undoubtedly having been awake for the entire conversation, stirred and rolled partially onto his back and twisted his head around. He gazed at her with bleary, unfocused eyes. She fought the urge to walk over to the sofa and lovingly smooth his hair back; then grab a fistful.
“I like your ink,” Micha said groggily. “I have some. On my back.”
June blinked and stretched her exposed arms. She had countless hours and thousands of dollars worth of tattoos up and down her arms, across her chest, some on her back, one down her left side. A lot she’d done herself. She also had multiple piercings: six in one ear, four in the other—minus the gauges—one in her tongue too, not to mention a few other places. A “rebel,” her mother called her. She caused soccer moms to cross the street on a regular basis, even when doing nothing more malevolent than smoking a Parliament while holding a latte and texting.
“Thanks,” she said. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
Micha rolled fully onto his back and stretched, arms over his head, long legs stiffening beneath the blanket. He didn’t fit on the sofa, but he’d insisted on taking it, like a gentleman.
“God, what time is it?” he asked.
“A little after nine.” She needed to say something but took a moment to choose her words carefully. “I feel bad about you missing your wife’s funeral today. But until I figure out how to fix what I’ve done to your head, I can’t send you back into the wild. Let them keep thinking you’ve been kidnapped by the CIA or whatever. I have a feeling if you surfaced right now you’d fall into the Institute’s net anyway.”
Micha put his hands over his face. The light caught on his gold wedding band.
“I’m so confused,” he murmured through his fingers. “Not only about this woman who’s supposed to be my wife, but about the Institute.” He took his hands away. “I supported them. I thought they were doing the right thing. I believed they were helping the maligned and oppressed.”
June couldn’t believe he’d used the words “maligned and oppressed” in seriousness.
“I’ve done so many seminars there,” Micha said. “I’ve lauded them as a safe haven and a place for paranormal people to understand themselves and help others understand them. When I think of all the people I’ve sent there…”
The sunlight blazing on the white walls magnified the color of his eyes, making them some inane interior decorating color like cerulean. They were desperate though, dimmed with worry and care, darkened and dulled by sadness.
“Well”—she wasn’t good at placating—“a lot of people thought Hitler was doing the right thing until they found out the truth. Didn’t make them criminals.”
Instead of seeming relieved, Micha blanched, his eyes going wide. She popped her tongue into her cheek and looked around for her smokes. Smooth. Real smooth.
Chapter 2
Cindy changed into a brown shirt-dress thing, black leggings, and fuzzy brown boots. The colors looked good with her pale skin and shock of short, choppy brilliant red hair. At least she knew how to dress. She made some tea and proceeded to slosh a shot of Jack Daniels into her cup. June looked at the clock on the wall—just after ten a.m.
“My nerves are shot,” Cindy said.
They were sitting in her living room, June in a chair, Cindy on a big cushy stool. The kitchen and living room flowed into each other, small and sparsely decorated and as colorless as the bedroom. June didn’t mind. She could handle minimalism.
“I’ll take your word for it,” June said. “But who puts Jack Daniels in tea? That’s not even right.”
“I have an excitable condition. It keeps me calm. Trust me, you don’t want it to get out of hand.”
“Trust her.” Micha sat on the couch, legs tucked under him. He looked wide-eyed and tousled and stupidly cute.
June wanted to hug him and tell him she didn’t mean to call him a Nazi. And maybe give him an apologetic hand job.
“Let’s get down to business.” Cindy plunked the bottle of whiskey on the black lacquer coffee table in front of her.
June was tempted to snatch the bottle and take a swig. Without the tea. She hated tea.
“June,” Cindy said, “this is Robbie Beecher.”
Cindy’s friend was a slender sharp-shouldered man, with neck-length dark brown hair. Cute, but not exactly June’s cup of…well, straight Jack Daniels. He wore all black—black pants and a black sweater under a black tailored jacket, fashionable, suave. He smiled at June and she couldn’t stop herself from flinching. He had a wide mouth and thin lips, making him appear to have too many teeth, like a shark. She and her friend Diego in Sacramento would classify him as a “surprise horse face.”
“Robbie’s deaf,” Cindy said.
“Well that’s inconvenient.” June sighed.
“It’s all right,” Robbie spoke up, voice smooth, words well pronounced, not at all like the slow, labored speech of the deaf. “I’m a powerful telepath. I can hear your voice in my head. That’s how I can speak so well, since you’re wondering. And thank you for the compliment.” He smiled a tiny toothless smile.
“Most telepaths are courteous enough not to stick their faces in other people’s heads,” June said.
“I need to read your mind to hear your voice.”
“I wasn’t talking when I was thinking about your huge mouth.”
Cindy pursed her lips together, and took a drink of her tea.
“Robbie’s a member of the Paranormal Alliance, just like Cindy,” Micha said. “He’s a powerful telekinetic in addition to being a telepath. The Institute has solicited him for years. He’s also compiling an enormous collection of pre-research era supernatural documentation.”
June blinked a few times. “What?”
“Books and other written works documenting supernatural phenomena throughout history,” Robbie clarified. “Back when they still thought vampires turned into bats and gypsies put curses on you. I have quite the collection. The Institute would love to get their hands on it.”
She detected smugness.
“How titillating,” June said. How very goddamn boring she thought at Robbie.
Robbie flicked his gaze to the bottle on the coffee table; it slid smoothly across the surface and stopped at the edge, in front of her.
“Hey!” Cindy lurched forward.
“There,” Robbie said. “Since you want some.”
June hated telepaths.
A smile tugged at the corner of Micha's mouth, and his eyes glittered as he glanced at June.
“Oh, you won’t get any of that,” Robbie said.
June
