The Wicked City. Megan Morgan
of seeming relieved, Micha blanched, his eyes going wide. She popped her tongue into her cheek and looked around for her smokes. Smooth. Real smooth.
Chapter 2
Cindy changed into a brown shirt-dress thing, black leggings, and fuzzy brown boots. The colors looked good with her pale skin and shock of short, choppy brilliant red hair. At least she knew how to dress. She made some tea and proceeded to slosh a shot of Jack Daniels into her cup. June looked at the clock on the wall—just after ten a.m.
“My nerves are shot,” Cindy said.
They were sitting in her living room, June in a chair, Cindy on a big cushy stool. The kitchen and living room flowed into each other, small and sparsely decorated and as colorless as the bedroom. June didn’t mind. She could handle minimalism.
“I’ll take your word for it,” June said. “But who puts Jack Daniels in tea? That’s not even right.”
“I have an excitable condition. It keeps me calm. Trust me, you don’t want it to get out of hand.”
“Trust her.” Micha sat on the couch, legs tucked under him. He looked wide-eyed and tousled and stupidly cute.
June wanted to hug him and tell him she didn’t mean to call him a Nazi. And maybe give him an apologetic hand job.
“Let’s get down to business.” Cindy plunked the bottle of whiskey on the black lacquer coffee table in front of her.
June was tempted to snatch the bottle and take a swig. Without the tea. She hated tea.
“June,” Cindy said, “this is Robbie Beecher.”
Cindy’s friend was a slender sharp-shouldered man, with neck-length dark brown hair. Cute, but not exactly June’s cup of…well, straight Jack Daniels. He wore all black—black pants and a black sweater under a black tailored jacket, fashionable, suave. He smiled at June and she couldn’t stop herself from flinching. He had a wide mouth and thin lips, making him appear to have too many teeth, like a shark. She and her friend Diego in Sacramento would classify him as a “surprise horse face.”
“Robbie’s deaf,” Cindy said.
“Well that’s inconvenient.” June sighed.
“It’s all right,” Robbie spoke up, voice smooth, words well pronounced, not at all like the slow, labored speech of the deaf. “I’m a powerful telepath. I can hear your voice in my head. That’s how I can speak so well, since you’re wondering. And thank you for the compliment.” He smiled a tiny toothless smile.
“Most telepaths are courteous enough not to stick their faces in other people’s heads,” June said.
“I need to read your mind to hear your voice.”
“I wasn’t talking when I was thinking about your huge mouth.”
Cindy pursed her lips together, and took a drink of her tea.
“Robbie’s a member of the Paranormal Alliance, just like Cindy,” Micha said. “He’s a powerful telekinetic in addition to being a telepath. The Institute has solicited him for years. He’s also compiling an enormous collection of pre-research era supernatural documentation.”
June blinked a few times. “What?”
“Books and other written works documenting supernatural phenomena throughout history,” Robbie clarified. “Back when they still thought vampires turned into bats and gypsies put curses on you. I have quite the collection. The Institute would love to get their hands on it.”
She detected smugness.
“How titillating,” June said. How very goddamn boring she thought at Robbie.
Robbie flicked his gaze to the bottle on the coffee table; it slid smoothly across the surface and stopped at the edge, in front of her.
“Hey!” Cindy lurched forward.
“There,” Robbie said. “Since you want some.”
June hated telepaths.
A smile tugged at the corner of Micha's mouth, and his eyes glittered as he glanced at June.
“Oh, you won’t get any of that,” Robbie said.
June really, really hated telepaths. “I might not be telekinetic, but I can throw something at you.”
“Guys,” Cindy said. “Can we stick to the subject? As Micha said, Robbie’s a member of the Paranormal Alliance, like I am.”
“Great,” June said. “I’m not clear on what the hell that is, but let’s pretend it’s going to get my brother out of the Institute, since you keep bringing it up.”
Cindy plunked her teacup on the table. “The Paranormal Alliance is the only organized group in Chicago made up entirely of paranormal humans. We hate the Institute.” She focused a sour, tight-lipped look on Micha. “And Institute lovers.”
“They’re supposed to be doing some greater good for their people,” Micha said, “but they mostly spend their time harassing the Institute. They have a lot of reasons. Some don’t trust the Institute. Some don’t like that they’re uncovering paranormal secrets. Some believe their culture should be kept underground as it’s always been, away from the ‘normals.’”
June resisted the impulse to point out they had the right idea. He probably had enough salt in his wounds.
“I don’t like the Institute,” Robbie said. “I’ve never trusted them. Do you know ninety percent of the Institute’s staff is non-paranormal? What does that say?”
Micha opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut.
“So these guys are your friends.” June looked between them, brow furrowed. “But you’re an activist who supports—supported—the Institute?”
“I believe a good activist understands all sides of a conflict.” Micha spoke reasonably. “We may have differing views, but we both want safety and rights for the paranormal. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“We’ve known Micha forever,” Cindy said. “And he’s right, we both want the same thing when it boils down to it. But”—she leaned forward, eyeing Micha—“we don’t allow normals into the Paranormal Alliance.”
“Not that I want in it,” Micha said.
It sounded like a war, but instead of two countries fighting, it was sixty of them, all with their own set of self-righteous ideals. People like Micha wanted equal rights for everyone. And June hated everyone equally.
“So you guys are extremists,” she said to Cindy. “Kind of like that SNC group. Just on the flip side.”
Cindy gaped. “We are not like them!”
She sprang up and charged at June. June braced herself, calculating quickly she could take Cindy out at the knees with a swipe of her leg, maybe, if she acted fast enough. Cindy stopped in front of her, though, and snatched up the bottle.
“We’ve never used violence to get our point across,” Cindy said.
Behind Cindy, Robbie made a shifty glance to the side.
“Go sit down.” June, leg lifted defensively, bobbed her foot at Cindy. “Get outta my face.”
“Watch your mouth.” Cindy pointed a finger at her.
June scowled after her as she retreated, and then narrowed her eyes at Robbie, finding something strange about the way he’d reacted to Cindy’s statement. Maybe he wanted to bash a few skulls in. She could get behind that.
“So can you help us or not?” Micha asked. “We have to get June’s brother out of the Institute.”
Cindy sat back down