Gunthra’s goblin, who claimed to have seen the furies with a Vessel, had said its power was unmistakable. She could sense it from some distance away. Having been created by magic, preds were more attuned to it and better able to work with it, but would we be able to sense the same? Would I, being sort of pred myself?
I checked the time. Nearly half an hour had passed, and no one but the guy working the spell or the Gryphons assisting with ingredients had moved.
“Almost done,” he said at last.
He uncapped the bottle with the sprite and poured the creature into the cup. Someone timed it while it swam around, then it was returned to captivity.
I bounced from foot to foot, fingers tapping uselessly against my palms with impatience.
The Gryphon took one of the magical ink pens he’d created and drew a glyph in the center of the wet cup. A couple others peered into it and consulted a copy of the parchment.
“Looks right,” the older woman said.
Then why wasn’t anything happening? My fingers curled into my sweaty palms with disappointment, and the woman signaled to someone over my shoulder. I turned as two Gryphons wheeled in a cart. An object draped in a sheet sat on it. As they approached the lab table, one of the Gryphons pulled off the covering.
I blinked.
They’d brought in a dragon, and not a little one either. This dragon was fully grown and old, about the size of a large housecat—one of the rare ones you did not want to run into while waiting for the subway. Unlike most of its brethren, this boy or girl could breathe true fire.
In the wild urban jungle they called home, dragons tended to die much younger, usually taken down by other dragons since they were a highly territorial and unsociable species. Or they were killed by human exterminators for obvious reasons. But the Gryphons would have reasons for raising their own, and it appeared I’d discovered one of them.
Inside the cage, the dragon stretched its sinewy, scaly limbs. Dragons, like other magical pests, were attracted to powerfully magical things. A good reason for me not to like them. Dragons bit me and imps stung me more than the average person.
And this dragon was surrounded by magical things and people. It circled its cage, seemingly unable to decide where to focus its attention.
During the time I’d been watching the dragon, Gryphons had cleared off the lab table of everything except the cup. The dragon’s cage was lifted on to it, and suddenly the dragon’s attention shifted as well. Its head snapped toward the cup. Could it sense something I didn’t?
“Ready?” the older Gryphon asked.
The younger of the dragon’s handlers put on dragonhide gloves and opened a window on the dragon’s cage. It wasn’t big enough to let the creature free, but the dragon could stick its head outside. Since the window faced the cup, the dragon did just that. It sniffed the air a few times, cocking its head to the side with very humanlike curiosity.
We waited some more.
“Not going to oblige us on your own, are you?” the Gryphon asked. With a shrug, she pulled a sprig of some kind of plant from her pocket and wound it around what looked like miniature fireplace tongs with an insulated handle.
Guessing what was about to come next, I shifted a few feet around the table for a better view. People who were in the line of fire moved to get out of the way.
The young Gryphon brought the plant end of the tongs to the dragon’s face. All it took was a sniff and the dragon got annoyed and sneezed. A few sparks flew from its nose. It tried to bat the sprig away with its head, but the Gryphon held it steady, continuing to taunt it with the plant. Then slowly, she lowered it in the direction of the cup. By now, the dragon was understandably irritated, and there was only one way to destroy the thing.
It let loose. Flames the color of molten gold burst from its mouth. I sucked in a breath, never having seen true dragon fire in person. For my safety, that was a good thing, but aesthetically, the real thing blew away the photographs and videos I’d watched.
But the fire faded as quickly as it had begun, a burst of shimmering, liquid light that became no more than a flash spot on my retinas.
The cup, on the other hand, began to smoke.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to rid myself of the retinal burnout so I could see clearly. The smoke coming off the cup was no more like normal smoke than dragon fire was like a campfire. It rose in an amber spiral, counterclockwise, almost as though peeling off the cup, or perhaps like the cup was releasing the smoke inch by inch. As though it was burning up from the inside out.
I held my breath, and a Gryphon near me gasped.
Faster now, the spiral spun and lengthened, and the smoke dissipated a couple feet above the cup. Like an inverted tornado, it thickened until the outline of the bowl disappeared in the cloud. And when it lifted seconds later, vanishing all at once, the cup had changed.
I let out my breath and clasped my hands to my mouth to keep from doing what, I could only imagine. I was too awestruck to swear. Too happy and relieved to shriek.
This was it. It had to be. We did it. The Vessel was safe.
A lead blanket-sized weight lifted from my shoulders. But while I was content to stand and gawk, several of the smiling Gryphons rushed forward to examine what we had.
I got my look as the crowd thinned. The Vessel held the same basic shape and size of the cup, but it was neither crude nor lumpy, nor made of anything that appeared to be clay. It had been hollowed out of rock of some sort, a blackish-brown color with glyphs carved around the outside edge. When I put my hand toward it, close but not touching, I could feel a hum of power, an electrified wind brushing my skin. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was stronger than anything I’d ever felt before.
“So this is it,” I said.
“This is it.” Tom knelt to get a better look at the glyphs. “It must be. Tonight we lock this in our most secure vault within the archives, then tomorrow we regroup and plan our next move, knowing we’ve handled the worst of the threat.”
I withdrew my hand and yawned. “Tomorrow? How about we take a day to bask in our success, sleep in and not work? I think we’ve earned it, and we have time.”
“Your problem, Jessica, is with your dedication.” I opened my mouth to argue, but Tom laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Go do something touristy tomorrow. God knows I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a life too.”
I didn’t know how, when or if Le Confrérie planned on letting the other groups in our failing alliance know about the Vessel. The fewer who did know, the less chance we had of the furies discovering where it was, although I suspected that was a lost cause. After what happened in Paris, even Tom had to admit someone was likely feeding them information.
To be safe, however, I asked Devon and Lucen not to share this information with Dezzi yet. They wouldn’t keep quiet forever, but I wanted their silence until I met with Tom again.
I finally had my glass of celebratory wine, and I slept in late the next morning. Devon had suggested a few fun things to do today, including an excursion I’d been wanting to take since I arrived—a gondola ride to an old fort overlooking the city. The views from the ruins were supposed to be amazing.
But that was for later. I had a private errand to run in the meantime.
I was certain none of the satyrs nor the Gryphons would approve of me heading out alone, but with the Vessel secured, I felt more secure too. Nonetheless, I wasn’t going to be stupid. I kept my knife with me and my eyes and other senses alert as I strolled over to World. Nothing suggested any threats on the brief trip, and I relaxed as I entered the building.
Umut wasn’t working today in the archives, but another woman waved me in. After consulting the note I’d made, I headed straight for the red-covered book. With it in hand, I sank to the floor to read, hoping for the best.
Alas, my good luck, such as it was, appeared to have run out.
The chapter on transformative magic was about exactly what I’d been hoping it was about—the complex series of charms and the utterly bizarre process of how humans were turned into preds. I started from the beginning and read for a while, learning more about the process than I’d ever wanted to know and wondering why anyone would choose to put themselves through it. Long lives and immunity to disease and aging were nice, but the transformation, coupled with the aftereffects Devon had told me about, did not seem worth it. Of course, Devon had also told me most people had no idea what they were getting into.
Yet while the craziness of it all occupied my thoughts, I never lost sight of my real reason for reading—could the pred process be undone? And there, the book had an unequivocal answer—no.
My heart sank as I read about theories and actual attempts to “save” preds by returning them to their human selves. Since the book discussed magic as though it were medicine, the author ended the chapter by concluding that becoming a pred was a terminal condition for which there was no cure. Perhaps later theorists would prove more successful.
I doubted it. Curing preds or “saving” them was not something the Gryphons cared much about.
Throughout the nineteenth century when this book was published, religious overtones had permeated the organization. Reclaiming a pred was part of it. Yet these days, with preds an accepted—though not well liked—part of society, turning a pred human would not be anyone’s priority, and most preds would likely be outraged by the idea. The Gryphons were entirely secular too, and they stuck to their primary task of law enforcement and human protection.
I sighed heavily and shut the book. Yesterday’s high was well and truly gone, replaced by a dim hopelessness that I knew I should feel guilty about. Lucen’s life wasn’t mine to wish away any more than mine was his. Hell, if he was researching ways to make me more fully satyr, I’d be pissed. And although he’d once said he wished he could stop needing addicts for my sake, he’d never said he wished he could stop being what he was. There was a difference, and I’d chosen to ignore it for my totally selfish reasons.
Yet despite that, I was disappointed.
“Idiot,” I muttered to myself, putting the book away.
I’d been making peace with what I had, and it wasn’t as though I was unhappy. But I was a misery junkie. I was probably always going to be cursed to want what was out of my reach—namely, the illusion of normal.
Using nothing more than cold-hearted logic, I was aware it made no sense. What was so great about normal? Thanks to my screwed-up biology, I could never have those 2.5 kids, and I didn’t want them, possibly also thanks to my biology. I did not want a house in the suburbs or a typical job or a hundred other things generally considered normal.
What I did have was pretty damn good—an amazing, smart, hot-as-hell boyfriend who loved me, even if he had to sleep around. And, uh, maybe a second since I didn’t know what to make of Devon these days. Also, for the moment, I had an interesting job, good friends and a world that wasn’t about to end.
Yup, there was no question that I ought to be content. So why did I need Lucen all to myself to make me happy? I could only conclude I was selfish, and that irked me.
Maybe I needed to see a therapist. Ugh.
I banged my head lightly against the metal shelf. On my way over, I’d been prepared to follow up reading this book with more research, but my enthusiasm had faded. I wasn’t sure if it was logic telling me to knock it off or disappointment, but whichever. I was done searching for miracle cures for Lucen. It wasn’t fair to either of us.
My phone buzzed as I left the archive. Devon was awake and wondering where I’d gone.
I wrote back, and we settled on finding me a late lunch and him breakfast before heading to the fort. By now I was aware that a late lunch inevitably meant either kebabs, a fast food chain or stopping by le supermarché to make our own.
Opening the main doors, I stuck my sunglasses on and tried to put the morning behind me. Devon remained paranoid and had insisted on meeting me at World, but I could wait for him in the fresh air.
That, I decided, was what I really needed—sunshine, a cool breeze and some time to revel in my own normal. Time to relax and see what living my life was like when I wasn’t being targeted by a serial killer, angry preds or trying to save the world. Maybe, just maybe, if I could get some peace and routine in my life, this incessant need for a normal relationship would go away. Maybe that’s what all this craving was for in the first place—stability.
I didn’t exactly believe this theory, but hope was like a goddamn cancer. Once it got under your skin, you might think you killed it, but it had a nasty habit of returning and driving you off a mental cliff.
Here was to hope.
I sat on a bench inside the building’s small but elegant courtyard and waited. Planters had been spaced around two fenced-in trees, and pansies in shades of pinks, purples and white fluttered in the breeze. My stomach growled, a reminder that I’d only had a granola bar for breakfast. My dreams of mornings filled with buttery croissants and pastries stuffed with fruit and chocolate had rarely come to pass. I needed to do something about that.
But my plans for a day of gorging on carbohydrates were rudely interrupted. Something cold pressed into the back of my neck. I jerked out of my thoughts, acutely aware too late that I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings. My heart stammered.
“Don’t move,” said a French-accented voice. “Don’t scream, or your friend will regret it.”
I closed my eyes, cursing my stupidity. I couldn’t sense anything behind me except the faintest tinge of anger, and the answer came to me in a rush. I was being touched by a fury.
They’d come for me again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I exhaled slowly. The fury’s touch made controlling my fear all the more difficult. My very blood seemed to vibrate with tension.
So this was it? They must have Devon. And if so, what did they want—for me to go into World and retrieve the Vessel for them? It was the only thing that made sense, yet even if I were willing to do that, I wasn’t sure I could.
“What did you do to Devon?” My hands pawed at my jeans. Screw the order not to move. I couldn’t stop them. My emotions gave my energy a huge boost, better than adrenaline although that wasn’t helping either. My knife was so close. I only needed to slide my hand a couple inches up my thigh and reach around my hip.
“The dark-haired satyr?” the fury asked. “Nothing. We have the one called Lucen.”
For one awful second, my heart stopped beating. Then I caught my breath and winced. Oh no, not Lucen. Oh, shit. I swore a thousand times in my head, feeling sick. Please not Lucen.
And yet some pessimistic part of me had always assumed it would end up like this, hadn’t it? As soon I’d admitted being in love with him, something happening to him became my biggest fear. And furies loved to feed on fear.
Maybe that was all this was. They were playing on my fear and faking me out. Lucen wouldn’t be the easiest person for them to grab. For one, he was on the other side of the Atlantic. He also knew how to take care of himself.
I grasped on to that thought with both mental hands. Hope again. Fucking bitch. “Where is he? What do you want?”
“Stop moving. He’s fine for now.” The speaker paused, and a second disguised fury stepped in front of me. “Raise your hands slowly.”
I debated my odds and decided they weren’t in my favor. Yet. So I lifted my hands to shoulder height, and the second fury took my knife. I hadn’t brought the gun with me today, so that was all I had.
From the corner of my eye, I stared at World’s main doors. Hundreds of Gryphons were working right behind me, and not one had left the building in these past couple minutes. The audacity of these furies to approach me in this spot was astounding. I was praying it was also their stupidity, but so far they were winning the r
ound. Gryphons inside the building might be aware preds lingered nearby, but as proven with Devon hanging around recently, they didn’t much care so long as the preds stayed outside.
The fury in front of me tucked away my knife, and the one behind me removed whatever it was he’d had pressed to my neck. “You have strong magic on you. Where is it?”
I gritted my teeth. “My skin, dumbass. Don’t you know Gryphons write their protective spells on themselves?”
“I’ve never gotten close enough to one to find out before. No matter. Get up slowly and walk with us.”
Well, that wasn’t what I’d expected. I was certain they were going to ask me to retrieve the Vessel.
Bracing myself, I stood. My sunglasses slipped down my nose because I was sweating, but I didn’t dare push them up until I had a better sense of the furies’ intentions. They weren’t trying to hurt me, just like the furies back home hadn’t.
Just like Nyles—AKA Mace-head—had promised they wouldn’t.
But why not? I wished I knew what they needed me alive for because then I’d have a much better idea of what I could get away with.
“Come.” The fury behind me gave me a slight shove forward. With my adrenaline flowing, I could sense his cold, creepy power as I followed his friend toward the street. An SUV with dark-tinted windows started its engines as we approached.
So I was being abducted like Mitch. Peachy. This was not how I’d wanted to solve the mystery of his disappearance.
“Get in.”
“Where are we going, and what do you want with me?”
“You will find out soon enough.”
I paused. The non-speaking fury opened a back door, but I refused to move. Once I got in this car, it was all over. This was my last chance. I had a building of Gryphons nearby and—supposedly—Devon on his way. The furies might have weapons, but I wasn’t helpless. I’d better make my stand while I could.
“Prove to me you have Lucen.”
Darkest Misery Page 22
