Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (11 page)

Lucen sat next to me. A plate filled with crisp greens and a salmon filet on top was in front of me. “That’s bar food?”

“For the patrons I like.”

My stomach rumbled. “I thought I said nothing too expensive.”

“On the house.”

Not this again. “No.”

“I owe you. The whole reason the sylphs are picking on you is probably my fault.”

“I’m not sure about that.” The salmon’s aroma tempted my nose. My stomach voiced its approval. Tempting was what a satyr did best, after all.

Damn. I took the fork and ate.

“So what’s this about a note-writer?”

Between mouthfuls, I filled Lucen in on everything that had happened between me and the creepy note-writer since I got his message at Kilpatrick’s.

“He claims he can feed on misery like you? Fascinating. Is he a siren, as well?”

In other words, did he have a screwed up satyr’s gift like me? To Lucen, my minimal—by comparison—ability to inspire lust in people by breathing on them was amusing. When I was first learning to control how I expelled the magic, he’d suggested I sing. Concentrate my breath and focus on exhaling. It had worked, and since then I’d become “little siren”—the human who could tempt others with her voice.

I stabbed the last piece of salmon and swirled it around the plate. “I don’t know if he has any kind of gift or what it would be. What do you think?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Until I met you, I’d never heard of such a thing.” He savored his mouthful of beer, frowning. “We should find the goblin who claims to know about your gift and see what’s possible. It must be rare, so if there’s more than one of you floating around this city, there’s good odds you owe your origins to the same person. Do you know the name of the goblin who put the curse on you?”

I shook my head. “Just who it was that told me I was cursed. I don’t even know if it was a goblin that did it.”

“It’s a start. We can begin tonight.” He slid off his stool, his attention ensnared by something across the bar.

“You need to tell me what’s going on with the sylphs first, and I have news about the murders.”

“Yup. Just finish up and give me a minute.”

I picked at my dressing-soaked lettuce, watching Lucen from the corner of my eye. An addict had entered the bar. And not any addict, a lust addict. One of his?

A pit opened up in my stomach. In the ten years I’d known him, I’d never once seen any of Lucen’s addicts. I didn’t even know how many he could afford to keep. It required a bit of magical effort for a pred to bind a human, so the number of addicts they had at any given time was a proxy for how powerful they were. Meanwhile, because they fed off the addicts’ misery, they gained power from each one they had. It was a bit of a Catch-22—the more addicts they took on, the more energy was required, yet the more energy they could reap. I remembered learning something way back when I was in school that the average pred could only keep three to five addicts at once. But if Lucen was the satyr Dom’s third, he wasn’t average. He was way more powerful.

Wasn’t that a happy thought.

The woman’s face lit up when Lucen approached. Yup, she was definitely one of his. She had long dark brown, almost black hair like me, although hers was less a tangle of curls and more shiny waves. Her black shorts rode up to her butt, and the waistline drooped so low in front that she couldn’t possibly be wearing anything beneath them. Her tight button-down shirt was bursting at the breasts, and the heels on her sandals had to be at least three inches. Classic hooker attire. I hated her.

No, I should pity her. She was a victim.

The victim tossed her hair and pouted at Lucen.

Nope, screw it. I hated her. She was just another weak-willed, fake-boobed woman with terrible taste in clothing.

The harpies had to be arousing my jealousy, I realized. Ridiculous, really, because I could pull off that outfit too.

Lucen kissed her then patted her on the butt. Even in the darkness, the ecstatic expression on her face was obvious. She touched Lucen’s arm again, but he shook her off and said something to her. The words didn’t cut through the noise, but her face fell and she waddled that butt behind the bar and grabbed a serving tray.

All the wonderful salmon threatened to return to my plate.

“Sorry, little siren,” Lucen said, taking the empty stool again. “She was late, supposed to have been here half an hour ago. Don’t come whining to me that you need a job then not show up for work on time. No wonder she got fired from her last one.” He shook his head. “So what did you find out about the murders? Anything that will help unknot the sylphs’ knickers?”

Yeah, the information about the hearts and the magi would if I could prove it. I just couldn’t stand the thought of talking to Lucen right now. I couldn’t tell if I felt more sick, angry or…what? Hurt?

Whatever. Lucen could probably pick apart my turmoil like a chef dissecting a recipe—a little garlic, some parsley, a hint of resentment. To a pred, humans must seem pathetic.

“I’ll tell you later. I just realized the time, and I need to go find another soul donor to replace my dead guy.”

“It can’t wait?”

“No.”

He stared at me, expressionless, and I tried not to dwell on all the crap he was sucking in. “All right.”

All right? That was it? “Good. Thanks for dinner.” I grabbed my bag and hustled out the door.

Well, what the hell. It wasn’t like I expected him to apologize for what he was. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known. It wasn’t like it should piss me off.

And it sure wasn’t like I had nothing more important to worry about.

Nonetheless, an imp followed me all the way to the train station, and I took great satisfaction in smashing it into the wall.

Chapter Nine

I never got a replacement blood donor last night, which meant I was going to have to bust ass the next few days searching for one. I felt like crap about it too. It was coming up on a week since I’d agreed to take Josephine’s case, and that was the longest I liked to let things go. My business spread through word of mouth, and my clients were always nervous. Not getting them results right away made them more nervous and less likely to think positively of the experience.

I stuffed my wench’s uniform into a duffel bag in the Tallyho’s bathroom and headed home. Above, the sun played peek-a-boo among heavy, gray clouds, and I hoped a thunderstorm was brewing. Weather was the perfect misery inducer.

As I walked, I considered sources for soul donors. Maybe it was time to try a new venue. Kilpatrick’s had been giving me nothing but bad luck recently. Malls, on the other hand, could occasionally cough up gems, as could parks or kid-themed restaurants. Come to think of it, I was sick of rapists. Nabbing a child molester would be good. I hadn’t gone after one of those types in a while because they squicked me out so, but that was all the more reason why someone should be doing something to stop them.

Making that mental note, I turned the corner and froze. My apartment building was surrounded by cops and Gryphons. There were at least two black-uniformed figures that I could see, so gods only knew how many I couldn’t.

Had there been another murder, and in my building? After all that had been happening lately, it sure didn’t seem impossible.

I charged forward to investigate then skidded to a stop three buildings away by the convenience store, overwhelmed by the anxiety radiating from the people around the building. It left me disoriented and a little giddy—not an image I wanted to project as I neared a crime scene. Maybe it was best to hang back for a moment until I calmed down.

Shifting my bag on my shoulder, I tried to tune my gift on a single individual. The gawkers and their confused nervous tension got in the way at first. Finally, when a Gryphon came out to talk to one of the cops, I managed to focus completely on her. Her emotions were a mess of confusion, nausea and extreme tension.

One of our downstairs neighbors jogged by me. The police had set out barricades, and as he neared, an officer waved him away. The guy pointed to the building, and yet the cop continued to shake his head. Cursing, my neighbor stormed back in my direction.

“Hey,” I said, as the guy pulled open the convenience store door. “What’s going on?”

He wiped the sweat from his brow on his T-shirt. “I recognize you. You live upstairs, right?”

“Yeah. They not letting you in?”

“Nope. Don’t even bother asking. Christ, I need to go shower and meet my girlfriend, but they told me not to go anywhere far. They want to ask me questions.” He grabbed a sports drink from the rack.

“But they gave you no idea why?”

“Not a clue. Saw the Gryphons carrying a cooler into one of the apartments on your floor. You tell me—what’s that about? Something’s messed up.”

“Yeah, no doubt.”

I rested against the ice cream freezer and got out my cell.
Come on, pick up.

“Bridget Nelson speaking.”

“Bridget, hey. It’s Jess. I’m try—”

“Jess! Hi, where are you?”

My stomach clenched. I despised phones for many reasons, but the biggest one was that I lost my emotion-sucking advantage with them. There was clearly something off about Bridget’s voice. It was almost perky, a kind of forced cheerfulness that no more fit Bridget’s personality than it did mine. “I’m around.”

Downstairs neighbor had already chugged half his drink and was now paying for it.

“I ran into a neighbor and he told me there’s all this commotion going on in our building. Gryphons and cops. What’s up?”

“Why don’t you ask the ones who are there?”

“Because my neighbor said they wouldn’t tell him what was going on. So I’m asking you.”

There was a long pause on the other end. “Jess, you’re on our side, right? You were almost a Gryphon.”

My hand tightened around the phone. She’d better be going somewhere good with this, or I was crossing her off my holiday card list. “Yeah?”

“Then do the right thing and turn yourself in.”

Okay, that was unexpected but definitely not good. “For what?”

“I’m sure you didn’t do anything deliberately wrong, but…”

“But what?” Oh shit. My stomach was clenching so hard it felt like concrete in my abdomen. Adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. What kind of insanity was this? Had they finally figured out the identity of the Soul Swapper? Could my creepy note-writer have blabbed, after all?

“We got a tip. I didn’t know it was your apartment until we got there. I would have called you, but—”

I lowered my voice. “Damn it, Bridget. Spit it out. What are you talking about?”

“We got a call about something in a fridge in your bedroom, something that shouldn’t be there.”

I grasped the freezer’s handle for support. “And you found…?”

“You know what we found.”

“Blood.” Blame it on shock, but the word slipped out. I’d thrown Greg’s useless blood in the fridge last night, figuring I’d get rid of it today while my roommates were at work and I could clean out the vial. Flaming dragon shit on toast. Note-writer
had
blabbed. “Look, I can explain—”

“And the heart, Jess? You can explain why a murdered woman’s heart was in your fridge?”

Now would be a good time for hysterics. “A heart? You’re telling me there was a heart—some human woman’s heart—in my fridge?”

“A heart. Who did it belong to?”

Well, wasn’t that a good question. “How should I know? I don’t even know what one might be doing in my fridge.” I probably shouldn’t have said any of that so loud. I probably also shouldn’t be having this conversation with Bridget. If this were true, the only person I should be talking to was a lawyer. A damn good lawyer.

“We’ll find out soon enough, and we’ll find out if that blood really did belong to one of the men who was murdered on Friday. We already know you left Kilpatrick’s pub with him that night.”

Do not puke in the middle of the convenience store. Do not.

“Make this easy on yourself,” Bridget continued. “Turn yourself in, give us a blood sample, tell us which pred you’re working with and it’ll—”

“Blood sample? Pred?”
Run,
my brain screamed. But Bridget was spewing a lot of information, and I had a feeling it would be wise to learn as much as I could. I’d already decided I was not turning myself in. Not yet anyway. Not until I had a nice, long time to think things through. Someone had framed me, and even if I cleared my name, I feared what the Gryphons would do when they discovered my affinity for pred magic. Kill me? Force me to live as an outcast among the preds? Hell no.

“If you turn yourself in, I’ll help you find a lawyer.”

Despite my panic, I snorted. Yeah, I’d trust her help now. “Why a pred? Why not the magi? Aren’t they the ones who like human hearts?” I was thinking aloud, but Bridget responded.

“We found traces of pred magic in some of the blood, and I know you wouldn’t do this on your own.”

Ah, so was that why they wanted a blood sample? Would my blood show pred magic? Or was I overlooking something more simple? I rubbed my bandaged dragon bite. Oh crap. The old bandage had fallen off Friday night. I’d assumed I lost it on my way home, but what if it had come off in Greg’s apartment? That would be pretty damning evidence against me. That could be why the Gryphons needed a blood sample for matching.