[M__M 03] Misery Loves Company

by Tracey Martin

  I scratched my neck, suddenly wishing I’d brought up the magi visions after all. “For argument’s sake, let’s say I’m in a casual relationship with someone. Nothing committed.” Lucen would hate that characterization of our relationship, but he wasn’t here to remind me that committed didn’t necessarily mean monogamous. “But let’s say I’m also attracted to someone else. What does that suggest?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m intrigued.” Steph tapped a finger over her lips, a gesture that usually suggested she was craving a smoke. “And I don’t see the problem so long as everyone is okay with it.”

  “So you don’t think it’s weird?”

  Steph snorted. “If it involves you, it’s weird by definition. But no, I don’t see the big deal. Is Person One this Gryphon you mentioned a couple weeks ago? The one you said was hot and you went out with?”

  I cringed at the memory. Poor Andre. My former partner was hot, and a nice guy, and now most definitely wanted nothing to do with me thanks to Lucrezia’s damn sex drugs. I wasn’t sorry that Lucrezia had ruined any chance for us to have a relationship, but losing a friend sucked.

  “No, that thing fell apart before it went anywhere, unfortunately.”

  “Damn, bummer. So who is it, and why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

  Because he’s a satyr and you’ll lose your shit?

  “It’s not that satyr, is it?”

  Score a point for Steph. Damn it. “How did you do that?”

  Steph blinked at me like I’d slapped her. “Are you kidding me? It is?”

  I slumped in my seat, hoping to end up under the table. But Steph kicked me in the shins, and I bolted back up. “It’s…you know, we’re friends, and…”

  She shoved a finger in my face. “No, bad Jess. Satyr. Evil. Pred.”

  I knew it wasn’t an accusation, but it sure felt like one. “That’s not entirely fair. He’s not evil.”

  “I’m not even going to go there, Jess. Suffice to say he’s not boyfriend material. You were asking about weird? That’s beyond weird. We’re in serious fucked-up territory.”

  I grabbed her hand and pushed it out of my face. “I’m resistant to pred power. They don’t affect me. Can’t feel it. Can’t be mind-fucked or addicted. How’s that for fucked-up territory?”

  Her hand fell limp in mine, and I released it. “Say what? Since when?”

  “About a month ago. Long story that I haven’t wanted to plague you with, but the upshot is that I can’t sense pred magic anymore unless the pred touches me. Except Lucen’s magic, that is. And what that tells me is that I’m attracted to him for more than his magic.”

  “You…” She waved her hands around like a madwoman. “You cannot drop a bombshell like this on me when I need to go back to work in twenty minutes.”

  “You wanted me to tell you something interesting.”

  “Jesus. I didn’t expect that interesting.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. She stared at me, and I did my best to meet her stare with a confidence I didn’t feel.

  Eventually, Steph pulled out her lighter. “Thanks to you, I need one of these before returning to work. Is the other person a satyr too?”

  I coughed. “Yes.”

  “And I thought my dating history served as a cautionary tale.” Steph stood, shaking her head. “I can’t offer you advice, my friend, because this is so far outside the realm of anything normal that I’m stumped.”

  Awesome. Because when your transgendered, ex-hacker best friend who listened to obscure death metal and who paid her way through college by running a website from which she sold underwear allegedly worn by BU’s sorority girls (but was in fact bought at Wal-Mart and used to wipe the sweat off gym equipment)—when she told you you’re dating life was outside the realm of normal…

  Well, that kind of said it all, didn’t it?

  I followed Steph into the sunlight and walked with her toward the hospital. “So I guess you and Jim are out for double dates, huh?”

  Her expression was withering. “Do not get yourself hurt.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “You’re not trying very hard, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “When have I ever done things easy?” My phone rang, preventing me from hearing whatever snark was surely dancing on Steph’s tongue. “Bridget?”

  “Hi, Jess. Are you busy?”

  I paused on the corner. “Nothing that can’t be put off. What do you need?”

  “Can you come in? We got a ton of information from Eric’s house—hard drive, papers, bank receipts, you name it. I have a plan, but I could use all the help I can get to go through this.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Steph crushed her cigarette. “They got something?”

  “A lot of something, just don’t ask me how it’ll be useful. Will keep you posted.”

  “You do that.” She clucked her tongue at me. “You’re a Gryphon dating a satyr. Do your coworkers know this? Isn’t that like treason? You’re a double agent.”

  I laughed, but coming on the heels of yesterday’s conversation with Dezzi, it struck me as too true to be funny.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bridget had taken over a conference room and turned it into a war room. A messy war room.

  I stood in the doorway, searching for her amidst the nine other Gryphons running around and the piles of paper spread over every surface like snow. As the A/C turned on, some of the paper snow beneath the vent lifted off the table and blew like the real thing. As I tucked a pile of receipts beneath a box, I spotted Bridget behind a computer at the far end. She saw me at the same time and beckoned me over.

  I wove across the room, dodging Gryphons and gingerly stepping over boxes containing yet more paper. “What’s going on? It looks like you have everything here but Eric’s contract.”

  Bridget slid the laptop over to another Gryphon. “We might have the contract somewhere in this mess and not have found it yet. We got permission to search Marshall’s things this morning.”

  “I see.”

  She pulled her hair back as we spoke, ignoring my comment. “We just got back. In case we don’t have the contract, we’re expanding our search to include other ways to track down this goblin. That’s why I need your help. I was able to recruit a bunch of people, but there’s a lot to go through, and what we’re searching for might be obscure.”

  “Sounds like a blast. What are we searching for besides a contract?”

  “That’s the problem. It’s one of those situations where you’ll know it when you see it.”

  I peered into the closest box. It was filled with green hanging file folders, each stuffed with papers. “Will I?”

  “Possibly. Will any of us?”

  “Your optimism is inspiring.”

  Bridget grabbed the box I was poking through and handed it to a passing Gryphon. “Since when do you care for optimism? We’re searching for patterns in behavior. Marshall lives in New Hampshire. There are no pred communities in his area. Boston is the closest, so his goblin most likely lives in Shadowtown. See where I’m going with this?”

  I really did try, but my brain was not up to the task. “Pity me. Agent Kassin’s reading material kept me up last night, and I’m sleepy.”

  “Oh, yeah. Kassin’s top-secret stuff. I heard he was looking for you earlier.”

  “Great. Hide me behind a stack of papers if you want me to stay here, or he’ll pull me away. My understanding is that he outranks Director Lee.”

  Bridget smiled. “He does, and can do. So to explain—addicts need to meet their masters every now and then to keep the bond strong and healthy. As a rule, preds don’t go to their addicts. They expect their addicts to come to them. Marshall would, therefore, have to travel to Boston on a somewhat regular basis. So that’s what we’re looking for—anything
to suggest when or where. Some preds let their addicts go to their houses or places of business, but others don’t. They could have met at a place in or around Shadowtown. If we get the place, we get a lead on tracking the goblin. Make sense?”

  It did, but it sounded like dreadfully dull, possibly fruitless work. On the other hand, it beat going door to door in Shadowtown and asking people if they knew which goblin addicted Eric Marshall. With my Shadowtown contacts—AKA the satyrs and Gunthra—tapped out, that was all that was left to me if Bridget insisted on it.

  Bridget set me down with a box of my own, this one filled with manila file folders instead of green ones. While the other people around me pored over bank statements, credit card receipts and who knew what else, I discovered my box was mainly filled with all the information Eric had kept regarding the building and upkeep of his massive house. Nothing remotely helpful.

  We’d been at it for over an hour when an older woman at the opposite end of the table jerked me out of my searching stupor. “I might have something.”

  Wearily, I rubbed my eyes, hoping it was the damn contract so I could stop this tediousness.

  The Gryphon cleared a spot among the papers she’d been going through and laid out what appeared to be a series of bank records. “These show Marshall’s debit card uses. It’s not much, but every other Thursday evening he’s dropped money at some place called Vine. Looks like a Beacon Hill address.”

  “That’s a wine bar,” one of the other Gryphons said. “Pricey place too.”

  Bridget sucked on her lip. “Not exactly near Shadowtown.”

  “No, but it’s near this.” Wes pointed to something on the laptop. “I found a recurring appointment on Marshall’s calendar—a support group for addicts. It meets every Thursday out of Mass General.”

  “So maybe Eric goes for a glass of overpriced wine before or after his group.” I stretched my arms. “It’s not likely he goes to the group and meets the goblin on the same day, is it?”

  Bridget turned to me. “Maybe, maybe not. But why make more than one trek into the city if he doesn’t have to? We should check it out, and the support group, too, to see if Marshall talked to anyone in it.”

  I’d been recruited for both tasks, at least in part because I wanted to get out of the building and therefore out of Tom’s reach.

  Bridget explained more on the drive to Vine. “These support groups are usually semi-anonymous because there’s such a stigma to being an addict. I could send over a plain-clothed Gryphon to talk to people, but I’d rather not.”

  I rubbed a smudge of dirt off my sunglasses, parsing that one out. “Are you suggesting I lie to people about why I’m there so they’re willing to talk?”

  Bridget’s lips thinned at the suggestions. “Of course not. You’re only a consultant, so you don’t have to lie, and you could truthfully explain that you’re a friend of the family.”

  I almost laughed. “That still sounds fairly devious for you. I thought you were all about being straightforward and official.”

  Bridget frowned at me. “That is straightforward. Nothing there is a lie or devious. It’s about putting people at ease.”

  Right. Because sending a pred into an addict support group instead of a Gryphon would be much less stressful for the addicts.

  Of course, Bridget didn’t know what I was. It was the advantage of being able to pass as human, as Dezzi had mentioned.

  I held up my hands in defeat. “Okay, understood.” Still devious though, I thought.

  Vine had just opened when we found it tucked into one of the neighborhood’s quaint brick buildings. Inside, I pulled off my sunglasses and blinked while my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I spent a fair amount of time in bars, but this was the first one I’d been to that made me feel uncomfortably out of place.

  When I went out with Steph, we favored her cousin’s bar. Kilpatrick’s was one of dozens of Irish, or faux Irish, pubs that dotted the city. It was a step down from The Lair, more boisterous and more likely to see a fight break out. But The Lair, though Lucen kept it nicer than any satyr bar had a reason to be, had nothing on this place.

  Everything here was chic and shiny, from the glassy black tabletops to the mirrored lighting, and the artful arrangement of empty wine bottles and corks that graced the walls. If I touched something, I feared I’d leave dirt behind, but I tipped one of the menus closer with my finger anyway for a better look. Then I let go of it quickly when I saw the prices.

  “We don’t open for another five minutes,” one of the servers said with barely a glance in our direction. She was dressed all in black, her blonde hair slicked behind her ears, and she was lighting the votives on the tables.

  Bridget made a show of checking her watch. “It’s three o’clock by my time, but we’re not here to drink. We need to ask some questions of the employees about one of your regulars.”

  “Oh.” She deigned to check us out, and surprise registered on her face when she saw Bridget’s uniform and her badge. “Um…let me get the manager.” Smoothing down her skirt, she headed into the back.

  Two more people emerged from the back room almost the instant after the blonde disappeared. They were both also dressed in black. The man headed behind the bar with a curt nod, and a black-haired woman approached us. She had a pinched expression, and I could taste her displeasure. Whether that was because we weren’t paying for our time here or because this was legal business, I couldn’t be sure.

  She dismissed me with a glance, so maybe she also disapproved of my jeans and sneakers. “Cat Williams.” She held out a hand to Bridget. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re investigating an attack on one of your regulars,” Bridget said after introducing us. “His name is Eric Marshall. I don’t know if that means anything to you.”

  Cat’s spine straightened, and I bit my lip, amused by her indignation. “Absolutely we know Mr. Marshall. It’s always an honor when a celebrity shows favor to our establishment. We’ve only been open for six months, but Mr. Marshall was one of our first guests. It’s terrible what happened to him, but I wasn’t aware there was an attack too.”

  Bridget let the misconception slip. “There was, and we’re following all leads in the case. Unfortunately, because of what happened to Mr. Marshall, we’re unable to ask him questions directly. We do know he came here regularly and were wondering if he ever met anyone.”

  Cat’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “I hope our establishment is not involved in any way.” After Bridget assured it was not, she went on. “He never met anyone here, no. But he usually came in with a friend. A girlfriend, possibly. I couldn’t say.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have the woman’s name, would you?”

  “I’m afraid not. Jenny might be of more assistance if it’s the woman you’re interested in.” Cat waved over the blonde waitress.

  The door jingled open as Jenny approached. Cat told her to stay and answer our questions while she attended the customers.

  I listened again as Bridget gave a brief rundown of our purpose. Unlike Cat, who seemed to be well-informed about what happened to Eric, Jenny only knew she’d heard something on the news.

  “He was attacked with magic?” A spot of color bloomed on her pale cheeks. “That’s awful. He usually sat in my section when he’d come in. He was very polite and tipped well.”

  “What about the woman he was with?” Bridget asked. “Do you know her name?”

  Jenny thought for a moment. “Yes, I know I heard him say it occasionally. It began with an S. Sharon maybe? Or Sienna? I want to say it makes me think of something warm. I’m sorry I can’t remember better.”

  My gaze roamed the floor for a waiters’ station. “If she ever paid with a credit card, you’d have her name. We know when she came in, so the search would be narrow.”

  “Good idea,” Bridget said.

  “Former waitress
here,” I reminded her.

  But my good idea was for nothing. “Mr. Marshall always paid, which I always thought was very nice of him because I didn’t get the sense that they were together, if you know what I mean.”

  “So she wasn’t his girlfriend?”

  “Not the vibe I got. They talked quietly, but there was no touchy-feely-ness, if you get me.”

  “What kind of vibe did you get?” I asked. Jenny questioned me with her eyes, so I tried to explain without tipping her off or freaking her out. “I mean, was there anything unusual about her?”

  Like you know, a cold aura or a prickly sensation in your mind? Did she awaken any greedy urges or impulses? Did you occasionally see her from the corner of your eye and something about her appearance seem unnatural, like it was a disguise charm?

  If the mystery woman was obviously a goblin, surely Jenny or Cat would have mentioned it. But preds often donned disguises when they mingled in the human world. Those came easy for satyrs, who only needed to hide their horns. Goblins would need more elaborate magic, but it could be done.

  “No, nothing really,” Jenny said. “She seemed pretty normal. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right. Can you give us a description of her?”

  “Thirties, I’d guess. About your coloring.” Jenny pointed to me. “Tall and very thin. She kind of looked like a model, and she wore lots of rings. That’s one thing that always weirded me out about her. Every one of her fingers had two or more rings on it, even her thumb. I always thought it looked so uncomfortable.”

  Bridget wrote down everything Jenny shared, and let her go.

  “The rings make me think of Gunthra,” I said. “She wears them like that too.”

  Bridget stuck her notes away. “Does she? I never noticed. It doesn’t sound like this person is our goblin, though. I’m sure Jenny would have noticed if something was off about her. Even the most clueless people tend to be aware of disguised preds at a subconscious level. We should check with the bartender and manager to be sure.”

  We did, but neither of them provided any useful information. The excursion seemed to me to be a bust, but at least it got me out of scanning Eric’s water bills for part of the afternoon.