Wicked City (24 page)

I understood now that I had misunderstood Elspeth's position entirely. She had wanted Faust to be poisonous, but she hadn't been willing to lie to make the case. She'd asked me to investigate the possibility of murder in the hope that there wouldn't be any.

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“Don't be,” she said. “It was a shameful desire. However much I might disapprove of Faust, no one deserves to die for it.”

I looked into her eyes—clear and alert, a sign of a recent feeding. I wondered where Elspeth got her blood. Probably a Blood Bank. I doubted she could afford the private delivery services and human volunteers I'd seen advertised in the
Times
for the genteel undead. I wondered if she was afraid of the possibility that tainted blood had made its way into the public supply.

“But they deserve to go to jail?” I said.

She narrowed her eyes. “That's the argument of an opponent, Zephyr.”

“Even if you don't approve of Faust—”

“Approve? How could I? It's destroying our community, one drink at a time. It makes the humans hate us, and it makes vampires lose all judgment, all sense of safety and proportion. It puts us
all
in danger. Or have you already forgotten the dozen perfectly innocent vampires shot with silver bullets last January during the first Faust scares?”

I swallowed. Of course I hadn't forgotten—I'd nearly been crushed to death by a human mob that was desperate to rip a wounded vampire to shreds. “But jail?” I repeated, though the question felt asinine even as I said it.

“If it protects the rest of us? If the threat of jail stops us from succumbing? Then yes, I do support that.”

“But it…” Elspeth's expression was harrowing enough that I nearly swallowed my words, but something made me press on. Stupidity, probably. “It hasn't worked out quite that way with alcohol.”

“What is this, Zephyr? Alcohol and Faust are two very different beasts. Yes, I'm sure there will be some illegal trade, but there are far fewer vampires than humans. A ban will be much easier to enforce.”

“But shouldn't we be trying to help them? Teach about drinking safely and promote responsible behavior—”

Elspeth laughed. “Responsible behavior? With Faust? I appreciate all of your efforts on our behalf, Zephyr, I truly do, but sometimes your human hubris is staggering. Faust makes vampires
blood mad.
I know you think you understand what that means, but you clearly don't. Imagine the worst hunger you've ever felt. Imagine you haven't eaten for days and days. Imagine how desperate you'd be for something,
anything
to eat. Now make it twice as bad.
That's
blood madness, Zephyr. An uncontrollable hunger, only for other sentient beings. And you think it's wise to let something that causes such madness flow freely on the streets?”

I felt clammy and cold, though the air in this tiny, darkened office was stifling. Elspeth had an uncanny ability to make those who disagreed with her feel smaller than a snowpea. “But they do resist,” I said. “If all the vampires who drank Faust felt that way…”

Well, there wouldn't be a human left in the city who hadn't been bitten by a vampire.

She sighed. “They've found ways to mitigate it. Drinking Faust with a blood chaser. Or keeping a few bags of blood around the speakeasies and stalls to help someone who's coming down with the madness. Some people stepped in—the gangs, mostly, if you can believe it—and put some safety mechanisms in place after that first disastrous week. They say the brew itself is less potent now, though you know how little I believe it. But yes, before you say so, Faust has become far less dangerous.”

“So why…”

Elspeth glared at me. Her eyes glowed for just a second. Not a Sway, but a sign of surging emotion. “Because this cannot happen again! We have to show that we will police ourselves, that we won't let any foreign drug destroy the progress that we've made integrating with society. What happens when someone invents the next Faust, Zephyr? What happens when we get as many drugs as you humans enjoy? When we can be demonized as a group because so many of us are already so persecuted and poverty-stricken that any momentary release might be enough? So we come down on this now, with as strong of a blow as possible. We educate each other and pressure the government for civil rights and better living conditions.
That
is the way forward. Is it unfair to an individual vampire who might go to jail for being desperate enough to drink Faust? Of course it is. Don't imagine that you've brought up some moral dilemma that I hadn't yet considered. I have considered it. And I think it's worth the price.”

I took a shaky breath. I couldn't argue with that, and I wouldn't if I could. I wasn't a vampire, and I didn't live with that prejudice every day of my life, as Elspeth did. If the thought of going to jail for a drink made me feel slightly ill, that wasn't much of an argument given my circumstances. Maybe in different ways both of us could be right.

Some of the fervor seemed to leave Elspeth; she closed her eyes briefly and leaned against her desk, piled with books and papers.

“Was there something else, Zephyr?” she asked.

“You must really hate the one who brought it here,” I said.

“You mean the gangs?” She seemed surprised.

“No, the original distributor. The one who brought it from Germany.”

She shook out her dark, curly hair and rested her chin on her hand. “You mistake me, Zephyr,” she said. “Faust is an evil, but I would never fault its creation. It's the uses to which we put those creations that pose problems. How many drugs do humans have? Dozens? Impossible to destroy them, but we can try to mitigate the effects. No one person is responsible for Faust—we all are. If your apocryphal original distributor hadn't brought it here in January, someone else would have in March. What's important is for vampires to show that we can police our own borders.”

I was startled into silence. I would never have guessed Elspeth would defend Amir, even unknowingly. And I was surprised, as well, that her pragmatic argument had never once occurred to me. Of course someone else would have brought Faust to New York—it had been making the rounds in Dresden for months before. I suddenly realized Amir had been willing to shoulder all the blame, just as I had been willing to give it.

“Oh, Zephyr, I nearly forgot. Sofia wanted me to ask you if you still wanted her to try the spell. She seemed to think you might like that djinni more than you let on.”

I blushed. Elspeth raised her eyebrows. “Could I let her know Sunday? I have to make him tell me the truth about what it might do.”

“What if he doesn't know?”

“I'll decide by Sunday, I promise.”

“Why not? I'm sure Sofia won't mind. She likes the djinni too.” She sighed. “Humans.”

*   *   *

I'd harbored a faint hope that Ysabel might have reopened the Blood Bank, but it was shuttered and dark with the sign now slightly yellowed and wrinkled from rain. I stared at it for too long, disappointment giving way to fear. The tainted blood had come from a Bank, Mrs. Brandon had said. There were hundreds in the city, but I couldn't shake the coincidence from my thoughts. Ysabel had been so clearly worried when I last saw her. I had believed her story about her family, but now I wondered. Had a tainted bag slipped through? Had she panicked?

But no, Ysabel was always so careful about those she allowed to donate, and a taint of the kind that could kill a dozen vampires would cause a deathly illness in a human. The St. Marks Place Blood Bank was well known for its drug-free, healthy donors. It was impossible for her to have distributed tainted blood. She was just having family trouble, like she said. I released a slow breath and fanned myself with my hat. Panic about the murder investigation was making me see conspiracies everywhere.

I left a note for Nicholas with Bruno at the Beast's Rum, informing him that I could get us into the morgue tonight. I realized this meant reintroducing him to Amir, but at this point I imagined that was the least of my problems. Either the mayor would help me or he wouldn't, but I doubted he would be inviting Nicholas back for drinks anytime soon.

It took me another forty minutes to walk to Twentieth Street, by which time gnawing fear, withering heat, and overexertion made me feel likely to faint on the steps of the Spiritualist Society. I unchained my bicycle from where I had left it the night before and wondered if I had enough energy to take it back home. A heat shimmer radiated from the sidewalk and I drooped painfully over the handlebars. My head began to throb.

“That's it,” I muttered. “Find someplace to rest.”

So I wobbled over to the Flatiron Building, which was the only likely spot I could think of in the area. I might as well see if Lily had made any progress investigating Zuckerman's final words to Aileen. I found her at her desk, staring balefully at some papers.

“You look like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine,” I said, pulling up an empty chair and flopping down beside her.

Her dolorous expression deepened. “Give me a few more days and I might follow her.
You
look oversteamed.”

I closed my eyes. “Water.”

“Am I your maid?”

“Please?”

Lily huffed, took pity on me, and came back a few moments later with a glass. It even had ice in it. I sipped its glorious chill and eventually my headache receded enough to allow me to open my eyes.

The papers that so perturbed Lily were an article she had written, now covered with furious scrawls in heavy black ink. “Editor not fond of your latest story?”

“My editor,” she said, looking daggers at the only person near enough to hear us, “is not fond of vampires. Which is a problem, given that he hired me as an Other reporter.”

I pursed my lips and nodded. “That could be an issue.” I felt badly for her, though I knew she didn't need my pity. Lily had been ecstatic about this job when she'd received the offer. I think she liked the Other beat and wanted greater recognition for her efforts. But it looked like the
New Star-Ledger
wanted the same kind of Other reporting the big journals did: pro-human.

She sighed and put down her paper. “Why are you here? Did someone else try to kill you?”

“Nothing too serious,” I said. “Find anything interesting about Nussbaum?”

“If I found the right case. In oh-three a man from Spuyten Duyvil killed his infant son. He confessed immediately and killed himself in custody. It caused a minor scandal at the time, as you can imagine, but I don't know what it has to do with Faust.”

“Maybe there's another case you missed?”

She shrugged. “And maybe Zuckerman is dead and Aileen was not precisely lucid. Who knows what he said. I need those letters, Zeph.”

I glared at her. “Pardon me for continuing to enjoy free air.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then go off somewhere else and enjoy it. I have work to do.”

She proceeded to demonstrate her utter indifference to my presence by uncapping her pen and scribbling on a clean sheet of paper.

“What would you do in my situation, Lily?” I asked.

“Give my reporter friend all the details so she can publish an exposé.”

“No, really,” I said, my words somewhat garbled by an ice cube in my mouth.

Lily tossed her pen with enough force to splatter ink and swiveled to face me. “Well, if
I
knew a nice lady who liked me and happened to work in the mayor's office, I might just ask her for help instead of bothering the overworked reporter you won't give the story to anyway.”

I crunched down the last bit of ice and grinned. “Now that,” I said, “is why I so value our relationship.”

“Glad to be of service,” Lily said. “Now, leave.”

*   *   *

The secretary guarding City Hall's inner sanctum took one look at me and shook her head.

“Mrs. Brandon's left for the day,” she said.

Already? It was barely four o'clock on a Friday. Perhaps she was busy running errands for the mayor's dinner tomorrow night. “Maybe I wanted to see someone else?” I asked.

The woman tilted her head. “Like who?”

“The mayor?”

I had meant this mostly as a joke, but she jolted upright and looked down at something on her desk. “Oh!” she said. “He gave me a note to send you.”

“He did?”

“I haven't sent it yet.”

“Oh? I had a feeling he might want to hear from me,” I said.

She looked at the note again and shook her head. “Give me a moment. I'll let him know you're here.”

Not two minutes later, she ushered me into his office. He was adjusting his tie in the mirror and gave me a suspiciously friendly smile when I sat down.

“I'm glad to see you, Miss Hollis,” he said. “Darned good luck for you to have come just now. I've been booked solid all day. But you had some business of your own, I'm sure?”

I should have left as soon as I learned Mrs. Brandon wasn't in. There was a world of difference between asking a sympathetic ally for help and playing political games with the mayor.

“I'm afraid I was wondering … did you call the commissioner?”

He nodded gravely. “I see, I see. Well, I can grant how you would appreciate that, Miss Hollis, but I'm afraid it isn't possible.”

“It isn't?” I felt as though he had slapped me.

He turned from the mirror and walked over to his desk, though he did not sit down. “The trouble, you see, is that you haven't kept your side of the bargain.”

“You didn't talk to Nicholas?” I said. “He promised that he would come!”

His lip curled in remembered distaste and he dabbed at his mouth with his pocket square. “I spoke to the vampire boy, yes. He's a piece of work, that one. But not much help to me. And he was curiously emphatic about one thing, Miss Hollis.”