Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery) Read online

  “Yeah, I suppose,” I mumbled. “I’ve got a couple hours…”

  Lucen was at my side before I could talk myself out of it, laying me down on the sofa. “A couple hours isn’t going to leave much time when I’ve been deprived of you for so long.”

  I arched up to meet his lips, wrapping my hand around his neck. It was hard, even for me with my reduced awareness of his magic, to control my body around him. Without trying, he could push me over the edge too quickly. But tonight I wanted this to go slowly and gently. To fool my body into believing we weren’t as different as we were.

  Yet his comment made me think of his addicts. He might have been deprived of me, but I’d bet my life only one of us had been celibate these past few days.

  “Jess?”

  “Nothing. Just nerves.” I pressed closer. “Make me forget everything else.”

  He succeeded. I’d had no doubts he could. But the moment he pulled out of me, it was as though I had a void inside, and it filled once more with questions and angst—over what I’d done and what I was about to do.

  “What is it?” Lucen sat at the end of the battered sofa, his chest rising and falling hard as he ran a finger down my leg. I hadn’t moved.

  “What is what?”

  “You’re hiding stuff, and it bothers you. I can sense it.”

  The last of my post-sex relaxation evaporated. I sat up and busied myself with putting on my clothes. “I’ve had a crazy day. I can regale you with what I found out about the Gryphon files and my meeting with Olef if you want.”

  “No, see, that’s what I’m talking about.” He pushed hair out his face but didn’t budge from his spot. “Even when we’re in the same room, you’re avoiding me. Yes, tell me about what you discovered. Please. But there’s something else you’re hiding. I didn’t notice it before, but I do now that Devon pointed it out. It’s so present on your mind that I can’t believe I missed it before.”

  My shirt was stuck half over my head, and I yanked it down. “You’re talking to Devon about me?”

  “Devon talked to me about you. Over the weekend at Dezzi’s council meeting. Apparently you two had an interesting exchange Friday night when you were at Purgatory and called the Gryphons on him.” Lucen got up at last and grabbed his pants.

  “Okay, first, I didn’t call the Gryphons on him. That’s a load of salamander shit. Second, if you’re referring to me telling him I’m not afraid of him, why is it so interesting? Do you want me to be afraid?”

  “No, but you used to be. That’s what’s interesting.” He held his balled-up T-shirt like a weapon. “You used to be afraid of all of us. Remember? It’s why I had to fight so hard to get you to trust me, and I thought I’d finally succeeded.”

  I threw cushions back on the sofa, not looking at him. “You did succeed. I’m here.”

  “But being here has nothing to do with you trusting me, does it?”

  “Of course it has to do with trusting you. I do trust you. I don’t trust Devon. But that doesn’t mean I have to be afraid of Devon. And just because I trust you doesn’t mean I’m ready to spill all my secrets. Hell, I trust my mom and Steph too, and there’s plenty I’m not ready to share with them either.” Thanks to my anxiety I was worked up, unable to silence my tongue. Lucen had come too close to the truth, and so had Devon, although he was less aware of it. “Let’s face it, it’s not like you’re sharing everything about yourself with me. You have a whole, hugely long life I know almost nothing about.”

  He put his shirt on with a wry expression. “There’s far less to talk about there than you’re thinking, and that’s not what I’m referring to anyway. I’m talking about recent events. Something about you changed since Victor Aubrey’s murders. You know, the same time our relationship changed? The timing suggests that, one way or another, it involves me. Am I wrong?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But you won’t tell me what it is.”

  I hurled the last of the poor, undeserving throw cushions at the couch. “You going to tell me which satyr is responsible for producing and selling a drug that’s killing humans?”

  “The drugs are a completely different issue.”

  I glared at him. “I disagree. People are dead, more people almost died, and it all comes back to your race doing something bad and you not caring.”

  “I care about you.”

  “And sometimes that’s not good enough for me. I care about other people, other humans. It bothers me that you don’t.”

  Lucen turned his head toward the ceiling in obvious exasperation. “I don’t like innocent people dying. I’d expect you’d know this by now, but I have other obligations. Ones that trump the lives of strangers. We’re investigating the F situation ourselves, and I wish you’d trust me about it.”

  I let out a small scream. He wasn’t the only one exasperated. “I trust you, and I trust the satyrs have a strong interest in protecting their own asses so you will do what you can on your side to fix things. If someone’s selling tainted F, you’ll stop it. But stopping it doesn’t mean there will be justice. See the difference?”

  “What I see is that you have a hard time doing anything but assuming the worst possible motives about us.”

  “What reasons have I ever been given to see any others?”

  The moment the words tumbled from my lips, I wanted to take them back. I’d gone too far and I knew it. Lucen’s whole body tensed, and he stomped into the kitchen. I couldn’t blame him. He had a right to be pissed off after all he had done for me.

  But he was the exception. Our relationship was an anomaly.

  I sank against the sofa arm. On the plus side, I’d sure derailed his question about what I was hiding. Yay? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.”

  “I know what you meant, little siren.” He sounded as defeated as I felt.

  Tears welled up and pressed against the back of my skull. There was a reason preds and humans kept their distance. Beyond that whole predator-prey issue, there was a serious conflict of interest between our races. They wanted to protect themselves as much we did.

  Correction: as much as humans did.

  Although I wasn’t sure what good being a quasi-satyr did in this regard. I felt pretty damn human.

  I rubbed my eyes. Whatever my concern about condoning Lucen’s behavior, the truth was always going to be that I wanted him in my life. I just wasn’t sure if it was possible, and it sounded like he was starting to wonder the same.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucen went back to work. I moped and attacked the ice cream in the freezer, which wasn’t my usual style when moping, but I needed to snoop later with a clear head. So that ruled out whiskey.

  When I couldn’t take being alone with my thoughts any longer, or the sick feeling in my stomach from indulging in ice cream, I gathered some supplies and left.

  The air was humid but pleasant. I got off the subway one stop too far away and walked the rest of the distance, trying to burn off the ice cream and my mood. Deep in downtown, surrounded by steel and concrete, the night hummed with energy. I breathed it in and relished it.

  It couldn’t possibly be as healthy for me as the fragrant, woodsy air near my mother’s house, but my blood didn’t buzz in the country. There was something about the tall buildings and ceaseless movement of the city—not to mention the occasional dragon darting through traffic—that made me feel alive.

  Or maybe it was simply the relentless hit I got from the thousands of nearby, ever-suffering people. A power source I only noticed when it was absent. After all, that was why preds lived in cities, and I was…

  Shut up, Jess.

  It was ten o’clock by the time I entered Gryphon Headquarters and made my best attempt to judge how many people were around by the emotions within. The building officially closed at eleven, but Gryphons could come and go whenever they pleased, a
nd many worked late since preds were nocturnal. Plus, security would be roaming.

  My first stop was my desk. Going there enabled me to scout out a large swath of the floor and get a better read on who was around. I’d also stashed a few supplies in there earlier.

  Once I was certain I had a good shot at breaking into Tom’s office unnoticed, I gathered my remaining tools and hurried down the hall. There were cameras at various points around the building, but I was trusting no one would notice what I’d done and therefore have no reason to scan the security footage later.

  Using a magic-detection charm I’d borrowed from a supply room, I checked Tom’s lock for magical supplements and found none. I hadn’t expected any, but I breathed a sigh of relief anyway. I could probably break a ward if it had existed, but doing so could have alerted Tom to what had happened. Then footage would definitely be checked, and I’d be busted.

  The lock on the door was an old-fashioned, easily pickable—if you knew what you were doing—cheap deadbolt like all the office doors had. I was inside within a minute, and I shut the door behind me. Switching on the light, I took a deep breath. Where to begin?

  Tom had done more unpacking since I’d last been in here, and a few of the new items sitting on his bookshelves and desk snared my attention. The salamander fire-forged swords for starters. Holy hell.

  He had two, each shaped vaguely like a katana. Elaborate glyphs had been worked into the perfectly black blades, and more glyphs covered the silver guards. Carefully, I ran my finger over one of the edges. They were beautiful, but they were most assuredly working blades. They’d slice a human as easily as a pred.

  They weren’t the only weapons I discovered either. Tom had unpacked a veritable arsenal—knives, daggers and something I’d never seen before. Shell casings forged in salamander fire.

  I swore as I held up the box for closer inspection. He didn’t have many, three rows of four, but it was enough to make me shudder. The danger in fighting preds had always been the need to get close enough to them to land a killing blow since only the salamander steel could cause a lethal wound. But getting that close meant a pred could work their magic on you or simply fight back physically.

  If you took that problem away… If you created a bullet wound they couldn’t heal…

  I snapped the lid shut, my stomach revolting at the memory of Lucen bleeding out on his sofa. Even a poor shot could be a kill shot with one of these, and I didn’t want to think about that.

  What I wanted to think about was why—why did Tom have so many weapons, and so many rare ones? These were not tools issued lightly or in great number. The box the casings were stored in suggested how rare they were. It was highly polished wood with a fancy catch. More like something you’d display than use for day-to-day storage.

  I attempted to rationalize it out as I turned to his books. Tom had been sent here by World to investigate the furies. They must have thought he could get into trouble, but that didn’t truly explain anything. All Gryphons were issued their own salamander-forged blade.

  Blade singular. So what did one Gryphon need with multiple swords and daggers? It wasn’t like he could use them all at once. Besides, Tom was supposed to be investigating. Not heading into a fury war zone. It didn’t make sense.

  Creepier and creepier. Something was not right about Tom Kassin or his fraternity.

  On that note, maybe there was something in these books about the Brotherhood. That was why I’d come here, after all. Not so I could drool over his weapons.

  All the books he’d brought were old. In some cases, so old I felt nervous touching them. Whispery paper rustled between my fingers as I paged through the first one I picked up. It appeared to be a spell book, but the language inside was—unsurprisingly—as ancient as the pages themselves. It was English, but it made me think of the painful experience I’d had in school of trying to decipher whatever Chaucer had been going on about in The Canterbury Tales. There were too many Es and Ys in places they didn’t belong, and a good half of the words could have been Latin for all I recognized of them.

  The second book I paged through probably was in Latin. This one had interesting drawings in it though. I wasted a few minutes taking in particularly fearsome sketches of furies and goblins, my thumb finally coming to rest on one of the last pages and at a picture that made my jaw drop.

  This drawing featured another goblin, only it wasn’t a true goblin. The artist had neglected to include certain details, such as the goblin’s eyes. Generally, goblin eyes varied in shape and size much like human eyes did, but they were always bigger and rounder, distinctly nonhuman in appearance. But not so the ones in this sketch. The artist had given the goblin human-shaped eyes. Also, ears that were a cross between goblin and human, and hands with shorter, stubbier fingers than a goblin should have.

  In short, the creature looked like a hybrid. Like a part-goblin.

  Unbidden, my free hand rubbed the top of my head as though feeling for stunted satyr horns.

  Stop it, I told myself for the second time tonight. If I had any half-formed horns, I’d have noticed by now. Right?

  Right. My skull felt as un-knobby as ever. Anyway, this was missing the point. Or was it?

  For someone who was supposed to be investigating the furies, Tom seemed awfully interested in me at times. Plus with the Brotherhood and the files… Could he actually be investigating me too? I’d told the Gryphons a lot about myself because I’d had no choice, but I hadn’t told them what I truly was, or how I could use my gift on people like weak satyr magic. Did Tom suspect there was more to it?

  “It’s just one drawing in one old book.” I snapped the cover shut then cringed when I remember its age.

  Gently returning it to where I found it, I moved on. I would have to page through several more books before I began to believe this was anything more than a coincidence.

  Alas, most of Tom’s books were as unenlightening as the first, although some were more intelligible. I spent the most time reading a thin volume that contained notes on the most obscure charms I’d ever seen. Judging by the writing, it was a couple hundred years old, and among the other tidbits, it detailed methods for warding entire villages against preds, something I wouldn’t have thought possible.

  Sticking that book back on the shelf, I reassessed Tom’s office. I had yet to discover anything illuminating about the Brotherhood or about Tom’s alleged investigation, and my hopes were sinking fast.

  I took to his desk next, pulling open each drawer and mostly finding the sorts of items I’d expect—pens, paperclips, sticky notes. He had a thin file on me and one on Victor, but nothing worth noting in either. I already knew he’d obtained a copy of my blood analysis, and the other papers in the file were copies of statements I’d given to Director Lee. Victor’s file was just as sparse. Anything important I’d bet was on Tom’s computer, but I hadn’t thought of trying to get in to it, and I didn’t foresee my chance of guessing his password to be high.

  His laptop bag sat on the floor. I gave it a cursory search, not expecting to find anything, but my hand encountered another book. When I pulled it out, I discovered Tom had bookmarked a page.

  My lips spread into a tentative smile. Maybe I hadn’t taken this risk for nothing. The book—journal to be more precise—wasn’t as old as the others, although the plain leather cover was quite beaten up. Before opening it straight to Tom’s bookmark, I checked the front for identifying information, but there was none. Most of the books he had didn’t contain any. Shrugging it off, I pulled the pages open to where the gold ribbon had marked them.

  He’d left off in the middle of a long passage, and I ended up turning back a page to see where it started. The page contained a date, 2 April, but no year. Following it, in a tight, neat hand, the writer had recorded a magi’s vision.

  I began by skimming because the writer’s syntax was difficult to follow, as if English wasn’
t his first language, but my pace slowed as it became clearer what the vision described—nothing short of the end of the world.

  Or, as the writer referred to it, “the death of civilized days”.

  The demons shall rise…freed by fire…humanity enslaved…rivers of blood…Hell on Earth. Pleasant stuff. And then there were some things the writer called the Others and the Firsts, which were lost on me.

  Gee, no wonder Tom had bookmarked this. Nothing like a little light reading.

  I flipped back the pages, trying to figure out who these Others and Firsts were, but I couldn’t find anything that explained. One interesting note, however, was that the writer called this passage a “prophecy” and not a vision. Subtle difference, but did he mean the same thing? Magi visions could be vague, or misinterpreted as Olef had apparently done, but they almost always came to pass.

  Olef. Cities burning, purple smoke…

  I dropped the book on Tom’s desk as though burned. Not buying it. Besides, I had enough problems to deal with. This so-called prophecy was at least one hundred years old. There couldn’t be a connection with what Olef saw, but I was so busy looking for links between myself and whatever Tom was up to I was jumping to all sorts of weird assumptions.

  Anyway, Tom was here about the furies, or me, or both of us, and the Gryphons dealt with magical law enforcement, not doomsday prophecies and the end of the world. Tom probably just had some twisted imagination. Lots of people got off on that shit, and Tom was plenty weird enough to be one of them.

  My cell rang as I stuck the journal back in his bag, and my heart skipped a beat. I should have set it to vibrate. Hurriedly, I picked up before someone in the hall might hear.

  “Jess, it’s Andre. I hope you’re not busy tonight because we’ve probably got two more victims.”

  I swore. “Again?”

  “Again.” Andre’s breaths were heavy. He sounded almost like he was jogging. “We got a call from the cops. They’re waiting on us. How fast can you get down to the Wonderland T station?”