Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (36 page)

“So I can’t be addicted?” Okay, I could focus on the silver lining here. This was what I’d needed to know, wasn’t it? Assym couldn’t addict me? My soul was safe.

Didn’t mean I wouldn’t hurl later.

“You can be, but no one with sense would want you. You have the same power as we do, and the bond is not one way.”

“But how does that make me dangerous? Preds can’t addict other preds, so what good is the power?”

“That is not something I can tell you. You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

“You can’t tell me, or you won’t?” She didn’t answer, but her face was frosty. I took that to mean won’t. “Shouldn’t this be covered under our deal?”

“I can only tell you those things which I know. Since I’m not the same as you, technically I can’t know what anything is like from your perspective. You see?”

Yeah, I saw. She could tell me a lot more, but technicalities were a goblin’s best friend.

I buried my head in my hands. Was Gunthra suggesting I could use the same weak power I exerted over humans on preds? Impossible. I couldn’t even control a human the way a pred could.

And I didn’t really want to think about controlling anyone, or feeding off of anyone. Except I’d been doing that since I was eighteen, hadn’t I? Treating humanity as an emotional buffet. It hadn’t been my choice, but I’d sure put my gift to use. I pretended I did it for good reasons, but what good really did I do? Enough to negate the bad, or just enough to rid myself of the guilt I felt for feeling most alive when those around me—even those I cared about—suffered?

It only made sense that I wasn’t entirely human. Part pred. Hybrid. Abomination.

Yeah, I felt that last one.

My throat tightened, just waiting to expel my disgust with myself.

“My gift,” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s like a satyr’s. Does that mean—?”

“You’re part satyr, yes.”

I closed my eyes. Xander’s voice from yesterday taunted me. “A pred’s gift comes from a corrupted soul.” He’d been right. Gunthra had said it—my soul had been transformed.

Screw you, Xander, and the Hitchcock movie you flew in on.

I am not evil. I’m not even half evil. I’m…a fucking abomination. Face it, Jess. You’re not little siren. You’re little satyr.

I dug my nails into my palms. Although I didn’t move another muscle, I swore the room was spinning.

“Who would do this? If none of your people would bother trying to transform someone like me, then how did this happen?” And when? Why didn’t I have any memory of it?

“I can’t tell you that. When I said previously that the answer was simple yet not, that’s what I meant. Only another of my people would have the magic to do this, but I can’t imagine why anyone would.”

“And you’re sure it has to be a pred?” Victor and I had this, and our mysterious mention in the Gryphons’ files, in common. Perhaps the Gryphons knew more about my screwed-up gift—heritage—than Gunthra thought. Was that possible?

Gunthra poured more tea. “It must be. Only humans can create new humans. Only satyrs can create new satyrs. Drink some more tea, Miss Moore. You look pale.”

I clasped a hand over my mouth. Preds were hilarious. I should be so thrilled to be half one.

I shivered, suddenly positive that I couldn’t hold myself together much longer, and jumped up. My knees bore my weight, but my stomach registered its displeasure. “I need to go. Unless you’ve got anything else mind-blowing to share about this.”

“Unfortunately not.” Gunthra stood as well. “Take care of yourself at the Matches tonight, Miss Moore. You are indeed a rare specimen.”

I ran out of the house and dry heaved by her creepy stone urns.

I more stumbled back to The Lair than walked. Not only did my insides continue to churn, but my head throbbed thanks to my face being perma-clenched against the possibility of tears. I’d woken up with hangovers and felt in better condition.

The one bright spot in all this was that the satyrs milled about in The Lair so no one seemed to have noticed I’d left. I was just in time too. Lucrezia and someone else stepped outside as I slipped back into Lucen’s apartment. I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them.

Them.
All my life, people had been divided into Us and Them. Us humans who had plenty of our own assholes, but who weren’t—in general—evil. And Them, preds who lived—quite literally—to torment us, to tempt us into screwing up then feeding on our misery.

My Us and Them had just met head-on in the nastiest possible collision. The sort that flung debris all over I-93, chewed up the median and blocked traffic for miles during rush hour.

Part satyr. Part
them
.

I squeezed the life out of the front doorknob then slammed the door. Lucen’s apartment stunk of satyr pheromones. I stomped upstairs to the guest bedroom and slid to the floor.

My uselessly weak protective charm hung around my ankle, and I ripped it off. What was it protecting me from? Myself? Ha. Gunthra hadn’t really explained why my soul was useless, only that I could be dangerous. What did that mean? No surprise she wouldn’t tell me if it were true. And it had to be true, or why else hide it?

I rubbed my aching temples.

My poor mother. Not only was she likely to be worried sick about me right now, what would this do to her if she knew? Or Steph? What would humanity do to me?

That was it then—no way could I let anyone know. The stakes had been raised. But tonight if the Gryphons found me… I took a deep breath. They’d know about my gift. They wouldn’t know why I had it. They could never know why.

I must have stared into space for a while, contemplating how or when this could have happened to me. Nothing came to mind before footsteps on the stairs startled me.

“Little siren?” Lucen appeared in the doorway. “What’s wrong? I think half the neighborhood knows you’re unhappy.”

Fucking preds… Shit. Could I even curse their races anymore without being a hypocrite?

“Nothing I want to talk about. Getting myself all nice and miserable so I’ll be full of energy tonight.” I forced a smile.

I could tell Lucen the truth, but would he get why I was so upset? I mean, he was a satyr and seemed to like it. But then, of course he did. How many people wished they were another species? So how could he relate? I didn’t even know why he had become a satyr in the first place—by choice or something else? In some ways, Gunthra’s information raised more questions than it answered.

I set my charms on the table and caught my reflection in the mirror. Pale—Gunthra hadn’t been lying about that—but at least I hadn’t ended up with horns.

For the love of dragons, I almost amused myself there. I wasn’t usually such an optimist.

“How’s your meeting?” I asked.

“Over. Come on downstairs. Tonight could be exhausting. You should eat something.”

The thought of food made me nauseous all over again, but Lucen had a point. Wallowing in my own horror would only get me so far. I needed food if I didn’t want to pass out later. I hoped I could keep some down.

“Yeah.” I purposely grazed his hand with my own as I walked past. Mmm. Warm cinnamon lusty thoughts drove away some of my misery. Lucen was evil but not really cruel. He took good care of his addicts. He even cared for random ghouls. It wasn’t as if he were some sadist.

Evil magic didn’t have to mean you were an evil person. Right?

If only I could make myself believe it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Gi provided me with a spiffy new sheath for my knife, which I dubbed Misery after the engraving on the hilt. I hoped that meant the furies wouldn’t recognize it as stolen when I carried it into the Meat Matches, but that was probably a stupid thing to worry about. Kind of like hoping your hair didn’t get too blowsy during a hurricane.

Or a cage match.

I kept telling myself the Matches wouldn’t be so bad this time around. I was older, wiser and more jaded and mentally prepared. But I knew better. If we didn’t find Victor and force a confession out of him quickly once we got there, real fighting could break out. Real fast. My time was almost up. The furies weren’t dumb, though, and I’d shown my hand by admitting to looking for him. His master would probably be keeping him close.

Still, one way or another, this nightmare would end tonight. That was almost comforting. As for the nightmare Gunthra had shared? I’d wallow in that more deeply if I survived.

Such were my cheery thoughts as we drove out of Boston.

Meat Matches had to be a moving target. If the Gryphons got wind of them, they did their best to break them up. So once a location was discovered, the furies packed up and held the next bouts somewhere else. This time, somewhere else was a warehouse in the nearby town of Chelsea. A fury stood at the gate along the barbed-wire fence surrounding the brick building. Lucen and I drove over with Dezzi, and the fury shined a flashlight into the car.

“No humans tonight,” he said, directing the beam in my eyes. “Our kind and guests only.”

Lucen actually looked relieved. “Jess, if we—”

“Wait.” The fury poked his head through the open window and into the backseat. “You’re that Jessica girl, aren’t you? Go on.”

Lucen peeled away, almost taking the fury’s head off. That would have been an appropriate way to start the night.

It was twenty before midnight when we arrived, but already the warehouse was packed. Bleachers lined the walls, some arranged as if to provide box seating. A chain-link fence ran around the perimeter in front of the seating area, providing a wall that segregated the fighting stages from the audience. There were three stages, two open and a third in the center made of steel mesh. Ropes and wires hung over each stage. In the center cage, an all rage addict band played at an ear-splitting volume.

Tables filled with weapons stood between each of the stages. As we climbed into the satyrs’ section, I could see swords, knives of various lengths, axes, maces, baseball bats, rolls of barbed wire, rope, an ice pick or two, and a variety of things that looked like medieval torture devices. Basically, anything that could stab, slice, pinch, poke, maim or generally cause pain was allowed. Except firearms and other projectile weapons. No one wanted to watch two people shoot each other. Totally boring.

Off to one side, betting booths manned by female furies covered about twenty feet. Flags bearing the names of several fight champions hung above them. Beyond the booths, in a makeshift room surrounded by curtains, would be the concession stand filled with alcohol.

The overall lighting was low, but spotlights illuminated the stages and tables in a harsh white glare. More lights, at floor level, gave off an eerie green glow. Someone had brought smoke machines. The effect made me think of a three-ring circus from hell.

If Victor was around, he’d be hanging among the furies, who’d congregated mostly on the far end. Picking him out from here would be impossible. The furies and their addicts comprised the largest percentage of the mob, taking over half of the seating, and they continued to pour in. For northern New England, the greater Boston area was
the
place for the Matches.

I dropped my gaze to the nearer seats, which were filling with a disturbing number of white- and silver-haired heads. The sylphs had mostly abandoned their flower-power style of dress for tighter, more practical fare tonight. Like everyone else, they’d come armed, and a few brought addicts as guests. Several thuggish-looking goblins hovered around them.

“Are sylphs normally big fans of the fights?” I asked Lucen.

“Don’t think so, but can’t say. My people tend to stay away. It’s mostly the furies, their addicts and humans that like these events.”

“Yeah, why no humans tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

I didn’t have to be able to read his emotions to know he didn’t like it.

Satyrs and harpies gathered on the bleachers below us. Eyff spoke a few words with Dezzi, then joined his fellow harpies.

Dezzi strode to the center of the steel platform and gathered our attention. Her voice was naturally soft. She didn’t need to raise it to command authority. But over the pounding bass and cranky techno beat, I had to strain my ears to hear her.

“We must be alert. We can be certain the furies guard Victor Aubrey closely, so we will need to fan out. Do not, under any circumstances…” She widened her eyes and stared into the distance.

We all turned our heads to see what she was looking at.

The lights dimmed even further. The sound system screeched, and a few people booed. Wincing, I covered my ears. Great hooks lowered from the ceiling, grabbed the cage and lifted it high into the rafters. A fury I’d never seen before climbed to the elevated stage in the middle of the center platform.

The furies applauded wildly.

Lucen leaned over to me. “That’s Raj, their Dom.”

Raj beamed at the crowd. Although judging from this distance was tricky, he was a good head taller than any of the rage-addict musicians who were now gathering up their equipment. Two horns added to his imposing height. He was neither as thick nor broad-shouldered as most male furies, but he didn’t need to be to look just as scary. Black and red glyphs were tattooed on his face.