Wicked Misery (Miss Misery)

by Martin, Tracey

I brushed my teeth, sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off my sneakers. The mattress was soft. The pillows felt like down. My body craved sleep, yet my brain wouldn’t shut up. Through the open drapes, the clouds rushed by, occasionally revealing hints of a black, star-filled night. By tomorrow, the sky would be clear and sunny. By tomorrow, my own dilemma would still be murky. And I’d have less time…

  I could hear Lucen moving about downstairs. My mind raced with the clouds. I needed sleep, but I was restless. I needed answers more. Especially needed to know tonight’s mission had accomplished something.

  Lucen had left me a pair of shorts and a T-shirt on the bed. I slipped them on. The shorts were absurdly large, but the drawstring waist held them. I threw his sweatshirt on over them and went downstairs in my bare feet.

  He sat in the living room, staring at his laptop. “Problem with the toothbrush?”

  “The toothbrush served its purpose, but I can’t sleep. Are you looking at the files?”

  “Yeah. Come take a look if you like. It’s weird stuff. No surprise the Gryphons are grasping for anything they can find.”

  I flopped on the sofa and curled my legs under me. Lucen had set his laptop on the table. Stretching toward him, I could see he’d been busy. Several files were open, and he’d been making notes.

  He shifted next to me as he reached for his glass, and his leg brushed against mine. Chills broke out on my back as I realized how close I’d sat to him. Perhaps it was a testament to my tiredness or Lucen’s preoccupation with the murder cases, but my body only reacted with the faintest stirrings of lust. More than anything, I was possessed by a desire to rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes to sleep. I didn’t like that any better than the lascivious urges that normally came in his presence. It suggested that after not even twelve hours in his company I was becoming complacent around him.

  I sat up straighter and inched away. “What’s so weird?”

  Lucen brought one of the files to the forefront of the screen. “The magic patterns. This is Leslie Liu’s case file. You see those lines on the graph there?” He pointed to something that looked like an EKG printout. “They ran some very sensitive magic-detecting spells on her blood. The top line indicates how the spells reacted to the levels of soluble magic in her blood. The bottom line indicates the levels of non-soluble magic.”

  “That has something to do with her being an addict, doesn’t it?” I’d heard the phrases bantered around at the Academy, but if anyone had explained them, I’d since forgotten all but the most general stuff. “Or is that because she’s human?”

  “You’re thinking natural and unnatural magic. Natural magic is what you or I have, but a normal, non-Gryphon human doesn’t. Unnatural magic refers to magic that’s left in the blood by someone else, and anyone can have it. Soluble and insoluble magic are both unnatural.” Lucen pointed to the line again. “This is the soluble magic. If she wasn’t an addict, most likely that line wouldn’t even show up.”

  “Okay, but we already knew she was an addict.”

  “Right, but that doesn’t explain the lower line.” He pointed at it.

  “So what does insoluble mean?”

  “It’s more like an imprint. Someone who’s around magic will show traces of it in their system even if it’s not affecting them. Think of it as magic dust settling in your blood. You would show very strong signs of it right now simply from being here so long. It would fade after you’d been away a while.”

  I wet my lips. “So she was around a pred when she died?”

  “Not necessarily.” He pointed to more notes below the graph. “The Gryphons were able to determine that the insoluble magic in her system was pred in nature, but that’s it. Your magic, little siren, would probably show up much like that. Notice the strength of the insoluble magic is much weaker than the strength of the soluble magic.”

  “That could only mean time had passed. Right?”

  “Right, but there’s a connection between how long the women had been dead and the intensity of the insoluble magic left in their blood.” Lucen flipped to his notes. “Those traces are too weak to be caused by one of my people.”

  “So you don’t think it was a pred?”

  “Nor one of the magi, at this point. Just a guess, but I’d bet that line is what your magical imprint would look like.”

  “But there’s no notes in the file where the Gryphons call it human magic?”

  “Not that I’ve seen.” Lucen scrolled through the long document. “But they wouldn’t have ever seen human magic that makes a pattern like that. You’re an anomaly, remember. They wouldn’t know what to make of it.”

  I swallowed. “Until they found the blood on my bandage, which would also show up weirdly.”

  “As natural magic, but yes.”

  I groaned.

  “It’s more interesting than that.” Lucen smiled in a mirthless way. “The male victims show a different pattern altogether. Here’s your Gregory Penfield. Note the soluble line first.”

  Lucen brought up Greg’s graph. This time the patterns were reversed. “As far as I can tell, the women were around a weak magical presence when they died, but the men were around a strong one.”

  “Two different people or races. So the murders aren’t related.” I frowned. “Except by the blood sample and the heart in my fridge. Oh, and my bandage possibly being at the crime scene. Wonderful.”

  “Unfortunately, you do appear to be the only link. A bloodied bandage with the sort of magical traces I’d expect from you was noted in his file. All they need from you is a blood sample, and they’ve got you nailed to the crime scene. Doubly.” Lucen ignored my whining and continued. “The magical evidence is only a piece of it, though. There are several more blatant differences in the crimes. For example, the men weren’t sexually assaulted like the women, and they were killed in a very different way. Much cleaner, execution style as opposed to someone in a fit of rage.”

  “How?”

  “Decapitation.”

  “Sorry I asked.”

  “I won’t show you the crime scene photos.”

  I lay back on the sofa. So much for the information in the files giving me hope. They’d only made things more complicated. More damning. “I’m toast, aren’t I?”

  A clatter sent me bolting upright, but it was only Sweetpea waking up and shaking his cage. He snorted smoke and scratched.

  “I need to give him some exercise,” Lucen said, getting up. “You’re not toast. You said you knew there was another human out there with a gift like yours. I might have to alter my opinion on the magi’s involvement.”

  Yawning, I stretched out on the spot he’d left behind. The sofa was warm there. “Yeah, my creepy note-writer. He could have left that magic in the women. But what about Greg?”

  “Worry about the addicts. That’s what’s going to get the sylphs to stop pissing their pants.”

  “But it won’t be enough to get the Gryphons off my back. Between Greg’s blood in my fridge and the bandage, I’ve got to be suspect number one.” I watched as Lucen pulled an iron harness out of a closet and wrapped his hands in heavy, dragon-hide gloves. “Besides, there’s got to be a connection. Two magically related deaths, both being pinned on me? I don’t buy a coincidence. Something’s up.” My overtired brain hurt. More than one idea itched at my consciousness then disappeared before I could scratch it into revealing itself.

  Lucen was wrestling an unhappy Sweetpea into the harness. His talons scraped uselessly at the stone hearth, and more smoke poured from his snout.

  Dragons, although many people tried domesticating them for pets, did not like contact with other non-dragon creatures. Well, unless that contact included biting.

  “My fridge.” I sat up. “How would Note-writer—or whoever this was—know my secret fridge existed? Why wouldn’t he have just stuck the addict’s heart in the apartment fridge?” I smacked a sofa pillow. “But no. He stuck it in the fridge in my bedroom. That means something.”


  “Maybe he searched your apartment and found it?” Lucen said. “If it was in the apartment fridge, that would spread suspicion to your roommates.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe this guy already knew it existed because maybe he’d already broken into my apartment and stolen a blood sample from me. I mean, how many people could have discovered my identity in such a short period of time, and discovered the fridge with it?”

  Now that Sweetpea was free—sort of—to walk about, he’d calmed down and begun exploring the fireplace hearth.

  Lucen tugged him toward the kitchen. “Probably not many, but how does that help?”

  “I don’t know.” I lay back down, feeling the mental itch grow and becoming increasingly frustrated that I couldn’t scratch it.

  The effort of the exercise was too much. My eyes must have closed because I heard a door shut. The apartment turned silent.

  The next thing I knew I was fumbling toward wakefulness in a dim room with a crick in my neck.

  Sleep peeled away from my eyelids. There was no denying the darkness was getting brighter. I tossed around on the sofa until I realized I was on a sofa, and yes I was in a strange living room, and that was indeed a dragon snoring away in a cage by the fireplace.

  The memories of my Monday from hell whacked me over the head. I sank back into the cushions, wishing I could enjoy a few more hours of forgetting that my life was spiraling down the toilet of doom.

  Alas, I was wide awake. My disorientation thus explained, it faded until I was left with nothing to do but ponder my other emotions. I was excited and unsure why.

  I disentangled my feet from the blanket on top of me—where had that come from?—and sat. Slivers of sunlight threatened through the room’s heavy drapes. I pulled them aside and gazed out on a vision of Shadowtown I’d never seen before—Shadowtown in all its morning glory. Shadowtown while the preds slept and the golden haze of sunlight brushed the gloomy, gothic architecture with a kiss of color and life. Right now, I could almost feel entirely safe strolling down one of those streets.

  I padded into the kitchen and fumbled with the settings on Lucen’s coffeemaker. The clock told me it was just after ten. My stomach rumbled. I found some raisin bread and butter in the fridge and stuck a couple slices in the toaster with jittery hands.

  The tile floor was cold so I bounded upstairs, quietly, and searched for yesterday’s clothes. I could have sworn I’d left them on the bed, but they were gone.

  Gone like Scumbag Pete’s blood sample.

  I paused mid-bounce, suddenly understanding why I was so energetic. Scumbag Pete. My subconscious had found the missing link while I slept. No longer perturbed about my AWOL clothes, I stuck my feet in my sneakers and went about buttering my toast and pouring coffee.

  Why hadn’t I made the leap before? Scumbag Pete was a rapist. The woman I’d saved from him last week had been a vanity addict. And the murdered vanity addicts had all been raped before their deaths. Scumbag had to have been the one to do it. This was the link, tenuous though it was, between him and my note-writer, and it meant only one person had discovered my identity—my creepy note-writer.

  Scumbag raped the women while Note-writer gorged on their suffering. Then one or the other of them, probably Note-writer given the brutal nature of the deaths, killed the women. It explained the magical traces left behind in the addict victims’ blood.

  I still wasn’t sure how Note-writer had discovered me, but I had a theory—the van that had pulled up outside the vanity addict’s apartment. Scumbag had been waiting for his partner. Note-writer had shown up and seen me take Scumbag’s blood. Then he’d followed me home. When he got the chance on Monday while my roommates and I were out, he’d broken into the apartment and searched until he’d found the fridge, recognized Scumbag’s name and took the vial.

  It made sense from all I knew about either of them.

  Of course, what didn’t make sense was the part about why they focused on vanity addicts or what the Somerville men had to do with it. Nor did it make sense that I hadn’t detected Note-writer’s evil burnt-oil taste if he’d been spying on me the night I’d gone after Scumbag.

  I was confident though, as I drank my coffee and the sun’s warm glow chased away some of Shadowtown’s gloom, that those answers, too, would come. All I had to do was track down Note-writer or Scumbag and find out. And Scumbag’s ID was in my apartment.

  My apartment that must be surrounded by Gryphons just waiting for me to do something stupid like show up there.

  Well, that too could be sorted out somehow. I had several hours to ponder it while I waited for Lucen to get up. In the meantime, I’d eat, celebrate my brilliance and solve the mystery of my disappearing clothes.

  Lucen wandered downstairs about three hours later as I finished a set of pushups in the living room. I’d found my jeans, T-shirt and socks washed and folded on top of a dryer in a laundry closet. I should have known.

  Hastily, I adjusted my shirt and followed him into the kitchen. My good mood, or maybe just the much-needed sleep, left me prone to all his pheromones once more. I couldn’t help but notice how his hair was sexily tousled, and I longed to separate the tangled waves with my fingers. Pretending to be distracted by a robin outside, I kept my gaze focused on the window while I shared my brilliant revelation.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Lucen said. “Although it doesn’t explain why the victims’ hearts were removed.”

  “Aw, crap. No, it doesn’t.” Some of my bubble deflated. I wrapped my arms around my legs.

  “It’s a decent lead, little siren. Just because there are holes, doesn’t mean we won’t be able to fill them in. It’s something we can act on, and that’ll make Dezzi happy.”

  “How can we act on it when Scumbag’s ID is in my apartment? All I remember is his first name, and I can’t figure out how we can get in there to retrieve the ID unless those disguise charms are ready.”

  Lucen’s chair scraped against the floor, and I heard the clang of ceramic on stone as he set his empty mug on the counter. “The charms will be ready by this evening, but we shouldn’t wait that long. We’d best strike while your roommates are out.”

  “That’s risky.”

  “Extremely, which is why you’ll be staying here.”

  “What?” I spun around. “No way.”

  Lucen’s eyes bore into me. “You can’t go anywhere near your apartment, and you know it. You’ll give me your keys, tell me where to find the ID and I’ll go.”

  “I’m not just going to sit around on my butt while I wait for you to do all the work.” Or waited for him, and any other satyrs, to go through my bedroom without me. That seemed way too invasive of my personal space. Somehow I didn’t think Lucen would appreciate that argument though.

  “Then don’t sit around.” Lucen stuck his mug in the dishwasher. “Feel free to clean up around here for me.”

  “Your place is spotless. Come on, I’m serious. Besides, if I’m going to be stuck here longer, I could really use some of my belongings.”

  “Make me a list.”

  “I don’t want you rummaging through my underwear drawer.” Judging by Lucen’s devious expression, that had most definitely been the wrong tactic to try. I rested my head in my hands, surrendering to the obvious. “You really are evil, you know that.”

  “No.” Smirking, he crossed the room and hovered over me. His face was inches from mine, and his fingers gripped the back of my chair, not quite touching my shoulder. “If I wanted to be evil, you’d know.”

  I shuddered, refusing to look at him for all the difference it made. He was so close he might as well have touched me. He was clearly making a joke of his promise not to. His hot breath tickled my ear, and the hairs on my neck stood at attention. His exhales were heavy, solid, like a pair of hands. All he had to do was lean a little closer, press his lips against my skin. My body yearned for it and feared it. My chest constricted.

  Then he was gone. The heat dissipated, but my conflict remained. Blood
rushed to my cheeks. I wouldn’t look at him, watch him savor all the horrible feelings he’d just aroused.

  I hate you. Feed off of that. But the emotion was limp and pathetic despite my best efforts to build a fire behind it, and Lucen surely knew.

  “I can no more help what I am than you can help what you are,” he said.

  He went upstairs, and a few minutes later it sounded like a shower ran. I dug my nails into my skin until pain overpowered all my other pitiful problems.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In lieu of a punching bag, Lucen’s nuts or the asshole who’d framed me, I lashed out at the air while Lucen showered. My jeans chafed with each kick. If only I’d known I was going to be framed for murder yesterday, I wouldn’t have worn my tight jeans. Sure, my butt looked good while I ran, but I didn’t run—or kick—as well as I could have.

  Lucen plodded downstairs without a word. He took one look at my foot, currently in the air about his chest height, and called Dezzi to inform her of our discussion.

  “They’ll be over in about an hour,” he said.

  “They’ll?”

  “Dezzi’s council, and maybe a few harpies.”

  Here we went again. I had to make sure Lucen swiped my protective charm from the apartment.

  And loose jeans. That was also vitally important.

  Lucen opened the top of Sweetpea’s cage and dropped in his breakfast of baby mice. “Turn on the TV. Let’s see if the Gryphons have released your name yet.”

  Much to my relief, my name didn’t show up anywhere in conjunction with the murders. We scanned the TV stations and searched online. Clearly, the Gryphons were holding all their cards close.

  While Dezzi and the other satyrs arrived, I wrote out a list of everything I wanted Lucen to bring back from my apartment. It grew quite long, but there are some things a girl can’t live without. Particularly when she was living with satyrs.

  Devon snatched the paper from me. “That settles it. I’m coming along on this trip if it means I get to root through your underwear.”

  I tapped my fingers against the table. “You’re all alike, aren’t you?”