Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery) (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

I ate my chocolate croissant alone the next morning while Lucen slept. Never had I been so glad for an impulsive purchase. I was sore and anxious from last night’s conversation, had slept badly because of it, and therefore needed chocolate with my coffee.

Since I didn’t have to go in to work, I caught up on chores, doing my best to stay busy so I had less time to dwell on my negativity. I got home from food shopping around three to find Lucen in the kitchen eating the other croissant. The Lair was closed today, so I didn’t know what his plans were. Torturing me with another conversation seemed likely.

“Can I?” I pointed to the coffeepot, which had another mug’s worth left in it.

He nodded and set down his phone. “Dezzi stopped by last night after I returned to work.”

Yup, here came the metaphorical hot pokers. She probably told him to kick me out of his apartment, among other things. “And?”

“She likes your new theory about the murder victims.” Lucen waited for me to acknowledge his comment as I poured the coffee. I did, after my surprise wore off. “Devon mentioned it to her,” he explained.

“Ah. Of course she likes it.”

Lucen broke up the last of his croissant. “It’s more complicated than what you’re thinking. But the good news for you is that Dezzi is willing to believe someone might have it in for the F maker. Your theory, if correct, could indicate that.”

“I suppose it could. Why would someone have it in for this person though?”

“Long story. I’ll have to fill you in on some of the details before you meet with her, but Dezzi is going to allow it.”

I set my mug down sharply, and it made an unpleasant racket against the granite counter. “I get to meet this mysterious person at long last?”

“With precautions taken, yes.”

“Precautions meaning?”

Lucen put his empty mug in the dishwasher and gave me a sideways glance. “Dezzi’s going to want to put a compulsion on you so you can’t share what goes on.”

“Great, so if I learn anything useful, it’s actually still useless.”

“Not necessarily. Dezzi can create some pretty clever spells. It is why she’s Dom. On the other hand…” He appraised me. “You’re apparently capable of breaking some strong compulsions. But if Dezzi’s willing to risk it, that’s her decision.”

I sipped my coffee, watching him head into the living room. “Talking to Devon again, were you?”

He glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. Considering our conversation last night, he was in a surprisingly good mood. “Your ability to get by his wards was impressive. Not to mention completely unheard of. I thought they must have gotten weak for you to slip past at Purgatory that time, but he just reworked them with Lucrezia and he said no. Devon is no slacker himself when it comes to creating wards and compulsions. His skills are good enough he could be a Dom. Probably should be by now.”

Cradling my coffee mug, I followed Lucen into the living room. “Really? So why isn’t he? Who decides these things anyway?” I was curious, but more than that—I wanted to change the topic.

“The Upper Council.” Lucen took Sweetpea’s harness down. “They’re the ones who decide how many new people we’re allowed to turn, and when or if to set up a new domus in an area.”

I leaned against the fireplace, digesting this. “So if this council decided they wanted to establish a satyr domus in, I don’t know, my hometown back in New Hampshire, they’d pick a Dom from a high-ranking satyr in an established group?”

“Basically.”

“So if Devon’s overdue, why hasn’t he gotten asked yet?”

Lucen adjusted his gloves and opened Sweetpea’s cage. The dragon made a mad dash to get by, but he was no match. Lucen stayed silent a minute, wrestling his scaly pet into its harness. “There’s not a lot of new groups forming these days. We need to be near humans, remember? And while the human population is increasing, the Upper Council is picky about locations.”

“So that must be frustrating for Devon, right? To have all that power but be stuck?”

“You’ll have to ask Devon yourself.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll take a pass on that.”

I stayed behind while Lucen took Sweetpea for his walk. Pleased as I was that our first conversation of the day hadn’t resumed last night’s discussion, I saw no need to risk it. Besides, Lucen had given me a few things to consider. I should be prepared to talk to the F maker today.

They were coming by around seven—Dezzi and the mystery woman. As usual, The Lair was serving as the satyrs’ unofficial meeting space.

“Things you need to know about Dezzi and Angelia,” Lucen said. We were back in his kitchen, waiting for the call that would tell us they’d arrived. I wouldn’t be permitted in the bar until Dezzi had worked her mojo on me.

“That’s her name—Angelia?” Seemed ironic for a creature once considered a demon by most people.

“Yes.” Lucen sounded utterly serious and oblivious to the irony, so I forced the smirk off my face. “She and Dezzi go way back, and Dezzi is very protective of her.”

I checked the clock. “Dezzi seems very protective of all of you.”

“She’s supposed to be, but Angelia more so. Like I said, they go way back. And Angelia, well, you’ll see.” He tapped his phone on the table, seemingly twitchy. “Angelia’s blind. That’s why.”

I had to take a few seconds to think about this. “I’ve never seen a satyr with any kind of disability before.” Nor, when I considered it, any pred.

The sorts of physical or cognitive ailments that humans had to contend with were, as far as I knew, unheard of in preds. Sure, I’d seen some goblins and certainly some furies sporting pretty bad battle scars, but this was altogether different. Their own magic protected them from most injuries, meaning it took a nasty curse—or a salamander fire-forged blade—to truly hurt or disfigure them permanently.

Lucen shifted uneasily in his chair. “She wasn’t born that way, and if she’d lost her sight while human, she’d never have been turned. All I know of the story is that Angelia was attacked by a bunch of humans many years ago. She’s a very gentle person. She probably wasn’t armed, and there were too many for her to subdue with her magic. The humans had a knife like yours. They used it on her. They took her eyes.”

I put my hand over my mouth. “Oh, God. That’s awful.” Pred or not, no one deserved that.

“Yeah.” Lucen seemed to realize he was playing with his phone and stopped. “Her domus healed her before she died of her wounds, but her vision couldn’t be restored obviously. And since that made her defective, once she’d healed as best she could, her Dom let her go.”

My fingers curled into a ball. “Wait? Defective? Let her go?”

“There’s a strong bias among satyrs and sylphs for physical perfection.” Lucen made an apologetic face. “It’s not always nice. Without her sight, and with her empty eye sockets, Angelia didn’t fit what a satyr was supposed to be. Her Dom was within his rights to kick her out. It happens, and as a result Angelia became a lone satyr, or she did until Dezzi found out what happened and took her in.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“With Dezzi taking her in or with her old Dom kicking her out?”

“Either. You’re way too ‘whatever’ about all of this. Like it’s no big deal that she got kicked out of her home for something beyond her control.”

“I like Angelia. I’m glad she’s here.”

Which didn’t exactly answer my question, so I continued to stare at him.

Lucen got up. “Things change for you when
you
change, Jess. On the inside and the outside. And no one tells you most of the risks. I accept certain things as normal.”

I started to ask why no one explained how screwed up pred society must be and what he meant by “change”, but his phone finally buzzed. “They’re here. Be right back.”

Convenient. One day I would have to ask Lucen how he became a satyr and why, and the hundred other uncomfortable questions that I didn’t even know enough about to form yet. But not while things were so shaky between us.

And while I had more pressing issues to ponder.

I drummed my nails against the table. So Dezzi had taken in a physically “defective” satyr, which was apparently some sort of satyr taboo. My first thought was this made me like satyrs less than I already did, which was sad because I still disliked them the least of all the pred races. But on the other hand, I respected Dezzi more.

My second thought was I now understood why Dezzi figured it was possible for someone to have it in for Angelia. One of the Boston satyrs didn’t care to have an imperfect satyr in their domus and was trying to frame her for murder. Perhaps it was a touch farfetched, but I’d been framed for murder for a far more batshit-crazy idea.

I tucked these musings away as the sound of footsteps coming up the back stairs grew louder. Lucen opened the door, Dezzi behind him.

The satyr’s Dom took a deep breath when she saw me. I hadn’t spoken yet and she was weary. Peachy. “My number three has explained my generosity in allowing this conversation?”

Number three meant Lucen. Generosity meant what—her self-interest?

Still, there was only one answer if I wanted to talk to Angelia. “Yes. But if I learn anything useful from Angelia, I need to be able to follow up on it.”

Dezzi closed her eyes briefly, giving me a good view of her long, thick lashes. “You will follow up with me. Together, we will decide what you can share with the Gryphons. Fair?”

“Enough.” In theory anyway. I suspected there’d be a whole lot less of me and a whole lot more of Dezzi going into that decision.

But that agreed upon, it didn’t take Dezzi long to put a compulsion spell on me. I didn’t even know she’d started until she pronounced it done.

“That’s it?”

“That is it.” Dezzi whipped out her phone, typing as she wandered to the door. “You’re free to talk about whatever here. I have a meeting with the harpies.”

Lucen gestured for me to follow, and we made our way down to The Lair. Dezzi left after a quick word to the three people in the bar’s main room. Two of them appeared to be on some sort of guard duty. For Angelia, I assumed. They reminded me of the satyrs Dezzi had assigned to watch over me when the sylphs had been out for my blood.

That left the third person to be Angelia. She sat at a central table, her legs delicately crossed, her head turned in my direction. Despite not being able to see me, she could sense my emotions—and hence my presence—as well as any pred. And my emotions were, well, surprised.

Angelia’s silky brown hair spilled down her shoulders in loose curls, her lips were a perfect bow, and her body was what you might call a pinnacle of feminine perfection. Soft, slim and extremely curvy. She was Aphrodite personified, or satyr-ified, given her horns.

It boggled the mind to imagine that someone could consider her imperfect, although the evidence of her physical suffering was clear. Angelia wore a satiny black scarf tied around her head over where her eyes should be. Yet even that looked like a carefully chosen accessory, designed to be as seductive as it was practical. She could have been a model on one of Val’s erotic romance novels.

Eh, satyrs. Everything was about seduction.

Lucen introduced us, and as if they’d been waiting for the cue, the two brawny satyrs with Angelia strolled outside. Apparently they weren’t permitted to take part in the conversation.

Angelia held out her hands to me, beaming a smile that was the stuff of an adolescent boy’s wet dreams. “So you’re the mysterious human woman with a satyr’s power I’ve heard so much about. I’m so thrilled to finally meet you.”

I had to stifle a laugh since I’d kept thinking of Angelia as the mysterious F maker. All at once, and in spite of everything that had led me here, I took a liking to her. “People seem to be talking about me a lot. I feel famous.” I cast a wry glance at Lucen.

“Infamous,” he retorted.

“You certainly intrigue people,” Angelia said. Her hands remained extended, so although I usually tried to avoid touching preds—even my new immunity was weakened through direct skin contact with their magic—I took them.

Immediately, I was overwhelmed by the hyacinth scent of Angelia’s pheromones. The flowery fragrance was almost too much as she clasped my hands. Her skin was as soft as it looked, and my burnt-out, magic-detecting nerve endings were pleasantly awakened by her touch. It wasn’t the first time I’d been aroused by a female satyr, but it was always a touch strange considering I was fairly hetero by nature.

But nature was no match for satyr magic, and I found myself wondering if her full lips were as soft to kiss as they appeared.

Next to her, Lucen smirked, sensing my desire.

I dropped my hands back to my sides quickly when Angelia released them, and was pleased my body returned to normal. No offense to Angelia, but since Devon’s magic was starting to have an effect on me, I was growing worried that my immunity was wearing off. There was no way I’d want to rent an apartment in Shadowtown if it were.

Angelia brushed her hair behind her neck. “You have to believe me. I have nothing to do with those deaths. I think it’s awful. Violence and murder…” She shuddered. “I’m sure you don’t approve of what I do, but I make F because it’s about pleasure and sensuality and enjoyment. It’s the opposite of what someone is using it for.”

I chewed on my lip. I didn’t know if it was because of what Lucen had told me about Angelia’s past, or if I just wanted my own theory about the glyph to be correct, but I believed her. Hell, if she were lying, she was the best actress I’d ever met. Everything about her, from her figure to her sweetly sultry voice, screamed,
I am the opposite of violence.

That said, I couldn’t let her protests stand without challenge. “The murders aside, you do realize how often F is used to commit rape?”

She sighed. “I’m aware of it. Actually, I’ve been tinkering with ways to adjust the magic, to make it impossible to use my version that way.”

“You’ve been changing the spell around?”

Angelia seized on the implication. “Yes, but I haven’t sold any of the altered version. It’s purely experimental so far. It couldn’t be what’s caused these deaths.”