The Bloody City (27 page)

Sam didn’t respond.

“And I’d like to know that.” She flexed her fingers. “Before I make any choices.”

“You sound like a soap opera.”

“I’m being practical. I’d like to think at some point down the road, I’ll be out of mortal danger. Then I can focus on my love life.”

“What if you’re never out of mortal danger?”

“Is this really the time to discuss this?”

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “If you really feel the way you say, if you really don’t want to get involved with someone while the weight of the world is hanging on your shoulders, you wouldn’t be messing with anyone. But you are.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Messing with someone?”

“I mean in the sexual, emotional, whatever sense.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you jealous? Really. I’ve asked you before, but I’ve never gotten a straight answer. Are you jealous of Micha?”

“Why would I be jealous of Micha?”

“Because either you want the comfort we have in each other during this shitty time, or you want me.”

“You’re quite full of yourself. If I wanted you, I would have made that plainly obvious.” He crossed his legs and bobbed his boot-clad foot.

“You do make it obvious.”

He huffed.

“You do all the time.” Her throat tightened, emotion creeping in. “And you won’t tell me what’s going on between you and Muse, like it’s some secret. Like it’ll ruin your chances with me or something.”

“You couldn’t begin to comprehend what’s going on between me and Muse.”

“Try me.”

“I don’t think this is the place for it.”

“But it’s the place to talk about me and Micha?” She yanked her hand out of his. “It’s complicated between you two, right? Well, it’s complicated between me and Micha, too. There’s a hell of a lot going on that has to be addressed first, and I don’t know what’s going on between us because we don’t know each other outside this mess. That’s how I feel.”

“But you already know when this is over, you won’t like him. He holds ideals you’ve actively separated yourself from. He’s the kind of guy you don’t mingle with.”

“And you are?” She snorted. “You’re my type?”

“I didn’t say anything about me.”

“So tell me about Muse. Tell me the short version.”

He still bobbed his foot. “I’d rather not talk about it until I know she’s safe.”

“Are you in love with her? Tell me that much.”

“Love is a versatile word. There are different kinds of love.”

They were coming up on the stop where they had to change trains. She almost got up and walked to the door, to get away from him, to get this damn thing started, but she would have lost his glamour. No one was in the car, but keeping mindful was important.

“I know there are different kinds of love,” she said. “Sometimes love is holding and comforting each other. And sometimes it’s throwing food at each other in frustration because you can’t figure crap out.”

The train slowed. She grabbed his hand and got to her feet.

“And sometimes,” she said, “it’s doing really dangerous, stupid shit together just so you can be there to make sure the other person is safe.”

“Yeah.” He gazed up at her. “Sometimes it is.”

From the final train station, they had to walk several blocks to get to the apartment building. They stuck to the shadows, keeping their heads down, avoiding the headlights of passing cars. June’s frazzled nerves were a hideous accompaniment to her aching empty stomach and her overall sense of un-wellness and exhaustion.

If they survived this, she was going to spend a couple years in bed.

Upon reaching the building, they hid in the parking lot behind a dumpster. The lot was empty of people, most of the windows in the building dark.

“I’ll circle around the lot,” Sam whispered, “check out the perimeter.”

“Are you nuts?” she whispered back. “We shouldn’t split up.”

“Yes, we should.” He still held her hand. “You stay here. I’m the one that can change how I look, remember? If I run into somebody, I can get away by changing my appearance.”

“It’s still risky.”

“We can’t go in there until we know no one is watching the place. If anything happens, you get the hell out of here. We’ll meet back at Occam’s house.”

She let him go because she didn’t have a choice. As soon as he released her hand, she blinked back to herself. Sam remained a woman. She sat down on the pavement behind the dumpster and wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans.

“Be careful,” she muttered as he took off.

She didn’t have anything to keep track of time, but Sam seemed to be gone forever. Then suddenly he returned, startling her by popping around the dumpster. She scrambled to her feet.

“There’s no one around,” Sam said. “I told you, no one’s going to watch the place because they don’t expect us to be dumb enough to come back.”

“Ha, jokes on them. We are dumb enough.”

Sam took her hand, and they crossed the lot to the entrance of the building.

Inside, the small well-lit foyer presented them with two options: stairs or an elevator. The stairs were their only safe choice, though—the elevator had cameras in it and one of their rules since they’d gone into hiding was avoid cameras as much as possible.

She groaned. “Stairs are my new mortal enemy.”

By the time they reached the second floor, where their apartment was, her chest ached and her breath was short. Combined with the rest of the unpleasantness in her body, she would probably die before Robbie ever got a chance to kill her.

“We have to get you in shape,” Sam said.

“I was shot. I haven’t even had a day’s worth of physical therapy. I think I’m doing pretty good, given the circumstances. Shut your trap.”

They walked to the apartment door. Sam looked up and down the hallway. They were alone. He let go of her, and she blinked back to herself. He also turned back to himself.

He pulled a key from his jeans pocket.

“I thought we didn’t take a key with us?” She was still huffing.

He knelt in front of the door. “It’s a bump key. You need to learn about lock picking, too.”

“I need to get in shape. I need to learn about lock picking. I need to learn to use chopsticks. Sorry I’m not up to your standards.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make a soldier out of you yet.”

After wiggling the key a few times, the lock popped. He stood up and turned the knob.

“We need to be quiet,” he whispered. “Just in case.”

They slunk into the apartment, Sam going in first. The lights were off. All was silent.

Sam grabbed a broom from beside the kitchen door. “You already have a weapon,” he whispered, pointing at her mouth.

“Sure,” she whispered back. “Except Robbie’s deaf.”

“Do you think I can kill Robbie with a broom? This is for anyone else who might be here.”

They crept into the living room. Cool night air flowed through the broken window, stirring the curtains.

A struggle had taken place in the room. The couch was out of place, a table toppled over. The remote for the TV lay in the middle of the floor.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered.

They checked the entire apartment: bedrooms, bathroom, every closet, nook, and possible hiding place. They were alone. Sam turned the lights on. He tossed the broom on the couch.

“There was a fight here.” June surveyed the mess.

In the bedroom June and Trina had shared, things were worse. The bed had been pushed across the room, and oddly, the bedclothes were missing. One of Trina’s shoes lay by the open window. June’s stomach turned.

“God, what did they do to her?” June asked.

Sam walked to the window. “She probably tried to jump. They most likely killed her and wrapped her body up in the bedclothes to take her out of here.”

June covered her eyes, tears burning behind her eyelids. “She was innocent, Sam. She wasn’t part of our bullshit. She didn’t deserve this!”

“None of us deserved this. Okay, maybe I did, a little. But not the rest of you.”

“You should have left her at the clinic.”

He pulled her hand away from her eyes. “What was it you told me earlier? Don’t get maudlin. Focus. There will be plenty of time to cry once we get back to relative safety.”

He left the room. She wiped angrily at her eyes and followed him.

They tore the place apart, searching through and under furniture, in cabinets and drawers, behind things, under things, looking anywhere a phone could conceivably be stashed and in less likely places, like the toilet tank and in the freezer. After a half hour, during which the search grew increasingly frantic, they met in the living room.

“I’ve looked everywhere I’d expect her to put it.” Sam fidgeted. “And in places I wouldn’t. Where the hell is it?”

“Maybe she didn’t stash it. Maybe she thought it was better to keep it with her.”

“No, she would have stuck to our plan.”

“Maybe she couldn’t stash it. Or they found it.”

He gnashed his teeth. “What the hell are we going to do?”

The clock on the wall above the TV showed they were closing in on ten fifteen.

“We have to leave soon,” she said. “We can’t stay here.”

Sam turned in a circle, arms out. “Where is it?”

“I could always ask someone.”

He turned back to her. “What are you talking about?”

She pushed a hand into her pocket and drew the ring out. “I can ask Rose. I can get her to appear, anyway. I can’t guarantee she’ll give us a straight answer.”

“With Micha’s wedding ring?”

She turned it in her fingers, her skin already prickling with the heebie-jeebies. “I can make her appear at will by using it. She still gives me cryptic messages, but maybe it’s worth a shot.”

He stepped aside. “Fine, try it.”

She took a deep breath and held the ring out in front of her.

For a minute, nothing happened. June stood there tense and anxious. Would Rose choose not to show up the one time June actually wanted her?

Then, she flickered into existence, standing in front of the TV, her dead gaze focused on June.

June took a step back.

“She’s here?” Sam said.

“Yes.”

“All right, do it.”

June licked her lips. “Rose. Can you tell us where Muse hid the phone?”

Of course, Rose couldn’t just point and go away. She kept staring at June.

“Come on,” June said. “We don’t have much time. Do you know where she put the phone?”

“The dead are useless.” Sam huffed and started pacing. “About as helpful as a drunk coed at a frat party.”

Rose moved forward, and June backed away.

“The one that got away,” Rose said in her whispery, emotionless voice. “The safest place is with him.”

“Okay,” June said. “Anything else? Maybe something a little less nonsensical?”

“What’s she saying?” Sam asked.

“Rose, anything else?” June prompted.

Rose drew closer. June struggled not to lower the ring and get rid of her.

“The vampire,” Rose said. “He holds all the cards. Listen closely to what he’s saying.”

“Awesome,” June said. She lowered the ring and Rose vanished.

“What did she say?” Sam asked.

“Nothing that made sense. She said ‘the one that got away’ and ‘the safest place is with him.’ And then something about Occam.”

“What does any of that have to do with the phone?”

She stuffed the ring back in her pocket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t guarantee anything. I’m grasping at straws here.”

Sam drew a heavy exasperated sigh. He paced in a circle.

June tilted her head. “The one that got away…what if Trina got away? What if Muse gave the phone to Trina?”

Sam held his arms out. “If they didn’t catch Trina, why’s her shoe in there? Why would she leave a shoe behind? Because it’s more fun to run with a limp?”

June walked back to the bedroom. She went over to the window and picked up the shoe—a black, dressy flat.

“Maybe it’s a message.”

Sam entered the room. “So where did the bedclothes go, then? Is that part of the message?”

“I don’t know. Why did Rose say ‘the one that got away?’”

“Why do ghosts say anything?”

She turned the shoe over and examined the sole. She pushed her fingers inside the toe, searching for a note. Nothing. Then, an idea struck her.

She held the shoe out in front of her. “Trina? Are you there?”

Sam frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I know it’s crazy. But if she’s dead, maybe I can summon her like I summon Rose.”

“Screw ghosts and their stupid messages. We need to—”

“Shut up!” she snapped. “I’m trying, all right? We got nothing else. You have a better idea?”

Sam kept his mouth shut. June continued brandishing the shoe. If Trina actually appeared, June would probably have a despairing, guilty breakdown.

Trina didn’t appear, though, and June lowered the shoe.

“She’s either not dead, or she doesn’t want to talk to me. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Now that we got that out of the way, let’s look for the phone again. If we can’t find it, we’ll leave.”

They did another search, covering all the spots they’d already looked, just in case. June kept the shoe, convinced it meant something. She jammed it in the back pocket of her jeans.

The phone remained unfound.

“Damn it!” Sam kicked over a table in the living room. “I can’t believe this.”

“We have to get out of here.”

“She had to have left it. She had to!”

“I know ghosts are wishy-washy, but trust me when I say Rose has never told me anything that didn’t make sense later. We just have to figure it out.”

“We better. Or I’ll dig her up and kill her again.”

“Classy. We’ll find another way to contact Aaron. Maybe Cindy can get in touch with him somehow.”

“I have to find out what’s happened to Muse.” Panic tinged his voice.

“We will.”

They headed for the door—however, as they entered the kitchen, it flew open as if kicked from the outside, making June nearly jump out of her skin.

“Shit!” Sam grabbed her arm and dragged her back.

Ethan strolled in the door. June didn’t recognize the man who stalked in behind him, but he had a mean grizzled face and held a silver handgun.