by Megan Morgan
The room had a balcony. She took Sam’s advice and went out for another cigarette. Towers loomed around her like watchful giants, the world buzzing around their bases far below. The air ripped and pulled at her hair and clothes.
After a few minutes, Micha stepped out, not wearing a coat. He walked to the railing where she stood. June finished her cigarette and flicked the butt out into the wind.
“I’m not angry at you,” Micha said. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“Yeah, and how do you know that? You don’t know me.”
“I think you wouldn’t look at me the way you do if you didn’t feel some remorse.”
She didn’t respond.
Micha jerked his chin outward. “What do you think of it? Chicago?”
She bent over and rested her arms on the railing.
“Doesn’t matter what I think of it. Jason, he’d be acting like a stupid tourist right now. It’s not like L.A., where he lives. For one, you don’t have as many pretentious douche bags walking around.”
Micha chuckled. “You just haven’t been to the right places yet.” He shifted toward her. “This is a true metropolis. Something to behold. Intimidating sometimes, but majestic. A testament to what humans can create. It’s an entity, you know. We as entities create other entities. That’s what humans do.”
“You’re not from here, are you? No one talks about where they live like that.”
“I am, actually. I guess I’m just not jaded.”
June almost said “you will be,” but Micha didn’t need any more negativity.
“So your brother is an actor in L.A.?” Micha said. “You and I haven’t really talked much, have we?”
“It’s not been a very good time for socializing. And yes, he is. He does more grunt work at studios than acting right now, but he’s working on it.” Was working on it? She pushed the terrible thought away.
“Has he been in any movies?”
“He’s done some extra work. A few commercials. Had a small part in a TV pilot, but it never got picked up.”
“You know, it’s okay that you ran.”
She squinted against the wind. Micha’s hair fluttered over his forehead, his own eyes squinted as well.
“Tell my brother that.”
“Out here, on the run, you still have a chance to save him. In there, if you’d let them catch you? You’d both be screwed.”
Her hands trembled from the cold. Or emotion. Or both.
“Right now both our lives are messed up,” Micha said. “But we have to figure out the right thing to do before more people get hurt. Before anyone else goes down because of this.”
Putting the needs of others first. She being selfish as she was, she didn't know if she could ever tolerate someone like that.
“You’re a good man, Micha.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”
The air whistled around the balcony and pushed under her shirt like a solid icy mass.
“Why don’t we go back inside?” Micha motioned to the door. “It’s cold out here.”
She stood up and turned away from the railing. “All right.”
Back inside, Cindy had a fresh glass of whiskey. Sam leaned on the back of the sofa he’d been sitting on, cell phone to his ear, hip jutted out. June walked around him and discreetly checked him out, or so she thought.
“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 distre
ssed, 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 must have thought they were losing their minds. My dad hated us. He was afraid of us. Me, especially. Jason quit using his power around the time we realized we had it.”
Micha turned his face to her, frowning. “That must have been rough.”
“Yeah, well. When we were fifteen, we moved with our mom from Rhode Island to California to get away from him. She got an offer from an opera company in Los Angeles. Singing’s her passion. Fitting, huh?”
Micha smiled faintly.
“California gave me a place to rebel like crazy. I lied about my age, got an apprenticeship in a tattoo shop, learned my skills. Then I filled my head with holes and covered my skin with ink. My mother was relieved, I think. Normal teenage bullshit versus being a freak of nature.”
“You’re not a freak of nature. Paranormal abilities are not a disease.”
“It’s easy for you to say that.” She tried to keep the bile out of her voice. Micha probably heard it enough. “Our mother got this guy to come over to our apartment and talk to us a couple times a week. He was impervious to our abilities, so he could teach us how to control them. That was when, you know, all this stuff started to become ‘science.’”
“Was he a vampire?”
“A vampire?”
“Vampires can block most paranormal abilities.”
“Hell, I don’t know.” She heaved herself into a sitting position. “Doesn’t matter, though. It was what it was. It is what it is.”
“Eloquently put.”
She sat quiet for a moment, knees drawn up, elbows resting on them. “What about you? What was it like being the odd one out?”
“You don’t want to hear about that.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
Micha rubbed his face. “It’s boring and inconsequential. Another time.”
“Unfair. After I just told you my darkest secrets.”
“Life isn’t fair. And you wouldn’t want it to be. That would mean all the bad stuff happens because you deserve it.”
She grinned. “It’s a good thing you’re hot. Otherwise, by now I would have punched you in the face for all these gems of wisdom you keep flinging at me.”
Micha sat up too, on one elbow. “So are you in a relationship? Got a special lady?”
“Oh my God, stop.”
Micha laughed.
She feared she might actually blush. “No. I don’t want a boyfriend. Not right now.”
“I don’t remember introducing you to my wife. I do remember meeting you. I remember what I thought of you when I met you.”
“You thought I was an uncouth, nasty little punk girl, didn’t you? Most people do. You probably still think that. Because I am.”
“I thought you were absolutely fascinating, and I still do.”
“I bet you say that to all the supernatural girls.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t really know me, Micha. You don’t really know yourself right now.”
Micha sat up fully and swung his long legs over the side of the sofa. “There you go with ‘you don’t know me’ again. I know you’d like me to kiss you.”
Heat swiftly shot up her neck and into her cheeks. “Why do you think that?”
Micha opened his mouth, but then hesitated, before titling his head and giving her a smile. “I can tell. I have amnesia, but I’m not stripped of my perceptions.”
“Oh really? So you’re into dirty punk girls?” She struggled not to start mocking, her natural defense mechanism. “’Cause whether you know it or not, you were married to a very austere, beautiful woman.”
“I don’t have a type. I think you’re interesting.”
She winced. “Oh God. Wrong, wrong answer. You have no idea how wrong.”
“Is it?” Micha sat back and patted the cushion beside him. “Why don’t you come over here?”
Very bold. She could appreciate that. But…
“Micha, you have no idea the guilt I would suffer if I made a pass at you right now.”
“It’s a good time, though. I don’t remember my wife.”
“What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“What kind of guy do you think I’m not? I can’t remember, so it’s now or never.”
This had to be the worst, most obscene, wonderful logic she had ever heard, like allowing drunkenness to facilitate getting it on with a best friend you’d been wanting for years. The consequences ran the gamut from amazing to horrible—and she knew from experience.
“Come here,” Micha repeated, softer. “I won’t hate you even if my memory comes back.”
“Micha.”
“Come. Here.”
The tone of his voice, a hook in the gut, and she was caught by chemical urges.
She lost the ability to gauge the good idea-ness of the situation somewhere between her sofa and Micha’s sofa, upon which she found herself instantly tangled with him and kissing hungrily. He pushed her back and crawled on top of her. So much for romance. His lips were incredibly soft, silky and wet, agonizingly intimate. He gripped her hair, and she liked the gesture. She kissed him harder, parted his lips, and plunged her tongue into his mouth. The barbell through her tongue clicked against his teeth. She had no conscious control over her hands, letting them roam without timidity, over his broad shoulders, down the curve of his back, onto his ass. Micha slid his hands down her sides to the top of her jeans.
> “You have a nice body,” Micha murmured against her mouth, when they eased up on the kiss. “Nice and…”
He dug his fingertips in above her hipbones, under her shirt, clearly at a loss for an adjective and making her forget how to speak English as well. He slid a hand lower, and his fingers crept under the edge of her waistband.
“And an amazing ass,” he added. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
The only words she could find in her hormone-scrambled brain made no sense, words like “Kentucky” and “racquetball.” “I think so?”
Micha chuckled.
Of course, the door opened.
The two of them scrambled apart like naughty teenagers caught in a backseat. Judging by the look on Sam’s face, they hadn’t moved fast enough.
“That’s what his ability is,” June muttered. “Cockblocking.”
“I’m glad to see you two kept yourselves entertained.” Sam spoke pointedly.
Muse walked in behind him. June tried desperately to think of something else in case Muse turned out to be as much of an invasive jerk as Robbie, sticking her nose in other people’s heads. June pictured her mother’s little flower garden behind her house, but suddenly Micha was pushing her into the tulips and getting on top of her.
Sam walked between the two sofas. He stopped and stood over her. He had a newspaper in his hands.
“I have news, good and bad,” he said. “I’d give you a choice of which to hear first, but the bad won’t make sense without the good.”
She tensed. “What is it? I don’t think I can handle any more bad news.”
Sam thrust the paper at her, a magazine-type deal. An entertainment paper. She took the offering tentatively. Muse sat on the opposite sofa and clasped her hands in her lap, watching them. The corner of her mouth jerked. She blinked rapidly.
“That him?” Sam asked. “I mean, obviously you’re fraternal.”
The headline at the top of the page said, MYSTERY TWINS ARE IN TOWN. Underneath the headline were separate pictures of her and Jason.
“I don’t know how they got one of Jason’s head shots,” June said, “but yeah, that’s him.” Her picture was from one of the advertisements for her shop. She didn’t care how they got it. She did wonder what the hell made them “mysterious.”