With my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, I descended the stairs while Jo remained standing on the back porch. Jo’s gaze drifted up to the sky, where the dark gray was starting to give way to shades of orange, yellow, and pink. The sunrise was coming. Her arms were crossed lightly over her chest against the cold and she looked tired.
“I’m sorry about how things turned out,” I said. I wasn’t sure that I meant it, but I felt like I should say something to comfort her, to ease the lines around her eyes.
“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” she whispered.
“He said, ‘thank you,’ didn’t he?” Jo cocked her head at me as I spoke. “At the end, Chester looked at me and said ‘thank you.’ ”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
She drew in a deep breath as she stared at the line of trees behind the house. “Chester had a death wish. He wanted it all to end, but wasn’t able to do it himself. It happens . . . sometimes . . . to vampires. You get old and time stretches out in front of you in this never-ending monotony. You get tired of changing and adapting. You just get tired.” She looked down at me again, her pale eyes sad. “It’s why I put up with his abuse. It gave him something to focus on each night. Something to live for. I thought if I gave him enough time he would find his will to live again.”
But Trixie and I hadn’t been willing to give him that time.
I felt angry and sad and used. I understood Jo’s reasons, but I didn’t agree with her methods. If she had told us more, told us something about what was happening, maybe Chester would be alive right now. He’d be alive but still miserable.
“Gage—”
“I’m beginning to realize that there’s a lot that I don’t know about you,” I briskly said, cutting her off.
“The whole biophysics thing?” she asked, struggling to give me a weak little smile that didn’t even cast a glimmer in her eyes.
“More than that. I didn’t know Chester was your maker, didn’t know how old you are. I didn’t know when you came into town. Hell, I don’t even know what your favorite color is.”
“It never bothered you before.”
“I’m thinking it should,” I said with a sigh.
What I wasn’t saying was that she didn’t know anything about me either. She didn’t know that I had trained as a warlock, that I lived in the despised Ivory Towers, and that I was more dangerous than her on her worst blood-lust rampage. She didn’t know and it had to stay that way if she was going to remain safe. But it wasn’t fair to her or me. If I wanted a real relationship with Jo or anyone for that matter, they had to know and, right now, that wasn’t an option.
“I’ve got to get going. Trixie’s coming back for me. Get some sleep.” I started across the backyard toward the trees.
“Gage!”
I stopped and turned around to see Jo still standing on the back porch. She was trying to smile.
“It’s pink.” Her voice wavered, but grew stronger when she tried again. “My favorite color is pink.”
There were a hundred things I wanted to do in that moment and more than half of them involved going back. For once, I did the right thing. I raised one hand and waved to her with a weak smile before turning and walking toward the woods. It was for the best. She wanted more, and so did I, but my past demanded distance from the world if I wanted people I cared about to be safe.
As I stepped into the woods, Trixie walked into view coming toward me. She was wearing the jacket I had loaned her outside of Warm & Toasted. Her brown hair was still disheveled and she looked a little tired.
“Is our troll safely tucked into his house?” I asked as I reached her side.
“I’m sure he’s home by now,” Trixie replied with a frown.
I grunted and walked beside her back to her car. The night had worn so thin that the shadows in the narrow swath of trees were pale, insubstantial things, holding none of their usual horrors. Or maybe it was because I was walking next to an elf that kept back the usual fears associated with walking through nature in the dark.
“You know you can drop the act now,” Trixie nonchalantly announced as she stepped over a fallen log.
I stiffened, fighting the urge to look at her face. My heart hammered in my chest. The act? Did she know that I was a warlock? Could she sense the energy I had unconsciously drawn while fighting Chester? Or maybe she could feel the difference in me. I didn’t know. I hadn’t spent any time around elves, preferring to avoid most naturally magical creatures for my own protection.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to make it sound like her answer wasn’t the most important thing in my life at that moment.
“The whole acting like an asshole thing.” Her head popped up so she could look me in the eye. “We both know you’re not. You risked your life to help Jo. Bronx also told me how you guys met and how you helped your friend Parker. You’re not the asshole you pretend to be.”
Relief coursed through my body for one brief moment. My secret was still safe and I didn’t care if I had failed to push Trixie away. I’d deal with it later. Truth told, I didn’t much care for trying to piss her off. It had turned out to be more work than you’d expect.
“Maybe,” I conceded with a grin. “But I can be an insensitive asshole.”
“Without a doubt, but deep down, it’s not who you are. You’re a good guy.”
“Geez, Trix! Here I was trying to be this cold-hearted bad ass, and you’re tearing me down. You’re not good for a man’s ego.”
Trixie laughed as she stepped out of the woods and into the quiet residential neighborhood. It was a light, lovely sound that reminded me of spring rain, making me smile when I really didn’t want to. A man had died tonight and I had turned my back on someone I cared about because I couldn’t risk drawing her close. I didn’t want to smile or laugh, but Trixie was pulling it out of me. But I had a feeling that was just her way—making the world a slightly lighter place wherever she went.
“I was thinking that you could come in tomorrow evening around six and we could get the paperwork out of the way so you can start inking before the end of the week,” I said.
Trixie stopped, her keys tightly clenched in her fist. “You want me to work in your parlor?” she asked, her lovely face twisted in confusion.
“I’ve seen your work. You’re very talented and Asylum needs your talent. If you can stand working with Bronx and me, I think you’ll like Low Town.”
Trixie turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder back at the woods and the vampire nest we had just left. I knew her thoughts, because I had seen the same expression on Bronx’s face when I had offered him a job. I didn’t care about the chaos and the brief flash of drama. Trixie risked her life to help a friend, and I could respect that. I also didn’t care that she was hiding something, because I understood better than most the importance of privacy. We all had our secrets, and at some point in our lives, we needed a safe place to hide for a while. Asylum could be that for Trixie.
There was still some worry in her eyes when she looked back at me and smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
As I turned to continue toward her car, I bumped her elbow with mine. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve caused enough chaos for one night.”
Trixie nodded solemnly and we left the west side of Low Town, heading back toward her place and my car. Saving people wasn’t the easy business it had once been. Sometimes the so-called damsel in distress didn’t need your help and the evil villain needed a little saving of his own. I wouldn’t make the same mistake with Trixie and her secrets. Besides, given my history with the Ivory Towers, this world was more likely to see me as the dragon than the white knight.
If you enjoyed Jocelynn Drake’s Dark Days series or the Asylum Interviews,
read on for a sneak peek at her next book,
Angel’s Ink
the first full-length novel in the Asylum Tales series,
coming in October 2012!
CHAPTER ONE
That small, distinct sound sent a shiver through me despite the summer heat shimmering off the sidewalk. My heart skipped. I froze with my right foot on the bottom step leading up to the tattoo parlor—so close to sanctuary, and yet I didn’t have a chance. The front door was locked. I was trapped, hanging helpless in that second waiting for the gunman behind me to finally speak or send a bullet screaming through the back of my head.
“You fucking lied to me, Gage!” snarled my assailant. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until I slowly turned around that I realized why my life was hanging by a thread. I had tattooed the man just a couple of weeks ago and apparently he wasn’t pleased with the result.
Russell Dalton was a large, beefy man full of muscles and a layer of fat around his waist from too many Big Macs and not enough core exercises. He was loud, obnoxious, and cheap. In my opinion, he had gotten what he paid for, but then it looked like he wanted to take his anger and frustration out on my hide, as he remained in the shadows of the alley beside the parlor.
“I never lied to you,” I replied calmly, holding my hands open and out to my sides to show that I didn’t have any weapons. In this world, you couldn’t be too careful. I resisted the urge to look up at the sky, knowing that it was not long after noon—hours away from when the hulking Bronx would be able to get to the tattoo parlor. Damn trolls and their weakness for sunlight. I was on my own for now, but then it was better that way. Just the two of us and no one watching.
“You promised me good luck,” Russell accused. “Since I got this damn tattoo, I was fired from my job, my car was stolen, and my wife wants a divorce. That ain’t good luck.”
“You paid me fifty bucks for a shamrock tattoo the size of a quarter on the bottom of your foot.” Balling my hands into fists, I let my foot fall from the step and turned around to fully face my attacker. “That was barely enough to cover the cost of the ink and my time and expertise, not to mention the leprechaun hair that I threw into the mix. Do you know how hard it is to get that shit?”
In all honesty, I had a contact at a popular beauty parlor across town and for a price she was kind enough to grab samples of hair for me. It wasn’t that hard to get my hands on leprechaun hair. The only problem was that it so easily turned bad if you weren’t careful. Obviously, my stockpile had taken an unexpected turn. I made a mental note that if I used it again I needed to cut the spell with water from a spring snowmelt or fuzz from a white rabbit to counter the negative energy from the leprechaun hair.
Unfortunately, this cheap-ass dirtbag hadn’t paid enough for me to take those kinds of precautions. Hell, he shouldn’t have gotten the leprechaun hair at that price, but I had been in a generous mood. Sometimes I can be a real dumbass when it comes to my clients, but then, my motto was you get what you pay for.
“You have to fix it!” Russell snarled, ignoring my question. “You have to make everything right again!”
“And let me guess, you want this work done for free?” I sneered.
“Damn right for free! You’ve ruined my life!”
I took a step forward, and to my surprise, Russell slid half a step backward into the alley. That worked for me. I didn’t want this on the street should someone walk by. “If you want good luck, it comes with a price, and the kind of luck you’re looking for is extremely expensive. You blew through my front door demanding lottery-winning luck while waving fifty bucks in my face. You got what you paid for. Buyer beware, buddy.”
“You fucking asshole! You’re not the only tattoo artist in Low Town! I don’t need you!” he shouted, shaking the gun at me.
I took another step toward Russell, backing him farther into the alley. “Yeah, but I’m the best and that’s why you came to me instead of some broken-down backroom operation with dirty needles and shady ingredients.”
“You’re obviously not any better!”
I had had enough of this shit. Keeping my eyes locked on his, I let the gym bag on my right shoulder slide off and hit the ground with a heavy thud. As I expected, he jerked the gun toward the bag. Taking advantage of his distraction, I edged forward and slammed both of my hands into the hand gripping the gun, knocking the weapon to the ground. Still holding his right hand, I twisted it at an awkward angle while dropping to my knee, putting Russell on his back in the dirty cobblestone alley. Before he could get his wits about him, I slammed my elbow into his face, feeling his nose fracture beneath my forearm while the back of his head hammered into the brick-covered ground.
“Asshole,” I muttered. Standing, I dusted off my jeans and stepped back. “Don’t show your face around here again or I’ll tell the cops what kind of tattoo you really came in my shop for.”
Sucking in a deep, cleansing breath, I summoned up a smattering of the energy that swirled around me, begging for my touch. I raised my left hand toward him and clenched my fist, as if I was grabbing his shirt, before throwing out my arm. Russell slid violently down the alley until his head clanged into the side of a Dumpster.
My breath froze in my chest and I watched the sky for the telltale flash of lightning that would streak across seconds before the appearance of a guardian. I wasn’t supposed to be using magic, no matter how minute. And the guardians were itching for an excuse to put my ass in a sling. I didn’t need to push my luck, but Dalton had gotten under my skin. I was an excellent tattoo artist and I didn’t need his kind of bad karma mucking up my business. After a couple of seconds and no lightning bolt, I relaxed. For now, I remained under the radar and intended to stay there.
A large hand appeared from out of nowhere and wrapped around my throat, picking me up and slamming me against the alley wall of the tattoo parlor. A sharp-featured face leaned so close that I could easily make out the silver eyes with a hint of green. Black hair flowed around his face, putting his features in dark shadow despite the bright sunlight.
“Gideon,” I choked out as I held on to his hand, trying to loosen his grip before I suffocated. “It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” he said in a menacing voice as he raised his wand and dug it into my cheek.
My heart pounded in my chest far harder than when I was facing the barrel of Dalton’s gun. I’d always known I could stop a bullet, but I wasn’t prepared to stop any spell that this warlock was itching to throw in my direction. Apparently, someone had been watching. Fuck.
Gideon’s sneer turned into an evil grin. “You’ve been warned more than once that you have been forbidden to perform any of the magical arts. As I recall, you were the one who turned your back on us, saying that you didn’t need us or magic.”
Gritting my teeth, I pressed my hands into the wall behind me and kicked Gideon in the chest with both feet, shoving him violently away from me. I immediately erected a protective barrier as I slammed into the ground. A wicked flash of energy that shot from Gideon’s wand was deflected by the shield, briefly lighting up the alley.
“Before I left, the council agreed that I could use magic in acts of self-defense,” I shouted before Gideon could come up with another spell that would crash through my meager defensive shield. I had always been good at magic, but there was more to it than just being naturally attuned to the energies in the air. Being a powerful warlock took decades of study and I had stopped more than a few years ago. I didn’t stand much of a chance in a magic fight against a warlock like Gideon.
He picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his black pants and shirt. Gideon even took the time to shake out his cloak before turning to me. In this day and age, the cloak looked a little ridiculous, but I was no fool. That thing was woven with enough protective spells that the warlock wouldn’t be caught dead without it.
“I saw the fight,” Gideon said calmly. “The man was already down.”
“But not unconscious. I had to be sure that he wouldn’t follow me into my shop where I would still be alone and defenseless.”
“We all know you’re never defen
seless.”
I shrugged, fighting back a smirk. “Relatively speaking.”
“You used magic, when you were not permitted, in dealing with this human. You broke your agreement. You’re coming with me.”
“Not today.” I shook my head as I dropped my protective shield and leaned against the wall so my shaking knees wouldn’t have to fully support my weight. “Bring me before the council and they will see that it was self-defense. An unarmed man against one with a gun. The council would be forced to find in my favor. Think about it, Gideon. I know you and everyone else in the Ivory Towers is eager to see me dead, but do you really want to waste the council’s time? They won’t look kindly on it.”
My only warning was a low, frustrated growl before he rushed across the alley and slammed my head against the wall. “I will let you go this time, renegade, but we are watching you. We will catch you eventually.”
“Try all you like.”
Gideon gave a little snort as he stepped away from me. “Why you’ve chosen to live among these useless flesh bags is beyond me.”
“That’s why,” I said in clipped tones. I refused to view humans as little more than chattel.
Gideon frowned at me one last time before he disappeared completely, heading back to the Towers, I was sure. Each continent was dotted with gleaming towers made of white marble and granite that stretched above the clouds. These were the elusive Ivory Towers, their exact locations known only to the witches and warlocks who lived in them. And me. I knew where they were and had managed to escape with that knowledge, not that it was doing much good now.
Sliding down the grimy wall, I took a deep breath as I tried to slow my racing heart and my trembling hands. I had come too close this time. That self-defense argument was starting to run a little thin and I had a dark suspicion that Mr. Dalton might have been given a little shove in my direction in hopes of pushing my buttons into using magic. It had worked. I didn’t like being threatened and I didn’t like it when my abilities were questioned. Sometimes I had too much ego and not enough common sense.
The Asylum Interviews: Trixie Page 8
