Wicked Misery (Miss Misery)

by Martin, Tracey

  Note-writer had disappeared for the moment, but he was becoming less important in my mind. Sure, he’d most likely committed the actual murders, but he was a patsy. An addict. I needed his master. And for the first time, I had a chance of deciphering who that was.

  Never mind that what I was about to do meant I was freaking suicidal.

  I raised an eyebrow at Bob the Big-ass Bouncer.

  “Not with these, princess.” He removed my knives.

  “I will get them back when I leave, right?”

  “Absolutely.” The gleam in Bob’s black eyes as he admired the knives suggested otherwise.

  Well, at least he hadn’t removed my charms.

  Radiating anxiety like a nuclear power plant, I approached Red-eye and Mace-head. The bar reeked of alcohol, and my sneakers stuck to the floor. Furies, rage addicts and liquor. It was a combination more explosive than TNT.

  “Do I know you?”

  Red-eye held out a hand. “Not personally, which is really a shame after all this time.”

  “All this time?” My hands remained planted at my sides.

  “After all this time when we’ve heard so much about you. You’re the girl the sylphs blame for their addict murders.”

  I flattered him with a thin smile. “The sylphs are dumb.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Mace-head said, snorting. The rest of the table cracked up. “Sit down, have a beer. You’ve got a fascinating gift, girlie.”

  Red-eye or Mace-head? Red-eye or Mace-head? Who’s the power behind Note-writer?

  “Thanks. I don’t think I’m the only person around here with it, though.”

  “Don’t you?” Red-eye nodded at his friends. “Maybe we can scrounge up someone like that for you to play with.”

  Play with—that was the same phrase Note-writer liked to use. Did it suggest anything?

  A few yells broke my concentration. The mosh-pit-like chaos on the dance floor deteriorated into real fighting. People hooted and cheered, and several tables emptied to observe. I prayed Note-writer would be among the crowd, but no. I turned away at the sound of breaking glass.

  “What do you say?” Red-eye asked.

  “Scrounge him up tonight?”

  “Tomorrow. At the Matches.” He winked. “You, him, a cage. I think you’d enjoy that given what you two have in common.”

  My better sense broke through the suicidal tendencies. “You think wrong.”

  “I’d like that,” said a fury I’d never seen before.

  “Yeah, don’t be so quick to discount the euphoria of an adrenaline spat.” Mace-head grinned. “You’ve got a lot of anger to expel.”

  The pumping music made it difficult to feel, but the poke in my brain was undeniable. Mace-head whittled his way inside, or was trying to.

  Every muscle tensed. I fought the urge to lash out, to fling myself at him and wrap my hands around his throat. Hot blood rushed to my face.

  Get the fuck out of my head!

  I gave him a good mental shove, but it was the wrong plan. Anything angry only fed his strength. His grip around my soul tightened.

  My vision blurred as I retreated inside myself, breathing shakily. Darkness swept over the room, and the music became almost inaudible. Dragon shit on toast, I had to resist my natural instinct. I must remain calm. But oh crap. Mace-head’s black eyes locked with mine. My soul writhed. It wanted to give in. Everyone had their weakness, and I’d always suspected mine would be anger. Sure I could lust after Lucen with the best of them, but lust didn’t consume me. Temper, though? Why yes, there was a reason I stayed clear of furies.

  Mace-head licked his lips. What a mistake this had been. I had to get out of here before I lost control.

  “We’ll see tomorrow, I guess.” The steadiness of my voice amazed me. Half blind and forcing myself to breathe, I marched over to Bob and held out my hands. “My knives.”

  “What knives?”

  Oh come on. I’d known this was going to happen. Bob Biceps-for-Brains grinned. I bit my lip and turned around. Red-eye chuckled, and Mace-head made a kissy face.

  All right, calm, Jessica.

  I’m going to fucking murder them!

  No. No, you’re not. Honestly, how do you expect to take down a bar full of furies, with no weapons, and not become an addict?

  Screw you.

  There was no time to continue my internal argument. Far in the back, clutching a beer, was a familiar form. To hell with the knives. Got you again, asshole.

  Note-writer finished drinking and lowered his glass. Although the bar was dim, he looked right at me and—finally—I saw his face. My breath caught in my throat. Narrow head, thick eyebrows, dark eyes that practically screamed “I’m a creep.” Like the furies, I’d seen him before. But where?

  For the moment, it didn’t matter. Excitement, the thrill of the hunt maybe, drove away Mace-head’s influence. His crushing grip vanished. My soul expanded in my chest, and my gaze fixated on Note-writer. Sight and sound returned with a vengeance. I breezed past the furies’ table without incident. Human hands groped for my body, and furies groped for my mind. I dodged them all.

  This wasn’t so bad. All I had to do was keep my focus, and they couldn’t touch me.

  Smoky air choked my lungs, and my ears rang. Note-writer pushed open a door and disappeared down a flight of dark stairs.

  No one stopped me, so I followed. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The stairs wound and curved, and already Note-writer disappeared from view. Narrow, dark gray walls loomed in on me as I descended. Blood-stained pitchforks, whips, even a piece of steel mesh decorated the place. Lovely. Only a fury would find this attractive. It must have been memorabilia from particularly entertaining Matches.

  The air at the bottom of the steps was clearer, thank dragons for small miracles, but there was no sign of Note-writer. The room was tiny, cramped in spite of being mostly empty. A deserted, dust-coated bar stood off to the side. Nearby, black booths and tables were covered with boxes. To my right were three doors. One was lit by an exit sign.

  There was no hint of an alarm, so I pushed it open. No Note-writer. Time to try door number two. Door two produced a grimy toilet and sink. I shut it quickly.

  Ready or not, asshole. I yanked open door three. Well, tried to. The door moaned but didn’t budge. I tugged again, put some real force behind it, and my strength charm burned against my chest. Wood splintered as a cheap lock gave way.

  I blinked and looked at my prize. It was just a closet. But whoa—what a closet.

  Now I knew where my confiscated knives might end up. Guns, switchblades, brass knuckles, a machete… Eek. I found a couple pairs of Gryphon-issued handcuffs that made me shudder to think how they were obtained. There was a rusting ax, and a pile of small pebble-like things that could have been curse grenades. And, ooh. A knife.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The furies would eventually come after me, and with the pounding music overhead, I’d never hear someone sneaking up. For the moment, though, the coast appeared clear, so I retrieved the sheathed knife from the very back of the bottom shelf. If it was any good, I was getting blades back one way or another.

  The knife was longer than the ones I carried, yet lighter, and the hilt was a touch on the ornate side. Souffrance was engraved on it. I cast my thoughts back to all those years studying French—suffering, woe, misery. An odd choice in some ways. Still… I pulled it from the sheath to test the balance.

  “Holy…” The blade was a smooth, polished-to-the-point-of-glassiness black. Glyphs had been carved into it, though the astoundingly light-resistant blade rendered them almost impossible to read.

  I held it in front of my face, feeling my cheeks tug my lips into an incredulous smile. Yes, Bob Badass could keep my knives in exchange for this lovely—a beautiful blade forged in salamander fire.

  As the only type of weapon capable of inflicting a lethal wound to a pred, these things weren’t the easiest to come by. Preds weren’t about to sell them to humans
, and few magi bothered to make them because—let’s face it—most humans weren’t crazy enough to attempt to fight a pred. Even if I could find someone willing to forge one for me, I’d never have been able to afford it.

  I felt as giddy as a goblin with a pile of gold as I sheathed it. Mine.

  Granted, I’d traipsed the streets of Shadowtown for ten years without being sufficiently armed, but things were different now. I had enemies. Evening the odds this way made me feel a lot better.

  Of course, I’d lost Note-writer in the process. How brilliant of me.

  Note-writer. Damn it. The feeling of familiarity itched at my brain once more. Where, oh where, had I seen his face? It was recently too.

  It was on my computer. I almost dropped the knife in surprise. Note-writer’s name was Victor Aubrey.

  The intensity with which my heart beat meant I could hear the blood in my ears. I savored my triumph, piecing all the parts together, pondering the details I still didn’t know.

  I savored a little too long. Shadows on the staircase elongated. Someone was coming. I took a last hungry look in the closet, grabbed a pair of handcuffs and shut the door.

  A black-booted foot appeared around the stairwell’s curved wall as I slipped outside. The bar’s warmth had made me forget how cool the evening had gotten. I pressed my back to the building and peeked through the door window. Mace-head and one of the unknown furies from their table burst into the downstairs. The unknown fury headed into the bathroom, but Mace-head frowned at the busted closet.

  I ducked below the window and shot off down the street, my prizes tucked under my arm. No one came after me, so once I got back on the main drag, I slowed down. Pleased with myself, I headed toward The Lair with a bit of a bounce in my step. It had been a good night so far. Yeah, I’d lost Note-writer, but I had his name, and from there all I had to do was share the information with the satyrs and we could nab him. We might even be able to finish this before sunrise.

  And that reminded me of Lucen. I should give him a call. In my hunt for Victor, I’d forgotten all about him not answering his phone. A spark of worry ruined some of my contentment.

  Lost in these thoughts, I didn’t notice who was striding towards me until two of them lunged at me from ten feet away. I stifled a scream. The sylphs landed softly in front of me. My hand reached for my new knife, but even with the speed charm I was too slow. They grabbed my arms and wrested me to my knees.

  Their cold magic slithered around my upper arms. Icicles of insecurity pricked at my heart. I was going to fail. How could I not when I was so weak and stupid and insignificant compared to the sylphs’ power?

  I took a couple deep breaths and tried to focus. They couldn’t break me like this. I wasn’t that pathetic. Hadn’t I evaded Mace-head at the bar? Just how had I done that again? It sure hadn’t been done consciously.

  Assym strolled ever confidently toward me, a cruel smile on his face. I glanced around. Were there any satyrs nearby to sense my fear? Shouldn’t they be helping me? Lucen was going to murder me for leaving Lucrezia’s attic.

  “Hello, satyr’s pet.”

  Assym’s goons chuckled. Bastards.

  “Hi, Assym. I wasn’t expecting to see your ugly face until tomorrow.”

  His smile faltered. Had I hit a nerve? He raised my chin with a smooth finger. “Where is this proof you’re so sure exists? Why haven’t we seen it yet?”

  “I’ve got until tomorrow evening to show it to you. So you can keep on waiting.”

  “Tomorrow isn’t so far away.”

  “Same as always, last I checked.”

  Assym pulled a stiletto from his belt and twirled it in his hand. The blade spun so fast it was impossible to see. Much as I tried to look unimpressed, I couldn’t. One of the bodyguards yanked on my hair, dragging my head back and exposing my throat.

  My fear ripened into near panic. I clenched my jaw to keep from yelling. He might be lapping up my terror, but no way was I giving Assym the satisfaction of acting on it.

  Around and around the blade spun, faster and faster, a silver blur. All at once, he stopped the motion, and it landed light as a feather against my neck and just short of breaking skin.

  I swallowed. “Nice trick.”

  “I’ve changed my mind about you.” Assym stuck the stiletto away. “I’m not turning you over to the Gryphons tomorrow. Your magic is more powerful than I first realized. I don’t know what I’ll do with you—addict you, perhaps. That will be more likely to enrage the satyrs, so it could be enjoyable.”

  “You changed your mind, huh? Bullshit. You never intended to turn me over to the Gryphons. I should have known you wouldn’t cooperate with them.”

  “Well, I did consider it briefly. After all, what good is a waitress with no useful connections to me? I’d have to let go of another addict for you, and you truly didn’t seem more valuable than any of them. I hadn’t counted on your talents, though, which for a human are considerable. Pity, they’ll make you more difficult to break, but the fun will be in attempting it.”

  “You won’t get the chance. I’ll have your proof for you tomorrow.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Indeed, asshole.”

  The guard holding my hair shoved my head forward. Assym knelt down to my eye level.

  “I shall be happy to see it, but don’t get overconfident. You’re only postponing the inevitable.” He nodded. “You are very, very interesting.”

  Devon had said the same thing, but when Assym said it, the words crawled all over my skin. I shut my eyes, sensing Assym drilling into my head. Weak and worthless. But interesting. So much potential. Didn’t I want Assym to show me my potential? To make me better than I was?

  Tears stabbed at my eyes. He wasn’t going to let me go. Regardless of tomorrow’s outcome, Assym was too fascinated by me. He coveted me like a piece of property, and he wasn’t going to stop.

  “Your soul is worthless to me,” Gunthra had said. Why was I worthless to her and not to Assym? What did it all mean?

  From nowhere, a surge of erotic energy racked my body. The power purged Assym from my head but left me moaning with memories of my sofa-time with Lucen.

  Assym hissed, and the satyr magic vanished.

  “Let her go now.” Lucen’s voice.

  I gasped, shaking. Lucen and a couple other satyrs stormed this way. Down the block, two goblins scampered in the opposite direction. I wished I could join them.

  Assym motioned to his henchmen, and they released me. I fell forward, and my palms smacked the pavement. Gritting my teeth, I scraped my fingers over the concrete, letting the dirt and pebbles tear my skin. Letting the pain clear my head of everyone who dared invade it.

  “Jess?” Lucen jogged over, but instead of looking relieved, he looked pissed.

  Assym smiled down at me. I fought the urge to whip out my knife as he cast Lucen an evil glance and slipped away, but his goons were far too fast and clearly skilled. If Assym gave his men the order to kill, I’d be filleted before I touched the handle.

  And as he’d suggested, I might as well postpone the inevitable a bit longer. But no question—I’d go down swinging before I let him touch my soul.

  Lucen crossed his arms, and I regained my feet. I started to mutter thanks, but then he spoke and I was glad I hadn’t gotten the words out. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re supposed to be waiting at Lucrezia’s until we came back for you.” He waved off his friends and yanked me forward.

  I jerked my arm away. “Just because you got to touch me the other night doesn’t mean you get to do it again.” I snatched the knife still sitting on the ground. “I was fine.”

  “Really? In that case, why did I have to rescue you?”

  My cheeks burned, and I clenched my hands into fists but didn’t say anything. Gunshots pierced the air, though they sounded distant. Above, the moon had risen and dusk settled over the city. Silhouetted against the hazy purpl
e sky, large black birds circled. Harpies or magi—they were too big to be normal city birds.

  “It’s not a good time to be wandering around for anyone. Especially you. I can’t even leave you alone for a few hours without you getting yourself into trouble.”

  “Oh, what are you going to do? Handcuff me to your side now?” Way to give him an opening.

  “Love to. Tell me, Jess. Are you suicidal? Because I know you’re not stupid.”

  Maybe not suicidal, but reckless. Running headfirst into that fury bar was probably not something I should mention. “I found useful information. You should be applauding, not scolding me like I’m some toddler.”

  “I should be applauding that you almost got yourself turned into an addict?”

  “Is that why you’re pissed? Because some fury might have deprived you of the chance?”

  Lucen’s glare smoldered, and not in that usual sexy way of his. We’d reached his apartment, and he opened the door. “Inside.”

  I swallowed down my anger and stepped in. No more of this. Whatever else happened in the next twenty-four hours, I was sick of being treated like the weak little human. Assym wasn’t getting my soul. Victor Aubrey wasn’t getting away with murder. And Lucen wasn’t getting to be my satyr in not so shining armor, with the attitude to match. I needed to be able to hold my own, and there was only one way I saw of finding out how.

  Mental note—do not share this plan with Lucen until it’s too late.

  “Where were you anyway?” I demanded.

  “Detained for questioning along with Dezzi, Lucrezia and Devon. That’s why I didn’t answer the phone.” Lucen kicked my duffel into the kitchen. “What information?”

  I crossed my arms smugly. “I know the name of our guy, and I know which fury is his master. You all can applaud me later.”

  Lucen froze in the middle of getting out the coffee. “He is a rage addict then? You’re sure? What’s the fury’s name?”

  “That I don’t know. But the human is Victor Aubrey, last I know he lived in Revere.”

  “How did…? No, tell me later when we’re all together. I’m calling Dezzi.”

  Five minutes later, as Lucen went downstairs to prepare The Lair for a meeting, I snuck out of his apartment and darted across the street.