The Wicked City. Megan Morgan

      “I saw that,” Sam murmured.

      She shrugged and flopped down in her spot next to Micha on the other sofa.

      Sam lowered the phone and pressed it against his shoulder. “June, who was the lead researcher on your study?”

      She struggled to recall. “John…McKormic? I think. Short guy, balding. Obnoxious.”

      “Do you know him?” Sam asked Micha.

      “I know who he is,” Micha said. “I’ve talked to him at fundraisers. He’s a brilliant man, created more efficient research techniques, made them more streamlined and specific.”

      “So jacking my blood was his idea.” June scowled.

      Sam placed the phone back to his ear. “John McKormic? Do you know him?” A pause as he listened. “Yes. Send someone to have a chat with him, someone who can get some information. Send a witch if you have to.”

      Cindy jerked her head around.

      “Find out if the other Coffin twin is alive,” Sam said. “Call me back at this number.”

      Sam took the phone from his ear and clicked off. “So you know this guy, Micha? This researcher?”

      “We’re not best friends or anything, but he knows me. I’m sure he knew my…wife, too, if she worked at the Institute.”

      “Well then, we need to make sure he doesn’t see you, since he’ll recognize you. You’re staying here at the hotel until further notice, with June.”

      “We’re staying here?” June asked.

      “You want my help, you get my protection. Package deal.”

      “So benevolent,” June said. “We could just go in and shoot up the place, too. Cindy would love to help with that, I’m sure.”

      She shot June a glare.

      “Completely realistic,” Sam replied. “You’ll keep your ass here until otherwise told not to.”

      June saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain.”

      “Good, you passed your second test. We’re getting somewhere.”

      “What was the second test?” June asked.

      “Doing what I tell you to, without question. Cute and smart. Cindy, I’m having Robbie come pick you up.”

      “I am not cute,” June said.

      Chapter 4

      A huge flat screen TV hung on the wall between the two sofas; June sprawled on one, Micha the other. They were watching a news program. She couldn’t pay attention though. Everything about her current situation bothered her—lying down, watching TV, cozy and safe while somewhere, in the depths of the foreign city surrounding her, her brother languished as a prisoner. If he still lived at all.

      Sam’s bodyguard, Muse, had returned about an hour before, and she and Sam left together, Sam declaring he had “important business” to take care of. He gave them strict instructions not to leave the room in his absence. June had no intention of wandering around the hotel showing off a lack of common sense or taking a stroll down Michigan Avenue with a big target on her back.

      “Does Sam live in this hotel or something?” June asked.

      Micha wasn’t watching TV, either. He was stretched out, shoes off, arm propped on the back of the sofa. “I don’t know.” He sounded distracted and distant. “I don’t know a lot about Sam. Just that he’s gregarious. I mostly try to avoid him. I’ve only actually met him once before today.”

      “Why doesn’t he like you?”

      “Because I’m a normal. He doesn’t think I should be sticking my nose in paranormal affairs.”

      “But you help paranormal people, right? All that activism stuff?”

      “Not to his specifications.”

      She gazed at the ceiling, at the dull afternoon light stretched across the swirled plaster. “So what’s Sam’s specialty? Besides belligerence? And clearly being insane. What’s his super-duper special paranormal power?”

      “Not really sure about that, either. People say he doesn’t have any abilities. He’s just crazy and thinks he does. I know he’s got something, though, or his followers wouldn’t flock to him. He told a reporter one time his ability depends on subterfuge. It works better if no one knows about it.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Well, he’s clearly not a mind reader, or he wouldn’t need that little girl. You think they’re screwing?”

      “It’s hard to tell.”

      They were quiet for a minute, the TV droning away on the wall, newscasters jabbering back and forth.

      “I’ve been thinking about the Institute,” Micha's voice was soft.

      “I’m trying not to.”

      “All the years I worked with them, all the times I’ve been there…” He didn’t sound particularly distressed, more wondering than hurt. “They brought you there from the airport?”

      “Yeah, they sent a driver to pick us up.”

      “Did you see the big sculpture out front, in the courtyard?”

      She tried to recall the details of their arrival. A small crowd of protestors had been gathered out in front of the tall, white building and they drew most of her attention. Some of them looked bored, sitting on the curb with their signs propped against their legs. The driver explained with a chuckle they were always around, every day, though they had little reason to get excited unless someone important or a news station showed up. The sculpture Micha was referring to rose from a broad circular fountain in the middle of the courtyard—a huge, granite angel with arms and wings gloriously spread. The sculpture was pretty. Jason had certainly seemed fascinated by it.

      “Yeah,” she said. “Sorta. I was paying more attention to the protestors.”

      “It’s called Benevolence.”

      She snorted. “It should be called Irony.”

      “A lot of people don’t like that the Institute is in the Illinois Medical District. Detractors say the Institute can’t be classified as a medical facility because they don’t do medical research. Supporters counter they study human physiology there, which makes it a medical facility.”

      “If we’re lucky,” June said, “they’ll blow it up. Then everyone’ll be happy.”

      Micha was silent. The revelation had to be difficult for him, his once happy place now a fortress of villainous bullshit. Unfortunately, Micha needed to learn no good deed went unpunished.

      “How did you discover your abilities?” Micha asked.

      She welcomed the change of subject, even if the subject they switched to wasn’t one she enjoyed discussing.

      “Hell if I remember.” She hoped the words sounded casual enough that Micha wouldn’t pick up on the lie. “People didn’t know as much about supernatural stuff when I was a kid, so Jason and I didn’t know we were different for a while.”

      “What made you realize it?”

      She shrugged. “We were spoiled. Kids, teachers, even our parents, they’d just do whatever we wanted. We didn’t think it was strange. Then around second or third grade, people started noticing we were weird.” An old anxiety stirred in her gut. “Around that time we found out for ourselves we were screwed up.”

      “People always find out. One way or another. I saw how my sisters were treated.”

      “Yeah. Our parents split up because of us. Always fighting about discipline, about all the stress we put on them. They