The Bloody City (21 page)

“The SNC is a splintered group. Most of the members have waffled on their loyalty ever since Aaron made his treaty with me. They’re also a slightly more, shall we say, civilized bunch.”

“And your group likes to raise hell. You know what they say, though. The squeaky wheel gets the most grease.”

“In this case, the loudest mouth gets the most dental work.”

She squinted at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it? I guess you haven’t seen the hits we take.”

When they arrived at Jackson Park, noisy, angry people packed the place. News cameras and reporters were everywhere.

“This is chaos,” she said. “Should we really do this?”

“Chaos is a great cover.”

They weaved through the crowd, passing through a broad tree-filled area and across a bridge next to a marina. The wind off the water dried some of her sweat, and if not for the jostling crowd, it might have been a pleasant stroll through the park with her pretend girlfriend.

“I’m keeping an eye out for other shapeshifters,” Sam said. “If I drag you off in another direction, just go with it. I don’t recognize a lot of these people.”

They passed by a series of tennis courts. Beyond, the real action was taking place in a vast open field. People were gathered as if at a musical festival, but they weren’t passing around joints and singing songs.

“We need to find out some stuff,” Sam said. “But I can’t ask people questions because I don’t sound like a woman.”

“You know, you could have made yourself a man. Just saying.”

He waved a hand, as if she suggested something silly. “I need you to ask people things. Pretend we just wandered down here to see what was going on.”

“Wait.” June stopped. “I don’t sound like a man, either.”

“You sound more like a man than I sound like a woman.”

“Are you kidding right now? Why don’t you just freakin’ change our genders!”

“I can’t do that here. People would see.”

She gritted her teeth.

“Seriously,” he said. “You have kind of a throaty voice. No one will know. It’s loud here.”

“What should I ask?”

“First, find out who organized this.”

Maybe they’d run into Cindy and get all their questions answered, without having to risk their necks by talking to a bunch of strangers while they both sounded like the opposite gender. Her voice was not that throaty.

“How do I know which people are in the Paranormal Alliance?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you.”

Sam nudged her toward a group of people crowded around a news camera. A reporter was interviewing someone and people were waving signs in the background. June stood on tiptoe. She turned to the man standing next to her.

“Hey”—she added some bass to her voice, an instant comical failure—“what’s going on here? We were passing by and saw a crowd.”

The man was tan and blond, wearing sunglasses. He frowned at her. “We’re with the Paranormal Alliance. We’re trying to get justice for Sam Haain.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, I always thought he was innocent. The news can’t get anything right.”

Before she could ask anything else, the man pushed forward, yelling. He was swept up in the commotion.

“Never mind.” Sam tugged her away. “We’ll find someone else.”

“It’d be really nice if we ran into Cindy.”

June grudgingly let her tall girlfriend drag her around. She talked to a few more people, but got the same answers the news had given: the members wanted the truth uncovered; they wanted someone in an official capacity to address the crowd; they’d found out about the protest on the Internet.

“I wish I could find one of my officers,” Sam said. “This seems like something they’d put together.”

They traversed the field, listening in on conversations, observing people act up in front of news cameras, taking in the scenery. Police lined the edges of the crowd, watching everything with hawk-eyed glares. A makeshift stage had been erected and people were gathered around it. Several people were in the process of rigging up a PA system.

“Someone’s going to speak,” June said. “Maybe the mayor will show up.”

“I hope not. I can’t stand to listen to that man talk. You should hear him at formal dinners.”

The sun got on her nerves. Sam had given himself sunglasses but neglected to grace her with a pair. Would not-real sunglasses actually work? The logistics of shapeshifting creeped her out. She could feel the clothes she wasn’t actually wearing against her skin. She could touch and move them.

“Stop it,” Sam muttered.

She plucked at the T-shirt she was “wearing.”

“Don’t make it obvious.”

“But how does it… I mean, how can I—”

“I’ll tell you later. Just act casual.”

The teeming crowd around them increased the temperature. Sam’s hand grew slick in hers.

“How long are we going to hang out here?” she asked.

“Until something happens.”

She scanned the crowd. Her stomach lurched as she spotted a head of flaming red hair close to the stage.

“Cindy!” She pointed. “I’m pretty sure that’s her.”

Sam stretched over the crowd. “This is going to be tricky. Don’t let go of my hand.”

They picked their way through the crowd, struggling not to break contact. Luckily, Cindy didn’t move.

They stepped up behind her. June touched her arm.

She turned, sunglasses obscuring her eyes, the brightness of her hair brilliant against the sun-washed whiteness of her skin. She wore a yellow sundress.

“Cindy,” June said. “It’s us.”

“Us who?”

June resisted the urge to pinch her. “You don’t remember your old friends? We had some good times. Like that one time I stayed at your place. And that one time in the parking garage.”

She stared blankly.

“How’s Dipity?” June asked.

Cindy flinched. She opened her mouth, eyebrows climbing over her glasses. “Holy shit.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” Sam said, “having a good time.”

“Come over here.” Cindy jerked her head to the side. “Away from all these people.”

They worked their way out of the crowd and to the right of the stage. Cindy led them around the side of a van that people were unloading PA equipment from.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Cindy whispered. “It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, I tried to tell him that.” June shrugged. “So did Muse.”

“I wouldn’t miss my own party,” Sam said. “This is marvelous.”

“Someone is going to ‘address our concerns.’” Cindy peeked around the van. “Word is it’s the FBI. Doesn’t matter, though. If they don’t say the right things, these people will riot.”

“Yes, they will.” Sam spoke proudly.

“You don’t want to be here if that happens,” Cindy said. “You could be exposed.”

“I wouldn’t bother trying to talk sense into him.” June shook her head.

“I’m not worried about it.” Sam renewed his grip on her sweaty hand. “We won’t get caught. I want to hear firsthand what the FBI has to say, what they intend to do about this. I’m guessing this is all because the Paranormal Alliance found out from the clinic heist that I’m still around. It gives them hope.”

“Exposing yourself wasn’t the brightest idea,” Cindy said. “They’re hunting for you now.”

“Let them hunt. They haven’t found me yet.”

Cindy huffed. “You should be scared, Sam. Hell, I’m scared. I didn’t want to come here alone. I tried to convince Kevin to come with me. I thought out of respect for your brother he might help defend your name.”

Kevin was Cindy’s ex-husband, not a fan of Sam’s or paranormal people in general. He was, however, Sam’s brother’s best friend—when Sam’s brother had been alive.

“Thomas was more like Kevin than he was me,” Sam said. “I doubt he’d be here to defend me, either.”

June had a lot of questions about Sam’s brother and their relationship—questions she couldn’t ask right now, and unfortunately, would probably never be appropriate to bring up.

“Did the officers organize this?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cindy said. “A lot of chatter took place online last night. Everyone got e-mails. I’m not sure who they were from, though. I didn’t recognize any officer’s e-mail addresses, so maybe it was just some angry members.”

“It’s heartwarming.” Sam puffed out his chest. “If only I could get up there and thank everyone myself.”

“Try not to let that sweeping emotion cloud your common sense,” June said.

“Maybe they’re trying to lure you out.” Cindy fretted. “We all want our leader back. We want to hear the story from your own mouth.”

“But that would be a bad idea.” June spoke pointedly. She wished Cindy wouldn’t give him ideas.

Sam stepped back, pulling her with him. He looked behind the stage. “What’s he doing here?”

Behind the stage was a familiar face wearing glasses, a man with slicked-back hair and a suit.

Cindy peeked around the van. “Ethan Roberts? He’s not working for the newspaper anymore, right? They fired him?”

Ethan stood with several other men. He didn’t have a camera, indicating he wasn’t covering the story for his tabloid.

June shrugged. “You did tell him he could be part of the group now, Sam.”

“I told him if he took the files to the FBI, I would let him in.” Sam stared across the distance at Ethan. “He’s not an official member yet.”

“Maybe he did get them to the FBI,” June said. “Maybe that’s why he’s here, because they’re about to show up.”

Cindy clutched her hands beneath her chin. “Sam, they might be here to clear your name!”

“We don’t have Micha, though,” June said. “Occam kidnapped him.”

Cindy curled her upper lip. “Freakin’ vampires. What does Occam want with Micha?”

“He’s being spiteful.” Sam turned back to them. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back.”

“I hope he doesn’t hurt him,” Cindy said. “Vampires don’t have a lot of morals.”

“He won’t hurt him,” June said. “He promised.” The ring was in June’s pocket. She couldn’t leave it at the apartment and risk losing it, no matter how much she hated the new superpower attached to it.

“A promise from a vampire,” Cindy said. “Yeah, that would ease my mind. We better get back out in the crowd, before we draw attention to ourselves.”

“If anything happens, I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I can,” Sam told Cindy. “Watch your back. And don’t do anything stupid on my behalf.”

“Aye aye, captain.” She saluted him. “Nice style, by the way. I think I used to have that dress.”

“You did.” Sam fluffed the skirt.

They slipped back into the crowd. People wandered back and forth across the stage, checking cables and setting up a microphone.

“I’m sure part of Ethan being here is he just didn’t want to miss this,” June said. “Especially since you’re letting him into the club.”

“I’m wishing I’d brought Muse now. No offense, but she’s better with a knife, even in her current state.”

“If you’d brought her, you would have missed the opportunity to hold hands with me again.”

Sam smirked. Despite his feminine features, it was his own characteristic. “I think you like this more than you let on.”

She entwined her fingers with his and squeezed. “Maybe I do.”

The PA system was ready to go, but no one from the FBI took the stage. Instead, several people in succession made passionate speeches and got the crowd pumping their fists and shouting. June and Sam stood a few rows back from the stage and to the side. Cindy stood in front of them, up against the stage. Sam listened raptly, chin titled up, as each speaker went on about how wonderful and innocent and heroic he was.

June tried not to spoil the fun by rolling her eyes or grumping.

“That’s our treasurer,” Sam said when a stocky dark-haired man approached the microphone. “He a windbag. He’ll have plenty to say.”

He did, and was emotional about it, romanticizing Sam to the hilt as the others had. The rhetoric made June’s stomach ache, especially since she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” she said after Treasurer Windbag left the stage. “I don’t think the FBI is coming. We can watch coverage on TV, in safety. Besides, my hand is turning to mush.” The sweat had wrinkled her fingertips.

Sam slid his hand up to her wrist, their skin gliding together. “There. Now hush.”

“Sam.”

His eyes went wide behind his sunglasses.

“Samantha,” she corrected herself. “I think we should go.”

“Just a few more speeches. If no one interesting comes out, we’ll leave.”

The whole thing was like attending one’s own funeral, only slightly less creepy.

Midway through the next speech, movement behind the stage caught June’s attention. A group of people were gathering back there. Her spirits lifted. Maybe the FBI was about to throw down.

“What’s going on back there?” Sam stood on his tiptoes.

“Probably more people who want to talk.” June sighed.

She skimmed the crowd, seeing if anyone looked as bored as she felt. A familiar face popped out for a split second, and she quickly looked back at the spot. She had to be imagining things.

She wasn’t.

Roughly thirty yards away in the tight-packed crowd, a man stood, staring at them. He wore a hoodie despite the heat, the hood pulled up and shielding his face. His eyes were bloodshot and watery.

“Sam.” She scrabbled at his hand. “Someone’s watching us.”

The man moved toward them. The speaker on stage had finished and other people were coming out. Sam was focused there, but he looked at June, and then around.

“Occam,” she whispered. “To the left.”

Occam pushed up next to them and stopped. His eyes were rimmed with red, his skin flushed.

“I know you’re in there,” he taunted.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam whispered.

Dread welled in June’s chest. The intensity of Occam’s gaze chilled her to the bone beneath the blazing sun.

The blazing sun. A vampire was out in broad daylight. He didn’t even have the benefit of shade, like at the clinic. Why?

“Get out of here,” Occam said. “Or you are going to die.”

Occam looked to the stage. A new speaker was walking out.