Wicked Misery (Miss Misery)

by Martin, Tracey

  “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.

  T
he 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.

  “Ladies and gentlemen.” He spread his arms in a faux-welcoming gesture, and the microphone made his voice echo. “I’m so glad you could come tonight.”

  More cheers, some foot stomping, all from the furies. The bleachers shook.

  “We have a very impressive list of fights building. New ones are still being posted by the betting booths. But before we begin, I’m happy to announce we already have our first formal challenge of the night, one that should be no surprise.” He grinned like a maniac. I tensed.

  Raj gestured elaborately toward the sylphs. “Assym, please come down.”

  A few satyrs swore as the sylphs’ Dom, flanked on each side by two other sylphs, made his way to the ring. The spotlights circled the warehouse before merging on the group. This time the sylphs clapped.

  “Make way for the challenger,” Raj yelled, creating more feedback. He pumped his fist into the air, and the furies and company shouted over the hideous electronic shrieking.

  To my right, Dezzi had pulled in the satyr troops. It was obvious what was coming next, and my hopes for finding Victor without any bloodshed tumbled down the bleachers in a painful demise.

  Raj shushed the audience with his hands. “And now for the challenge…” He drew out the word as he spun around, pulling in the entire warehouse with his theatrics. “Dezdemona, please come down.”

  Dezzi raised her chin, her eyes flashing a dangerous black. “Let’s go.” She gave me a warning glance and descended the platform. Lucen, Devon, Lucrezia and another satyr took up the rear. The spotlights turned on them.

  My stomach turned on me. No one in the satyr crowd clapped.

  “Welcome, Dezdemona,” Raj said.

  “Spare me, Raj.” The microphone caught Dezzi’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  The fury cupped his hands together with glee. “The challenge will be issued.” He stepped away from the microphone.

  Assym cleared his throat. “I’ve been speaking with Gunthra about ways to avoid unpleasantries that might have a negative impact on Shadowtown. We’d rather the Gryphons not have a reason to be so interested in our affairs again. So we settle this like civilized people. Whoever of your people is responsible for murdering our addicts faces off against the same number of my people of my choosing.”

  Damn the bright lights casting so many shadows. I desperately wanted to see Dezzi’s reaction, but she was too far away. I wove through the bleachers, trying to get closer.

  “My people,” said Dezzi, and her voice could have frozen a salamander, “did not kill your addicts.”

  “This is a formal challenge, Dezdemona. Will you back down?”

  The warehouse settled into a heavy silence. The last noise—my boots colliding with the metal bleachers—died away as I reached the concrete floor. From here, I had no trouble seeing the conflict that warred across Dezzi’s face. To back down showed weakness and left the satyrs open to aggression and their addicts vulnerable to theft. But to accept implied there was truth in the accusation. All eyes in the warehouse watched.

  And it was my fault. This challenge was because I’d gone to Lucen for help. Because he’d put me under the satyrs’ protection without consulting Dezzi first. Because he’d tried to help me.

  This should be my fight.

  Lucen leaned over and whispered in Dezzi’s ear. I held my breath as they conversed, then Dezzi nodded.

  “We murdered no sylph addicts,” Dezzi said. “But if you wish to fight because of your own blindness, Assym, then my third accepts your challenge.”

  My throat constricted and caught my heart within it. No. I had to do something.

  I couldn’t stand by and watch Lucen do this for me. Not on top of everything else he’d already done over the last ten years. He’d stopped me from going crazy the day I’d formally been denied entry into the Gryphons. He’d helped me when I first started swapping souls. He’d taken me in when I freaked and ran this past week. And maybe he’d enjoyed the taste of my anger and fear and misery, but what he’d given me in return far outweighed it—hope, redemption, safety.

  A chill pierced me. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him do one more thing. The thought of him bloodied and beaten made me sicker than I’d been on Gunthra’s couch earlier. After all I’d done in return—refused to trust him, led him on, argued with him, let him know just how evil I thought he was—I couldn’t do this.

  Truth bashed me over the head, and I squeezed the chain-link railing for support. Fuck. I’d gone and done what I always rolled my eyes at other women for. I’d fallen for the bad boy. Only an idiot, a misery addict like myself, could be so dumb and self-destructive. But there it was, and whether Lucen had his own selfish reasons for everything didn’t matter anymore because letting him risk his life was going to make me hurl, and frankly I was sick of feeling sick today.

  Before I could come to my senses, I charged across the stage, the stolen handcuffs smacking me in the hip. “No! I’m the one you started accusing. You’ll fight me.”

  A hush swept through the warehouse. That lasted all of a few seconds, and soon the air bubbled over with the shocked whispers of thousands of people turning to their neighbors and going, “Did she really say what?”

  Snickers followed. I had half a mind to flip everyone off, but really they laughed for a good reason. A moronic human had vol
unteered to off herself.

  “No,” Lucen said. “I made the offer.”

  Dezzi closed her long-suffering eyes. “You are insane. No. I forbid it.”

  “You can’t forbid it. I’m not a satyr.” Entirely. Besides, what Dezzi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. “You’re not my Dom.”

  “No, no she’s not.” Assym’s face had lit up like a kid’s on Christmas morning. “We’ll accept her.”

  “She does not have my permission.”

  “And as she pointed out, she doesn’t need it.” Raj bounced on his heels with excitement.

  “Jess.” Lucen’s forced calmness was chilling. “You have nothing to lose by withdrawing your offer.”

  No, nothing. Just you.

  After my chat with Gunthra, I’d already lost most of my self-respect. Not to mention a good deal of my grasp on sanity. That was enough. I wasn’t losing my sense of right and wrong, and this was right.

  “I’m not withdrawing it. This is my problem. They accused me first. It’s me they can have.”

  The collective murmuring of the audience had reached its limits. The noise flooded my ears. I glanced over. Behind the chain link stood Red-eye and Mace-head. Slowly, an idea swirled about in my brain. Maybe I wasn’t dead yet.

  Raj grabbed the microphone. “You’re Jessica?” He thrust it in my face.

  “Yes.”

  “Her name’s irrelevant,” Lucen said. “She’s not doing this.”

  Assym raised his hands triumphantly, and the sylphs now created a racket to rival the furies’. “Since Dezdemona refuses to play, we withdraw the challenge to the satyrs and give it to Jessica the Soul Swapper, Jessica the Addict Killer.”

  Asshole. At least he hadn’t called me Jessica the Satyr’s Pet this time.

  Ooh, maybe I should ask to be called Jessica the Satyr’s Abomination? That one gave me some edge.

  Once again, I almost laughed in spite of myself. This time a brief surge in power shuddered through me.

  The furies hooted and hollered. They always did get excited when they expected someone to die.