Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery)

by Tracey Martin

  Add that to breaking into stolen Gryphon files and the list of charges Olivia Lee could hit me with would soon approach treasonous levels. Yet something was up, and it was becoming more and more obvious the Gryphons—or some Gryphons—knew more than they were letting on.

  Behind me, someone cleared their throat in an exaggerated fashion. Feeling guilty for planning my next crime spree, I spun around and discovered Andre.

  His arm was draped over my partition wall, and he’d changed out of his uniform into a blue T-shirt and a pair of rumpled khakis. My eyes diverted course. Instead of landing on his face, they momentarily paused to be impressed by the size of his previously hidden biceps.

  “So a few of us are heading out for drinks.” He tapped his fingers against the wall. “You looked like you could use one, and I thought I might be able to induce you to be sociable and join us. What do you think?”

  I laughed and absently picked up the pen on my desk. All of a sudden I was feeling self-conscious. Was it from being caught thinking about snooping through Tom’s office, or from noticing the super-nice body Andre had previously hidden under his less-than-flattering uniform. Or was it…?

  Yeah, that.

  I could detect a hint of lusty sweetness on my tongue. So there was more to Andre’s invitation than friendliness. Had I missed that earlier, or was his interest in me something new?

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Andre was funny, apparently quite hot and a Gryphon, but I had a satyr. Charming as Andre’s smile might be, it would be wrong to not shoot him down quickly. Before he could start thinking I might be interested or available.

  Step one to that end: stop fidgeting with a pen like I was some high school girl. “Thanks for asking, and yes, I could use a drink. But today’s not good. I already have plans.”

  “All right then.” He stopped his tapping, but he wasn’t upset. “Some other time then.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Not. Absolutely not. I cringed as Andre walked away. Crap. There was a fine line between being friendly and being encouraging, and I was pretty sure my enthusiastic “absolutely” crossed into encouraging territory.

  This was why I was unsociable. It made life so much simpler.

  Chapter Eleven

  I hadn’t been blowing Andre off when I told him I had plans. It had been a few days since I’d taken on Bee’s case, and I needed to find a soul donor. My last outing had been fruitless, and I’d simply been too tired to try since. But I was awake enough this evening, and so this evening was it.

  Steph declined to go with me, which wasn’t surprising considering it was a work night, but I suspected she was relieved to have the excuse. Although I couldn’t sense her emotions over the phone, I got the distinct impression she still wasn’t comfortable with what happened with Ben earlier.

  That weighed on my mind as I decided which of my usual scumbag-hunting spots to stake out. I needed Steph in my life as much as I needed Lucen. I didn’t have many friends, but I had two good ones. Two people who knew—most of—my darkest secrets. For that, I counted myself lucky. At some point I’d have to make some serious decisions about what to tell Steph and what to do about my relationship with Lucen.

  But not tonight. Donor-hunting gave me plenty to keep my mind occupied, and I was grateful for it.

  Without Steph for company, it was a lonely task, yet going about it alone gave me greater flexibility. I could go wherever the mood struck and follow whichever potential targets caught my eye. Plus, being by myself made me a more enticing mark for the sort of creep I was hoping to snag. By eleven, I’d found my man. By midnight, I’d gotten his attention. And by one, I’d achieved my goal. His questionably legal blood donation tucked in my bag, I headed toward Shadowtown.

  I didn’t get to Lucen’s until after two. Bypassing the bar, I climbed the stoop to Lucen’s front door. The moment it shut behind me, I could tell something was different. Normally after closing down the bar, Lucen would make himself—and occasionally me—dinner. Sometimes while it cooked, he’d take Sweetpea for a walk.

  Tonight, the kitchen and living room lights were on, but no dinner was in the oven and Lucen wasn’t downstairs. Sweetpea was sleeping in his cage.

  And there was a purple thong lying on the steps.

  I blinked, and when I looked again, it remained—a purple freaking thong splat in the middle of the second step like a warning about the evil I’d invited into my life, a skull and crossbones on my bottle of chosen poison. I took a deep breath and backed up into the kitchen. Thank dragons I couldn’t actually hear any noises coming from upstairs, but merely knowing Lucen was up there with an addict was bad enough.

  I did my best to suppress the hundred-and-one emotions flooding through me, well aware Lucen could sense them all, but it was no good. I grabbed my keys and darted outside once more.

  The night, so inviting and enjoyable just minutes ago, was now dark and unfriendly. Whereas I’d formerly been Jess the vigilante soul-swapper, I was now Jess the pathetic human and part-time Gryphon. An outsider in Shadowtown. An idiot who thought being part satyr gave her some sort of magical ability to carry on with a true satyr like such relationships were possible.

  I should have known better. This wasn’t the first time I’d walked in on Lucen and an addict. Yet I was supposed to be handling it because I was mature and reasonable and had gotten myself involved with my eyes open. We’d actually had discussions about this. We’d planned it so Lucen could arrange time with his addicts when I wouldn’t be around and uncomfortable.

  But I was around, and I was way beyond uncomfortable.

  Hadn’t I recently been berating myself for condoning his behavior? I didn’t feel like I was condoning it now, although my anger had less to do with him hurting other people than it did with him hurting me.

  I supposed that made me selfish as well as irrationally jealous, but was it too much to wish that the guy I’d fallen for didn’t have to sleep with other people? Was it too much to want—with all my weird magical abilities—that I could have been gifted with the power to satisfy his needs on my own?

  A spell to cure people of being preds—that was what I wanted. To be able to uncreate them the same way they were created. To undo my freakishness and to make Lucen all mine.

  But even if such a cure existed, would he take it? Here I was full circle, wondering whether he’d chosen his current life.

  I kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, wearing my scowl like a neon sign. A couple ghouls shrank into the shadows as I passed.

  Buildings faded into buildings. The night and my dark mood made Shadowtown live up to its name, the scenery dissolving into dark blurs as I pushed my legs harder. At last, I paused next to a restaurant on a less familiar block and caught the scent of garlic and beer from the outdoor dining tables. Wandering away, I could hear a group of goblins discussing work.

  That turned my thoughts to Andre and his invitation to join his group of friends earlier today. Andre with the warm eyes, friendly face and laid-back personality. Andre the non-pred. Andre, whose behavior wouldn’t require me to condone anything.

  And now my mind drifted to those muscular arms of his. Bad Jess.

  My scowl deepened. What was I chastising myself for? Where did this saintly voice in my head get off telling me it was wrong for me to consider Andre’s positive qualities when the satyr I had a screwed-up relationship with was banging some other woman this very moment? Why did I have to be good and chaste when he couldn’t be?

  But it’s different for you, annoying Saint Jessica whispered. Lucen has to have sex with his addicts to survive.

  Which was true, but didn’t I deserve the chance to have a non-fucked-up relationship? If Andre was interested in me, why should I run from that opportunity without seeing how it went? Sure, I didn’t exactly have a great track record for dating humans, but Andre was different. He knew about my so-called u
nusual ability, and he obviously didn’t have a big problem with it. It could work with him, maybe. Didn’t I owe it to myself to find out? It wasn’t as if Lucen and I could ever be exclusive. There was no reason not to try.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, guessing correctly who the text was from. Lucen wanted to know when I was returning to his place and if he should make me dinner.

  I sighed because it wasn’t fair. I had a sort-of boyfriend who wanted to make me dinner. It should have been a source of happiness, not angst.

  Soon, I wrote back, and was proud of myself for refraining from asking whether purple-thong addict had left for the night.

  Slipping the phone away, I took in my surroundings. I’d been strolling aimlessly, and that was a problem. Thirty feet in front of me was the fury bar into which I’d chased Victor a few weeks ago. That had not been one of my brightest ideas, but I’d stolen Misery from there, so something good had come of it.

  Misery. My hand immediately went to my hip, but my knife was missing. Shit. Of course. I hadn’t been able to take it into Gryphon Headquarters, so I’d left it at Lucen’s place this morning. All this time I’d been wandering Shadowtown with no physical protection. It was definitely time to haul ass back to Lucen’s.

  Before I could do more than take a couple steps, however, the bar’s door opened and three furies stepped out. Given their sloppy steps, they were probably drunk, but that might be worse. Furies fed off anger, but they thrived on violence and chaos. A drunk fury would be more prone to those things than a drunk human.

  “Hey, girlie,” one of them called out.

  Gritting my teeth, I walked faster, ignoring them and hoping they didn’t recognize me.

  “I’m talking to you, satyr’s girlie.”

  So much for hope. Had he said satyr’s girlie or satyr girlie? His words slurred, and it was hard to tell. Possibly it didn’t matter. Odds were slim that the furies knew about my half-breed status. Then again, the furies were more likely to know something was different about me than anyone else, seeing as I’d fed off a fury’s power.

  Footsteps picked up the pace behind me. They were following. Damn it. I wasn’t worried about a mental showdown, but if they wanted to pick a fight with their fists, I was in trouble.

  The furies surrounded me before I could decide whether running would be wise. Two were male, one with strange horns near his ears and another with the bright red hair so many furies had. The female fury had violet eyes and matching hair, neither of which were likely the result of magic. At least not the magic that had transformed her. Those either came from a glamour spell or contact lenses and a bottle of Manic Panic.

  Violet pursed her lips, and I had the craziest notion that between her and thong addict, this wasn’t a good night for me and anything purple. “Scared of us, are you?”

  “She’s not so tough now,” Horn-head said. “Not when she doesn’t have a bunch of satyrs at her back.”

  These three must have sensed my spike of fear once I’d realized I didn’t have my knife and had decided to take advantage of the situation. That meant to get rid of them, I had to show them that my fear had nothing to do with them.

  Always easier said than done when dealing with people who could sense your emotions.

  I rolled my eyes and pressed my lone, secret advantage. “Try me. If you’re so big and scary, make a play for my soul. I dare you.”

  Horn-head laughed with the others. “Oh, she’s brash. You want to challenge all three of us like that?”

  “Like you said—I’m a satyr’s girl. You think I can’t handle three people at once? Besides, you’re drunk. I think you’ve only got one decent play among you.”

  “Drunk is right,” came a new voice. “Drunk and stupid.”

  I spun around. The fury I thought of as Mace-head, courtesy of his crazy spiked hair, bore down on his fellow preds. His black eyes were colder and harder than I remembered, but his temper was surprisingly not focused on me. The other three furies shrank back.

  The redheaded fury threw me a disgusted glance. “She’s that bitch who—”

  “Yeah, I know who she is.” Mace-head took another step closer. He was almost touching me, but I refused to back away like his friends. Or his not-friends, seeing how they were acting.

  It was odd. I was used to each pred race acting as a united front in public. Behind closed doors they might argue or jockey for position, but they kept their disagreements private because they could be exploited by other pred races, Gryphons or the magi. Most humans probably never thought about it, but each big, scary pred race was greatly outnumbered. And the preds themselves knew it.

  Mace-head leered at me, but beneath his contempt was something more. I was pretty sure it wasn’t fear, and it sure wasn’t respect, but it was something in the tightness around his eyes. Something that explained why he was chasing off my would-be assailants.

  If only I could read pred emotions like human ones. I’d had the thought a million times. But no. I was eternally, mentally cock-blocked.

  Mace-head stood so close I could smell his leather jacket, yet no irrational anger touched me. Lucen kept telling me the furies were different, but apparently they weren’t so different. I was as immune to their power as I was to the other races’ mojo.

  “Remember what Raj said?” Mace-head asked, referring to the furies’ Dom. He glared at the others. “Now I suggest you get your drunk asses out of here before I tell him what you were doing.”

  With disgruntled faces and muttered curses, the three strange furies shambled away. Mace-head didn’t move, and since he didn’t, neither did I.

  Once they were a sufficient distance down the street, I turned to him. “What did Raj say?”

  He threw his head back and laughed sharply. “You got nerve asking about private business and strutting around this neighborhood like you have nothing to fear.”

  “Looks like I don’t.” I raised an eyebrow. “Raj has that covered, right?”

  “I like you.” Mace-head waved a finger in my face. He’d painted his nails black, and the many silver rings he wore flashed in the streetlamp’s glow. “Girlie’s got spunk. Too bad you got issues too.”

  I pulled hair off my neck. Mace-head might like his leather too much to give it up on a warm night, but I was sweaty. The adrenaline rush I’d gotten thanks to the furies hadn’t helped. “Issues, huh?”

  “Yeah, issues. I know what you did at the Match.” He leaned in closer, basting me with cigarette breath. “So does Raj.”

  “I’d think if Raj knew something, he’d be fine with his minions attacking me. So would you. Red-eye was your friend, wasn’t he?”

  I had no idea what the name of the red-eyed fury whose addiction bond I’d reversed was, but Mace-head caught my meaning fine. “Friends come and friends go.”

  He said it simply, but his meaning wasn’t lost on me any more than mine had been on him. “Raj killed him.” That would explain why the Gryphons hadn’t been able to track him down and question him about Victor.

  Mace-head pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one. “You’d be better off concerning yourself with lives closer to home.”

  I waved off the nic-sticks. “I am concerned. That’s why I’m asking you what’s up with Raj.”

  He grinned, lighting his smoke from an elaborate silver lighter. “Secrets, girlie. Secrets and plans. Raj is very interested in you.”

  “Peachy.” As I didn’t seem to be getting anything more useful out of him, I started toward Lucen’s again.

  “Speaking of friends,” Mace-head yelled after me, “how be your friend Victor?”

  My friend Victor? Sounded like a doll for budding serial killers. “I think your definition of friend needs some tweaking.”

  “I thought since you both shared a talent, you know.” Mace-head spread his arms in an exaggerated shrug, a curl o
f smoke wafting around his spikes.

  “Takes more than that to be a friend in my world.”

  “Then you won’t miss him?”

  That made me pause, and my heel snagged a crack in the sidewalk. I fought for balance, an ominous feeling growing in my gut. “Is he going somewhere?”

  “It happens. Friends come and friends go.” Mace-head winked. He stuck the smoke in his mouth and made gun motions with his hands.

  Great. Was that an idle threat? Was Mace-head screwing with me, or was it something I should take seriously? Victor was locked up in a maximum-security prison, awaiting trial. He should be safe. Not that I cared if he met an untimely end, but I needed information from him first. And to be fair, the families of his victims deserved closure.

  Lost in this new train of thought, I forgot about why I’d left Lucen’s in the first place until I made it back to his apartment. Two glasses of wine sat on the kitchen table, and I heard noises from the living room that suggested he was coaxing Sweetpea into his cage. Sighing, I sat and helped myself to one of the wineglasses. Damned if I didn’t need it.

  Lucen entered the room a moment later and hung up the harness he used to exercise his dragon. “I’m sorry, little siren. I didn’t expect you’d be back until later, and I thought I could deal with Caroline before you got in.”

  I pushed the glass away. “See, part of the problem is the whole ‘deal with her’ thing. She’s a person.”

  “Fine. Pardon the euphemism. I thought I could fuck her before you got in. Does that actually make you feel better? Because I doubt it.”

  “It’s not like I don’t know what you were doing.”

  He sat across from me. “I’m not sure you do, or can. I was feeding an addict so she can feed me.”

  “I get it.”

  Lucen ran his fingers through his hair. “Superficially, yes. But I’m not sure you truly can get it. It’s not a shortcoming on your part. It’s just a reality of you being human.”