Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (15 page)

I let go of the mug so Lucen could pour the coffee. The steam rose and engulfed his head. “I’ve been suggesting you look for years. There’s so much we don’t know about your abilities.”

Once again, I had to wonder what this
we
stuff was.

Lucen and I had been through this conversation before, and I was certain my emotions on the topic conveyed all he needed to know—I hadn’t searched for the answers because I was afraid of what I might find.

Afraid to discover just how pred-like my magic could be.

“It could be good news,” Lucen said, clearly getting a read on my inner turmoil. “You’re afraid of becoming an addict, but it’s possible you have an even greater resistance to it than most gifted humans.”

“I’d rather not test that theory, thanks. Besides, I already know you all can get into my head.” I inhaled the scent of the coffee, trying to relax. “I just want to see if I can find my note-writer this way.”

“All right, little siren. But assuming your stalker is responsible, I still don’t understand why he would target the sylphs’ addicts.”

“Neither do I, but didn’t Ted Bundy kill women who resembled his former girlfriend? Maybe this guy’s ex became a vanity addict? It could be nothing more than that.”

“Could be.” Lucen didn’t sound convinced. “We’ve got time before your friend arrives. Let’s go find the goblin who told you what happened.”

“You don’t need to come. Shouldn’t you be open for business?”

Lucen made a noncommittal noise. “Looks like I’m closed indefinitely for the time being. You heard Dezzi. She’s going to expect me to do nothing but fix this mess.”

“At the expense of your business?”

“If fighting breaks out, business will disappear regardless. Just the word spreading is going to have an effect. Watch and see.” He took a long, thoughtful swallow. “And you shouldn’t be out and about alone.”

“It’s across the street. Besides, I thought I was under your protection.”

“All that means is that no one will hurt you while one of us is looking. Come on, you’re going to trust the sylphs will keep their word, but not me? They want to kill you. I only want to get you naked.”

Coffee ran down my throat the wrong way. Damn him. I hacked until the irritation subsided, drawing out my coughing fit as long as possible while my brain wrestled with how to respond. Sure, Lucen was a satyr—he should be expected to say stuff like that. He’d just never said it to me before. Not so blatantly. Not in almost ten years.

Whatever. The words should not have caused my face to burn. That was ridiculous.

Lucen was grinning, obviously pleased with having unnerved me. Peachy. Why was he trying to screw with me when I needed his help? I could only assume it was his way of demanding payment for providing it.

Cautiously, I took another sip of coffee. “Blame it on my Puritan background. Us humans, American ones anyway, are far more comfortable with violence than sex.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s part of the reason your race has so many problems. You don’t see my people plotting against each other.”

“Yes, satyrs are so superior to us. Happy now?”

“Actually, no. Because you still have your clothes on.” Lucen drained his mug. “Are you ready to leave?”

Ten minutes later and sufficiently caffeinated, I sprinted across the street. The rain had prematurely darkened the sky, and the wind cooled the air too much for comfort. Newest item on my wish list—a jacket.

A couple of sprites played in a puddle on the sidewalk. As I approached, they dove into the shallow water and disappeared. Sprites, like salamanders and gnomes, were elemental creatures, formed by cataclysmic magic eons ago and not entirely sentient. The only reason two could have ended up in a puddle was because some mischievous person dropped their eggs there, probably hoping an unsuspecting pedestrian would step in the puddle and all hell would break loose as the sprites tried to drown the person in two inches of nasty water. Sounded like the kind of prank a fury would pull.

I dodged the puddle and opened the goblin’s shop door, Lucen on my heels.

It had been three years since I’d last stepped foot in this particular shop to barter for a soul. Seven years before that, I’d made my first visit.

At the time, it hadn’t even been two hours after my dismissal from the New England Academy for the Magically Gifted. Lucen had coaxed me into Shadowtown to prove to me that my gift wasn’t fading, merely twisting and growing stronger for some reason neither of us understood. As I’d refused to listen to him, I’d seen a girl about my age, scared and hopeless, enter this shop. Determined to help and prove my worthiness to myself, I’d run after her.

But I’d failed to stop her from selling her soul for magic. The only help I’d been able to provide came after the deed had been completed. Mai had been a student at MIT, suffering to study a subject she hated in order to satisfy her overbearing, overproud parents. Later that night, when the horror of what she’d done had dawned on her, I’d schemed a way to get her soul back. It was my first swap, and it was when the goblin proprietor had informed me that my gift had not gone rogue on its own. I’d been cursed, he said. Then, in typical Goblin fashion, he’d refused to say anything more without some kind of payment. Payment I wasn’t about to give. Thus, the how and why of my curse I’d never discovered.

It was time to discover things.

The shop’s interior hadn’t changed since my first visit. This was a charm shop only, and not one that tried to appeal to the masses. The walls were bare and painted black. On the counter sat skulls, human and others—one with a satyr’s horns, another with a fury’s ridges and more that I couldn’t identify. They each had glyphs drawn on them.

Charm and curse making had their own alphabets, and though I could recognize the glyphs, I only knew the barest of what they stood for. The ones Vekta had drawn on my knives stood for power, strength and truth. Or so she claimed. Without anyone to teach me charm making, I had to take her word for it, and given what I’d paid for them, I would pluck her like a chicken if I found out she’d lied.

Candle flames shuddered as the door shut behind Lucen, and shadows undulated along the walls. I rang the bell.

“Coming!” came a wheezy voice from the backroom.

The goblin proprietor, whose name I didn’t know, emerged from the back a moment later. He was about my height, which made him tall for a goblin. The candlelight reflected off his tan head, and his beady brown eyes, so dark as to be expressionless, took me in slowly.

“Ah, it’s you again. Fancy that.” He smiled. It wasn’t welcoming. “Looking for a trade, are we?” He began opening his leather-bound register.

“Not this time. I have some questions that I’ve been meaning to ask.”

He raised a bushy eyebrow, and his gaze flickered in Lucen’s direction. “I see. Questions about your unusual heritage, I assume?”

“Heritage? You said I was cursed.”

“You believe you are; therefore, you are. Curse, heritage, tomato, tomahto.” His left ear twitched, and his gold hoop earring caught the light from a candle flame. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

“Yeah, well, the wait is over.” I leaned on the counter, making a show of not being intimidated by his inhuman mannerisms. One thing I could say for satyrs—they could drive you mad enough to strip in public, but they were too human to truly creep you out. At least, most of them were. “I want to know who did it.”

The goblin waved his hands in front of his face. “Sorry, can’t help with that. Not anymore.”

“For the love of dragons. You just said you were waiting for me. So you can’t help or you won’t?”

“I can’t. And all I said was that I’d been waiting for you to ask. Not that I was willing to provide answers.”

I gritted my teeth, trying and failing to suppress my frustration. Feeding negativity to the guy pissing me off only upped my annoyance. “I’m willing to pay.” Depending on the price, that was.

Lucen threw me a sharp expression as though he wanted to object, but he had to have known a goblin wouldn’t give information away for free.

The goblin tapped his fingers together. “Unfortunate. Am I to understand that you are now under the satyrs’ protection? Suspected of murdering the sylphs’ addicts? That you have allied yourself with the enemies of my friends?”

Lucen muttered something, threw open the door and stormed outside with a disgusted expression on his face.

I leaned so far over the counter I almost met the goblin nose to nose. “I’m being framed for crimes I didn’t commit. This information could help me discover the person truly responsible. I’d think your friends should want the truth. You were willing to trade souls with me, but you won’t help prevent a war?”

“Trading is business.” His ears flattened. “But you raise an interesting point because war is bad for business. Oh, decisions.”

I held my breath. The satyrs had suggested that the goblins would side with the sylphs in any conflict, just as they counted on the harpies to side with them. But the goblins’ loyalties were more fickle than most. Greed could do that to a person.

At last, the goblin straightened. “You believe you are telling the truth, so I will do what I can. These are secrets, you see, Miss Moore.”

I flinched at the use of my name, and the goblin smiled thinly. It was far creepier than when he didn’t smile at all.

“Secrets few know cannot be divulged easily, especially not at a time like this when our races stand at a precipice. But I will raise the matter with our Dom. If Gunthra decides to share, we will contact you.”

My lungs, like the rest of me, deflated. “The sylphs are only giving me five days to sort this out.”

“Come back tomorrow, and I’ll have your answer.” The goblin held out a leathery hand, and I shook it, feeling his cold power work its way up my wrist. I dropped my arm quickly.

“Well?” Lucen asked as I joined him outside.

“I’ll find out more tomorrow if their Dom feels like sharing.”

A car sped past, its tires flinging dirty water on my sneakers and ankles. I chased Lucen across the street. The Lair looked wrong without the neon liquor signs lighting up the windows and the warm glow of the lamps by the door.

“If she’s willing to share, and if you’re willing to pay her price, I’m sure. Better hope your stalker has nothing to do with this and that we can get those reports.”

The price. Right. I’d momentarily forgotten about that part in my worrying that the goblins wouldn’t cough up the information for any price. I had a feeling as to what this Gunthra person would want, and I wasn’t trading away my soul for any information. Not yet, at least.

“We’d better hope the reports have useful information in them.” I tugged at the wet jeans sticking to my legs. Life was getting rosier all the time.

While Lucen disappeared upstairs, I checked my wallet for money. Thirty-three dollars. Not as bad as I’d feared, but not good. There was a few hundred more in my checking account, but surely the Gryphons would know if I tried to access it.

Outside, the rain tapered off, but Lucen had checked the forecast earlier, and the radar showed another line of storms approaching. I hoped Steph got to the station before then. I was just starting to dry off. The storms had brought cooler temperatures, which was nice, but combined with wet skin and jeans it left me chilled.

“Is there any place around here where I can order something to eat?”

Lucen thudded down the stairs and appeared in the kitchen with some clothes draped over his arm. “There is, but you can eat here. What do you like?”

“I don’t want to take your food.” Bad enough that I was taking temporary shelter here. Assuming I survived until the end of the week, I didn’t know how I was ever going to pay off this debt. I only knew how I
wasn’t
going to do it, but if he pressed the issue, my will would crumble like a burnt cookie. It was why I’d never wanted to owe him for anything.

Lucen tossed me the clothes—a dry T-shirt and a sweatshirt. “Where else are you going to stay, little siren? You’re safest here until fighting breaks out. Might as well make yourself at home.”

I shivered and pulled the sweatshirt on. Dragon shit on toast. I hadn’t thought about that. Where else could I go? My mother’s home was out—Bridget had already called her, and it would be the first place anyone would search. Same with my cousin’s or my aunt and uncle’s. I had no close friends except Steph, but I didn’t want to put her and Jim in the position of harboring a fugitive. I was already planning on asking her to break the law for me this evening. A hotel room would require a credit card or a trip to the ATM, either one of which could spell my arrest. Steph wouldn’t have enough cash to lend me, and there was no point in asking Lucen when he was willing to let me stay with him.

The unfortunate truth was no one would look for me here. The Gryphons wouldn’t have a clue, and if they came searching, the satyrs wouldn’t simply hand me over, arrest warrant or no. They wouldn’t give a dragon’s fart about breaking the law. What they would care about was kowtowing to the Gryphons, something that every pred in Shadowtown would know about within twenty-four hours.

Defeated, I slumped in a chair. Lucen’s sweatshirt smelled lovely, a combination of freshly washed fabric and mild cinnamon. Breathing it in made me feel like I was wrapped in his warmth. My mouth watered. My body perked up.