The Wicked City (23 page)

She recalled Rose’s words then, echoing in her head. Nothing is what it seems. Both sides have secrets.

“You know,” Eric said, hands tucked into the pockets of the long gray coat he now wore. He also wore sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora. “I figured when Sam started having his little tantrum, he knew where you were. That’s why I agreed to the press conference. I suspected he knew where Micha Bellevue was as well, and that was of even greater interest to me.” He turned away from June. “But you…you’re a big, brilliant bonus.”

June jerked her head around. Muse, indeed gagged, struggled against the tall, burly man who held her. Eric walked over, gripped her hair, and jerked her face back to look at him. She seethed around the gag.

“Aaron Jenkins’ daughter,” Eric said. “Yes, I know who you are. Sam Haain can’t keep secrets from me.”

June forgot to struggle. She tried to process this surprising revelation. Then Eric turned his attention back to her, releasing Muse’s hair, and June started fighting in earnest. The smugness in Eric’s expression foretold bad things.

“Put her out now,” Eric said. “She won’t be slipping off again.”

A man walked from the direction of the van. He had a syringe in his hand. June kicked at him as he approached.

“Stick her in the throat,” Eric said. “Don’t fool around.”

Someone grabbed June’s hair and wrenched her head painfully to the side. She could no longer struggle, so many people were holding her. The needle went in with a sharp stick. She screamed against the gag.

The men kept their grip. She was going to die, along with Jason and Muse. Eric looked on while his researchers dispersed behind him. June wanted to call him a bastard, a liar, but she couldn’t speak even if the gag hadn’t been in her mouth. Her body sagged and her vision blurred. Her mind went foggy. They heaved her into the van, before she slipped into darkness.

June awoke with an aching body and a thick head. For a moment, in her confused state, she thought she had a hangover. Then memories trickled in: the press conference; the guard flying through the window; Jason, Robbie, Eric Greerson. She opened her eyes.

She was lying on her back on a cold tile floor. Everything around her was silent, aside from a buzzing fluorescent light overhead. Her jacket had been removed, the chill from the floor seeping through her shirt—Micha’s shirt—and the gag, thankfully, had been removed. She reached down. Her gun had been taken away, but she wasn’t surprised.

After a moment of getting her wits about her, she lifted her head. The room spun. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a few deep breaths, and slowly opened them again and looked around.

She was in a small bare featureless room. A camera hung in one corner, up by the ceiling. Muse was propped against an adjacent wall to June’s left. She sat slumped, head hanging, hands limp in her lap. She had also been stripped of her coat. About ten feet away, Jason was on the floor, lying on his side, knees drawn up and arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed, but even in sleep—if he was asleep—he winced. The marks on his wrists were dark mottled red and purple rings.

“Where are we?” June’s voice was hoarse and her jaw hurt. She propped herself up on one elbow, the ache in her ribs making the movement painful. The room spun again. She closed her eyes and waited for the vertigo to pass. Her hands were shaky and clammy from lack of nicotine, adding to her total unpleasant physical state. When her head stopped spinning, she opened her eyes again.

“Jason,” she whispered. Her mouth was dry and tasted metallic.

Jason didn’t stir.

“Jason!”

He opened his eyes, expression still pained, his brow knitted. He blinked a few times, shifted, and grimaced.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Do you know where we are?”

“No.” His voice was small and weak.

She wasn’t sure which question he’d answered. Maybe both.

June tried to scoot toward him, but her strength was diminished. “What did they do to you, Jason? What happened to you?”

“They’re watching us,” Muse murmured.

June had to close her eyes again.

“Don’t get feisty,” Muse warned. “They probably won’t like it.”

June flopped back down on the tile. She opened her eyes. Muse still sat slumped, but her eyes were open.

“Assholes,” June snarled. “Taking him down like that. He was already weak. Why’d they have to hit him?”

“Because they knew it would stop you,” Muse said.

A surge of rage helped June struggle into a sitting position. Her vision swam and her stomach lurched. She felt top-heavy. “Where the hell are we?”

“I’m guessing the Institute.” Muse lifted her head. The corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m sorry I failed you at the park.”

“You didn’t fail us. How were you supposed to hold all those guys off?”

“I should have known they were lying in wait. But I was reaching out to Sam, trying to make sure he was all right. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I think even if you’d known, it wouldn’t have mattered.” June looked around, trying to find a way out, a vent, anything. “Even if we went another way, they would have chased us. They were determined.”

“It’s a very bad thing that I’ve been captured,” Muse said. “Sam is alone now, and vulnerable. And Robbie got away. Sam won’t know what’s coming at him without me there.”

“I’m not too happy they got us, either.”

With uncoordinated, graceless effort, June got to her feet, but once she did she almost didn’t stay upright. Despite the weakness and vertigo, and the pain in her knees from being slammed down on the asphalt, she loped over to the door, the room moving with her. Her movements were like swimming through thick water. She tried the knob and found the door locked.

“I don’t think we’re getting out of here until they take us out,” Muse said.

June dropped her head against the door, clutching the knob with both hands. She wanted a smoke so her head would clear and her thoughts would focus.

She turned around and slumped against the door. One corner of Muse's mouth pushed up, as if the muscles on that side of her face had frozen. Jason rolled onto his back, eyes closed, hands still clasped over his chest.

“So you’re Aaron Jenkins’s daughter?” June figured they had plenty of time for conversation now.

“Yes.” Muse looked up at the camera. “No point trying to hide it now. They clearly know everything already. Sam has been protecting me.”

“I thought you were
his
bodyguard.”

“I’ve spent my entire life hiding who I am. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Why have you been hiding?”

“Because of my father, because of who he is. His group might depose him if they knew his daughter was paranormal. My grandfather would have killed me if he knew. My father kept me away from him. Now he has to keep me away from the SNC.” She took a deep, rattling breath. “My name isn’t Muse Sagan. It’s Mary Ellen Jenkins. Sagan was my mother’s maiden name. Muse is—kind of a long story.”

June marveled. This was the most she had ever heard Muse speak. “That sucks. But there’s protection for you, if they find out. Isn’t there? The activists, the organizations—”

“Protection.” Muse thumped her head back against the wall. “Would you like to hear why Sam is harboring me? The more complicated reasons?” Her voice seemed to be getting raspier as she spoke.

“Yes. We don’t have anything else to do.”

“There’s some things I think you should know. Things I told Sam he should tell you. And since—not all of us might make it out of here, I’m going to tell you now.”

June didn't like good-bye speeches.

A tic made one of Muse’s eyelids flutter. “Sam had a brother, named Thomas. Kevin, Cindy’s ex-husband, was Thomas’s best friend. Thomas was murdered by paranormal extremists. Four of them, or so a couple witnesses said. They restrained him, and one of them burnt him alive with pyrokinesis. My father had just taken control of the SNC and he was working out a treaty with Sam. Everyone assumed the killers were rogue Paranormal Alliance members who opposed the union.”

June stared across the room, mouth open, and tried to absorb this story in her already spinning head.

“Neither Sam nor my father knew how to handle the situation,” Muse said. “And Kevin lost his mind. He went to Old Town and hired some militant vampires to track down the killers and punish them. Vampires are smart, you see. They know things. They hear things. Two days later, three of the four murderers turned up bloodless in a drainage ditch near Jackson Park Beach.”

“Wow.” June slipped down the door and sat, legs out in front of her. So here, at last, was the story of Sam’s brother.

“The problem with militant vampires is they don’t care about discretion. They would have given Kevin up for enlisting them, but Sam offered my father a deal. He took me into his protection in exchange for my father paying off the vampires to keep their mouths shut. My father has a lot more money and a lot more to offer than Sam does, or did at the time. As a consequence of all this, Kevin then owed Sam a favor.”

“The Oracle of the Dead,” June said.

“Yes. Kevin’s fear and hatred of the paranormal has grown since then, but he tried to alleviate it by getting into a relationship with Cindy. Big mistake. And Kevin couldn’t handle being involved with someone in the Paranormal Alliance. I think it reminds him too much of Thomas.”

June sagged against the door. “I guess we shouldn’t be so quick to think someone’s a jerk until we know his story.”

“Trust me, you can have a tragic story and still be a jerk.”

June would have laughed, if she were capable of any humor at that moment.

“Sam intended to use Kevin’s favor for himself eventually,” Muse said, “but he’s always believed the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“What was he going to use it for?” June wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“To find out where his brother’s fourth killer is. They still haven’t caught them.”

Horror swept over June. “What the hell? Why would he waste it? What am I to him? I’m nothing, nobody. Why would he waste an opportunity like that on me?”

“Because you’re the future.” Muse’s mouth twisted, and the movement looked painful. She even winced. “Sam needs an icon. Someone to use as an example of what the people in this city are doing to us. He wants what happened to his brother to never happen to anyone else ever again. He’s just been waiting for the right person to come along.”

“He wants me to be an icon?”

“He said there would be a price for him helping you. That’s it. He needs a pariah. I wanted it to be me, for so long. I wanted to do it for him, damn my father’s organization, but I can’t. I’m dying.”

“What?”

“My power is killing me. It happens to some of us. It’s destroying my nervous system. It’s happening to Robbie, too. That’s why he’s deaf. He’s losing his vision, too. Probably why he mistook Kevin for you.”

“Holy shit.”

“For a while I was able to control it with medicine. But now.” She huffed. “Suffering makes you pure, they say. In some holy text. Maybe I’ll end up a saint.”

A cold weight settled on June’s chest. “Does this happen to everyone?”

“No. But if it does happen to you, you’ll know.”

June swallowed. “Damn. I’m sorry, Muse.”

Muse tilted her chin up at the camera, eyelids fluttering. “It doesn’t matter what the Institute does to me now. I’m almost gone anyway.”

“Muse.” June tried to sit up straighter. “Don’t flake out on me. I need you.”

“I know. I won’t. Sam wants me to save you, and I will, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Muse dropped her hand on the floor beside her hip and started signaling. Signing. June watched as she repeated four movements. She lifted her pinky finger. Jerked her open palm toward herself. Pointed at June. Made her hand in the shape of a gun. June didn’t understand sign language, but she got the gist.

I. Have. Your. Gun.
June widened her eyes.

Sounds came from outside the door, footsteps and voices. As quickly as her body would allow, June pushed away from the door. A moment later a
click
sounded, the knob turned, and the door opened.

Eric Greerson slid into the room, smooth as a snake. He quickly closed the door behind him.

“My little rats in a cage.” His smile was cruel. “How gleeful and blind, you all stumbled into your trap. It’s good to see you all awake and ready for some fun.”

If June had had her gun right then, he would have paid.

“I almost feel like I have no right to be proud of myself,” Eric said. “Since you did all the work. I could only be happier if Sam Haain were rattling around in here with you.” He chuckled as Jason tried to sit up. “Oh, he doesn’t look good at all.”

“You asshole,” June said. “Let us go.”

“Don’t try to use your voice on me, Ms. Coffin. It won’t work, and you’ll just look foolish.”

“How could you do this?” Muse asked. “You’re supposed to be our champion, or some shit.”

“It was easy, actually. My predecessor was a great help. People like your father and Sam Haain believe I was put in place to serve as an ignorant figurehead. It’s highly beneficial to me.”

“Michael Paulson knew what was going on,” Muse said. “He wouldn’t go along with it, would he?” Sam had said Michael Paulson was the first, mysteriously vanished, head of the Institute.

“Oh, he did, at first,” Eric said. “But the more he learned, the more his conscience took over. Then he had a fit of morality and had to be displaced.”

“You mean killed,” Muse said.

“I’m afraid that’s a top secret matter. I could have stepped in here just now and shot every one of you, by the way.” He clapped his hands together. “But I’d rather you bear witness to the reason you’ve been so bedeviled by me and my organization. I know what intelligence Sam has gathered. Why don’t you come see the final proof, the one thing he’s been trying so hard to get his hands on?”

June slid forward. “Screw you. Slam your head in the door you ruthless bastard!” Her power rose unbidden, flowing out with the words. She had never used her ability to inflict harm on another person, and even as she said it, knowing it was deserved, she felt bad for it.