Wicked Misery (Miss Misery)

by Martin, Tracey

  “Maybe.” Lucen frowned into his coffee. “But given the magic being thrown around at the Matches, it could be difficult.”

  “If the satyrs bring an army to the Matches, then there’s got to be a chance someone will find him.”

  “Dezzi won’t like it. She thinks the Matches are barbaric. But…” Lucen shrugged. “It’s not like we’ve got anything better to go on. I’ll call her.”

  I licked the last bit of jam from my fingers, hoping Dezzi would see reason. My respect for her rose slightly from hearing she thought the Matches barbaric, but she was still a pred.

  And so is Lucen, so forget what happened last night.

  Lucen’s phone rang as he reached for it. He listened for a few seconds, swore, then hung up. “The Gryphons are already here. We’ve got to hide you.”

  “What now? Where?” For some reason I hadn’t anticipated they would arrive so soon. Apparently, neither had the satyrs.

  Lucen raced up the stairs, me on his heels. “Pack up all your clothes. They usually get warrants to search the Doms’ homes, and any members of their inner council, so they could come here.” He threw my mostly spent charms in the trash, thrust the containers with the illicit glamour potions into a drawer of charm-making supplies where they blended in, and searched the room.

  “Wait—where are you taking me?”

  “Not far. Lucrezia has a hidden room in her attic where you can stay. I don’t have any place here.” He handed me the netbook. “Might want to take this. You’ll probably be stuck there for a few hours.”

  “A few hours?” Damn it.

  Lucrezia lived only a short distance away. Before leaving, I looked out Lucen’s front window and saw Gryphon SUVs parked nearby. That was enough confirmation for me. I ducked away from the window.

  Lucen led me out the back door, through the parking lot and down an alley. Lucrezia, her dark eyes harder than ever, held open a door into her basement. No one said anything until we climbed four flights of steps and stopped in a narrow hallway. She pushed a table aside and pressed her finger into knot in the wood paneling. A latch clicked, and a couple panels swung open, revealing an attic in the eaves.

  “In there, pet. There’s a light, and mind your head.”

  I took a tentative step forward, and a blast of hundred-degree air whooshed over me. “I’ll die in there. I’ll be cooked by the time you get back.”

  “Take your clothes off?” Lucen suggested. I glared at him, and he turned to Lucrezia. “Water?”

  She clucked her tongue. “I’ll get some. Get your ass inside, pet. I mean it.”

  Groaning, I tucked my head and climbed through the hole in the wall. In an instant, sweat coated my skin. How long would I roast in here before deciding I’d be better off surrendering to the Gryphons? Maybe Xander had talked to them, after all. Maybe they’d believe I was innocent.

  Maybe they’d lock me up anyway because of my gift. Nope, I wasn’t ready to take my chances yet.

  I found the light Lucrezia had mentioned—a single bulb with a chain—and turned it on. The room was empty except for a few cardboard boxes, but it didn’t have much space for me to move about. I definitely couldn’t stand.

  “You going to be okay, little siren?”

  “Would you?”

  Lucrezia returned then, carrying three chilled water bottles. “There’s a latch on your side. See it?”

  I examined the door. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll leave the table a couple inches from the wall. You can undo the latch, and you should be able to push the table away enough to climb under it.” She passed me the water. “Don’t die in there. The smell will be revolting.”

  “Thanks for your concern.”

  Lucen’s cell rang. “We’ve got to go.”

  There’s a lot to be said for being stuffed into a secret attic on a hot summer day, most of which isn’t worth repeating. Lucen might have been joking about the take-your-clothes-off bit, but after a few minutes I decided it wasn’t a half-bad idea. I stripped down to my underwear, and started on the first bottle of water.

  I strained my ears to catch any noise from outside, but after a few minutes of trying, I gave up and considered ways to keep myself busy. The clock kept ticking. I had no business being bored, yet if the Gryphons were keeping the satyrs occupied, I had nothing else to do either. Now was as good as any time to learn some patience.

  Without any better ideas, I tied my hair up then pulled out the netbook. Thankfully, the battery was fully charged and I could tap into the public WiFi somewhere nearby. News about the fires was everywhere, and despite my earlier resolution, I couldn’t help but read every article or blog post I could find. I’d never been the sort who could look away from accidents or roadkill no matter how much I wanted to. Faced with the headlines blaring at me, I was compelled to click the links.

  Already close to a hundred bodies had been retrieved from the hardest hit areas. Hundreds more were missing, most likely to never be found because the salamanders had reduced them to ash. According to some city official, damage estimates were in the upper tens of millions and rising. Emergency personnel from all over the state had been requested for help with the search and rescue and with plain old damage control.

  The photos, many of which were captured by onlookers or those fleeing, made me ill. Lucen had called this foreplay. Shit. Even if Xander had gone to the Gryphons, I couldn’t turn myself in. He was right. I needed to be working to stop this war. Something I wasn’t doing inside this hellish attic.

  I checked the time, but less than an hour had passed. I had half a mind to sneak out of here and see if I could get a visual from one of the windows. No sooner than I’d touched the latch, though, I heard voices. Then footsteps.

  So maybe not.

  I held my breath. Without recognizing the voices, I could tell they belonged to humans because anxiety and annoyance settled in my mouth. Gryphons. Fuck.

  The stairs creaked. Hand trembling, I turned off the light and swore silently because the chain sounded so loud. The voices stopped, but the Gryphons continued to get closer. I closed the netbook, as well, in case any light seeped between the panels.

  In utter darkness I waited. The magical energy building in me swelled, courtesy of my own fear and the Gryphons’ emotions. I twitched, trying to expel it while simultaneously trying not to make noise.

  They poked around forever, or so it seemed. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the duffel. Sweat rolled down my neck, and I itched. Heat made me sleepy. I might have drifted off for a bit because I was suddenly aware of being parched and that the footsteps had disappeared. When I stretched out with my gift, I could detect human anxiety nearby, but faintly. Probably the Gryphons weren’t in the house anymore, but they hadn’t left Shadowtown.

  Bored once more, I opened the netbook and plugged in the thumb drive from Steph for lack of anything more productive to do. Sure enough, my file was labeled just as she said. The four others were similar, only the names and the numbers changed. On a whim, I opened a web browser and began searching.

  The first two names were so common that they generated thousands of hits, but I got more lucky with the last two. Kyra McNaughton brought up a newspaper article about a high school in New York that held an annual “Kyra McNaughton Memorial Scholarship contest” for students. In the article Ms. McNaughton was described as a former Spanish teacher who had very unexpectedly committed suicide. From there, I cobbled together a new search that led me to something actually interesting—the original article about Kyra McNaughton’s suicide in which she was described as having graduated from the New York Academy for the Magically Gifted, and having gone on to earn a teaching degree after not joining the Gryphons.

  Huh. So that was something else we had in common besides our names showing up in these files. Kyra’s gift hadn’t developed either.

  I read the article three times. Kyra would probably have been a year or two older than me if she were alive. The article described her as single and quie
t, but a dedicated teacher, and her photo showed an attractive woman standing outside what must have been the school where she worked.

  I saved the links, then searched for the last name. Victor Aubrey. This time I struck something interesting on the first page of results. His name showed up in a four-year-old article from one of the local papers.

  Police have not yet made any arrests in the murder of Elizabeth Small, but a Revere resident, Victor Aubrey, was brought in for a second day of questioning. Aubrey, a Stop-n-Save manager, was romantically involved with Small at the time of her murder. He was later released.

  Aubrey was convicted two years ago of assaulting a man in a Cambridge bar. Police are not releasing any details on why he was questioned a second time.

  This article, too, contained a photograph. Aubrey stood next to a woman identified as the murder victim. Elizabeth Small was unremarkable, but Victor Aubrey’s face creeped me out. It was something in his eyes. I spent enough time around the dregs of society that I swore I could tell when something wasn’t right about a person just from looking at them. Perhaps Aubrey hadn’t killed his girlfriend, but I wouldn’t trust him to call me a cab. When I searched to see if he’d eventually been arrested, I found he hadn’t been.

  I also couldn’t find any reference to him having once attended one of the Gryphons’ Academies, but he must have or why would the Gryphons have his name on a file. And like Kyra and me, he must have been booted, or he wouldn’t have been working at a Stop-n-Save.

  I opened my last bottle of water. Now what? While this was all interesting—and had done a nice job of keeping me entertained while stuck in an attic—it didn’t make any sense. Every year lots of students attended the Academies. Every year, lots had gifts that disappeared or failed to develop. Why us five in these files then? What else did we have in common? Kyra hadn’t even gone to the New England Academy.

  One thing for sure, I wasn’t going to get any more answers on my own. Steph had said the files were heavily encrypted, which meant I had to find someone who could unencrypt them. Yeah, because that would be easy. Unencrypting stolen files. Not like I could ask many people for help there. Lucen might know a pred who could do it, but then I’d be trusting a pred with potentially highly important Gryphon information. Hardly ideal.

  I tucked the thumb drive away. It was now after five, and I was almost out of water. I’d been stuck here for two hours.

  And the Gryphons had gone. I was almost positive. I sat up with a start, nearly smacking my head against the roof. Fucking satyrs. Why hadn’t someone come for me yet?

  I shut down the netbook and packed it in my duffel, then opened the attic door. Lucrezia’s house was silent, but the table legs squeaked as I pushed it across the wood floor. I paused, waiting in case I’d misjudged the lack of emotions nearby, but heard nothing.

  Thank dragons. I wormed my way into the hallway and reveled in the cooler air. A quick check out the window told me nothing about the Gryphons. I couldn’t see any, but one or two might still be floating around. In a move sure to anger Lucen if he saw me, I stuck my head outside for a better view.

  The sky was darker than it should be because of the smoky haze that clung to the skyline, but the streets were empty. Of everyone.

  I fanned my neck, frowning. What the hell?

  Wishing Lucen had left me one of Lei’s glamour containers, I got dressed, rushed down the steps and opened the door. The front of Lucrezia’s building was on a side street. I strode around the row of conjoined buildings and out onto the sidewalk along the main road. The quiet was unnerving, very weird for Shadowtown this time of the evening. Did it always get like this after a raid, or had something special happened? I so didn’t have time for special.

  My thumb hovered over the talk button on my cellphone. Lucen could be down at Gryphon headquarters for all I knew, but then it wasn’t as if anyone would know I was the one calling. I hoped.

  My hope was for naught. No one answered. That twisted my stomach into all kinds of complicated contortions. Lucen had better be all right. I had a feeling bad stuff was going down. Bad, bad stuff. I should not be wandering the streets alone and undisguised.

  So, naturally, I took a few more steps forward. The temperature difference between here and the attic was amazing. I raised my arms, letting the breeze cool me down and dry off my sweat. But despite feeling better physically, my anxiety continued to grow. I needed a plan.

  Okay, first move. Take my belongings back to Lucen’s. The less I had anything to do with Lucrezia, the better. Second move? Worry about that once at Lucen’s.

  I hurried down the street and had just unlocked the door to Lucen’s apartment when the hairs on my neck stood on end. Following it came the unmistakable sensation of someone watching me. I dropped the bag in the foyer, and my hands snatched at my knives as I spun around. No one.

  Heart pounding, I shut the door and scanned the vicinity. A dragon skittered across the street. And aha—there, in the shadow of the gothic, stone staircase of an apartment building, imps congregated. Definitely odd. Imps wouldn’t normally swarm in darkness.

  I didn’t bother pretending to stroll casually, and twenty feet from the shadows, someone laughed. Although I’d never heard that particular noise from those foul lips, I instantly knew who it was. A slow smile curved on my face. Lucen might kill me for going out alone, but this would be worth it.

  Got you, you bastard.

  “Your detective skills truly are something.” Note-writer’s voice made my skin crawl.

  “Yeah, well, your hiding skills suck.” Score one for me putting on a new speed charm earlier. This was ending tonight.

  I sprang. And crashed into the stone wall. My shoulder roared in pain. Damn it! Note-writer was wearing a charm too, and he’d disappeared. I jumped back and searched the vicinity, knives out and ready.

  “Yoo-hoo! I’m over here!”

  He’d chosen his spot well. I couldn’t see his face clearly. I charged, and he darted. I leaped again. He moved just in time.

  Over and over it continued, like we were opposing magnetic poles and I couldn’t get closer without repelling him. A couple blocks later, I caught my breath. Frustration built inside me until I was ready to howl.

  Note-writer took off down an unfamiliar street, and I followed, heady with some satisfaction at least. I’d gotten Dezzi’s proof. She might not trust Xander’s word, but she’d been willing to trust mine for the most part. And now I could say for sure—Note-writer was a fury addict. No imp sting hid that knowledge from me tonight. I could sense the fury’s power hovering around him like a noxious cloud.

  Now if only I could catch him.

  More people were out and about on this block, although their faces were tense and their voices hushed. Everyone was armed too. Several shops were open for business, some goblins and sylphs dined al fresco at an Italian place to my right, and music blared from a bar farther down the street on my left. A couple sylphs nudged their companions and motioned toward me.

  I swallowed down fear, not about to give them the satisfaction.

  “All this and I only wanted to play with you,” Note-writer said. He’d returned to the shadows.

  “I don’t play your games.”

  “No? You’re playing them now.”

  “Listen, asshole—” I lunged.

  This time I caught him off-guard. My right-hand knife connected with something fleshy. Note-writer swore in such beautiful language that I almost didn’t care that he’d gotten away with only a light wound. Score another for me.

  I started to attack again, and he was off, scampering across the street toward the bar. I raced after him.

  He disappeared inside in a faceless blur. Without pausing to consider what a bad idea it had to be, I barreled through the open door after him.

  I only got a couple steps inside before I collided with something solid and humanoid. The fury placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was like a vise.

  “’Scuse me, Miss, but those are so
me attractive knives you got there.” He grinned down at me, displaying a mouth full of pointed teeth.

  Oh. Fuck.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Now that’s a line I’ve never heard before.” I craned my neck to look around the bouncer’s car-sized chest. The back of Note-writer’s head was disappearing into an almost entirely fury mob. The humans scattered about were all men, and all rage addicts. It was the happy hour from hell.

  The bouncer looked me up and down. “Your other assets aren’t bad, either, for a human. You can’t come in with those weapons on your back, though.”

  “I can’t bring weapons in here?” What kind of lame fury bar was this?

  “Manager claims it makes too much of a mess.”

  Crap. No way was I relinquishing my knives in this crowd. I made a small move forward. “I was just looking for a friend.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stepped in front of me, forcing me to stare into his pecs again. “Give me a name and I can ask around.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not on a first- or last-name basis.”

  The bouncer crossed his arms.

  “All right, all right. Forget it. Have a good night.”

  The music in the bar changed from industrial metal to more industrial metal. Between songs, someone yelled out, “Hey, girlie!”

  I paused in the middle of backing away. Five furies sat at a table not far beyond the entry. Two of them appeared familiar. One of them was waving at me.

  “Bob, let her in,” the waving one called.

  Bob? The fury’s name was Bob? I held in my smirk. Don’t piss off those who are more badass than you, especially those who favor beating people up as entertainment.

  I concentrated on figuring out who these two furies were, and the laughter died away. It was Red-eye and Mace-head, two of the furies who I’d last seen when the satyrs were hauling Scumbag Pete’s ass to The Lair. A light dawned in my head, and I hoped the importance of that comprehension didn’t show in my eyes. It was a positive feeling, so the furies probably wouldn’t detect it.