Darkest Misery Read online

  Maybe Tom had been right to bring me here. Wasn’t that a depressing thought?

  I darted through the gate. Keeping low, I crept into the backyard, which was barely big enough to hold a gas grill and a cheap plastic patio table.

  Keep positive, I told myself. Believe helpful things.

  Not being a ray of sunshine under the best of circumstances, I cringed at my own pep talk. But if Johnson was like me, and he probably was, then he could sense any negativity in me as well as I could sense it in him, and I didn’t want him to figure out I was lying in ambush.

  Whether my attempt at forced positivity helped, I’d never know. The back door crashed open, and Johnson came flying out before I was ready for him. He wore a backpack and an expression like that of a cat trapped in a corner. Yet there was nowhere to go except through me if he meant to get to the gate.

  “Wait!” I reached out for him, moving slowly, doing my damnedest to project a calm I wasn’t sure I felt. “You’re not in any trouble. This isn’t what you think it is.”

  He should have been able to sense I wasn’t lying, but maybe he was too far lost in his distress to notice. Judging by his eyes, I wasn’t even certain he’d heard me.

  I took another tentative step forward, thinking I could subdue him if necessary. I had the training. Alas, Johnson apparently had training too. I held out my hand, and unprepared for his response, I screamed as my feet flew out from under me. My backside smacked the stone patio.

  Luckily, I managed to keep my head from colliding with the ground, but dragon shit on toast. Throbbing pain shot up along my spine from my tailbone all the way to my shoulders. Stunned motionless for a moment, I thought I heard Johnson mutter “Sorry” before his long legs disappeared from my peripheral vision.

  Sorry? Was he fucking kidding?

  I rolled over and crawled to my feet. Beneath the hair that fell in my face, I caught a glimpse of him opening the gate. Yelling Tom’s name, I hobbled after Johnson.

  Tom flew around the corner just as Johnson reached the same area. I clutched the gate with one hand and my aching butt with the other, but before I could warn Tom that Johnson wasn’t going quietly, the men clashed.

  Groaning, I pulled myself together, ready for round two, but Tom was quicker on the uptake than I was. He’d gotten to see my old-lady-with-a-bad-back act, and he must have figured out what to expect. So although Johnson had about six inches on Tom, the grappling didn’t last long. And when it was over seconds later, Tom had Johnson on his knees on the path, hands pinned behind his back. Smooth, efficient, and I hated to admit it, but impressive.

  For the second time today, I blinked at Tom in surprise. Well then. I’d known for a while that Tom carried a small arsenal of rare weapons. I suppose I should have expected he wouldn’t be a slouch in hand-to-hand combat.

  Feeling stupid, I walked over while massaging my tailbone. “I’ll consider your apology if you’ll cooperate now.”

  Johnson’s confusion was heady. If only I had some super healing powers I could activate with the juice he was feeding me. Instead I was stuck with a useless head rush and a sore butt.

  “I want a lawyer,” he said. The annoyance was gone from his tone, his voice quiet and resigned.

  “Why? What did you do?” Tom asked. He hadn’t loosened his grip.

  “Nothing.”

  Tom didn’t get it, but I did. So yeah, this was why I was here.

  I sighed and knelt in spite of the pain. “No one’s arresting you because of your gift.”

  Johnson’s dark skin seemed to turn a couple shades lighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I almost laughed at his denial. He’d rather run and make us think he was a criminal than admit to being a misery junkie.

  For a fleeting second I considered whether there was a reason for that. Wouldn’t it be just our luck to come all this way to find a guy who I believed was screwed over by the Gryphons, only to have him turn out to be another murderous Victor Aubrey? Then the second passed and I knew better. Face-to-face with Johnson, I couldn’t sense any evil in him. Victor, on the other hand, had reeked of it—a foul, burnt-oil taste that set off my gag reflex.

  “Mr. Johnson, listen to me. I know what you can do because I can do it too. I can sense negative emotions, and no one is here to arrest you. We’re actually here to help and explain, and to apologize.” I glared at Tom as I spoke the last word, and he returned the expression.

  Whatever. Just because he didn’t think Le Confrérie needed to apologize for screwing up our lives didn’t mean they shouldn’t. An apology had been part of my condition for coming along. Though, to be fair, I was glad now that I had. Johnson needed my reassurance. Tom had been right about that much.

  I wet my lips. “Tom, let him go. He knows I’m not lying.” I hoped so anyway.

  Tom wasn’t happy, but he released Johnson’s arms.

  Johnson stretched his shoulders a few times, looking between us but mostly at me. “I’m really not the only person with this curse?”

  With an achy effort, I climbed to my feet. “It’s not a curse, and no. Agent Kassin here is going to explain a lot of things to you after he apologizes, but we should have this conversation indoors.”

  Johnson stood, clearly dubious. Although I couldn’t sense curiosity, I felt confident we’d gotten his attention. He picked up his backpack and gestured for us to follow him into the back. “All right. If the two of you can really explain things, I’m all ears. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

  “Be prepared to have your mind blown,” I said, adopting a falsely cheerful smile.

  A short time later, Mitch sat across from me, cradling a beer bottle in his hands and probably wishing he’d opted for something stronger. “So let me get this straight. The Gryphons are the ones who made a mess of my gift, and they did it because it appears a prophecy about some really old preds escaping from a magical prison is coming true, and I’m supposed to be able to fight them?”

  Condensation slid down Tom’s water glass and dropped onto his perfect pants. “That’s the gist. If we’d known the experiments had worked—”

  Mitch laughed the slightly insane laugh of someone who can’t believe what he’s hearing. “This is crazy. I’ve lived with this curse for the last ten years, and only now are you seeking me out?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “All my fault for alerting them to our existence.”

  Mitch rubbed his chin. “I guess I should thank you since I have an answer finally. But I don’t get this part about actually being a kind of satyr. If that’s the case, I’d think my dating history wouldn’t suck so much.”

  I shrugged. “I always figured it was hard to date when other people’s misery makes you feel good.”

  “There’s that.” He swigged his beer thoughtfully. “But I don’t have any satyr-like abilities besides emotional feeding. Do you?”

  I cast a wary glance at Tom, but he already knew this much about me. I merely disliked reminding him. “I can create addict-like bonds of lust in people and use the lust to influence them. I wouldn’t be surprised if you can too. Maybe no one’s ever showed you how.”

  Mitch blinked at me over his beer. “No, definitely no one has ever shown me how. I’ve never even told anyone what I can do. You have?”

  Tom was staring at me. “So that ability didn’t come naturally, Jessica? I assumed it had.”

  I reclined in my seat, trying to act like none of this was a big deal. “Nothing about this power is natural, and it’s not like I could have discovered it by accident. I’m not giving off a cloud of lust-inducing pheromones wherever I go. A satyr taught me.”

  Tom chewed his lip thoughtfully, but Mitch gaped at me. “You talk to satyrs?”

  “Sometimes.” Talk to them. Sleep with them. Live among them.

  Tom cleared his throat. “Jessica’s example isn’t one
we advocate following. In fact, given the situation and the gravity of what we believe is on the horizon, we’d like you to return to Boston with us. We want to provide you with the training you never received and make you part of the alliance we’re forming.”

  Mitch set his beer down and stood, shaking his head. “I can’t just pick up and leave. I understand what you’re saying, but the Gryphons dumped me. After that, I moved on. I have a life here. A job. I’m a nurse. I can’t forget my other responsibilities.” He paused his pacing in front of the window. “Unless you’re going to arrest me, after all. Force me to go.”

  “We’d rather not force you,” Tom said, also standing. “But this is a matter of global security. Whatever you need the Gryphon World Office to do in order to make it possible, we can and will.”

  And did.

  Over the next hour, Tom persuaded Mitch to come to Boston, at least temporarily. A few phone calls later and the phrase “global security” tossed around like it actually meant something, Tom had also made sure Mitch’s leave of absence from his job was not only approved by the hospital, but encouraged.

  It wasn’t surprising, but it was rather infuriating. The world was full of people who believed Gryphons were saviors. If only they knew what I did.

  By the time Mitch was ready to go, darkness had settled outside. He dumped his small suitcase in the living room and scanned the place. Worry lines were deeply etched on his face, and anxiety rolled off him in great spearmint waves. I understood the sentiment and tried to forgive him for it, but I hated that flavor.

  “So this is it?” He sounded like a man who expected never to see his home again.

  “I’ve booked us on a red-eye to Chicago,” Tom said. “We should get going.”

  “I thought we were going to Boston.” Mitch stuffed his phone in his back jeans pocket.

  “Detour first,” Tom said.

  I hung back while Mitch locked up his house. “Remember what I told you earlier? There are three of us left. The third is in Chicago. Tom’s plan is to pick her up on the way.”

  “So I get to tail along for the ride, like you.” Mitch nodded uneasily. “You’re pretty calm about all this.”

  I forced a smile and got in the car. “I’ve had longer to live with the knowledge. Besides, the real danger won’t come until we’re stuck in a room with a bunch of preds, some arrogant magi and a few zealous Gryphons. It’ll be amazing if no one dies.”

  “We’re not zealous.” Tom’s annoyance flared, and I smirked. “Not unless you mean about protecting humanity.”

  “Oh, so much is obvious.”

  Tom ignored my sarcasm as he turned off Mitch’s street. Sighing, I reached for my water bottle, and as I did, something silver flashed in the corner of my eye. I had just enough time to think Car! before the object slammed into us, and we went spinning off the road.

  Chapter Three

  Shock reduced my world to colors and sounds. The car’s gray interior. The crunching metal. Tom swearing. And a single, errant and idiotic thought—huh, that might be the first time I’d ever heard Tom swear.

  My seat belt strangled me, and before I could adjust to what was happening, a second impact followed the first. I flew back against my seat this time, grunting and gasping for breath. My head rolled to the side as the car rattled, and we finally came to an abrupt stop.

  Warily, I opened my eyes. A pole. We’d been knocked into a utility pole.

  Wasn’t that lovely. My brain didn’t seem to want to work. Some part of me was aware this must be what shock felt like, and I squeezed my eyes tight to snap out of it. Where was the pain? Where were my emotions? My reasoning?

  I found my voice if nothing else. “Tom? Mitch?”

  “Yeah,” came Mitch’s voice from the backseat.

  I tried to look around, afraid of what sort of pain would hit when I did, but adrenaline had me covered. I felt nothing. No physical pain, that was. Mental clarity was coming, and I didn’t like it.

  “Tom!” Blood dribbled down his forehead, but he blinked and murmured something I couldn’t make out. Shit. Phone. I needed my phone. Forcing down the panic that came on clarity’s heels, I undid my seat belt.

  “Um, Jess?” Mitch’s voice hardly registered with me, but the sudden spark of his orange fear cut through my fog.

  I twisted in my seat. “What?”

  “Look out!”

  The front passenger door flew open, and before I could see who was there, something dark obscured my vision. A sack or bag had been thrown over my head. Strong hands pressed my shoulders into the seat. Uselessly, I flailed against my attacker and whatever was over my eyes, but I got nowhere. Then I felt a prick on my arm, like a needle, and my scream died on my tongue.

  I couldn’t move. Couldn’t yell. My lungs worked—I breathed barely—but that was all. More doors opened and shut. Mitch was yelling. He was being attacked too. Then he also fell silent.

  Careless hands yanked off my seat belt and grabbed me from under the arms. I mentally shrieked and strained with every molecule of my being, every sour orange hit of Mitch’s and my collective fear, but I couldn’t break the paralysis. Just as frustrating, I couldn’t sense who the attackers were. Not a single emotion registered from them. I couldn’t even count their number because they didn’t speak. I was completely helpless, trapped with my rage and fear, my heart thrashing against my breastbone.

  Internally, I recoiled in horror as more hands grabbed me about the legs. Being unable to move added an extra layer of revulsion to my attackers’ touches. As if being abducted wasn’t terrifying enough, knowing they could do anything to me and I’d be helpless pushed me into panic territory.

  I heard a whooshing noise, like a van door opening, and my arm banged into something. Someone swore in a low voice. I could tell I was being loaded into a vehicle, but that was all. A car door slammed, and a man shouted, “Go.” As I was stuffed into a seat with an unknown person pressed against me, we began to move.

  I’d like to say I counted the seconds we drove or memorized the turns, but I couldn’t. Panic left no room for anything so intelligent. All I could do was focus on being paralyzed. All I could do was think what these people—men from the sound of it—might do to me.

  When the vehicle stopped, I was carried down a flight of stairs into a room blissfully cooler than the place I’d just left. Dumped on the floor, I held my breath, waiting for what was to come.

  Nothing did. A door shut, and I got the sense I was alone.

  After what felt like hours but was probably mere minutes, my right eyelid twitched. Little by little, more motion came to me. Soon, I could blink fully and shrug my shoulders.

  Come on, I willed my body. Get it together faster. Before they return.

  But whether I could will myself to heal quicker became irrelevant a second later. The unseen door opened again, and multiple sets of heavy footfalls approached. Shit.

  “You sure you got the right ones?” a man with a Spanish accent asked.

  “Of course we got the right ones.” The second guy, who had no accent, sounded offended. “How stupid do you think we are?”

  Someone, presumably the first man, snorted. “Very.”

  Suddenly the bag over my head was yanked off. I sucked in a mouthful of air and found myself face-to-face with a fury addict. I should have known that’s who these guys were, but it made no sense. The furies in Boston had been protecting me, so why would fury addicts in Phoenix snatch me?

  The addict held up his phone and glanced between it and me. The stink of cigarette smoke wafted off him. “Yeah, looks like her. Let’s go.”

  “That’s it? All this work to grab her, and we got to leave her?” The guy behind me lifted my hair. I tensed, and as pleased as I was that I could manage that much, I couldn’t do more. My heart beat a death march as I waited for what would come next. “Seems such a waste when I co
uld do with—”

  “You’ll not do anything,” the first guy snapped. “Not if you want to keep your guts on the inside. Now shut up, and let’s get going.”

  The second thug grumbled, and I caught sight of his legs as he walked around me. Furious but relieved, I watched the men leave through a rickety wood door. One of them flicked off the light switch before they left.

  In the dark, I lay there, trying to think of a way out of the situation while I tested my muscles for movement. Also, trying not to think about spiders or scorpions or anything else that might be scurrying around the floor.

  Once I could move a finger, I could move an arm soon after. Soon after that, I was back to normal. Whatever they’d drugged me with wore off almost all at once. I sprang to my feet, feeling surprisingly not too bad.

  Slivers of light seeped into the room through a high window. Using it to guide me, I fumbled my way to the far wall and ran my hand over the spot where I thought the switch should be.

  With the light on, I simply appraised my location for a moment. The room was small, more like a glorified closet than anything else, and the floor was dirt. Huge boxes were stacked floor to ceiling against one wall. Against another were metal shelves piled high with linens, sacks of onions and braids of garlic. Was I stuck in some restaurant’s storeroom?

  Wetting my lips, I inspected the aforementioned window more closely. Beneath the block cloth draped over it, it was high and narrow. I might just be able to fit through the thing. If I could open it. If I could reach it.

  But if I did, what about Mitch? It was no wonder we’d been separated since there wasn’t much room in this closet for more than a single person, but where was he?

  Just to be certain my captors hadn’t done something stupid, I tried the door, but it was definitely locked, and I had nothing on me to try picking the mechanism with. I put my ear to it next but heard nothing.