Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (40 page)

“Jess!” Lucen waved to me. He’d hoisted Victor’s motionless body over his shoulder.

Struggling for air and almost doubled over in pain, I fought my way down to him.

“Over here.” Lucen beckoned me to follow into the darkness by the concession stand. He propped Victor up along the wall, and my creepy note-writer’s eyes fluttered open then fell shut.

“Get out of here,” I said. “Before they capture you.” A sharp pain seemed to puncture my lungs. My left leg could tolerate almost no pressure. It was going to collapse.

Lucen said something, but I heard no sound. With every pulse of my blood, blackness blocked my vision. My grasp on the knife loosened. I was powerless to hold it. Then the blissful darkness took over.

Chapter Twenty-Six

When I came to, I was wrapped in a blanket, resting in the same spot. Victor was gone. So was Misery. I struggled to sit and endured more pain, though not as much as I expected. Someone had stuck a pain charm around my neck.

I crawled to my feet and followed the voices out onto the arena floor. There stood Dezzi and four satyrs, including Lucen, who was holding my knife. Assym was there, too, surrounded by guards. Three unhappy Gryphons stood with them.

The warehouse was in shambles. The bodies of a few furies were being carried away by Gryphons, and bleachers leaned at curious angles. I stepped over a gun lying in a pool of blood.

Bridget offered me a shadow of a smile as I got close, which I didn’t return. Everyone quit talking.

“Where’s Victor?” My voice came out in a croak.

The Gryphon in charge turned to me. “He’s in custody, at a hospital being treated.”

“So am I no longer wanted?”

“We’re checking into this story. We have some unanswered questions, like why you would have a dead man’s blood in your refrigerator, but no one’s going to arrest you for now. That doesn’t mean you should skip town. We have a lot to discuss when you recover.”

Right. The blood. I didn’t suppose I could find a way to pin that on Victor too. I sighed. It was finally time to come clean, at least about my particular talents. That much was bound to come out when Victor went to trial. I’d be shamed and shunned. So whatever. So long as no one discovered the whole truth, I was in too much misery to care.

“Jess, you need medical attention,” Bridget said. “Let us take you to the hospital.”

Lucen took a step toward me. “We can heal her.”

“You’re hardly healers.” Bridget and the other Gryphons looked at me.

I wandered to a bleacher and sat. Lucen’s beautiful blue-green eyes met mine, and I lowered my gaze. “Yeah, hospital would be good. Thanks.”

“So, I’m guessing you no longer want me to come back to the Academy and talk about what life’s like outside the Gryphons, huh?”

Bridget’s expression was sardonic, but she didn’t deign to respond directly. “I can’t believe you had this ability all this time, and…”

The “and” hung in the air like a spider on a silk thread. Neither one of us liked it there, but neither of us wanted to icky our hands by swatting it. Thank you, Xander, for relating my gift to a spider.

“If you don’t need any more information from me…”

Bridget shook her head. “Not now.”

“’Kay.” Without a glance back, I limped past a row of cop cars and entered the glow of the ER.

The damage to my body wasn’t as bad as I’d feared—bruised ribs explained the pain when I breathed, almost my entire thigh had turned purple but no bones were broken, my left wrist was severely sprained, I had a loose tooth, and my lip required stitches. Compared to the condition some people left the Meat Matches in, I was in perfect health.

The pain in my bank account to pay for the hospital’s attention would be another matter entirely, as would the mental and emotional pain that fueled me getting home.

I slept away most of the day Saturday, finally getting up around the time my roommates were heading out. Considering they both treated me as though I had the plague, I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like if knowledge I was part satyr got around. Already, I had a feeling I’d be looking for new roommates when the lease was up.

There were two messages from Steph on my answering machine. Five from my mother. Three from my boss at the Tallyho Diner.

Since my cellphone was stuck at Lucen’s, I called Steph back on the apartment phone. “I need a beer. You up for Kilpatrick’s tonight?”

“You don’t waste time, do you?” The proprietor of Wenda’s Wishes took the vial of blood from me.

“This client’s been neglected too long.” And since my extended absences at the Tallyho had gotten me fired, soul swapping was now my only form of income. I’d better treat people right.

On the bright side, I was no longer forced to introduce myself as anyone’s wench. Small consolation for no steady paycheck.

The plastic cast around my left wrist clunked as I rested my arms on Wenda’s counter. The goblin inspected the blood I’d obtained last night, and nodded.

“Acceptable. What was the name again?”

“Josephine Gomes.”

I left the shop five minutes later with J.G.’s name in my pocket and ten dollars less cash in my wallet. Could it really have hurt the goblin to give me a break on the fee after I’d potentially staved off a war? For the love of dragons. Honestly.

I hurried—hurried being relative because I limped more than I walked—across the intersection that led down the road toward the fury bar where I’d found Red-eye three nights ago. It didn’t seem all that long, but this living-nocturnal thing was screwing up my head.

Shadowtown breathed again. The streets were alive with all sorts of preds going about their shopping, or hanging out at café tables in front of coffee shops, restaurants and bars. Bright lights around storefront windows and torches by the dining tables kept the ghouls hidden in shadow. A harpy plucked away at a guitar on the street corner, singing a song about killing a lover who’d spurned him. As I neared the T stop, more and more humans joined the crowd, testing their courage by getting drunk in the bars.

I checked my watch. Two hours yet before I had to worry about catching the last trains home.

Devon sat with a group of satyrs at one of The Lair’s few outdoor tables. He waved as I braced myself for entering.

I hadn’t the faintest idea what to expect. Lucen hadn’t called to check on me, but then why would he? Dezzi had called to inform me that the satyrs’ protection was being formally revoked, but it was nothing personal. That was a call I’d anticipated. She also had the decency to tell me the various councils were meeting to discuss the fury situation. I didn’t mention Red-eye, and neither did she. Victor, I didn’t doubt, would, and if any real justice was going to target Red-eye for his role in the murders, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to guess it would have to originate with the Gryphons.

Meanwhile, Lucen had the knife I’d stolen, a few changes of clothes, my hairbrush, cellphone and a few other personal items I’d been forced to do without since Friday evening. I wanted them back.

I wished that was all I wanted.

The Lair overflowed with clientele. Satyrs and harpies, knowing that much of Dezzi’s council called The Lair their hangout, had come to discuss everything. It probably wouldn’t make up for all of Lucen’s lost business, but it had to help.

Oddly, I felt very little from them—scarcely any stirrings of lust or jealousy. Ever since I’d sucked in so much of Red-eye’s power, my sensitivity to pred magic had dulled. It was almost like he’d burnt me out emotionally. I wasn’t complaining, although I was curious about the effect of one pred’s power in particular.

I caught sight of him easily enough behind the bar. Lucen was chatting with a harpy but ended the conversation when he saw me.

“Hard at work already?”

“I have no job, but bills to pay and presents to buy.” Assuming I’d still be welcome at my stepbrothers’ birthday party. I hadn’t the courage to find out yet.

No more barstools were available, so I squeezed into a spot by the far end of the bar.

“Water as usual?”

“Sam. Stout.”

Wordlessly, Lucen plunked the bottle on the bar and flipped the cap.

“I need to get my things.”

“Yeah, I know. I was going to call you and see how you were doing, but I have your phone.”

I rolled the beer around on my tongue. “Dezzi figured out I have a landline.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “I thought you might want to turn that knife of yours on me after what I did at the Matches.”

My answer to that wouldn’t come easily. Lucen wandered away rather than wait out my silence. After a few minutes of checking in on customers, he returned and lowered his voice so the nearby humans wouldn’t overhear. “I’m sorry, little siren. I promised I’d never hurt you, and that’s exactly what I tried to do.”

“Given that Victor was beating the crap out of me, I’ll forgive you.” It had taken twelve hours of sleep for me to understand that’s why he’d done it. Another painful day of contemplation to come to terms with this nonsensical relationship of ours and to sort through my feelings. My conclusions didn’t make me happy, which in its own deranged way was satisfying.

I cringed. “It was actually pretty clever getting me worked up like that.”

“If it’s any consolation, she wasn’t my addict. I borrowed her.”

Beer sprayed from my lips. “Borrowed? She’s a human being, not a piece of property.”

“You laughed.”

“I laugh at all sorts of inappropriate things. It keeps me sane.” I shoved the beer aside and grabbed his hand. The effect on me was immediate. Despite the pain, lust urged me to jump across the bar and tackle him. Every nerve awakened in a glorious rush of desire. My mouth watered for the taste of his. My body cried out for the touch of his skin. Hardest to ignore was my mind, which latched on to those memories of his hard, naked body. I froze, waiting for this first and strongest wave of craziness to pass.

Was my reaction because I was touching his power? Or was it simply him?

I let out a breath, relieved. How screwed up was it that I’d worried he wouldn’t have that effect on me anymore?

“Jess, don’t do that unless you intend to follow through. After ten years of being denied, my willpower is really wearing thin. I’m not used to being told no.”

“I’m not telling you no.” I also wasn’t telling him about me being part satyr, or what had happened between me and Red-eye at the Matches. But that was because I wasn’t entirely ready to deal with it myself.

I was making progress though. However unpleasant the truth was, understanding where my freakishness originated from gave me some sort of closure. I’d been explained. Knowing what it gave me the power to do—or not do—helped, as well.

I had a power that could be used for evil, but I didn’t use it that way. Victor had. Lucen had a gift like that, as well, and although he walked a shadier line, he’d never given me reason to distrust him.

Amazing how getting the crap kicked out of you could lead to clarity of mind. “I trust you.”

He stared at me. “Really? Say it again.”

“Do you have to rub it in my face?”

“Not at all. I just want to hear you say it.”

“Oh fine. I trust you.”

Lucen inhaled deeply, and I knew he was attempting to hoard as much of my lust as he could. “That might be the most erotic thing any human’s ever said to me. Hang around until closing and we’ll gather your things.”

“I’ll miss the train.”

“They’ll be running again by the time you leave.”

I held up my wrist. “I’m broken. I trust you won’t hurt me mentally. But physically, not hurting me might be impossible.” To be fair, that was mostly because I wasn’t sure I could control myself around him.

Lucen seemed to grasp my thoughts. “Not to worry. I’ll tie you down if I have to. I’m very good at what I do.” He winked and sauntered away.

Right. Fucking satyrs.

I laughed at my own pathetic humor. Good thing I amused myself because soon no one else was going to get near enough to be assaulted by my wit. But I’d worry about that tomorrow. Like I’d worry about Lucen’s addicts, and finding a job, and explaining away the blood in my fridge, and breaking the news about my gift to my mother, and discovering what secrets were buried in those files Steph had found and whether they had anything to do with what happened to me. Not to mention the million other things I hadn’t considered yet, but which would undoubtedly make me miserable.

But for tonight, for once, I was going to be happy.

Even if it killed me.

About the Author

Earning a doctorate in psychology convinced Tracey Martin that imaginary people were way more fun than real ones. Plus, they make better minions. From this revelation an obsession was born, and she’s been writing stories of kick-ass girls and women (and the men who deserve them) ever since.

She loves the paranormal, likes her music epic and prefers her movies to contain explosions. A city girl at heart, she doesn’t understand how she and her husband ended up living in New Hampshire, but she’s vowed to escape one day. Until then, writing keeps her off her the mean, small-town streets. To learn more, you can visit her website at
www.tracey-martin.com
, or say hi on twitter to
@TA_Martin
.