Wicked City (10 page)

Bicycle, color rust and black, confiscated by the New York Police Department. For retrieval, please come to Headquarters (240 Centre Street).

“Goddamnit!” I said, and as that seemed entirely too mild for the occasion, concluded with the solid, venerable, “Fuck.”

“I always know life is about to get interesting when Zephyr starts to curse,” said a voice behind me.

My heart stuttered. I had wondered if he would find me today. “Did you come to gloat, o prince?”

Amir put his hand on my shoulder; I let it linger longer than I should. “Never,” he said, with uncharacteristic solemnity. “You know I'd help if you would let me.”

“How about I wish for a new bicycle?”

“Really?” He seemed torn between horror and amusement.

I snorted. “Not really. Something tells me that I'd end up crushed under a mountain of them if I wished now.”

And I still have to find a way to break our bond,
I thought.

“Entirely possible,” he said. “I take it that's what the friendly officers were doing here a few minutes ago?”

Indignation made me draw myself up to my full height—still only about par with his shoulder blades, but I hoped my glare made up the difference. “You
saw them
and didn't stop it?”

Amir gave that throaty, low laugh that I so loathed (or, at least, it did things to me that I loathed) and leaned against the bars of the fence. “How was I supposed to know what they were doing, Zeph? I thought I'd catch you after your meeting with Mr. Walker, so I've been waiting for quite a while. I thought they were absconding with some other miscreant's broken-down bicycle. You're well rid of the thing, you know.”

I scowled at him. “I have no funds to purchase another. It works well enough.”

He ignored this obvious falsehood. “And that sorry little bicycle warranted officers from
headquarters
? I thought they seemed too energetic for traffic cops.”

I closed my eyes against the obvious conclusion. “Oh,
damn
the vice squad.”

“Is that a wish?”

I leaned against the fence, just beside him but not touching. “I am not making a wish, Amir.”

“I know.”

“I still have a week.”

“For what, I wonder.”

I couldn't tell him, so I changed the subject. “What did you want me for, anyway?”

“I need a reason?”

“Most likely.”

He sighed and pulled a coin from the pocket of his impeccably tailored suit. If he and Jimmy Walker ever met, they could have quite the conversation about men's fashion.

“I thought I could feed you. Dinner at the Ritz? The chef there makes this incredible cold soup he calls a vichyssoise. No meat, he swears up and down.”

“Really?” I said, stunned to sincerity.

“My word as a prince.”

I needed to make a late-night delivery for Ysabel's Blood Bank, but I had an hour to spare, and with Amir transportation was never much trouble. I agreed.

*   *   *

The vichyssoise was delicious as promised; Amir ordered a second bowl and an extra loaf of bread and butter without my asking. He ate himself, but daintily, picking at his food as though he could hardly bother.

“Do you need to eat?” I asked, considering the question for the first time.

He looked up from his plate with a delicately arched eyebrow. “How gauche of you, Zephyr. I've been playing human for months now.”

Of course, Amir had two strikes against his full participation in our bigoted society: his status as an Other and his dark skin. Passing as human was, for him, a simple enough matter. But that still left the other, trickier question. I had wondered how a man I had once seen scorned for tea at the Roosevelt had landed the suites at the Ritz. But I now realized it was a matter of presentation and money: a wealthy Arab prince of impeccable education was an interesting social object, even if his peers called him “nigger” behind his back. I considered how money could warp otherwise straightforward prejudice. As long as he masked his Otherness, he could swim in some very rarefied social waters.

“Answer the rube, then.”

He shrugged. “Of course. In Shadukiam the definition of food gets a tad wider, but I need some form of sustenance.”

“Maybe we should get you some frankfurters on the street corner.”

He grinned at me, and I couldn't help but grin back. Ten-cent hot dogs: Amir's secret weakness. We shared that moment—happiness, with the promise of something more—until someone approached our table. I recognized Mrs. Brandon with a shock, one compounded by the friendliness with which she greeted Amir.

“I'm just on my way out,” she said. “I wondered if I might see you here.”

“Official duties?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Personal, thankfully. I'm on my way to the Society. That young friend of yours is doing another reading—speaking of which, I see you know Miss Hollis as well?”

“Small world,” Amir said, with a certain tone in his voice that made me suspect this acquaintance was not mere chance.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Brandon,” I said. “You said you were going to a society?”

She reached up to touch the high collar of her dark blue dress—she had changed for the evening, though to my eyes the effect was rather severe.

“Yes, that's where I met your friend Amir last week. We were attending a séance at the Spiritualist Society.”

I hid my surprise as best I could. Why on earth would Amir have attended one of Aileen's readings?

“Oh, I've heard they employ quite powerful mediums,” I said, wondering if it was rude to ask who she was trying to reach on the other side.

“It's true. Amir knows their newest medium. I have very high hopes for her—she has, I don't know, a special air. An aura of power I haven't quite encountered before.” She smiled apologetically. “One can ramble so about one's hobby. I'm afraid I must leave now if I'm to arrive on time. But it was delightful seeing both of you.”

As soon as she had passed through the doors, I leveled Amir with a glare.

“You
have
been up to something,” I said.

He shrugged innocently. “I'm not allowed to have friends?”

“Why were you at one of Aileen's readings?”

“A desire to see another world?”

“You can probably see a dozen of them by blinking your eyes.”

Amir laughed. “You overestimate me,
habibti
. It has a certain charm.”

I shivered and discovered a sudden fascination with the precise shade of green of my soup. My dealings with Amir were always so disconcerting. He disarmed me completely, yet I always anticipated seeing him again.

“Aileen never told me you dropped by,” I said to my soup.

Amir brushed my fingers with his. Just a touch, but my hand snapped back with enough force to send the soup spoon clattering against the bowl. “I asked her not to,” Amir said.

“Why?”

“I hoped she would help me convince you to make a wish. She refused, and rightfully so, I suppose. It was foolish of me to ask her.”

Warmth pooled in my heart and settled somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. I looked at his dark, rueful eyes and sighed. “And in the meantime, you made a useful personal acquaintance?”

He shrugged. “You can learn many interesting things if you spend enough money in the right places. I thought it might be useful to count an aide of the mayor as a friend. Perhaps even do my part to help Friends Against Faust?”

“You
want
to help?”

“If
I
could make a wish…” he said, and the mingled frustration and wistfulness in his voice made me lose my appetite entirely.

“You'd wish for January to never happen? Tempting.” But my breathless joke was met with silence.

“Do you want the rest of your soup?” he asked, finally.

When confronted with the principle, my appetite reasserted itself and I slurped down the bowl.

It was only as we were leaving the restaurant that he turned to me and said, “I'd rather you never make a wish than ask for that.”

*   *   *

At this time of the evening, St. Marks Place began to show its true character. The street-corner Faust vendors replaced the rapidly departing hot dog and pretzel stands, and already the vampires had begun to stand in line. The regular speakeasies would be opening soon, also, though they couldn't be quite so overt about their activities. At a time like this, I would have expected the St. Marks Blood Bank to be packed with vampires needing their weekly drink. But the windows were shuttered and the door closed.

“Was she expecting you?” Amir asked.

I frowned. “I thought so.” I rapped on the door. When no one answered, I tried the knob. It was unlocked.

“Ysabel?” I called, poking my head inside. Through the gloom, I could barely make out the open supply closet door and their golem standing placidly at the entrance. If the golem hadn't moved, I decided, things couldn't be too bad. I opened the door fully and walked into the waiting room. Amir followed me, though I'd asked him to wait outside. Ysabel didn't like him much. I didn't tell him to leave, though—it felt comforting, I confess, to have his warm, watchful presence at my back.

From inside the supply closet came a crash and a stream of Yiddish invective. I rushed forward, feeling for the silver knife under my skirt even as I contemplated how to best disable a very ornery piece of animated clay. But the golem let me through—maybe it even recognized me—and I found Ysabel sitting amid a pile of fallen blood bags, hands in her hair and an expression on her face that seemed close to weeping.

“Zephyr,” she said, sadly. “
Bubbala,
what are you doing here?”

“I came by to get the delivery for Elspeth and the others. Are you alright?”

She laughed, though it took me a moment to recognize it as such. I'd never seen Ysabel so distraught. “Oh, fine, fine,” she said. “Just some family trouble, you know how that can be. Here, I set aside a box for you.”

She pushed aside the fallen bags and made her slow, methodical way to a box in the corner of the room. I hefted it before she could.

“Do you want me to come back after to help you clean? Is Saul all right?”

Saul was her husband, and his health hadn't been the best of late. But Ysabel just shook her head. “Saul is the same as ever. No, no, Zephyr, you go. I'll deal with it in the morning. You should go.”

I almost protested, but something about the finality of her tone made me duck my head and quietly retreat. Amir had stayed in the waiting room, where he and the golem continued to eye each other warily.

“Should I come back tomorrow?” I called back, when Amir opened the door to leave.

Ysabel shook her head with some vigor. “No! I have to close for a few days. Just to deal with the trouble, you understand.”

“Oh,” I said. I wasn't sure what else to do, Ysabel looked so determined and closed-off that I knew she wouldn't welcome any more prying. “Good night, then. Good luck with everything.”

“Yes, you too, Zephyr.” I had almost left before she enveloped me in one of those great hugs that I always associated with her presence. She said nothing else, just closed the door behind me.

Amir took the box from my numb fingers. “Is she always that emotional?” he asked.

I shook my head. Amir maintained a tactful silence until we reached the First Avenue building that served as the temporary headquarters for Friends Against Faust. The local Temperance Union had loaned us the use of their space, after much lobbying on the part of Elspeth and Iris.

The room allotted us was only slightly larger than Mrs. Brodsky's parlor, and oppressively stuffy despite the open windows. Elspeth worked alone at a desk in the corner, writing what looked like the dozens of last-minute letters urging aldermen to take our side during the vote.

She looked up when we walked in. “Zephyr, you got the delivery? Wonderful. I was worried when I saw the Bank closed earlier.”

“Ysabel says she has to close for a few days,” I said, taking the box from Amir. “Some kind of family trouble.”

Elspeth nodded abstractedly. “Put those behind the desk, if you would.”

Amir stayed diffidently by the door, and I had a belated pang of remorse for letting him accompany me. Elspeth had said to ask her again today about my djinni problem, and I had inadvertently brought him with me. I wondered why, but the answer seemed to have too much to do with enjoying his presence. I put down the box.

Elspeth stared at Amir like he might eat her at any minute. “That's the trouble you were telling me about?” she said to me, in a whisper that he could surely hear.

“His name is Amir,” I said.

She lifted her chin and sniffed, nostrils flaring. “Frankincense and fire. That's how my mother always described the djinni smell. I'm not entirely sure I believed you until now.”

Amir sighed. “Its ears are also in perfect working order,
sayidati
. A prince of the djinn at your service.” He placed his hand over his heart and bowed low from the waist. The gesture didn't have as much mockery as I would have expected. I had never seen him behave like that with a human before, but then again, I'd never seen him with a human who knew more than a few things about djinn.

After a moment of uncharacteristic shock, Elspeth closed her mouth and nodded. “It's dangerous to play with a djinni, Zephyr,” she said, very softly.

“Hence my attempts to rectify the situation,” I said.

Amir cocked his head to the side, as though he was studying me for some later purpose. I felt a rush of heat before I realized he looked more regretful than lascivious.

“I see I've overstayed my welcome. I'll leave so you can better discuss my failings.”