Wicked City

by Alaya Johnson

  She reached up to touch the high collar of her dark blue dress—she had changed for the evening, though to my eyes the effect was rather severe.

  “Yes, that’s where I met your friend Amir last week. We were attending a séance at the Spiritualist Society.”

  I hid my surprise as best I could. Why on earth would Amir have attended one of Aileen’s readings?

  “Oh, I’ve heard they employ quite powerful mediums,” I said, wondering if it was rude to ask who she was trying to reach on the other side.

  “It’s true. Amir knows their newest medium. I have very high hopes for her—she has, I don’t know, a special air. An aura of power I haven’t quite encountered before.” She smiled apologetically. “One can ramble so about one’s hobby. I’m afraid I must leave now if I’m to arrive on time. But it was delightful seeing both of you.”

  As soon as she had passed through the doors, I leveled Amir with a glare.

  “You have been up to something,” I said.

  He shrugged innocently. “I’m not allowed to have friends?”

  “Why were you at one of Aileen’s readings?”

  “A desire to see another world?”

  “You can probably see a dozen of them by blinking your eyes.”

  Amir laughed. “You overestimate me, habibti. It has a certain charm.”

  I shivered and discovered a sudden fascination with the precise shade of green of my soup. My dealings with Amir were always so disconcerting. He disarmed me completely, yet I always anticipated seeing him again.

  “Aileen never told me you dropped by,” I said to my soup.

  Amir brushed my fingers with his. Just a touch, but my hand snapped back with enough force to send the soup spoon clattering against the bowl. “I asked her not to,” Amir said.

  “Why?”

  “I hoped she would help me convince you to make a wish. She refused, and rightfully so, I suppose. It was foolish of me to ask her.”

  Warmth pooled in my heart and settled somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. I looked at his dark, rueful eyes and sighed. “And in the meantime, you made a useful personal acquaintance?”

  He shrugged. “You can learn many interesting things if you spend enough money in the right places. I thought it might be useful to count an aide of the mayor as a friend. Perhaps even do my part to help Friends Against Faust?”

  “You want to help?”

  “If I could make a wish…” he said, and the mingled frustration and wistfulness in his voice made me lose my appetite entirely.

  “You’d wish for January to never happen? Tempting.” But my breathless joke was met with silence.

  “Do you want the rest of your soup?” he asked, finally.

  When confronted with the principle, my appetite reasserted itself and I slurped down the bowl.

  It was only as we were leaving the restaurant that he turned to me and said, “I’d rather you never make a wish than ask for that.”

  * * *

  At this time of the evening, St. Marks Place began to show its true character. The street-corner Faust vendors replaced the rapidly departing hot dog and pretzel stands, and already the vampires had begun to stand in line. The regular speakeasies would be opening soon, also, though they couldn’t be quite so overt about their activities. At a time like this, I would have expected the St. Marks Blood Bank to be packed with vampires needing their weekly drink. But the windows were shuttered and the door closed.

  “Was she expecting you?” Amir asked.

  I frowned. “I thought so.” I rapped on the door. When no one answered, I tried the knob. It was unlocked.

  “Ysabel?” I called, poking my head inside. Through the gloom, I could barely make out the open supply closet door and their golem standing placidly at the entrance. If the golem hadn’t moved, I decided, things couldn’t be too bad. I opened the door fully and walked into the waiting room. Amir followed me, though I’d asked him to wait outside. Ysabel didn’t like him much. I didn’t tell him to leave, though—it felt comforting, I confess, to have his warm, watchful presence at my back.

  From inside the supply closet came a crash and a stream of Yiddish invective. I rushed forward, feeling for the silver knife under my skirt even as I contemplated how to best disable a very ornery piece of animated clay. But the golem let me through—maybe it even recognized me—and I found Ysabel sitting amid a pile of fallen blood bags, hands in her hair and an expression on her face that seemed close to weeping.

  “Zephyr,” she said, sadly. “Bubbala, what are you doing here?”

  “I came by to get the delivery for Elspeth and the others. Are you alright?”

  She laughed, though it took me a moment to recognize it as such. I’d never seen Ysabel so distraught. “Oh, fine, fine,” she said. “Just some family trouble, you know how that can be. Here, I set aside a box for you.”

  She pushed aside the fallen bags and made her slow, methodical way to a box in the corner of the room. I hefted it before she could.

  “Do you want me to come back after to help you clean? Is Saul all right?”

  Saul was her husband, and his health hadn’t been the best of late. But Ysabel just shook her head. “Saul is the same as ever. No, no, Zephyr, you go. I’ll deal with it in the morning. You should go.”

  I almost protested, but something about the finality of her tone made me duck my head and quietly retreat. Amir had stayed in the waiting room, where he and the golem continued to eye each other warily.

  “Should I come back tomorrow?” I called back, when Amir opened the door to leave.

  Ysabel shook her head with some vigor. “No! I have to close for a few days. Just to deal with the trouble, you understand.”

  “Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to do, Ysabel looked so determined and closed-off that I knew she wouldn’t welcome any more prying. “Good night, then. Good luck with everything.”

  “Yes, you too, Zephyr.” I had almost left before she enveloped me in one of those great hugs that I always associated with her presence. She said nothing else, just closed the door behind me.

  Amir took the box from my numb fingers. “Is she always that emotional?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Amir maintained a tactful silence until we reached the First Avenue building that served as the temporary headquarters for Friends Against Faust. The local Temperance Union had loaned us the use of their space, after much lobbying on the part of Elspeth and Iris.

  The room allotted us was only slightly larger than Mrs. Brodsky’s parlor, and oppressively stuffy despite the open windows. Elspeth worked alone at a desk in the corner, writing what looked like the dozens of last-minute letters urging aldermen to take our side during the vote.

  She looked up when we walked in. “Zephyr, you got the delivery? Wonderful. I was worried when I saw the Bank closed earlier.”

  “Ysabel says she has to close for a few days,” I said, taking the box from Amir. “Some kind of family trouble.”

  Elspeth nodded abstractedly. “Put those behind the desk, if you would.”

  Amir stayed diffidently by the door, and I had a belated pang of remorse for letting him accompany me. Elspeth had said to ask her again today about my djinni problem, and I had inadvertently brought him with me. I wondered why, but the answer seemed to have too much to do with enjoying his presence. I put down the box.

  Elspeth stared at Amir like he might eat her at any minute. “That’s the trouble you were telling me about?” she said to me, in a whisper that he could surely hear.

  “His name is Amir,” I said.

  She lifted her chin and sniffed, nostrils flaring. “Frankincense and fire. That’s how my mother always described the djinni smell. I’m not entirely sure I believed you until now.”

  Amir sighed. “Its ears are also in perfect working order, sayidati. A prince of the djinn at your service.” He placed his hand over his heart and bowed low from the waist. The gesture didn’t have as much mockery as I would have expected. I had
never seen him behave like that with a human before, but then again, I’d never seen him with a human who knew more than a few things about djinn.

  After a moment of uncharacteristic shock, Elspeth closed her mouth and nodded. “It’s dangerous to play with a djinni, Zephyr,” she said, very softly.

  “Hence my attempts to rectify the situation,” I said.

  Amir cocked his head to the side, as though he was studying me for some later purpose. I felt a rush of heat before I realized he looked more regretful than lascivious.

  “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll leave so you can better discuss my failings.”

  I felt ashamed and then furious with myself for the sensation. Did Amir expect me to be happy he’d imported Faust? “Don’t sulk, darling,” I said, stepping too close. “It’s unbecoming of royalty.”

  “Don’t preen, sweet,” he said, leaning forward. “It’s unbecoming of peahens.”

  I opened my mouth—either to gasp or in some automatic, damnable expectation of a kiss. But he didn’t wait to see. Without the slightest warning, he vanished in a shimmer of heat.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Zephyr,” Elspeth said, after a moment.

  I shook my head. A peahen! “Will you help me now?”

  She sucked in a breath. “I have found a sahir. The most powerful in the city. She has agreed to try, Zephyr, but it won’t be for free. How much can you pay?”

  I could still smell him. “I have forty dollars saved up,” I said.

  She sighed. “It might be enough. We can see. Meet me tomorrow morning at eight. There’s a little pastry shop on the east side of Washington Street, between Morris and Rector. It will say Aleppo in the window with a red awning. Sofia is the baker.”

  It seemed from her demeanor that Elspeth must have gone through much trouble to arrange this meeting. “Thank you, Elspeth,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  She turned back to her desk. “No thanks, Zephyr. I can’t let a friend get mixed up in such business and not try to help.”

  I tried not to remember in whose office I had spent my afternoon. No harm would come of it, I told myself. Somehow, I would make it all turn out right.

  * * *

  The next morning was Wednesday. I sat up in bed and watched the sunrise through the tenements across the street. I felt exhausted, yet somehow disinclined to sleep. Too much to do, too many threats and looming deadlines and not nearly enough time to accomplish everything. Eventually, I washed and dressed and left Aileen still snoring in her bed. I didn’t know when she had gotten in last night, but it had been hours after me. Judging by the perfume-soaked pile of clothes on the floor and the makeup she had smeared on her pillow, I gathered she had enjoyed a festive evening after her reading at the Spiritualist Society, possibly in Lily’s company. My favorite lady reporter had left me a note with Mrs. Brodsky the night before, indicating her triumphant return to the city and her desire for me to drop by the New-Star Ledger office this afternoon. She had written the address on the note, so I stuffed that in my pocket and hurried out the door. I was running late for my appointment with Elspeth.

  I spent a long minute searching for my bicycle before I remembered: my best friends in the vice squad had taken it into custody. I could have attempted to retrieve my main means of transportation, but I suspected that Zuckerman and McConnell had a nasty surprise in store for me. I refused to give them the satisfaction. No subway was convenient, so I walked, arriving on Washington Street half an hour late.

  I’d been past the Syrian neighborhood on Washington Street a few times before, but never taken the time to explore it thoroughly. The pastry shop Elspeth had told me to find this morning was one of a dozen tiny shops in the center of the block. On the street, a few men wearing fezzes smoked hookahs and drank coffee from little cups. I found Elspeth seated at a table inside, reading a newspaper. She’d sat in the far back, closest to the ovens. It felt like walking into a hot pudding; no wonder Elspeth and the woman baking in back were the only people here. But when I sat down across from her, she looked as cool and composed as ever. A wide-brimmed hat and draping overcoat were slung over a chair behind her, but I supposed one of the benefits of vampirism is being relatively unfazed by temperature extremes.

  “You’re late,” she said, as I sat down. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten.”

  “The vice squad has stolen my bicycle.”

  “That piece of junk? You should thank them for the favor and get a new one.”

  I thought of telling her that Amir had been saying much the same thing for months, but decided that I didn’t want to muddy the issue at hand. Elspeth had finally agreed to help me, and might not appreciate any hint that Amir and I could be friendly. Or more than friendly, on occasion. I dabbed at my forehead with a handkerchief.

  “It’s hot in here,” I said.

  Elspeth turned to the woman tending pastries in back. She rattled off something in Arabic, which I recognized from conversations between Amir and Kardal. The woman called back and a moment later placed a tall icy glass before me. I stared at Elspeth.

  “Drink,” she said. “You look like a stewed prawn.”

  The drink was bright green. This put me off for a moment, but my thirst was too great to resist. Luckily, it turned out to be deliciously strong lemonade mixed with fresh mint. Elspeth slid the paper across the table while I gulped.

  “Have you seen this?”

  It was the New-Star Ledger. I read the headline: MAYOR’S OFFICE CONDEMNS VAMPIRE “MURDERS”; VOWS TO CATCH KILLER.

  “Well, that’s new,” I said.

  Elspeth waved at the paper. “Keep reading.”

  An official close to the mayor has confirmed to this reporter that the mysterious deaths of ten vampires this past Sunday night are a source of ongoing concern for Mayor Walker. Speaking on condition of anonymity, the official called the controversial deaths—occurring after the individuals consumed Faust from a Lower East Side street vendor—“possible murders,” also referencing the long-term Faust consumption in the German cities of Dresden and Berlin. “Vampires in those cities have had access to Faust for several months longer than here in New York, and they have had no similar incidents. Therefore we are pursuing the possibility that the drink was deliberately adulterated,” said the official. Mayor Walker himself declined to comment, but the medical examiner’s absolute secrecy regarding the remains of the deceased vampires speaks to the priority this issue has taken in the administration.

  Neither the official nor the Mayor would speak about the upcoming Board of Aldermen vote for making Faust legally available. But many other commentators have not been shy about noting the curious timing of these mysterious murders just days before a vote that many expect will take all of Mayor Walker’s considerable powers of persuasion to push through.

  I looked up from the paper, my mouth suddenly dry. “So he’s admitting it’s murder?” I said. “But it doesn’t say how.”

  “I doubt they know,” Elspeth said. “My best guess is poison or tainted blood.”

  “A taint? I’ve never heard of one that could kill a suck—vampire outright.” I blushed at my slip. “Sucker” wasn’t exactly a pejorative, but I still felt uncomfortable using the slang in Elspeth’s presence.

  Elspeth raised an eyebrow. “Neither have I,” she said. “But what better place to test how much humans can poison their blood than New York City?”

  Some human donors were so ill that they passed on that illness—or “taint”—to unsuspecting vampires. I remembered an indigent I had met while investigating Rinaldo. The man had lived in the subway and had a line of needle marks up his arm from injecting alcohol. He’d smelled of rot and death; Judah had said he wouldn’t drink the man’s blood. Laudanum, alcohol, cocaine, illnesses like tuberculosis and syphillis … Elspeth was right. Who was to say that some combination of these taints—which were known to sicken vampires—might not actually kill them?

  “But the Banks
screen donors,” I said. “Anyone whose blood was so tainted must be near death. How could it have gotten past them?”

  Ysabel was always very careful about who she would let give blood to the “bruxa,” as she called vampires. But Elspeth dismissed this objection. “Banks are hardly the only place vampires obtain blood, Zephyr,” she said.

  I knew richer vampires had other means of obtaining their vital sustenance—often through an arrangement with one or two willing humans, carefully vetted and well-remunerated. But even that didn’t make sense. “But why would anyone take obviously tainted blood?”

  “To kill vampires?”

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s Madison,” I said. “Honestly, I would be surprised if he did it himself, or even directed someone to do it. He would approve of the murders, I think, but he’s interested in political power.”

  “Fanatics can do irrational things. You don’t deny the man’s viciousness?”

  “Goodness, no. I managed to speak with him yesterday and do a little snooping, well, look at this.” I handed her the pamphlet I had taken from his office. I wondered if I should also mention the graphic pornography I had found stashed in his desk.

  Elspeth flipped through the pamphlet, her eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown. Eventually she slammed it down with a snarl. “The man’s a danger to society! Even if he’s savvy as you say, Zephyr, I can’t believe that he wouldn’t have a hand in this. He has men who would die for him, strays he picks from the lines in soup kitchens. They’d certainly murder for him.”

  I nodded slowly. Perhaps this explained the strange, wild-eyed man who worked in his office. But still, I wondered if Madison would risk sending even a loyal servant for such grisly work. Getting caught could end all of his political ambitions.

  As would an intrepid journalist discovering his stash of vampire bite pornography. Elspeth was right—anyone could act irrationally.

  “But still,” Elspeth continued, “if it is one of his strays or someone else, I want to know how these vampires died. Taint or poison or both…”

  “Could the mayor be lying?” I asked suddenly. “It would be a blow to his designs on Faust if the drink itself turned out to kill vampires.”