The Wicked City. Megan Morgan
my world.” Sam darted forward and got right in her face.
June took a step back, eyes wide.
“This is…” Sam turned slowly to Micha. “Our world. It belongs to the paranormal, it always has, and it always will.”
Micha clenched his jaw.
“The Paranormal Alliance will own this city when the Institute is finally in ashes.” Sam lowered his arms. “I will gladly do anything to help undermine them and lead them to their inevitable fiery end. So if you aren’t a blithering child, if you’re willing to fight the fight, then yes, I will help you, but”—he held up a finger—“there will be a price. You will owe me something.”
June shifted. “I—they took my wallet at the Institute. But when I get back to California…”
Sam chuckled and pushed a gloved hand through his hair, which was healthy-looking and thick. He was handsome; she finally had the mindset to notice.
“I don’t want money,” Sam said. “I don’t need money.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I’ll tell you, when the time comes. You have more tests to pass.”
June scowled. “I’m not jumping through any hoops for you.”
“Oh yes, you are.” He clapped his gloved hands together. “We need to leave here. Go somewhere warmer. And less public.”
“We could have been somewhere warmer and less public to begin with.” June huffed, jerking her jacket around her.
“He needed to be able to escape.” Micha turned around next to her shoulder and sang softly, “Para-noia.”
June’s suspicion had been growing since Sam first spoke. The dude was insane. Yet her only hope currently rested on him.
Sam demanded they ferry him in Cindy’s car, though he wouldn’t say where they were going. Muse sat in the front seat between Cindy and Robbie and Sam in the back, Micha in the middle. Micha’s knee rested against June’s leg. He smelled like the frigid air of the pier, and his hair was tousled from the wind. Micha caught her eye and smiled, coyly. She shifted and tugged her jacket across her body. They were all silent as Cindy drove down Michigan Avenue per Sam’s instructions.
“Here.” Sam pointed.
Cindy pulled the car up in front of one of the many towering buildings on the street and slid into a valet area.
“We’re already taking a huge risk being out like this,” Cindy said. “Can’t we go back to my place?”
“We’ll be safe here,” Sam said. “This is our territory, and you know the rules.”
June didn’t know the rules, but she figured they might be in Sam’s head anyway, for some game he played with himself.
“Muse.” Sam poked her shoulder. “I want you and Robbie to take the car and go on patrol. Make sure no one’s been watching us. Don’t come back until I call you.”
“This is my car!” Cindy protested.
“You’re a member of this organization,” Sam said. “That means this is my car.”
“The Communist manifesto of the Paranormal Alliance,” Micha muttered under his breath.
June opened the door. Sam, Micha, and June got out. Cindy got out as well, practically snarling, and Robbie got out and went around the car to the driver’s side. The valet attendants sprang forward but withdrew when Sam raised a hand.
June looked up. The building had a glass façade that reflected the sky. Despite the building’s height, a skyscraper and an ebony obelisk nearby dwarfed the structure. In Chicago, no matter how impressive something appeared, something else was right next door to one-up it like a competitive asshole sibling.
She turned. Muse was inside the car and Robbie outside the driver’s side window, the two exchanging a round of sign language. Sam caught June’s eye.
“Their powers cancel each other out. He can’t read her mind.”
“Isn’t she lucky?”
“You know, you can build defenses against telepaths. I only allow them to see as much as I want of my own mind. But it takes discipline and vigilance.”
“I’ll have to fit some lessons into my busy schedule.”
The entryway of the building glowed. A red rug lay out to guide them to a set of doors. A doorman opened one with a flourish.
“Welcome back, Mr. Haain.”
“Harry.” Sam nodded.
Inside, they faced a bank of elevators.
“We’re going to the twelfth floor,” Sam said. “To the lobby, and then up to a room I have here. Beyond these doors, you are guaranteed safety at all times.” He eyed Micha. “Even you.”
“The lobby’s on the twelfth floor?” June asked. “You know it’s a fancy hotel when you have to go up to get in.”
The elevator sported a marble floor and a chandelier, the light reflected all around in mirrored walls. They could pay for the bulbs by selling sunglasses to passengers before they got on. The operator largely ignored their presence, aside for some small talk with Sam.
The ridiculous elevator proved only a taste, as the lobby took first prize for most overblown room of the century—more extravagant chandeliers, furniture suited for royalty, and gleaming tile floors. A single lamp probably cost more than every inch of ink on June’s body. She expected to see the Queen lounging in one of the chairs, possibly being fed grapes.
A fountain rose in the middle of the room, with an elegant sculpture of several great bronze birds taking flight above the gushing water.
“Nice place,” Micha murmured.
They strode across the lobby toward another bank of elevators.
“I should bring Rose here for our anniversary,” he said.
June stopped in her tracks. “What?”
Micha nearly fell over her. The rest of them stopped and June gaped at Micha.
“You just mentioned Rose,” Cindy said.
“I did?”
“Is your memory coming back?” June panicked. This wasn’t a good time for Micha to remember his dead wife and proceed into a meltdown.
“I don't—” Micha scratched at his scalp. “I don’t even know what I just said. What…was it?”
“You said you should bring Rose here for your anniversary,” Cindy said.
“Oh.” Micha furrowed his brow. “I thought you said she was dead?”
“Hello!” Sam called out, drawing their attention. He stood a few feet away and gestured dramatically toward the elevators.
In the second elevator, as opulent as the first, June stole furtive glances at Micha. He was frowning, brows drawn down, staring at the floor. How would he react when he realized he would have no more anniversaries? Her guilt warred with the urge to hold and comfort him, to dry his inevitable tears and provide all the sex he would otherwise be deprived of with his wife gone.
I really am a crass bitch. She scowled at her reflection in the mirrored wall.
After exiting the elevator, Sam led them down a hallway to a door at the end and unlocked it with a key card. The room was as overstated as the rest of the hotel.
Tiffany lamps, jewel-toned sofas, and cream-colored carpet filled the space, the décor bright, sophisticated, and chic. A wall of windows looked out on a spectacular view of the lake, the sky monochrome and thick with clouds above the dark water.
“Holy