“My will? You mean…”
“Your blood will let you command a horde of them. You can make them deadly.”
“And kill a Chosen,” I whispered into his neck. Had I just teased Harry about grisly pillow talk? I thought I would weep. “So there’s a Chosen alive right now? Who? I haven’t heard of packs of revenants roaming the streets. Is that why Daddy…”
But all I could see was that picture that Judith Brandon had destroyed. Gould hunt, 1897. Two years later, one man tried to summon the demon and failed. Six years later, another one tried and succeeded.
“I don’t know. I only put this together yesterday, when you told me about Nussbaum. Your mother didn’t know anything about what your father had done, though she suspected. He never told her, she never asked.”
“And now he’s gone,” I said. Vampire hunting?
The window in this room looked out over the park. A beautiful view, but to the west. I wouldn’t be bothered by the sunrise in here. The brightening of my day would be subtle and mysterious, until eventually I couldn’t deny the light that lit the trees and the wide boulevard of Central Park East.
I embraced him once, fiercely, and let him go.
“Come back,” I said, as though I could possibly demand such a thing; as though he could possibly promise it.
He smiled, though it seemed wrenched out of him. “Do you remember when I fought that vampire in the snow and how you harangued me for coming to your rescue?”
I laughed, surprised that I could manage it. “Of course. God, how you annoyed me!”
“That was when I first loved you.”
I would not cry. That would not be his last sight of me. The light grew brighter. I blinked. Amir noticed it too, he gave a sharp nod and stood up.
“If I’m not back in two years, forget about me,” he said.
“I won’t forget about you.”
He took my hands. “Ma’a as-Salaama, habibti.”
He was gone before his last echo. My hands felt a moment of dislocated warmth, my nostrils a vanished scent.
I stared out the window until the sun shone on the park. I realized I was still naked and went searching for my blouse. He would be back, of course. Two years, he said. I hoped it wouldn’t take that long, but no one would describe me as flighty. Indeed, I fell in love with great difficulty. I would not lose him.
But for now, I found myself unexpectedly in possession of a palatial apartment on the Upper East Side and a monthly allowance of an undisclosed amount. I had two dear friends who seemed to have found themselves at loose ends. What couldn’t we do with a decent space and a little money? Had Amir asked me, I would have refused him out of hand. But in the current circumstances, I felt like that money could do anything I wanted. Any mad, foolish, extravagant dream of social change I could dream up.
I ran back to the living room, where I had seen a telephone. Amir had left his cuff links and vest on the couch. I folded the vest and put the cuff links on top very carefully. I didn’t think. I refused to think.
Just as I was about to pick up the phone, it rang. I stared at it for several seconds.
But my fate had already been decided long ago, on a hunt before I’d been born.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Zeph, is that you?”
“Daddy? Where are—”
“I ain’t got time, sweetie. Just listen: whatever you do don’t go anywhere near that Ludlow jail.”
“What?” The Ludlow jail was down the street from Mrs. Brodsky’s. I passed it all the time. “Whyever not?”
“Because I think that’s where he’s locked up.”
“Where who’s locked up, Daddy?” I said.
“I got a lot to tell you, Zeph, and you aren’t going to like any of it. But there’s a nasty kind of vampire down there who’s been locked behind some good wards the last twenty-odd years, and he’s mad as hell about it. I think he’s about to break out, but I can’t tell from here. And Zeph, if you go in that jail, I think it’ll outright break the wards that are holding him.”
“What happens then?” I asked because I had to. I had to hear it again, so I might begin to believe it.
“Then? Well, sweetie. Then the dead rise up.”
“Oh, Daddy.”
Amir was gone, and New York had hundreds of graveyards.
What would I do?
I would wait for him. And in the meantime, my blood would lead an army of revenants.
Also by Alaya Johnson
Moonshine
Racing the Dark
The Burning City
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alaya Johnson is a recent Columbia graduate, and denizen of New York City. She can be contacted via her website, alayadawnjohnson.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
WICKED CITY. Copyright © 2012 by Alaya Johnson. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Map by Kristine Dikeman
www.stmartins.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Johnson, Alaya Dawn.
Wicked City : a Zephyr Hollis novel / Alaya Johnson. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-56548-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4299-4141-9 (e-book)
1. Vampires—Fiction. 2. Lower East Side (New York, N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3610.O315 W53 2012
813'.6—dc23
2011032867
e-ISBN 9781429941419
First Edition: April 2012
Wicked City Page 30