[M__M 03] Misery Loves Company Page 6

  “So’s Eric’s soul.”

  Brian held up a hand. “Bridget is right. We need to tread very carefully right now. So here’s what I propose. On our end, Bridget will start putting together all the evidence that Marshall was cursed so we can get legal authority to search the house, family cooperation or no. But Jessica also has a point. Time is short. If Jessica is friends with a family member who has a key, and she happens to see the contract while she’s there and her friend is checking on Marshall, and she happens to get us the name of the goblin…” He cleared his throat. “That would not be unfortunate.”

  I smiled. I hadn’t thought much of Brian one way or another on the last case, but he was growing on me.

  Chapter Six

  The first thing I did after the meeting broke up was call Steph and see if she was up for driving back to New Hampshire this evening.

  “It wouldn’t be a bad thing to check on Eric,” she said. “Why?”

  I faked a cough. “Unofficial official Gryphon business.”

  “Sounds underhanded and sneaky.”

  “Extremely.” I yawned. “So are you in?”

  “If it will help Eric, sure. Besides, we can try that brewery up his way for dinner. He was telling me how good the beer was last time we…” Her voice trailed off, and I could imagine her feelings even though I couldn’t sense them.

  “Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go when you get off work.”

  After hanging up, I flipped through the notes Bridget had passed out at the meeting, but they didn’t tell me anything new. Bottom line was that this was a simple case, like Bridget had laid it out. Get the goblin’s name, track him or her down, retrieve Eric’s soul.

  How one returned a soul, well, I was going to have to assume that Bridget had researched that too. No point worrying about it until we knew we’d gotten it.

  My day passed quickly. IT came around and re-granted me access to my computer, then Bridget and I went to lunch, during which she caught me up on what was happening with supposed mutual friends—the people we’d attended the Gryphon Academy with years ago. People I barely knew anymore. Soon enough, it was three o’clock, and I needed to get to an appointment I’d rather skip.

  Shadowtown was waking up as I got off the T and made my way toward Gunthra’s for tea. Though the July sun was high, it was hard to tell. All the buildings in the neighborhood gave off a kind of aura, as though they absorbed negativity right along with their owners. By some trick of the eye, they appeared to stretch skyward, blocking out the light. Their colors were muted, the shadows between them darker. Heavy stone and brick gave even the most mundane of businesses, like Lucen’s bar, a slightly menacing air.

  Gunthra’s house epitomized the architecture. Stately yet gaudy, with tall, narrow doors and windows, it nested deep inside Shadowtown. The stairs to the front door were steep, and the empty urns on the portico hosted ugly stone gargoyles instead of flowers. Indeed, one got the impression that flowers couldn’t bear to grow in such conditions. But if they did, they’d be darkly colored and poisonous. Monkshood maybe.

  I knocked once with the heavy brass knocker and waited, hands behind my back to hide my fidgeting. The door swung open, and the Dom’s liveried butler beckoned me in without a word. His large eyes appraised me, and his ears flattened against his head. I assumed he disapproved of my attire but was too well trained to speak of it.

  To be fair, I looked out of place. If the outside of Gunthra’s house belonged on the cover of Pred Homes and Gardens, it had nothing on the inside. Dark brocade covered the walls, an enormous crystal chandelier hung in the foyer, and a goblin-sized suit of armor stood in an alcove under the stairs. It was deeply moody and atmospheric, but in a way that screamed old money rather than wannabe goth.

  The servant opened the set of doors on the right. “Miss Moore for you.”

  I had to force my feet to enter the room. The last time I’d been in here was the day I’d learned what I was—not a woman whose gift was cursed, but a part satyr. An abomination, in Gunthra’s words.

  Since then, my understanding of my true species had gotten better. Or worse, depending on your perspective. According to Lucen, there was no such thing as a part pred. I was more like a subspecies of satyr. Whether his or Gunthra’s description was more accurate, I couldn’t say, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anyway.

  The goblin Dom rose from her fainting couch as I crossed the room. “Miss Moore, thank you for accepting my invitation.”

  Like I had any choice?

  Gunthra dressed like a regal old woman, but not one nearly as old as she must be. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the antiques in this house had been purchased new.

  Yet with too many rings on her spindly fingers and too long a strand of pearls around her neck, Gunthra blended in with her décor. The sofa I sat on was upholstered in a gorgeous silk fleur-de-lis pattern, and the many artfully placed knickknacks scattered about the room and the paintings on the walls could give Eric Marshall a run for his money. The centerpiece in Gunthra’s room, however, were the butterflies preserved in glass that rested on top of her mantle.

  The Dom had a thing for butterflies. She liked the idea of metamorphosis, comparing humans to caterpillars and preds to their prettier, flying brethren. Personally, the analogy had left me with a disdain for butterflies, which I now thought of as pretentious moths.

  Same as she had on my first visit, Gunthra had set out a fancy china tea set, and she poured me a cup. “No milk or sugar, correct?”

  “No, thanks.” If she was trying to impress me with her memory, it had worked.

  “Have a muffin. Lemon poppy seed. My favorite.” She smiled at me in a creepy, predatory way. Either she enjoyed playing hostess, or she enjoyed testing my patience.

  Reluctantly, I took a muffin. It was polite, and if I recalled, Gunthra had a damn good cook working for her. “So,” I said, trying not to spill tea or muffin crumbs over what had to be a very expensive couch. “Thanks for the invitation, but since I know you’re not just being neighborly, shall we get on with it?”

  Shall we? Being surrounded by so much pomp and elegance must have brought out the pompousness in my vocabulary.

  Gunthra sipped her tea, and the silence dragged out. “Young people have no appreciation for the niceties of etiquette these days. Very well, Miss Moore. Since you insist, I did ask you here for a specific reason. You owe me a favor. I’m ready to collect.”

  I’d been expecting that, so I managed to swallow my bite of muffin without choking on it in panic. My stomach, however, was knotting in spite of being forewarned, and I forced myself to wash the bite down with unfortunate-tasting tea before responding. “So long as what you’re asking doesn’t violate the rules we agreed upon, I’m ready.”

  Those rules were fast and loose, something I thought I’d done well with until Gunthra had agreed to them easily. Thereby making it clear to me that I must have screwed up.

  One favor that did not involve me hurting, killing or otherwise ruining an innocent person’s life. Including my own. Yeah, in retrospect, I should have done a better job of that.

  “I think you’ll see your concern is unwarranted.” Gunthra smoothed a wrinkle on her skirt. “All I want is for you to retrieve some information for me from the Gryphons.”

  “Oh, that’s all? You realize—”

  “Information you should be able to access.”

  I’d almost forgotten about Gunthra’s talent for talking over people. “I’m not exactly in good standing with the Gryphons.”

  “That, Miss Moore, is not my problem. You are consulting for them, are you not?”

  “You’re lucky. I went back to work for them this morning.”

  Gunthra clasped her hands together, and the diamonds on her fingers caught the sunlight streaming in through a gap in her blue, brocade draperies. “Consider this serendipity the
n. What I want you to bring me is whatever information the Gryphons have on the furies’ recent actions. You don’t need to give me any original documents. Copies of whatever they have will be sufficient. But I want all of it.”

  “The ‘furies’ recent actions’ means what exactly? If I’m going to try to steal case files, I need to be clear about what I’m supposed to be stealing.”

  “Is it stealing if you’re not taking the only copy of the files, nor depriving the Gryphons of any monetary value they might have?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. It’s sharing information you’re not supposed to see, whatever. Either way, you need to be more specific.”

  “Very well, if you want me to spell it out. I want to know whatever intelligence the Gryphons have gathered on what the furies were scheming when they used one of their addicts to frame you for murder and tried to start a pred war.”

  I didn’t choke on my muffin, but I did almost drop the delicate china plate it sat on. I’d suspected those were the “recent actions” Gunthra had been referring to, but to hear her state plainly her suspicion that the furies had been trying to start a war…that was something else.

  Lucen had speculated on it at the time, but idly. In the end, the satyrs had gone with the simplest, most likely-to-be-true assumption—the furies who’d framed me had been working alone. There had been no larger conspiracy.

  Were they wrong? If so, it raised the very good question as to why the furies might have been trying to start a war.

  Gunthra cocked her head to the side. “Thoughts, Miss Moore?”

  “Many.” And when she chose to continue with her unblinking stare, I merely smiled. Thoughts didn’t come for free around here. Just because she’d shared a theory didn’t mean I needed to share questions about it.

  “I’ll refrain from imposing a deadline on you,” Gunthra said at last, breaking the silence, “unless I feel you’re taking too long.”

  “Good. Because you do realize it will take me some time to figure out how to get hold of that information.”

  “Acceptable and acknowledged.”

  Really? She was being disturbingly agreeable, so I pressed my luck. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re interested?”

  Gunthra shook a finger at me. “Actually, yes. Let’s say it’s a topic I find fascinating. Information is a commodity, Miss Moore. Scarcity is what creates value. I believe I explained the same thing to you when you came asking me about your heritage.”

  “Yeah, I believe you did. Speaking of which, it’s been suggested to me that calling me a part satyr, as you did, wasn’t entirely accurate. Would you care to comment?”

  Gunthra raised an overly plucked eyebrow. “Semantics. You are what you are, and what you are is not what most people would consider to be a satyr. I called you ‘part’, and you understood me.”

  Damn goblins and they’re weasel-wording technicalities. But it didn’t really matter. I couldn’t claim she’d lied to me and hence our deal was void. She’d told me enough of the truth, and I owed her for it. How I was going to fulfill my end of that deal, and for what nefarious reasons she wanted that information… Well, it was too late to worry about the latter, and the former would just have to be figured out. Somehow.

  I let it go.

  Shoving aside my plate with the mostly uneaten muffin, I plunged ahead with an idea that had occurred to me on my walk over. “While we’re having this lovely etiquette-filled tea, I was hoping we could discuss a not-so-small matter that occurred last night.”

  “What would that be?” Gunthra’s massive brow wrinkled in what could actually be genuine confusion. Was it possible that the Dom didn’t yet know what one of her subordinates had done, or was she merely a skillful liar?

  I watched her carefully as I spoke. “When I told you I went back to work for the Gryphons today, it was to assist them with a new case. You’ve heard of Eric Marshall, the writer?”

  Gunthra nodded. Of course, she had. Not only was he famous, one of her own people had snagged him as an addict. With his value as such, the Dom would know which goblin it was. Assuming it wasn’t herself.

  And if Gunthra was his master, and had been the one to drain him? That would be a whole bowl of salamander shit to deal with given that I was in her debt.

  “Last night Eric’s master turned him into a ghoul. He was drained completely, all at once. Like that.” I snapped my fingers and paused, waiting for a reaction, but Gunthra remained impassive. Damn.

  We were back to having a staring contest. Silently, I counted in my head, refusing to break first.

  Gunthra took a long sip of her tea and sighed at last. “I see.”

  “It’s illegal, and one of your people did it.”

  “If that’s true, then I will handle it.”

  “Let me save you the trouble. Tell me who the goblin is, and I’ll handle it.”

  Gunthra laughed, but not in a friendly way. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’ll have to look into the matter, just as you are looking into it, I’m sure.”

  She was lying. There was no way she didn’t know who the goblin was, but I couldn’t prove it. “There’s still time to save Eric from being a ghoul. I’m sure you don’t care about his wellbeing, but my understanding is that good preds”—oh, saying that without sarcasm was hard—“don’t approve of letting addicts become ghouls.”

  Gunthra stood. “We don’t. But if one of my people is behaving badly, I reserve the right to deal with them. If, after I investigate, I come to the conclusion that what you told me was true, and I believe it’s possible to restore Mr. Marshall’s soul, then perhaps we can work out another deal. But no more deals until you prove yourself capable of upholding your end of our first one.”

  She clapped, and the servant goblin opened the door. Like that, I was dismissed.

  Bitch.

  I was scheming ways to get Gunthra the information she wanted and not feeling too happy about any of them when Steph picked me up half an hour later. If there was something in those files that Gunthra wanted to know, then she probably shouldn’t have it. On the other hand, this was a lot less unpleasant a favor than I’d feared she would ask. Hell, for a pred, this was almost benign.

  That alone told me I had to be missing something.

  I knew I should tell Lucen what Gunthra had said about the pred war, but Lucen didn’t know I’d struck a deal with the Dom. He wasn’t going to be pleased when he found out.

  “Jess, are you listening?”

  I yawned as Steph drove us through the I-95 toll booths. “Yes?”

  She flipped me off, her eyes remaining on the road as the traffic merged. “You won’t even lie convincingly to me anymore? What did I do to you to deserve this neglect?”

  I smacked her upraised finger. “Nothing, sorry. Long day and I got crappy sleep last night. I’m spacing out. What did your boss do?”

  “Nothing, never mind.”

  “I am sorry.”

  This time she did take a moment to glance my way. “I know. You look stressed. A little under-eye cream would have served you well today.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “And while you’re at it, color on your cheeks wouldn’t have hurt.”

  I punched her arm. “What is this, revenge? I do not need makeup tips.”

  “Yes, Jess, actually you do. Tip number one—it won’t kill you to wear some. Some days I can’t believe you were the one who was born with female genitalia.”

  And so we continued to bash each other’s style until Steph found a parking spot in quaint Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and we’d gotten seated at the local brewery. The silliness helped. I needed a distraction from my conversation with Gunthra, and Steph—I was certain—wanted one from the task that awaited.

  After we’d given our orders and chosen our beers, she turned serious. “I called my cousin Tim today, Eric’s brother. It’s
the first time I’ve talked to him in I don’t know how many years. I swear, if I could punch people over the phone, he’d have a broken nose.”

  “Wait, did you get hold of him?” Tim was the brother Bridget had been trying to reach. The one who wasn’t returning her calls.

  “Yeah, I reached him.” Given her tone, it was no surprise Steph drained a good portion of her beer before continuing. “I told him what your friend told us last night. That there was a chance we could get Eric’s soul back. Know what that asshole told me?”

  I winced in anticipation. “What?”

  “Eric doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Nice. I can feel the brotherly love.”

  “He doesn’t fucking deserve it,” Steph went on as though she hadn’t heard me. “By Tim’s logic, Eric cheated fate and is only getting what was coming to him. You see why I didn’t care when my family disowned me? These are the sorts of assholes I’m related to. I’m telling you—Tim couldn’t wait to initiate proceedings to get Eric declared incompetent. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what happened. All he sees is Eric’s money. Fuck these people, Jess. I don’t know how I’m related to them.”

  I sipped my beer, savoring the flavor that washed away the memory of Gunthra’s tea. And I can’t believe I’m related, in a sense, to preds. But we don’t get to choose these things. Biology isn’t destiny.

  Again, I had my opening, and again, this was the wrong time.

  “What about the rest of your family? Have you heard from them?”

  Steph shook her head. As befitting her mood, she wore her skull-and-crossbones earrings today, and they peeked out from under her wig. “No, but I’m sure Tim’s been in contact with people. To be honest, I’m surprised he took my call, but since I was there when it happened, I guess curiosity got the best of him. No one else will talk to me. I’m unclean or some bullshit. They refuse to acknowledge my existence unless I forgo my unnatural lifestyle and embrace their bigoted version of God.”

  She lowered her arms from making air quotes around “lifestyle” and smacked her hands on the table as our server returned. We both kept quiet while the food was served.