Wicked Misery (Miss Misery)

by Martin, Tracey

  Ah. Pred society was strictly hierarchical, a remnant from earlier times when they and humans hadn’t precisely coexisted in peace, and a lone pred was far more vulnerable than most humans would have believed. Within any locality these days, each race of preds still had a Dom they answered to, the head of an internal council of sorts. I hadn’t known Dezzi was the satyrs’ Dom. “What happened?”

  “We made it clear to their Dom’s second that they’d better lay off with the accusations.”

  “So they must be switching their aggression to you,” the black-haired satyr said.

  “But why me?”

  Lucen shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Unless it’s because…?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I looked up at the black-haired satyr. “Because of what?”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re known to be a friend of Lucen’s, and he’s Dezzi’s third. Possibly they think you’re a friend to all of us, and attacking you would be a form of revenge.”

  Lucen was a third? I’d always assumed he was nothing more than a bar owner. All these years and he’d never given me a hint of how much influence he had.

  We’d hoofed it so fast we were already by The Lair. The station was a short block away. The group paused by the steps down to the bar.

  “Come in.” Lucen’s comment was ostensibly aimed at all of us, but he looked at me when he said it.

  “I think I’d better leave.”

  “You’d better talk. If this is a sign of things to come, you could be in danger.”

  Gee, I didn’t know you cared. The words stuck in my head. I tried to wet my lips, but my mouth was dry. I couldn’t talk, not with all these satyrs around. My hands were just itching to pull off my shirt, and they weren’t even trying to seduce me. This was insane.

  “You won’t be the only human inside,” Lucen said.

  I grimaced. They were all tasting my fear and lust. For the love of dragons, this sucked. I might as well take off my clothes because I was completely exposed.

  Yet Lucen had a point. I could have a serious problem. “Great,” I muttered. “First a crazy note-writer, now angry sylphs. What did I do to deserve this?”

  “What crazy note-writer?”

  I clomped down the steps behind him, relieved that all but one of the satyrs were waving goodbye.

  The Lair was packed. As Lucen had suggested, the crowd contained a good mix of thrill-seeking humans amidst the satyrs and twiggy harpies. I kept my chin high, preferring none of these people to assume I was some dumbass human chasing death and sex for fun on the weekend. Apparently, that made me the minority. Although some humans huddled together, hoping for safety in numbers, others courted danger or were simply too bespelled to resist it. They hung over the satyrs, seemingly unable to keep their hands or mouths to themselves. Not all the satyrs returned the attention. A couple looked downright bored despite the various levels of undress and stages of sexual activity occurring around them. Shame for my own race and disgust with the satyrs helped me keep my gaze focused ahead.

  The rest of the bar’s atmosphere was more typical. Classic rock spilled from the speakers at a reasonable volume. Candles on the tables added to the low light. The smell of food hit my nose and reminded my stomach that it was hungry.

  The satyr that had come in with us wandered off to talk to friends, so I followed Lucen to two empty stools at the end of the bar. The satyr pheromones, or whatever it was they exuded, were in better moderation over here. Some of the tension lifted from my shoulders.

  “Drink?” Lucen went behind the bar.

  “Water, no ice.” After this evening’s disasters I could use something stronger, but I wasn’t about to risk it.

  He filled a glass and slid it toward me. “Have you eaten?”

  I shook my head.

  “What would you like?”

  “I didn’t realize you served food.”

  “Bar food mostly. But name it, and I’ll have it whipped up for you.” Lucen poured himself a beer.

  “Whatever’s good but not too expensive.”

  “You really don’t like to live it up, do you, little siren?”

  “I live it up plenty. That’s probably why I’m in this mess.”

  Lucen left by the door behind the bar. I clutched my drink. I shouldn’t be here. I should be out, tracking down a new soul donor to replace my dead one. Behind my eyes, a headache threatened. I’d better think before it arrived.

  A dead soul donor. A murdered soul donor? Could this be a coincidence? Could it be tied to the why the sylphs thought I had something to do with the vanity-addict murders?

  Now there was a thought. There were alleged similarities between the Somerville men’s murders and the addict murders. The men’s murders could be—were likely to be?—the work of a copycat killer, but if so, a copycat killer who had done something to get the Gryphons involved. That meant magic played a role. And that meant the sylphs would be looking for someone with magic in the blood that could tie the murders together. Okay, that could be me since I was among a handful of the population with magic.

  But that didn’t explain why they thought of me and not a pred or the magi. Unless it was like the black-haired satyr suggested—a result of me being friends with Lucen and the sylphs looking for an easy target. Or unless a sylph had seen me with Friday night’s soul donor. That was far-fetched but not impossible. Hell, it made more sense to be guilty by association than for the sylphs to think I was close enough friends with Lucen to make a good target. For that to be true, Lucen would have to give a damn about me, and I didn’t buy for a second that preds gave a damn about any human. The satyrs as a whole had no clue who I was, and as for Lucen… Nope, I didn’t imagine that was likely. He might be bummed if I was killed, but only in the way a child was bummed if a toy he played with got destroyed.

  Maybe not even that since I’d never let Lucen play with me.

  The headache officially declared itself. Perfect. I was not making sense of anything tonight.

  I rested my head on my arm, praying I gave off a strong enough “go away” vibe that no one, particularly nonhumans, would approach. The bar hummed with energy, a lot of diffuse anxiety from all the dumb humans. Spearmint. Gross. The preds must be sucking up any of the more powerful emotions before I could get them. Feeling even less thrilled about my decision to come here, I reined in my gift to the best of my ability, but the taste of spearmint lingered in the back of my mouth.

  Salmon. Suddenly, the alluring aroma of salmon replaced the spearmint. I blinked, until that moment unaware that I’d shut my eyes.

  Lucen sat next to me. A plate filled with crisp greens and a salmon filet on top was in front of me. “That’s bar food?”

  “For the patrons I like.”

  My stomach rumbled. “I thought I said nothing too expensive.”

  “On the house.”

  Not this again. “No.”

  “I owe you. The whole reason the sylphs are picking on you is probably my fault.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” The salmon’s aroma tempted my nose. My stomach voiced its approval. Tempting was what a satyr did best, after all.

  Damn. I took the fork and ate.

  “So what’s this about a note-writer?”

  Between mouthfuls, I filled Lucen in on everything that had happened between me and the creepy note-writer since I got his message at Kilpatrick’s.

  “He claims he can feed on misery like you? Fascinating. Is he a siren, as well?”

  In other words, did he have a screwed up satyr’s gift like me? To Lucen, my minimal—by comparison—ability to inspire lust in people by breathing on them was amusing. When I was first learning to control how I expelled the magic, he’d suggested I sing. Concentrate my breath and focus on exhaling. It had worked, and since then I’d become “little siren”—the human who could tempt others with her voice.

  I stabbed the last piece of salmon and swirled it around the plate. “I don’t know if he has any k
ind of gift or what it would be. What do you think?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. Until I met you, I’d never heard of such a thing.” He savored his mouthful of beer, frowning. “We should find the goblin who claims to know about your gift and see what’s possible. It must be rare, so if there’s more than one of you floating around this city, there’s good odds you owe your origins to the same person. Do you know the name of the goblin who put the curse on you?”

  I shook my head. “Just who it was that told me I was cursed. I don’t even know if it was a goblin that did it.”

  “It’s a start. We can begin tonight.” He slid off his stool, his attention ensnared by something across the bar.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on with the sylphs first, and I have news about the murders.”

  “Yup. Just finish up and give me a minute.”

  I picked at my dressing-soaked lettuce, watching Lucen from the corner of my eye. An addict had entered the bar. And not any addict, a lust addict. One of his?

  A pit opened up in my stomach. In the ten years I’d known him, I’d never once seen any of Lucen’s addicts. I didn’t even know how many he could afford to keep. It required a bit of magical effort for a pred to bind a human, so the number of addicts they had at any given time was a proxy for how powerful they were. Meanwhile, because they fed off the addicts’ misery, they gained power from each one they had. It was a bit of a Catch-22—the more addicts they took on, the more energy was required, yet the more energy they could reap. I remembered learning something way back when I was in school that the average pred could only keep three to five addicts at once. But if Lucen was the satyr Dom’s third, he wasn’t average. He was way more powerful.

  Wasn’t that a happy thought.

  The woman’s face lit up when Lucen approached. Yup, she was definitely one of his. She had long dark brown, almost black hair like me, although hers was less a tangle of curls and more shiny waves. Her black shorts rode up to her butt, and the waistline drooped so low in front that she couldn’t possibly be wearing anything beneath them. Her tight button-down shirt was bursting at the breasts, and the heels on her sandals had to be at least three inches. Classic hooker attire. I hated her.

  No, I should pity her. She was a victim.

  The victim tossed her hair and pouted at Lucen.

  Nope, screw it. I hated her. She was just another weak-willed, fake-boobed woman with terrible taste in clothing.

  The harpies had to be arousing my jealousy, I realized. Ridiculous, really, because I could pull off that outfit too.

  Lucen kissed her then patted her on the butt. Even in the darkness, the ecstatic expression on her face was obvious. She touched Lucen’s arm again, but he shook her off and said something to her. The words didn’t cut through the noise, but her face fell and she waddled that butt behind the bar and grabbed a serving tray.

  All the wonderful salmon threatened to return to my plate.

  “Sorry, little siren,” Lucen said, taking the empty stool again. “She was late, supposed to have been here half an hour ago. Don’t come whining to me that you need a job then not show up for work on time. No wonder she got fired from her last one.” He shook his head. “So what did you find out about the murders? Anything that will help unknot the sylphs’ knickers?”

  Yeah, the information about the hearts and the magi would if I could prove it. I just couldn’t stand the thought of talking to Lucen right now. I couldn’t tell if I felt more sick, angry or…what? Hurt?

  Whatever. Lucen could probably pick apart my turmoil like a chef dissecting a recipe—a little garlic, some parsley, a hint of resentment. To a pred, humans must seem pathetic.

  “I’ll tell you later. I just realized the time, and I need to go find another soul donor to replace my dead guy.”

  “It can’t wait?”

  “No.”

  He stared at me, expressionless, and I tried not to dwell on all the crap he was sucking in. “All right.”

  All right? That was it? “Good. Thanks for dinner.” I grabbed my bag and hustled out the door.

  Well, what the hell. It wasn’t like I expected him to apologize for what he was. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known. It wasn’t like it should piss me off.

  And it sure wasn’t like I had nothing more important to worry about.

  Nonetheless, an imp followed me all the way to the train station, and I took great satisfaction in smashing it into the wall.

  Chapter Nine

  I never got a replacement blood donor last night, which meant I was going to have to bust ass the next few days searching for one. I felt like crap about it too. It was coming up on a week since I’d agreed to take Josephine’s case, and that was the longest I liked to let things go. My business spread through word of mouth, and my clients were always nervous. Not getting them results right away made them more nervous and less likely to think positively of the experience.

  I stuffed my wench’s uniform into a duffel bag in the Tallyho’s bathroom and headed home. Above, the sun played peek-a-boo among heavy, gray clouds, and I hoped a thunderstorm was brewing. Weather was the perfect misery inducer.

  As I walked, I considered sources for soul donors. Maybe it was time to try a new venue. Kilpatrick’s had been giving me nothing but bad luck recently. Malls, on the other hand, could occasionally cough up gems, as could parks or kid-themed restaurants. Come to think of it, I was sick of rapists. Nabbing a child molester would be good. I hadn’t gone after one of those types in a while because they squicked me out so, but that was all the more reason why someone should be doing something to stop them.

  Making that mental note, I turned the corner and froze. My apartment building was surrounded by cops and Gryphons. There were at least two black-uniformed figures that I could see, so gods only knew how many I couldn’t.

  Had there been another murder, and in my building? After all that had been happening lately, it sure didn’t seem impossible.

  I charged forward to investigate then skidded to a stop three buildings away by the convenience store, overwhelmed by the anxiety radiating from the people around the building. It left me disoriented and a little giddy—not an image I wanted to project as I neared a crime scene. Maybe it was best to hang back for a moment until I calmed down.

  Shifting my bag on my shoulder, I tried to tune my gift on a single individual. The gawkers and their confused nervous tension got in the way at first. Finally, when a Gryphon came out to talk to one of the cops, I managed to focus completely on her. Her emotions were a mess of confusion, nausea and extreme tension.

  One of our downstairs neighbors jogged by me. The police had set out barricades, and as he neared, an officer waved him away. The guy pointed to the building, and yet the cop continued to shake his head. Cursing, my neighbor stormed back in my direction.

  “Hey,” I said, as the guy pulled open the convenience store door. “What’s going on?”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow on his T-shirt. “I recognize you. You live upstairs, right?”

  “Yeah. They not letting you in?”

  “Nope. Don’t even bother asking. Christ, I need to go shower and meet my girlfriend, but they told me not to go anywhere far. They want to ask me questions.” He grabbed a sports drink from the rack.

  “But they gave you no idea why?”

  “Not a clue. Saw the Gryphons carrying a cooler into one of the apartments on your floor. You tell me—what’s that about? Something’s messed up.”

  “Yeah, no doubt.”

  I rested against the ice cream freezer and got out my cell. Come on, pick up.

  “Bridget Nelson speaking.”

  “Bridget, hey. It’s Jess. I’m try—”

  “Jess! Hi, where are you?”

  My stomach clenched. I despised phones for many reasons, but the biggest one was that I lost my emotion-sucking advantage with them. There was clearly something off about Bridget’s voice. It was almost perky, a kind of forced cheerfulness that no more
fit Bridget’s personality than it did mine. “I’m around.”

  Downstairs neighbor had already chugged half his drink and was now paying for it.

  “I ran into a neighbor and he told me there’s all this commotion going on in our building. Gryphons and cops. What’s up?”

  “Why don’t you ask the ones who are there?”

  “Because my neighbor said they wouldn’t tell him what was going on. So I’m asking you.”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Jess, you’re on our side, right? You were almost a Gryphon.”

  My hand tightened around the phone. She’d better be going somewhere good with this, or I was crossing her off my holiday card list. “Yeah?”

  “Then do the right thing and turn yourself in.”

  Okay, that was unexpected but definitely not good. “For what?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t do anything deliberately wrong, but…”

  “But what?” Oh shit. My stomach was clenching so hard it felt like concrete in my abdomen. Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. What kind of insanity was this? Had they finally figured out the identity of the Soul Swapper? Could my creepy note-writer have blabbed, after all?

  “We got a tip. I didn’t know it was your apartment until we got there. I would have called you, but—”

  I lowered my voice. “Damn it, Bridget. Spit it out. What are you talking about?”

  “We got a call about something in a fridge in your bedroom, something that shouldn’t be there.”

  I grasped the freezer’s handle for support. “And you found…?”

  “You know what we found.”

  “Blood.” Blame it on shock, but the word slipped out. I’d thrown Greg’s useless blood in the fridge last night, figuring I’d get rid of it today while my roommates were at work and I could clean out the vial. Flaming dragon shit on toast. Note-writer had blabbed. “Look, I can explain—”

  “And the heart, Jess? You can explain why a murdered woman’s heart was in your fridge?”

  Now would be a good time for hysterics. “A heart? You’re telling me there was a heart—some human woman’s heart—in my fridge?”