Wicked City (2 page)

Aileen and I took our drinks and settled into a booth in a corner of the room. The music was nice, but I wouldn't have been keen on dancing even if my feet weren't killing me. After relaxing into that peculiar burning pleasure of not-quite bathtub gin, Aileen gave me an appraising stare.

“Why won't you make a wish, Zeph?”

I coughed. “Why? Haven't I told you before?”

She lifted one corner of her mouth. “Not really. You talk about not wanting to be bound, but it seems to me that you're a lot more bound to Amir when he's desperate for you to make a wish than you would have been if you'd just asked for some rutabagas in February.”

“But that's just it, Aileen! If I asked for rutabagas in February, I would have to ask for more in March and April and every other damn month for the rest of my life. The second I give in—”

“Zeph. You put your
blood
in his
mouth
. You bound yourself to him. Why cavil now?”

I took a big gulp of my drink and coughed again. “He was dying,” I said hoarsely. Half a year before, I found out that Amir was slowly being poisoned by the bite of a vampire, and only my blood—which my daddy had somehow made immune to all vampirism—could save him.

“You still did it. Even I can see how desperate he's getting for you to make a wish. All his djinni relatives must be giving him hell.”

I looked away from her frank gaze and slouched into the seat. She was mostly right, but her logic couldn't touch my inner conviction that I
had
to break the bond of vessel and djinni between Amir and me.

“I don't know, Aileen…” I said, and groped for some way to change the subject. “Lindbergh did have a very nice hat,” I said.

She sighed. “Don't you feel anything for him anymore?”

“Lindbergh?”

“Zephyr.”

I sighed and slouched even further into my seat. “I feel something,” I muttered. “None of this would matter if I didn't.”

“Then make a wish!”

“Aileen!” I said, bolting upright in sudden frustration. “Whatever I feel for Amir, it's complicated. He brought Faust into the city as a practical joke, for heaven's sake! I can't just forgive that. But I also can't … he means something to me, whatever it is, and how will we ever work anything out if we always have this horribly unequal, magically competing bond where I can force him to do whatever I want? Where even if I do make a wish, chances are it will backfire? If I make a wish now, it's like I'm giving up on … I don't even know, but something that might matter, something I might want. And if I don't want it, or if he doesn't want it, well, better that we aren't forced to see each other.”

Aileen took a careful sip of her drink and rested it on the table.

“I'm sorry, Zeph,” she said, worry in her eyes. “I didn't understand.”

“So you agree?”

She laughed and popped a melting ice cube in her mouth. “No,” she said. “But that's never mattered before.”

*   *   *

The next morning the proprietress of our boardinghouse was making the oddest noises in her attic chambers. Mrs. Brodsky was with her boyfriend, who we jokingly called Mr. Brodsky. The floorboards even managed a creak or two, and I could only admire her stamina in this bloody miserable weather.

“There has to be something we can do,” I said to Aileen, who was practicing Eastern meditation beneath the window. My roommate even wore her lounging kimono—with more determination than comfort, I imagined, given the damp stains spreading at her armpits.

“Wish for Mr. Brodsky to turn into a frog. No, a water sprinkler. Or one of those newfangled refrigerators that Amir has. That would be lovely.”

“We could go to his place,” I said, trying to ignore the conflicting strains of anticipation and dread at the very thought.

“Brave the heat
and
listen to the bickering duo? I'd rather achieve inner peace, thank you very much.”

I eyed the copy of
Harper's Bazaar
still open on her bed.
ANCIENT MYSTICS REVEAL TRUTH AND BEAUTY
was the promising headline. “You don't look very peaceful,” I said.

“I haven't had much of a chance.”

“I doubt Mr. Brodsky is going to give it to you.”

Aileen sighed and opened her eyes with a speed that suggested she hadn't been quite so close to inner peace as she claimed. Above us, the floor creaked alarmingly.

“I think,” said Aileen, “that we should climb onto the roof.”

“The roof? It's filthy!”

Aileen's smile grew wider. “We'll bring a blanket.”

“It's probably a hundred degrees up there.”

“Then it must be a hundred and twenty in here. I swear, if I'd known back in Dublin about New York summers … and New York winters, for that matter. This city has some lousy weather, you know that?”

“Which is why we must atone by being the greatest city in the world.”

“A city where no one will think twice about two girls taking the air in the midst of a heat wave.”

She removed the damp kimono and searched through her trunk. I stayed put, eyeing her cream-colored lace teddy with not inconsiderable envy. I wore my habitual skirt and fitted blouse, clothes that had contented me for ages, but increasingly frustrated me now. That was Lily's influence, of course.

“Don't you have another one of those teddies?” I asked.

“Things heating up with Amir after all?” she asked, holding up a delicate little slip of navy silk and black lace.

I blushed and quickly plucked the teddy from her hands. Our discussion last night had been a necessary clearing of the air, perhaps, but I intended to quash any further investigations about myself and my djinni. “Things are heating up inside my blouse. If we're doing this, I mean to get properly cool.”

Aileen looked at me like she knew precisely what I was avoiding. But we understood each other very well, and she left well enough alone. Not a day had passed that I hadn't relived that terrible experience of watching Amir die in his brother's garden, or heard his voice reciting a poem with such urgency in a language I didn't understand. And then I helped him live, with my blood staining his lips.

Take her home, brother,
he had said.
Let her dream she never met me.

I couldn't talk about it to either Aileen or Amir, but I had been investigating possible methods for a vessel to quit her djinni. Elspeth, the vampire leader of Friends Against Faust, had promised to help if she could. She said she might be able to find a
sahir
—a witch—powerful enough to solve my problem.

Aileen shook loose her thick black hair. “Shall we? If I'm going to die of this heat, let it at least be with a good view.”

The rooftop was not so grimy as I feared, though the fire escape creaked and groaned like a graveyard revenant. Aileen laid out her blanket and we collapsed upon it, basking in the breeze and muggy open air.

Perhaps an hour later, when my skin had begun to turn unpleasantly red, I was startled to hear the sound of someone else banging on the fire escape.

“You!” shouted Mrs. Brodsky. “There are some men here for you, Zephyr Hollis! They say it is important!”

Aileen rolled on her side and peered at me. “Men? Sounds promising.”

I groaned. “It's probably Amir again, damn him.” I leaned over the edge of the roof. “I told you yesterday, Amir, I'm not making a wish—”

“Amir? No, no, it's not your Mohammedan, they say they're with the police though they don't look much like police to me—”

Mrs. Brodsky's strident voice cut off with a squawk, followed by the thud of booted, male feet greatly taxing the corroded metal of the fire escape.

“Zephyr Hollis!” called a voice I certainly didn't recognize. “Please come down immediately.”

Aileen and I shared a panicked glance. “Did you bring a robe?” I whispered.

“It was
hot,
remember? Why would I?”

“I can't just go down there in this teddy! Why, you can practically see my nipples through the lace!”

Aileen squinted. “I think it's not so much
practically,
Zeph, dear.”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, bloody stakes.”

The fire escape rattled and creaked and groaned again, if anything more ominously than it had before.

“We hope you'll come peacefully, Miss Hollis,” said the voice of a second man. “We don't want to use force, but we will if we have to.”

“Force!” I said.

Aileen poked her nose gingerly over the ledge. “They're coming up, Zeph.”

“No, stop!” I yelled. The footsteps paused.

“Miss Hollis, I suggest you make this easy for everyone.”

“Who says I want to make this easy?” I said.

“I've heard you're a bit of a firecracker, but now is not the time to make a stand.”

“Don't you think you could just … wait in the parlor for me to freshen up? I'm not at my best, at the moment. This weather, you know—”

“We're coming up, Miss Hollis.”

Aileen scooted back. She looked around, peering at the neighboring rooftops and windows. “Do you think someone reported us?” she whispered. “Maybe they're arresting you for indecent exposure?”

“You're just as indecent as I am!”

Aileen looked at me dubiously. “You know, I'd never noticed that freckle on your left breast before.”

“This is
your
teddy.”

“Why don't you think I'm wearing it?”

A pair of hands made themselves visible just beyond the ledge. I looked longingly at the other rooftops, but I didn't have enough confidence in my vaulting abilities.

“Well,” Aileen said. “Nothing else for it.”

“What are you—”

But Aileen had already stood up on our blanket and was posing with her hand on her hip, as though she were a model for a particularly risqué
Harper's Bazaar
. A breeze passed over the rooftop, which lifted her teddy enough for a serious peep show before settling down again.

She had a point. I scrambled up and stood beside her, posing with perhaps less panache, but equal belligerence.
I'm a modern woman
, I had told my daddy back in January when he'd caught me in a similar state of dishabille, that time courtesy of Amir.

I grinned at the thought of what Daddy would make of me now.

The first man climbed onto the roof. He stopped short and stared until his partner pushed him forward.

“Ah…” said the first man, and cleared his throat. He was younger than I would have expected, mid-thirties at the most, and quite tall. His partner was a few inches shorter and even narrower, though I could hardly see his face behind his shadowy, wide-brimmed hat.

“What the devil is this?” said the shadowy one.

The first man blushed, much to my gratification. “Perhaps we should wait in the parlor.”

“Oh,” said the second. He clapped his gloved hands and I realized, with a shock, that he was a vampire. I doubted many vampires could claim the distinction of being officers of the law. “Taking your sapphic pleasures, Miss Hollis?”

Aileen gasped. The tall officer put a calming hand on his vampire partner's shoulder.

“Miss Hollis…” He nodded in our general direction without quite looking at either of us. “I trust we'll see you in the parlor in a few, ah, minutes.”

And with that, they took themselves back down the fire escape.

“Well,” Aileen said, after they'd left. “That didn't go so badly.”

“You can keep the teddy,” I said.

*   *   *

The two officers were waiting in the parlor when I forced myself to descend ten minutes later, attired in my most conservative outfit. The vampire officer had removed his hat, revealing a thin, characteristically pale face with cheekbones that could slice pastrami. I could tell, from his expression of pinched disapproval, and his partner's awkward contemplation of the coffee table, that they were attempting to forget the view on the roof.

“I'm Agent McConnell,” said the tall one, still addressing the coffee table. “This is Zuckerman. We're from the Other Crimes vice squad. We'd like to ask you a few questions about an ongoing investigation. We can do it here or at the station.”

“Here, thank you,” I said, trying to hide my surprise. Other Crimes was a special vice squad in the regular police department, tasked with investigating non-human criminal activity. Given the realities of our city, this mostly meant vampires, which made the presence of a vampire officer on the squad particularly interesting.

“What's this all about?” I asked, since they both seemed content to watch me in silence.

McConnell cleared his throat and took a monogrammed cigarette holder from his breast pocket. “Mind if I smoke?” he said, even as Zuckerman was lighting a match for him without so much as glancing at his partner. The effect was one of imposing harmony, a synchronicity of purpose between the officers that felt somehow intimidating. McConnell lit his cigarette and blew a long plume of smoke just barely to my left. I wrinkled my nose and pushed the ashtray conspicuously closer to his elbow. Mrs. Brodsky would blame me if any ashes dusted her precious table.

“Mort,” McConnell said, slipping the cigarette box back into his pocket, “I think you had better explain matters to the young lady?”

Zuckerman's pinched lips receded even further into his face, so he looked like he had bitten a sour lemon. I wondered if he was annoyed with McConnell, but the glare he fixed on me as he leaned forward in his chair quickly made the object of his ire quite clear.

“We'd like to question you about a matter that occurred this past January.”

I stopped breathing—just as well, since McConnell chose that moment to exhale his particularly malodorous cigarette into my face. January. The month haunted me, no matter how hard I tried to move on.