The Burning City (2 page)

“She’d be happy for me.” He slid his arm around her, and they turned toward the limo. “She got tired of my fuming and swaggering every time I saw you and Micha together. She’d get on me about acting like a man and telling you.”

“She…knew?”

“She could read my mind.”

Muse and Sam’s relationship remained shrouded in mystery, and June couldn’t bring herself to press for details. His wound was still raw, and she would not be jealous of a dead woman, especially one who had been so amazing in life.

“I’ll come back and put flowers on her grave,” he said, “now that I know where it is.” He’d asked Aaron this morning, in their hotel room, to bring him before the ridiculous press conference they were about to attend. June suspected he needed a morale boost from “seeing” her.

“I was going to bring some white roses.” June glanced over her shoulder. “But now I’ll bring something more colorful.”

* * * *

Two weeks prior, at Aaron’s urging, they had turned themselves over to the FBI. The truth had been confirmed by that time. They were never taken into legal custody, but a protective one, where they were questioned relentlessly and helped the Feds put the final pieces together.

June’s role in the investigation was small; still, she must have talked to sixty different people about the same things, answering the same questions over and over. At one point, she asked them why they didn’t employ telepaths. The suggestion was met with frowns and blank stares.

A week ago, the whole mess had gone public and the pace of events turned breathtaking.

First, the FBI, in conjunction with the state of Illinois, shut down the Chicago Institute For Supernatural Research pending a thorough investigation of “unethical practices, felony conspiracy and cover up, and crimes against humanity.” Researchers were questioned and the governing board—who had not yet appointed a new head to replace Eric Greerson—faced a huge, nasty federal probe. Warrants were issued for the seizure of all Institute property.

Paranormal folks the city over rejoiced. The various bickering groups actually shook hands and celebrated together. The night it exploded all over the news, she and Sam sat in their hotel room where the FBI kept them and watched in silence. June was too hollow and exhausted to either cry or celebrate.

The end of the Institute was a victory they’d long desired, but it wasn’t the only one, and it wasn’t the biggest one.

Directly on the heels of this bombshell, the FBI announced Aaron and Sam had been framed for the murder of Eric Greerson. Though the agency didn’t release the video of what happened that night—the grisly revelation of Eric’s shenanigans, their narrow escape, all the horrible things Eric had used Micha for—someone leaked it on the Internet. This, more than the FBI’s statement, quickly turned the public’s opinion of Sam and Aaron from murderous demons to avenging angels.

The sudden swell of fame was frightening. Luckily, June remained as always little more than a footnote. Her part in the story, and Jason’s part, was mentioned when only the rest of the tale had already been breathlessly passed along.

The Paranormal Alliance—members of which Robbie Beecher hadn’t turned to his cause or killed for not joining him—had risen up in glorious, roaring triumph. Sam said he couldn’t wait to stand before them again. He would pace the hotel room, telling her what he intended to say to them, how he’d reward them for their loyalty, the whole time gesturing and full of fire. She’d try to coax him into bed to take a little of that fire out on her.

No wonder she had so many feelings, godlike as he was lately.

The FBI placed Robbie at the top of their Most Wanted list. They promised he’d be brought swiftly to justice. They’d find him and make him pay for the massacre in the park as well as the supernatural people he’d killed so the Institute didn’t get their hands on them.

June laughed at this. Robbie was not the kind of man to be caught “swiftly.” He was not the kind of man to be easily brought to justice, either.

But one could always hope.

She sat in the back of the limo, reapplying her lipstick in a compact mirror. The car slid through the bustling downtown streets of Chicago, beneath the looming towers. For the first time in half a year, the throngs of people and the chugging hub of activity didn’t frighten her. She could actually walk among them again, if she wanted to.

“Any leads on Occam?” Sam asked. He spoke to Aaron.

Aaron sat on the bench seat across from them. “No. The vampires are keeping their mouths shut, as usual.”

Aaron had people crawling all over the Nocturnal District, but no one was giving up Occam’s whereabouts. The house he’d been staying in when she met him sat abandoned. The periodic messages Occam sent her—all handwritten notes—included no clue where they originated. Sometimes they just appeared, which meant he definitely knew her whereabouts.

“I may have to take drastic measures if you want me to continue to press.” Aaron drummed his fingers on the seat. “The vampires take exception to our intrusion and they’re constantly menacing my operatives.”

June snapped her compact shut. “I want you to continue to press. Take drastic measures. I want to find my brother and Diego.”

“Sam might not want me to take drastic measures,” Aaron said. “I could pull my monetary donations that are still keeping Kevin Kramer safe. Or at least threaten it.”

Sam rubbed his fingers over his lips.

“Does Kevin Kramer really mean that much to you?” Aaron asked him.

“He did to my brother,” Sam said.

Sam’s brother, Thomas, had been Kevin’s best friend. When Thomas was murdered, Kevin had enlisted vampires to hunt down and slaughter Thomas’s murderers—which they had, apart from one killer who remained unknown. The vampires, callous and careless as they were, would have given away Kevin’s involvement without a second thought. Sam asked Aaron to pay them off for their silence. In return, Sam took Muse into his safekeeping to protect her from Aaron’s organization, the anti-paranormal Secular Normalists.

Obviously, Aaron didn’t need that favor anymore.

Sam squeezed June’s hand. “We’ll find Occam. It’ll be easier now that we can move in the open.”

Aaron sighed. “I wish he’d give you more proof he still has them alive before I take drastic measures. Something other than a strand of hair and my watch.”

June blinked at him.

“I recognized it. You got it from a box in the attic at the house in Hyde Park. I lived there for a time after my wife passed. All the junk in the attic is stuff I left there when I relocated downtown.”

“I gave it to him to hide the scar on his wrist,” June said. “It doesn’t even work.”

Aaron looked out the window. “Something from that time in my life might as well be useful again.”

She said nothing, rubbing her stomach. As always, it ached, partly from hunger and partly with the usual burning pain gnawing at her guts.

“Did you eat something this morning?” Sam asked her.

“I managed to keep some applesauce down. And the vitamins.”

Since discovering her power would eventually kill her, much the same as Muse’s power had been killing her, June lived as if she’d been given a fatal cancer diagnosis. She’d been through every stage of grief multiple times but had yet to find acceptance. She’d spent most of her life battling nausea, pain, and food issues. The added anxiety and dread made it worse.

“I still feel gross every morning,” she said. “Maybe it’s progressing faster than Occam said it would.”

Sam squeezed her hand again. “You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It’s bound to take a toll on you. Everything is going to work out.”

She looked into his eyes. Those dark depths were intense, sincere. He believed that.

“Occam isn’t going to win this game,” he said softly. “And Robbie isn’t going to win his game, either. We’re going to be the winners.”

“I think you’re just feeling smug right now because we’ve finally got a few punches on our scorecard.”

“Or maybe it’s because I’ve finally got you, and you make me feel invincible.”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought I was gonna keep the applesauce down.”

He kissed her but didn’t try to smear her lipstick this time. A brief, comforting kiss.

They pulled up in front of Tribune Tower on Michigan Avenue. June’s heart raced. The beat quickened even more when she took in the crowds gathered outside.

People packed the sidewalks around the building, stretching down the street and across the bridge spanning the Chicago River. One lane had been blocked off and filled with police cars. The police were positioned everywhere, along the barricades cordoning off the crowds, around the building’s entrance, in the street itself.

“Oh my God.” June stared wide-eyed. “Are they serious?”

Sam was practically vibrating. “Finally, the city is in our favor.”

She had attended a press conference once before, when Jason was being held by the Institute, in a ploy to get him back. She was now filled with the same horrifying nervousness as back then, her chest tightening so much she could barely breathe. Attention from huge crowds was not something she craved, yet since coming to Chicago that was all she seemed to get.

“You’re gonna do all the talking, right?” she asked in a small voice.

“Have you met me?”

Aaron got on his cell phone. “We’ve arrived. Pulling up now in the Aston Martin.”

June took a deep bracing breath, trying to open her chest up. Her pounding heart rattled all the wind out of her.

Celebrities must feel this way, only they actually want it.
As June walked down the narrow aisle between barricades, plastered to Sam’s side and tucked under his arm, she made a mental note: leave the glamorous life to Jason.
He wants to be an actor.
People around them were shouting, waving, taking pictures. Some had signs.

The thought of Jason made her aching stomach worsen.

Sam seemed to eat it up—grasping hands, waving, blowing kisses like a superstar. The police moved them along, hustling them through the commotion. If Sam stopped to sign autographs, she would punch him in the kidney.

They passed through revolving doors and into the building’s lobby. Inside, the atmosphere was slightly more subdued.

She had been inside the Tribune Tower lobby once before, when she and Sam met with Chicago’s second greatest monster—or monster apprentice—Ethan Roberts. She’d been in disguise that day, in contrast to how all eyes were on her now. Most people in the room were obviously reporters, armed with cameras, recorders, and notepads.

The reprieve from chaos was short-lived. Flashes went off. Shouts rose.

They were directed around the crowd and into a hallway. The hallway was full of people too. Several of the FBI agents they’d been dealing with were there, along with other official-looking people and more police officers.

“Was that really necessary?” she demanded of no one in particular as they were escorted down the hallway. “Why couldn’t we be brought in some back way?”

Sam chuckled. “The city needs to see their heroes.”

They were ushered into a long high-ceilinged room. More familiar faces appeared. This was where the FBI had set up. These agents had been spending a lot of time with them the past two weeks.

A man stepped up to them. “Right on time.” His name was Daniel Morton, the lead investigator on their case. “Good to see you.” He shook Sam’s hand and then Aaron’s. He nodded to her.

She was so insignificant she didn’t even warrant a handshake.

“That’s quite a crowd,” Sam said. He loosened his grip on her, and she forced herself to let go of him as well. “I’m impressed.”

“We expected nothing less.” Daniel gestured to a blond woman. “This is Mary Rourke. She’s the coordinator. She’s going to walk you through what will happen today. Remember, you’re not to speak about privileged information that might be detrimental to your case or to the investigation at the Institute. If you’re pressed with any questions that might force you to reveal sensitive information, simply say you can’t talk about it due to the ongoing investigation.”

June’s head hurt. Her stomach grew queasier by the moment.

“There they are!” a female voice squealed behind them.

June turned. Cindy rushed in, arms open and lifted. She wore a blue dress and gold heels, as if she were going to a nightclub. Her bright red hair hung in loose ringlets on her shoulders. As she hustled over to them, her enormous boobs bounced.

She flung her arms around June. Cindy’s heavy flowery perfume didn’t abate June’s queasiness. Her embrace was soft and overwhelming and all tits.

“That crowd is nuts,” Cindy said as she drew back. “And it’s all for you.” She gave June a once-over. “Damn girl, look at you. That dress fits just right.”

“A stylist came by this morning and took care of us,” June said. “They made me cover up my tattoos, said it would make me more ‘palatable.’”

Cindy huffed. “I’d tell them to kiss my big fat ass. You can save the city, but a tattoo is gonna scare people?”

“I wish I had a big fat ass for them to kiss.”

Cindy winked. “Direct them to mine.” She turned to Sam and flung her arms open again. “Look at you!”

Sam hugged her. Cindy was as tall as Sam, especially in heels. They looked disturbingly sexy in their embrace. June liked Cindy. She would not stab her.

Cindy even hugged Aaron, though it was a much more delicate, restrained hug. Her perfume lingered in the air, and June tried to subtly inch away before her gag reflex was triggered.

“You okay?” Sam asked June softly. Apparently, she looked as disgusting as she felt.

“I think I need some water.” She fanned her face. “And a wastebasket.”

Sam swiftly left her side. June located an empty chair. She plopped down in it as Cindy chatted with Aaron and Mary Rourke, the poor unfortunate coordinator patiently waiting for their attention.

At great risk to herself, Cindy had revealed her involvement in their plight and told the FBI everything she knew. She was more acquainted with Robbie than any of them and was able to fill them in on some details. She wouldn’t be part of the press conference, merely present for moral support. Sam intended to make her an officer in the Paranormal Alliance as soon as he retook the helm.