Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (22 page)

I gripped the doorjamb to keep from falling over. “It’s your pheromones then.”

The floor creaked, and the warmth of his breath disappeared. Warily, I opened my eyes. “You wound me, little siren. Just pheromones.”

I struggled for a retort and was saved by Lucen’s cellphone ringing. Devon’s voice came through loud enough for me to hear.

“Get your clothes on and get down here. Pete’s home, and we’re leaving in five.”

Actually, it was closer to twenty minutes by the time we figured out how to get to Pete’s place and got on the road. Devon drove, leaving me stuck in the backseat, squished between two male satyrs. I recognized them as being part of the posse Lucen had gathered when we left Wenda’s Wishes a few days ago. My body didn’t care about that. Being stuffed in such a confined space with four satyrs was a kind of exquisite torture, and a damn good reminder that although I might be acclimating slightly to satyr power, I was still just human cattle to them.

I sat on my hands to keep them from doing anything my brain would regret.

Although afternoon was beginning to bleed into evening, the sun was high. The satyrs looked particularly menacing in the head-to-toe clothing that protected their sun-phobic skin. Hoods or hats covered their heads. Sunglasses hid their eyes. Only I—in my jeans and T-shirt—ruined their street cred.

Scumbag lived on the right side of a dilapidated duplex. The vinyl siding was worn, and large sheets of white paint peeled off the door. Beer cans littered the patch of dead lawn, and on the sidewalk, glass shards sparkled in the light.

Devon knocked.

I heard male voices inside. It would be so nice, so convenient if Note-writer was here now too. Then we could wrap this party up, go home and figure out a way to explain it all to the sylphs and Gryphons. I could be back in my bed by tonight.

Instead, the door was thrown open and a pudgy guy stared us down. Well, stared the satyrs down. He acted as though he didn’t see me, which he probably didn’t given that all his attention was directed at my companions. As would be the attention of most people if four badass-looking guys knocked on the door.

A cigarette dangled from between his lips. “Yeah?” He didn’t bother to remove it, and it stuck there, glued to his lip with spit.

“We’re looking for Pete,” Lucen said, taking a step forward.

“Hey now.” The guy thrust himself between Lucen and the doorway. “What you—”

But Lucen pulled off his hat, revealing his goatlike horns, and the guy didn’t merely shut up—he blanched. Lucen grabbed his arm. “Tell you what. You bring him to the front door, then you leave out the back door. Got it?”

The guy nodded, murmuring something in Spanish, and backed up. “Pete! You got friends here!”

Pete appeared around the corner, the same as I remembered him. Though the satyrs stole most of his negative emotions before I could sense them, I could nonetheless taste a weak burnt oil oozing from him. He made my skin crawl, just as he once had. My fingers curled around the knife handle against my thigh.

But Pete, like his roommate, didn’t see me. His gaze took in Lucen’s horns and the three other men with him, and he came up with the only sane idea. He spun and fled.

He didn’t get far. With inhuman speed, one of the satyrs closed the distance between them and slammed Pete into the wall.

“Motherfucker!” Pete shook his arms violently, trying to dislodge the satyr, for all the good that did.

Devon closed the door behind us. The roommate had vanished.

Lucen pulled Pete’s ID from his pocket while the other two lugged Pete, who was now cursing in something that could have been Russian, into a folding chair. “You lose this a week or so ago?”

Pete’s fear mixed with the lust the satyrs aroused, and the combined emotions washed over me in great tangerine-chocolate waves. I leaned against a cluttered table for support, feeling my heart pound. After being trapped in Shadowtown all day, the heady rush of Pete’s emotions woke some part of me up. It was the part whose existence I despised, but I couldn’t deny that feeling so alive again was a welcome change. I hadn’t noticed the emptiness inside until now.

“Where did you get it?” Pete asked.

“From me.”

Finally, Pete spared me more than a token glance. Then he shook his head. “I no know you.” His accent thickened with his increasing fear.

“I gave him a suggestion to forget me,” I explained to Lucen’s inquiring look. “Nice to know how strongly it took.”

“Not bad.” Lucen swung his legs around a second chair and turned his focus back to Scumbag. “Not recognizing her is the least of your problems. So, Pete, you like murdering women?”

Pete’s pale blue eyes opened wide. “No, I didn’t murder women.”

“Ah, so you just raped them and left the killing to your partner?”

“No, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And there it was—burnt toast. Pete was lying, and my theory had been correct. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Lucen scratched his chin. “You see, Pete. The problem with lying to people like us is we can tell.”

Devon rested his hands on Pete’s shoulders, and the human’s face slackened. I shuffled back. Even if it was Pete, even if Pete was a serial rapist, I did not like seeing a satyr or any pred exert their power over a human. It was too much a reminder of my own vulnerability.

“Talk now, Pete,” Devon said. “Tell us what you know.”

“Who’s killing the women?” Lucen asked.

“Don’t know his name.”

“Then what do you call him? How do you contact him?”

Pete drew a deep breath. “He said call him Empath. But I don’t contact him. He contacts me when he finds someone we like.”

“Someone you’d both like?” Lucen glanced at me. “What does he do, your friend? How does he choose?”

“I don’t know. He picks women. We’re team. He said he is looking for someone like me, someone to have fun with. He tastes their pain, he says. He claims he is like you. That is why he is Empath.”

Empath, my ass. This asshole had as much empathy as a, well, a pred.

Someone to have fun with.
Note-writer had said something similar to me. Would he have ditched Pete for me if I’d been up for some rape and torture? Or had he hoped we’d carry on like a ménage a trois from hell?

I squeezed the knife handle again.

“Your friend kills the women?” Lucen raised a tentative hand in my direction, probably sensing my disgust and wondering if I was about to do something stupid. It was certainly tempting.

“I don’t know. I guess. I’m no interested in that part.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Aren’t you the compassionate sort.”

Lucen made a shut-up-Jess gesture in my direction. “When’s he planning on contacting you next?”

“Don’t know.” Pete’s gaze darted toward the table. “Today or tomorrow. In time to plan for weekend.”

I picked through the jungle of trash on the table, which included beer and soda cans, empty takeout containers and a pizza box with a half-eaten pizza in it. Next to a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and a T pass was a cellphone.

I showed it to him. “This yours?”

Pete nodded.

“He call you on this?” Lucen asked.

Another nod.

“Find us his number then.” Devon took the phone from me and tossed it at Pete’s head.

Pete found the number from the incoming call list and dialed it at Lucen’s instruction. I held my breath, but Note-writer didn’t answer. Pete left a quick message that Devon dictated.

“What do we do with him while we wait for the other guy to call back?” a satyr asked.

“We need to turn him over to the Gryphons.” Five heads, Pete’s included, turned to me. None of them seemed thrilled with this suggestion. Not even Pete, whose panic spiked like lemon juice. “Look, I led you here. We know he’s the key to finding the real killer—” I pointed at Pete, “—so now we need to hand this over to the Gryphons, explain what’s going on and let them take care of it so I can get my life back.”

Lucen stretched and ran his hands through his hair. “This isn’t just about your life anymore.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

“We take him with us,” Devon said. “You heard Dezzi. This is a Shadowtown issue, and it’ll stay that way.”

“No.”

But Lucen agreed with Devon, and the others fell in line. I gritted my teeth but held my protests because I knew there was nothing I could do at the moment. I seethed the whole drive back to Shadowtown instead, confident that my emotions made it clear exactly what I thought of Devon’s plan.

From his spot in the trunk, I was pretty sure Pete would have taken my side in the argument after all.

Chapter Sixteen

The satyrs wasted no time hauling Pete toward The Lair. I got the sense that they’d rather not run into any sylphs with such a valuable key to the mystery—literally—in their hands. As for Pete, they hadn’t bothered to bind, gag or blindfold him. There was no need. Regardless of what happened with Note-writer, Pete’s ass was crispier than a salamander’s turd. I very much doubted he’d see a courtroom’s justice unless I could scheme a way to get the Gryphons involved.

Disgruntled, I brought up the rear as we marched down the block, still trying to weave a convincing argument for doing just that. Worst-case scenario, I could always call the Gryphons myself, but that brought its own share of problems. Mainly, that my only evidence connecting Pete to the murders was my own quasi-crimes, and I’d have to explain my curse. It might be worth the risk, but I wasn’t eager to find out.

Three male furies who were passing by took in the scene with confused faces. The thickest of the bunch, a walking nightmare with red hair and matching eyes, slapped Lucen on the shoulder. “I hear you’re closed for a while. When are you opening for business again?”

“Check back Saturday night,” Lucen said, scowling. Friday was my D-Day. Either we’d have resolved this mess by then, or Saturday wouldn’t matter.

“Excellent.”

The one on the right, who wore his black hair in spikes that made his head look like a mace, ran a finger over Pete’s forehead.

Devon smacked his hand away. “Our property. Back off.”

“No harm meant,” Mace-head replied. He and his friends made a show of checking me out, but apparently I wasn’t worth harassing while they were outnumbered by satyrs. Small miracles.

“What do they care when you reopen?” Devon asked as Lucen unlocked the door. “They never come in.”

Lucen narrowed his eyes at the three crossing the street. “No, they prefer to hang around outside. They wait ’til the humans leave then rile them up until they’re brawling in the street or pissing their pants as they run away. Those assholes are bad news. I tell Dezzi, but she doesn’t want to pick fights with Raj without more evidence that it’s hurting my business.”

The satyrs muttered in sympathy. Had I the mood, I would have laughed. They almost sounded respectable.

Devon called Dezzi, and plans were made. Naturally, I had no say in any of them, so I silently vented my frustration at Lucen in a one-sided argument that involved much swearing. How much of what I was actually thinking made it through I couldn’t say, but he clearly got the gist of my emotional opinion. Either that or he threw a dishtowel at me simply for glaring at him.

“I already explained our position,” Lucen said. “Drop it.”

I pulled the dishtowel off my head without a word. All this glaring was starting to give me eye strain.

Devon hung up the phone. “I’m taking Pete here to Purgatory while we wait for his friend to call back. Dezzi wants to meet later. She said she’ll call.”

“That’s it?” I jumped up.

“Not much else to do in the meantime.” Devon beckoned to the two other satyrs, and they pulled Pete to his feet.

“Yeah, there is more we could do.”

“No Gryphons. Just relax, right.” He took a set of keys from his pocket and winked. “I’m happy to help if you need a way to pass the time.”

I switched my glare from Lucen to him, and Devon laughed.

“What’s Purgatory?” I demanded of Lucen after Devon and the others left with Pete. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

Lucen grabbed a soda from his fridge and offered me one. “You hungry?”

I was actually, but I wasn’t distracted so easily. “Purgatory. Wait, isn’t that a club?”

“Yes. Devon’s part owner.”

“You’re kidding. I’ve been there.” It had been years ago, which was why the name hadn’t immediately registered. I’d gone a few times with Steph before deciding that ear-splitting music and overpriced drinks were not my idea of a good time.

Neither had been watching overweight guys dance around in leather thongs. Purgatory wasn’t strictly a fetish club, but it did manage to attract the city’s freakier crowds, along with the generally disenfranchised twenty-somethings who wanted a place to dress in vinyl and fishnet without standing out.

It was also ideal grounds for a large chunk of the illegal, magical drug trade. I’d never made it through a night there without someone trying to sell me hell or F. And come to think of it, all the F drug dealers had been lust addicts.