supported Jimmy Walker. If the antiprohibition faction won here, it would probably win in Albany.

  But not without a fight, if I knew Elspeth.

  “Look at that,” Lily said. “It’d be the berries if I could get a few quotes out of him.”

  But in lieu of elbowing her way to the governor, Lily gave me a running commentary on the other unworthy journalists jockeying for his attention.

  “And look, there’s Bill Oliver in a tuxedo even older than he is! I think I can smell the camphor. Oh, of course, he and Al Smith are pals, are they?”

  Lily tossed back her glass of punch like she wished it could make her drunk and gave Bill Oliver, rival reporter from The Sun, a polite smile. He was chatting with Al Smith in what I admitted was a friendly manner.

  “Oliver has been with The Sun since the nineties,” I said. “You’d expect him to make some connections in all that time.”

  “I expect he’s got more connections with headstones than live bodies. Al Smith!” She straightened her shoulders and made eye contact with a roving waiter. When he approached, she started to take a glass and then paused. “You know,” she said, “I’m just feeling so terribly dry. Do you have something else back there? A little kick?”

  “I could get you some tonic water if you’d like, miss.”

  “That’s a start,” she said, and leaned forward until her lips were a mere inch from his ear. “I’d really appreciate it,” she said. “Two, if you don’t mind.”

  The waiter froze for a moment before nodding and hurrying back to the kitchen. I stared at Lily.

  “What was that about?”

  Lily gave a very self-satisfied smile. “I slipped a five into his cummerbund,” she said.

  When the drinks arrived, Lily gave me one, much to my surprise. “My gift to you,” she said. “Use it wisely. Fend for yourself for a while, hmm?”

  I watched her dive into the crowd, pushing her way forward with a single-minded intensity toward Al Smith and his circle of admirers. I looked back down at my drink. The grain alcohol wafted from my glass, clearing my nostrils in a bracing fashion. I shrugged and took a sip. Smoother than Horace’s bathtub swill, that’s for sure. I gave a secret little smile; I was getting more glamorous by the minute.

  “Zephyr Hollis?”

  I looked up to see Mrs. Brandon, frowning like she’d caught me sneaking out after bedtime.

  “Why, hello there,” I said. “Lovely party.”

  But she just shook her head like my compliment was a horsefly. “What are you doing here? I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but the guest list—”

  “The mayor invited me,” I said, flust
ered. I didn’t understand why my presence would perturb her.

  She looked away. “I … my sincerest apologies, Miss Hollis. Please excuse me. As you can imagine, the last few days we have truly been inundated with work. I’m afraid exhaustion has made me thoughtless.”

  I waved away her apology. “I completely understand,” I said, “if you didn’t expect to see me.” I lowered my voice, perhaps the alcohol helping me say aloud what I had previously only thought. “I can only imagine how draining all this must be for a woman in a position of power.”

  Mrs. Brandon gave me a grateful smile. “Some days it truly is,” she said. “But the vote will be over soon enough. If it goes his way, I’m sure Jimmy will be generous.”

  Perhaps he could start with giving her a new office, I thought, but was not tactless enough to say. We shared another nervous smile while I wondered how to effect a graceful exit from the conversation. But it turned out to be unnecessary; a ripple went through the room again, as it had when the governor entered. This time it was the mayor, accompanied by two other men.

  I vaguely recognized one of his advisors. The other … I gasped.

  “What is he doing here?”

  Mrs. Brandon turned back to me and narrowed her thin eyebrows. “Jimmy requested that I invite Amir,” she said. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

  She set down her half-eaten plate and hurried to intercept the mayor. I stayed where I was, contemplating hiding under the table skirts if it meant I could avoid a confrontation with my djinni. He whispered something to the mayor and they both laughed. My jaw clenched. Irrational as I knew the sentiment to be, I felt each of his smiles as a blow, every carefree laugh as a knife to my back. How dare he carouse and hobnob with the elite of the city while I fought for my freedom with the city police? A horrible suspicion gripped me: had Amir told the mayor? He had promised he would keep his role with Faust a secret, but at the moment I didn’t value his promises very highly. I took a thick gulp of my drink, mostly for the distraction of its burning warmth. What would the mayor do if he knew I had lied to him? Ring up McConnell and declare open hunting season?

  Or even worse, would he do nothing—because Amir’s cooperation had been all he needed to corral the last of the swaying aldermen to his side? Despite my best efforts, had I delivered the death-blow to any hope of Faust prohibition?

  At that moment, Amir—still smiling—looked up. From opposite sides of the room, our eyes connected with a snap that nearly made me spill my drink. He looked devastating; dark eyes in a suit so sharp it could cut. Maybe everyone here thought he was human, but I knew the truth like a catechism. Make a wish, it said. Like I had since January, I refused.

  After a long moment, Amir nodded. I raised my glass. He was the first to look away—as though nothing had happened.

  Because nothing did, I told myself fiercely.

  * * *

  I avoided Amir. This was easy, as a circle of admirers followed him wherever he went in the crowded room. Whether this was due to his proximity to the mayor or the basic attraction of his exoticism, I didn’t know.

  “You two fell out again?” Lily asked, astutely interpreting my expression.

  “For the last time,” I said, and she patted my arm with something resembling sympathy. Perhaps the mayor’s invitation had been a trap, but he had so far refrained from springing it. He and Mrs. Brandon were engaged in an intense, quiet conversation by the piano. They were both quite good at controlling their expressions, but they still seemed to be arguing. This surprised me, given that they had always gotten along so well in my presence. But then Mrs. Brandon nodded and said, just loud enough for me to catch:

  “I’ll phone his office now, Jimmy. Perhaps he’s been delayed.”

  “He’s been delayed the past half year, Judith. I don’t know why I ever listened to you about him. Especially tonight. I told Al to expect him! You’re making me look like a fool in front of sachems.”

  “He promised, Jimmy,” Mrs. Brandon said, desperately.

  Mayor Walker’s smile could have withered fruit. “You’re the fool who believes him. And I’m the fool who believes you.”

  Mrs. Brandon’s face went rigid as a plaster statue. “I’ll phone him now,” she repeated and hurried away—past Lily, who was busy engaging a young gentleman. I hoped that Mrs. Brandon succeeded in finding her tardy guest. Perhaps the mayor respected her abilities, but not enough to treat her with decency in a crisis.

  Lily’s young gentleman had been joined by one other, more familiar to me. I couldn’t quite make out their words over the general din of the crowded banquet hall, but Amir’s deep laugh rang out like a bell. I felt vaguely betrayed that she would talk to him, but of course I hadn’t told her what he had done.

  “Marvelous to see you here, Miss Hollis. May I refresh your drink?”

  The mayor gave me a self-deprecating smile, nearly dripping with charm. I looked down, surprised to see the puddling icy remains of my gin and tonic.

  “The punch would be fine, thank you,” I said. Best to sober up. I felt Amir’s proximity like a hot stove, and I wanted no drunken burns.

  “I’m afraid Voorhis wouldn’t approve if I gave you anything else,” he said, signaling a waiter. “Though I commend you for your ingenuity.”

  I thought of telling him that it had all been Lily’s idea, but it couldn’t hurt for the mayor to think me worldly.

  He took my empty glass and replaced it with the pink punch that everyone in the room was struggling not to regard with overmuch distaste. “Fascinating party,” I said. “I caught Mrs. Brandon on her way out. Will she be back?”

  Mayor Walker waved a manicured hand. “I can’t imagine what would keep her away,” he said.

  Given what I had overheard of their conversation, I felt offended on her behalf, but didn’t say so. We each had our own battles to fight.

  “Quite a lot of aldermen here,” I said, looking around with a small smile. “Why, isn’t that Fred Moore? I thought the Harlem aldermen were against you last week.”

  The mayor gave a friendly nod to the negro council member, who had noted our attention.

  “Politics, my dear, is all in the negotiation.”

  “You mean bribery and corruption.” I winced internally as soon as the words left my mouth. I certainly had drunk that too quickly.

  He laughed—a short, hard bark. A few people glanced over, including Lily and Amir. I ignored them. “Try running the largest city in the world, Miss Hollis, and see how far that purity takes you. If you must know, Mr. Moore of the nineteenth district will be getting funds in the next budgetary meeting earmarked for new school texts, which the Harlem schools sorely need. I managed to convey to him that increased revenue from Faust taxation could go a long way to improving the lives of his human constituents. You’d be surprised at how well the truth works sometimes.”

  I took a long drink, hoping to tame my blush. “Then it’s not such a tragedy that my … contact couldn’t locate the original supplier for you. It would seem you have other persuasions at your disposal.”

  “It would seem,” the mayor said, with a calculating expression I could not hope to decipher, but made me shudder regardless. He raised his glass. “To other persuasions,” he said.

  I felt as though the surreptitious stares of the people around us would burn me alive. I had no other choice but to smile grimly and return the toast.

  “Ah, there’s Miss Harding and Mrs. Brandon’s princely acquaintance!” he exclaimed, as though noticing them for the first time. “You and the prince are acquainted, if I’m not mistaken?” He ambled over, much to the delight of Lily. Amir was pleasant as ever, though I wondered if I detected a hint of discomfort.

  “Mind if I quote you for the paper, Mayor?” Lily said, with reassuring directness.

  “Not at all, Miss Harding,” he said. “But perhaps you could give me just a few minutes? I had wanted to show our young prince here an item of interest.”

  Amir’s eyes locked w
ith mine in a flash of worry that I hoped only I had seen. Then he took one of my red gloved hands and raised it to his lips.

  “You look enchanting this evening, Miss Hollis,” he said. I pulled my hand away and made a show of finding a place to put my half-empty glass. My hands shook too badly to hold it. Why did he still have the power to charm me when I knew the rot beneath the surface? To Amir, humans and vampires weren’t individuals worthy of consideration and care; we were playthings, fascinating walking automatons that he could manipulate to his will. His recklessness was the reason we were all here in the first place, no matter what Elspeth said.

  But why had the mayor invited him here? Did he suspect Amir of being a djinni—the djinni who had originally supplied Faust to the bootleggers?

  I tilted my head toward Walker. “An item of interest?” I said.

  “Why, yes,” he said. “A historical object an adventurous friend of mine brought back from Syria. I believe you hail from the area, Prince?”

  “The general vicinity,” Amir said. “But I’m afraid I’m no expert on antiquities.”

  Lily sighed and put her pen back inside her jeweled handbag. “Mind if I see it too?”

  Jimmy Walker looked among us with a bland smile. “I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your fun. Perhaps we could step into the hallway? My friend tells me the object is valuable and I wouldn’t want to make a spectacle.”

  My suspicions were ratcheting up by the second, but I would rather spontaneously combust than stay behind. This dinner was the mayor’s major opportunity to woo supporters to his cause before the vote Monday afternoon. For all his reputation as a man-about-town, I very much doubted he would spend time chatting with Amir if he didn’t think it would serve some political end.

  Lily gave me a look of what is he up to? as we stepped into the porters’ hallway behind the food tables. I shrugged and shook my head. Amir, for his part, chatted amiably with the mayor about his antiquarian friend, never giving the slightest hint that he was anything more than what he said: a well-cultured Arab prince, recently relocated to New York.

  The mayor made sure we were alone and then reached into his inside suit pocket. “It’s a tiny little thing,” he said. “My friend is quite the scholar, but he claims the old Arabic script is beyond him.”