Wicked City (7 page)

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

She yawned so wide her jaw cracked. “Oh, Lily gave it to me. She was bored of it, I'm sure. She gives me cast-offs all the time.”

I swallowed back a childish bleat of jealousy. If Lily didn't feel I was worthy of her discards, I could hardly argue with her assessment.

Aileen did not sit so much as tumble back onto her bed. I made sure she hadn't fainted and then left her to her slumbers. Perhaps she'd feel better after a few more hours.

Outside was noticeably less sticky than it had been last night, and I even felt the rudiments of a breeze as I wrestled my bicycle out from the storage area beneath the steps. I pushed off and swung my leg over, wondering if Lily's dress perhaps rode a little too high up my legs. This suspicion was confirmed when two boys from down my block catcalled and whistled as I made the turn onto Houston. I gave them a cheery wave. Aside from periodic wobbles to wrest the handlebars straight and prevent the rusted gears from locking, I had a leisurely journey west to Greenwich Village. I wanted to know more about what Harry had heard about the Faust deaths. His letter was more than intriguing enough to warrant a visit before my meeting with the mayor. Troy's Defenders had relocated to a house on Bleecker and Perry, which contained not only a suite of rooms for him and his guests, but also a training arena in the basement. Troy had invited me to see it this past spring, and despite my loathing for his activities, I had admitted being grudgingly impressed. Troy gave Harry the attic room for very little rent, and I was content that my little brother was being well cared for. The Village was hardly a bastion of Defender supporters, but their bohemian neighbors tolerated nighttime activities far better than anyone might in a more upscale neighborhood. And the rent was a steal, Troy bragged.

The building was three stories of white brick, with bright blue shutters. It didn't open onto the street, but rather its gate led to a pathway through the garden and the side of the house. The gate was open, so I walked up to the side and knocked.

Derek opened the door a few seconds later. He grunted a greeting at me and wandered back to the front office. I did not take his laconic nature for rudeness—I might not approve of what the Defenders
did
(namely, the extra-judicial slaughtering of Others for whichever private citizens or public organizations could afford their retainer) but I occasionally felt some nostalgia for the gruff camaraderie of the lifestyle. Here, no one cared about my gender or the Montanan drawl that occasionally infected my speech. So long as I was handy with a blessed blade and didn't much mind the stink of a popped sucker, I was good enough for them.

Derek sat back behind the desk with a wince I pretended not to notice. He'd been hurt pretty badly during the fight with Rinaldo's gang and hadn't yet fully recovered. “Is Harry here?”

“Out back,” he said. “Drinking lemonade with Troy and two officers from vice squad. I haven't seen many sucker police officers,” he said, and shrugged. “I guess it takes all kinds.”

I thought about running away, but some masochistic impulse led me to nod as though this news was of as little import to me as the Yankees score. I needed to know why they were here. I walked through a brightly wallpapered hallway to the open back door, which led to the courtyard garden. Troy was seated at a picnic table with my kid brother, glasses of lemonade nearly full.

And across from them sat the two men whose visages I had already learned to fear: agents McConnell and Zuckerman. McConnell hunched in his chair, alternating sips of icy beverage with a cigarette. Zuckerman had pushed his untouched glass closer to his partner, and I wondered at the awkward hospitality that would have prompted Troy to give a vampire lemonade. They were in the shadow of a large, shady umbrella, probably to ensure Zuckerman's comfort.

“We know you two were involved in that business with Rinaldo Sanguinetti in January,” McConnell was saying, while Zuckerman took notes. “So you must have heard something about this child vampire. I'm sure I don't have to tell good Defenders like yourself of the seriousness of this crime. We just can't let this sort of thing slide, and, ah, your group is up for renewal soon, right? I think we could put in a good word with the licensing officer? What do you say, Mort?”

Zuckerman nodded thoughtfully. “I think we could. Provided cooperation.”

McConnell smiled happily and downed his lemonade like it was a shot of triple-distilled whiskey. I heard the threat as clearly as Troy and Harry did, I'm sure. Rank corruption, and it made me furious. I stepped fully into the courtyard. “Well,” I said, “at least no one can accuse you of inconstancy, Officers.”

McConnell looked up and doffed his hat. Zuckerman just stared at me for an uncomfortable moment, then made a note in his book. “Too late, Miss Hollis,” Zuckerman said, “if you were planning to warn your former colleagues.”

“I rather thought I was going to save them from two bullies with police badges. But please continue. I was merely paying a social call on my way to a meeting with the mayor. I can wait.” I made my way over to a wicker armchair and sat down. I smiled and waved my hand. “Go on,” I said. “And Harry, if you're not going to drink that, mind bringing it over here?” I fanned myself. “Nothing like a New York summer, is there?”

Zuckerman still stared, immune to my powers of conversation. “You still deny harboring this child vampire?”

“Of course I do.”

McConnell picked up Zuckerman's glass and shook the melting ice cubes like he could divine the truth from their motion. “Mort doesn't believe you,” he said.

“Maybe
Mort
doesn't know everything,” I snapped.

Harry stood awkwardly and walked over to where I sat, across the courtyard. He gave me a look of something close to terror and mouthed,
Judah
? I gave a slow, discreet nod and took the drink from him with loud thanks. I could only pray that even if the officers proved my own role in Judah's rescue, they wouldn't follow his trail back to my family in Yarrow. Harry knew the danger, but he acted unconcerned when he sat back down with the officers.
He might be young,
I thought,
but Harry learns fast
. A Hollis trait, perhaps, drilled into us by our crazy daddy.

The officers took their leave soon after, and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at McConnell's willowy back. Troy and Harry had been as one in their denial of any knowledge about any child vampire. As far as Troy knew, he only told the truth—I had not been fool enough to confide my involvement with Judah to him, and I assumed that Harry had been discreet enough not to mention the latest addition to our family.

“What the devil was that about, Zephyr?” Troy asked. He plucked a few ice cubes from the bottom of his glass and dropped them, with very little ceremony, down the back of his shirt. He practically groaned in pleasure; Harry gave him a lopsided smile.

“Beats me,” I said, with I hoped convincing bafflement. “Those officers are convinced I'm guilty of some felony or other. Something to do with the Rinaldo affair, I think. But they don't have enough evidence to arrest me, so I'm just hoping it will go away.”

With a little help from the Mayor
.

Harry pursed his lips, looking, for a moment, much older than his nineteen years. I could not believe that the same brother who once dropped part of a hornet's nest down my knickers was now helping me avoid police investigation two thousand miles from home. How times change.

“You should steer clear of those two, Zeph. There's something about 'em I don't trust.”

“Don't be daft, Harry,” Troy said. “They're officers, even if one is a sucker. Our Zephyr can take care of herself, as she always tells me.” Troy patted his dirty-blond hair in a vain attempt to reinvigorate the pomade, which seemed to have given up in the heat. Stray strands resolutely insisted on curling and sticking out in a fashion I had not seen since we were much younger.

I sucked down the dregs of Harry's lemonade and contemplated emulating Troy's idea for the ice. “Did you hear anything else about those deaths yesterday?”

Harry shrugged and sprawled on the grass beside my chair. “The bodies are at the morgue, but we'd have a better chance of getting into Grant's Tomb.”

Troy nodded. “I've tried to call in favors with some friends in the Sixth Precinct. Professional curiosity. But the bodies are in a warded room and even the top brass can't get in. Zephyr, are you really meeting with the mayor this afternoon?”

“I think she means picketing in front of City Hall.”

I glared at them both. “I'll have you know I will be meeting with him—at his personal invitation—at four o'clock.”

Harry whistled. “I heard you were a little famous down here. Daddy said so.”

“Daddy thinks famous is your picture in the paper. People knew who I was for a week, and I'm grateful for my return to obscurity.”

It was getting hotter in the garden. Would the ice ruin Lily's dress? I settled for removing my hat and rubbing the ice along my hairline.

“Well, if you really are meeting Beau James,” Troy said, with a curled lip that clearly said
which I doubt,
“then you might ask him about the bodies yourself. Rumor has it he's visited the morgue.”

“If they're in a morgue,” I said, “do you think that means they didn't pop?”

Harry chewed his lip. “Could be.”

“They bring poppers for autopsies sometimes, too,” Troy said. “As you should know, Zephyr. The police spent a week cleaning out Rinaldo's lair.”

Considering that Troy knew I had spent most of that week huddled in my bed, I thought this was unfair. But I didn't want to tarnish Harry's image of his daring big sister, so I let it pass.

“I'll ask,” I said, “but if none of your contacts have learned anything, I rather doubt he'll tell me.” I stood. “Anyway, I must be going. Harry, would you walk me out?”

Harry scrambled up obligingly enough while Troy frowned after us like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened.

“Zephyr,” Harry said, as soon as we were out of earshot, “what's all this about the mayor?”

I sighed. “I'm not sure. I got a visit from those two officers yesterday and before I can say striped pajamas I have a note from the mayor requesting my presence. He hinted he might be able to help me with my legal difficulties.”

“Are you and Jimmy Walker
that
friendly with each other?”

I gave Harry a long look. “I really don't think he's my type,” I said.

Harry blushed. “Zeph, you know, with his reputation…”

I laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “I will let you know of any startling developments, I promise. That one, however, is vanishingly unlikely.”

I shook my head in disbelief as I retrieved my bicycle. An affair with the
mayor
! Amir would never let me hear the end of it. I'd sooner get head lice. I'd sooner vote for Faust!

*   *   *

I skidded to a stop at the corner of Chambers and Elm, digging my heels into the hot tarmac to aid my slowly declining brakes. Amir had offered to get me a new bicycle, but I had decaying for the same reason I refused to ask for a pair of dancing shoes. I was beginning to regret that now, when no fewer than two gear malfunctions had nearly sent me crashing into a streetcar and forced me to waste precious minutes realigning the chain. Despite my best efforts, I had smudged grease on the hem of the dress, and I did not even want to contemplate my fingernails. The street behind City Hall was quiet and strangely empty for a Tuesday afternoon. I muttered a stream of imprecations at bicycle manufacturers, the mayor, and reckless streetcar drivers, in that order, as I checked my watch.

I hastily locked my bicycle to the tall wrought-iron gates that surround the grounds of City Hall. It occurred to me that this wasn't strictly legal, but it didn't seem likely that even the most enterprising police officer would bother with it at nearly the close of business on Tuesday.

The aldermanic chamber was shuttered this afternoon. In the main lobby, a woman with an armful of leather-bound books hurried up the stairs. I walked past a group of suited men having a quiet conversation. One of them glanced at me, and I increased my pace. I was sure I looked painfully out of place. At least it was blessedly cooler, here among the marble and electric fans. A large hall branched off from the left side of the lobby, blocked by a young lady at a desk.

“Can I help you, miss?” she asked.

“I'm here to see the mayor,” I said.

“Oh, you're Miss Hollis? Mrs. Brandon told me to expect you. Just wait here a moment.”

I took the opportunity to discreetly straighten my dress and smooth my hair. The group of men went outside just as the secretary returned to her desk, accompanied by another woman. She seemed familiar, and as she drew closer I recognized her as the same woman speaking with Madison and the mayor after the evidentiary hearings yesterday. That implied a level of responsibility and power, which was certainly unusual for a woman in a place like City Hall. She wore a skirt and blouse nearly as conservative as my habitual attire, and despite the boiling weather outside, looked freshly starched and pressed. Her blunt features seemed friendly enough—she smiled when she saw me.

“Miss Hollis,” she said. “We were hoping you would make it. I'm Judith Brandon, one of James's special advisors. Follow me, please.”

We headed down a long marble corridor. She stopped in front of a door of inlaid mahogany and rapped three times. No one responded. She knocked again, then shook her head and opened the door a crack.

“Jimmy?” she called. “Miss Hollis is here.”

A muffled shout emanated from somewhere deep inside the room.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Brandon, “he must be changing. We might as well wait inside.”