The Wicked City. Megan Morgan
“I don’t get into that stuff.” The buildings crawled past. “Ending up here is a reminder why.”
“I read in the Tribune,” Micha said, “you were discovered by an entertainment reporter.”
She snorted. “Yeah. This girl from a local rag came into my shop to get some work done. I’ve known her for a long time, did most of her ink. She was talking about supernatural stuff, and I let it slip, told her about Jason and me. I thought I could trust her. Then she went and wrote a frickin’ article about it.” She fidgeted, looking down at her fingers. “Jason was pissed. Hell, I was pissed. He’s an actor, and he thought if it got out it would hurt his career, thought people would assume he’s charming his way into roles. Not that he would ever do that.”
“If he did, he’d have an Oscar by now,” Micha said. “A million of them.”
“Still, I didn’t think anyone read that stupid paper, certainly not people in Chicago.”
“The Institute is vigilant,” Micha said. “They keep a sharp eye out for the smallest things. The paranormal is still an underground community for many reasons, so they have to canvas far and wide. And your power is uncommon, being an aural captivator, a Siren.” He scoffed. “‘Siren’ is such a misleading term, though. Sirens are mythological creatures. Hypnotic voice phenomenon isn’t gender specific, either.”
“Thank you, Mr. Encyclopedia. I don’t give a damn. I should have kept my mouth shut. That’s what I get for trusting people. I don’t understand why you like being so involved in it.”
“My family had a lot of paranormal friends when I was growing up. Before it was recognized scientifically. Back then it was all about getting people to accept it as a reality. People like my mother campaigned for her friends to get recognition. Now I’m trying to convince people not to hurt them.”
“So you inherited a legacy.”
“And my family is paranormal.” He waved this off as if it were a lesser reason. “My sisters both have paranormal abilities. So does one of my aunts. Marked telepathy and mild telekinesis, but Emily, my oldest sister, is also a pyrokinetic.”
“A pyrokinetic? She sets things on fire with her mind? Like that Drew Barrymore movie?”
Micha's voice darkened. “It’s not exactly like that. She can make certain substances heat up. If they’re flammable, yes, they can catch on fire. It’s not easy to do, though.”
“So you’re the odd one out. In this case, the white sheep of the family.”
“It bothered me when I was younger. I guess I felt left out. But not many people in this city want to be paranormal.”
June turned her attention back out her window. A building with a diamond-shaped roof loomed over them, and she craned her neck. “Well, go ahead and feel like you’re doing something noble. Me, I don’t shove it in everyone’s face. It’s my damn business.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Cindy said. “I mean, you’re persecuted on two fronts. Society is so goddamn prejudiced, it hurts. Why can’t people just be who they are, be the way they were made?”
June narrowed her eyes. “Two fronts?”
“I mean, your preference. You’re still harassed for that, I’m sure.”
“My what?”
Robbie looked at Cindy, frowning. “She’s not a lesbian, Cindy.”
Cindy glanced in the mirror at June, brow furrowed. “You’re not?”
June goggled at her. “No!”
“I—you were checking out my rack, though. And the leather, and all the tattoos, I thought…”
“Oh my God,” June said.
Micha started snickering. June scowled at him. He snickered more. Robbie rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I have some wonderful lesbian friends,” June said. “But no, just because I have tattoos doesn’t mean I don’t like cocks. Straight women can have tattoos, you know. And I happen to like leather. It's sexy.”
Cindy shrugged and mumbled, “Sorry.”
An awkward silence fell, though Micha had his lips pressed in a tight line, rubbing his jaw.
June looked back out the window. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that Millennium Park?”
“Yes.” Micha's voice was tight with stifled laughter.
Jason had been looking forward to visiting Millennium Park. He loved sculpture. She could see him sitting on the plane, book open in his lap, rattling on about his favorite sculptors. He thought she didn’t listen, but she did. Anish Kapoor’s Cloud Gate in Chicago. His Sky Mirrors were in front of Nottingham Playhouse and Rockefeller Center. His piece Taratantara stood outside the Baltic flour mills. She could take a test on Jason’s favorite sculptors and pass with flying colors.
She hoped she’d still get a chance to.
When they reached Navy Pier, the place looked like a carnival, complete with a Ferris wheel and the entrance boasting a huge lit-up sign akin to a funhouse. She sensed not much fun would go down, despite appearances. Cindy parked the car on the street in front and swiveled around.
“Robbie will stay here with the car. I’ll come with you to meet him.”
“Good idea,” June said. “You know where he is, after all. Unless we’re gonna just wander around like idiots.”
“I don’t, actually. Sam doesn’t like to be predictable. But don’t worry. We’ll find him.” Cindy paused. “I’m really sorry about—”
“It’s cool.” June held a hand up and quirked the corner of her mouth. “You do have a great rack.”
They had to walk through what looked like a shopping mall to get to the outer part of the pier—a broad concrete walkway empty of people, the steady wind off the lake making the January cold fucking cold. The wind cut through June’s T-shirt like a thousand evil icy razor blades and forced her to zip up her jacket. The immense plane of bleak and choppy water was filled with big ice chunks like the ones she’d seen in the river. Farther out, solid sheets spread like snowy islands. The city stood across the water, thrust in a jagged line against the stark sky.
“First time I’ve seen any of the Great Lakes.” June's teeth chattered.
“Really?” Cindy asked. “I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“I guess neither of us is a world traveler, huh?”
Micha huddled into his coat. “Let’s walk down to the end.”
June kept a cautious eye out as they started down the pier. They saw no one else, as all other people in the city were smart enough not to be walking next to the lake in freezing temperatures.
“So what do you do when you’re not fighting the good fight?” June asked Micha, trying to keep her mind off the fact her face had already gone numb. They’d been acquainted nearly a week, but with fearing for their lives and June grievously worried about her brother and spending every waking minute trying to figure out a way to rescue him, they hadn’t made much small talk. She knew little about Micha beyond him being altruistic and sexy.
“I’m an administrator at the College of Paranormal Science. That’s where the Institute gets most its staff. I run a couple non-profit organizations too. Keeps me pretty busy. In fact, things are probably falling apart without me right now.”
“And you?” she asked Cindy to be polite.
“Bartender,” she grunted from inside her coat. “Some of us can’t be constant heroes.”
“Bartenders have always been my heroes,” June said.