Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery)

by Tracey Martin

“To work for them? No.” Dezzi crossed her arms. “Perhaps not. I am not suggesting Jess should go to prison. But if the time ever comes when Jess’s involvement requires that she make certain difficult choices, I do hope she remembers what we’ve done for her.”

  Although she was speaking of me in the third person, Dezzi watched me as she talked. I managed not to flinch, but internally my mind and emotions raced as I considered what Dezzi might know about the Newton case.

  Yes, I appreciated that Dezzi hadn’t kicked me out when Lucen offered me the satyrs’ protection, but it wasn’t like Dezzi would have provided it herself. I thought she was fair, but she wasn’t a saint, and I didn’t owe her anything. Finding Victor and bringing him to justice hadn’t benefited me alone. It had benefited everyone in Dezzi’s domus, all of Shadowtown, and the greater Boston area alike—preds, humans and magi. Therefore, as far as I was concerned, any debts I’d accrued to the satyrs had been paid.

  Especially if one of them was responsible for killing nine humans.

  “Nothing’s changed,” I said. “As long as you don’t do anything to hurt people, we’re good. If you’ll excuse me.”

  “Jess, where are you going?” Lucen asked as I wormed between Dezzi and Lucrezia.

  “To meet Steph. I’ve got the night off, right?” Thanks to this brief interlude, I really, really wanted to be around humans. My people. Even if that wasn’t one hundred percent biologically accurate of me, I knew who I identified with.

  The absurdity of coming here dawned on me as I stepped onto The Lair’s patio and breathed in the evening air. As much as I wanted him to be, I’d just gotten a very clear reminder about why it was a bad idea to let myself fall into the trap of letting Lucen become my normality.

  When I’d said I was off to meet Steph, it had been a lie. But as it turned out, the hospital where Jim worked as a nurse asked him to take a second shift when someone called out sick, and Steph was all dressed up with nowhere to go. One text from me changed that.

  Half an hour after leaving The Lair I was holed up at another bar. Kilpatrick’s Nutty Irishman Pub wasn’t just any bar either. Like The Lair, we had history. Steph and I had been hanging out here for years thanks to the discounted beer we got from her cousin who owned it. For that reason, it had also become soul-swapping HQ for me.

  Steph hadn’t arrived by the time I got there, so I immediately headed for the right-hand bathroom. After locking the door, I climbed on the toilet, moved a ceiling tile aside and took down the Rubbermaid container in which I’d hidden a notebook and pen.

  This was how Boston’s mysterious vigilante known as the soul-swapper communicated. It wasn’t exactly secure or high tech, and it definitely wasn’t flashy, but it had served me well over the years.

  Emphasis on the had. Since I was working for the Gryphons, I should be putting this part of my life behind me. Actually, to be more precise, since I was being blackmailed into working for the Gryphons because this whole soul-swapping thing could get me in an assload of legal pain, I should definitely, absolutely and irrevocably put this part of my life behind me.

  Funny, though, how that didn’t make me want to put this behind me. It made me want to step up my efforts for no other reason than to piss off the Gryphons.

  Maturity—I had it. Right along with a serious chip on my shoulder and a sense of spite that ought to make my nose quiver in fear every time my face itched.

  I also had a message. Setting the container on the sink, I opened the lid. The writing on the paper inside was simple and direct, if not a touch more dramatic than what I usually found.

  Dear soul swapper, I’m in desperate need of help. Please respond. I can pay.

  The writer hadn’t signed the note, but she—a guess based on the flowing handwriting—had left the date. It was written two days ago.

  Peachy. I’d come to remove the container for good, before it got me in more trouble. But now… I debated for less than a minute before writing a response.

  Regardless of my feelings about Caroline or any of Lucen’s addicts, I didn’t like to see people suffer. And I was intensely aware, all day long, of how much suffering there was around me. I couldn’t shut off my ability to sense it. I could only intensify my ability to feel and identify its particular flavor if I concentrated. So if I had a chance to prevent more suffering before it began, then I should.

  Then I would.

  After all, it had taken years for word to spread about my ability to help those in need. How could I be so callous as to cut that off? Even tonight, someone was hoping for my help, believing in my ability to provide it.

  Did that make me sound self-important? I didn’t care. I wielded a pred’s power because I was part pred. I liked being able to use that evil power for good. It had taken me a long time to realize I controlled my gift and that it didn’t define me.

  After sticking the container back in the ceiling, I returned to the main room. Steph was at the bar talking to her cousin, and I joined her. A few musings about politics and the Red Sox later, we ordered.

  Kilpatrick’s had to make some of the greasiest fish and chips in New England, but they paired well with a Guinness, and it was dinnertime. Good thing I’d skipped breakfast, given the way I was eating today. As it was, my pants probably wouldn’t button tomorrow. We took our beers to a corner away from the pool tables while we waited for our food.

  Steph tossed her hair over her shoulders. “What do you think?”

  I assumed she was asking about the new wig she was wearing. “It’s a lot less red.”

  “It is, but I thought the blonde in this one was more summery.”

  True, and it was summer, but I didn’t usually think summery when I thought of Steph. Five-foot-ten—and that’s when she wasn’t in heels—with a wardrobe that consisted of blacks, grays and more blacks, and an attitude to match, Steph was more of a winter sort of girl.

  I sipped my beer, searching for a polite but truthful response. “It’s not bad, but not what I’d expect from you. Honestly, I’m going to have to get used to it.”

  “Don’t bother. It’s not me. I just wanted to see if you’d lie like everyone else. But never mind that. I’m waiting to hear what went down with you and the Gryphons yesterday. Learn anything new about Victor?”

  “No, but look at this.” I pulled my ID badge out of my bag. “Impressed?”

  Steph choked on her beer, then grabbed the badge. “Is this real, or did one of your satyr friends forge it?”

  “It’s real. I’m an honest-to-goodness special consultant for the Gryphons.” For the second time in almost as many hours, I related what happened yesterday.

  Our food had arrived as I finished, and I picked at my French fries while Steph processed my story by ordering a second beer. “This is awesome.”

  “Sorry? Did you miss the part about me being blackmailed into working for them?”

  Steph gave me her best oh, please look. Some people would cower from that, but I knew her too well to take her seriously. “You’re overreacting, and that’s something coming from this self-acknowledged drama queen.”

  “They tried to arrest me for murder.”

  “Yeah, because Victor did a damn good job of framing you, and you had a bit of bad luck.” Steph paused her rebuke as she squeezed a lemon wedge all over her fish. “Look, we always knew the soul-swapping thing was sketchy, so that’s beside the point. Clearly the Gryphons recognize you have an amazing—if somewhat creepy—gift and some kickass skills to go with it, and they want to see you do some good with them. It’s an opportunity to do what you’ve always deserved to do.”

  I crushed a fry between my fingers in annoyance. “I’m not being given a choice.”

  “What would there be to choose? Would you actually have turned them down? You always said you wanted to help humanity. This is your chance.”

  “I’ve been helping humanity ju
st fine without the Gryphons. In spite of the Gryphons even.”

  “Come on, Jess. Yes, you’ve helped people, but now you get to take a bigger role and earn real money for doing it. I can’t believe you’re upset about this.”

  “And I can’t believe you’re not indignant on my behalf. Do I have to remind you about what you helped me do recently?”

  Apparently not. Judging from Steph’s sour surge of fear and anxiety, she knew I was referring to how she’d helped me hack into the Gryphons’ servers. “No, but that was done for a specific cause—you. Not because I have something against the Gryphons. I like knowing there are people out there risking their lives to watch over my soul. I like it even more knowing someone smart, capable and dedicated—AKA, you—will be one of them.”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that. Steph’s feelings were genuine, including the flattery. She didn’t know that a big part of the reason I was bothered was because I was part satyr, and the reason she didn’t know was because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. Steph, like most sane people, lived in fear of preds. She disliked them, distrusted them and disapproved of me having anything to do with them. Even my gift pushed her squick buttons too far on occasion. Sometimes I wondered if she’d be my friend at all if she hadn’t met me before my gift had turned from normal to pred, and she hadn’t seen the way I’d freaked out when it did.

  “I take it your satyr friend isn’t too happy about this?” Steph asked. “At least you don’t have to work for him anymore.”

  I stabbed my fish. “No, he’s not happy, but I didn’t mind working for him.”

  “I don’t understand why not. I know you basically wrap your soul in dragon hide when going into Shadowtown, but I can’t imagine working for a guy who could hurt you that way. Friend or not.” She sounded dubious about whether Lucen could be a friend.

  Again, I couldn’t blame her. Most of my life, I’d felt the same, and I’d sure never told her how my relationship with Lucen had changed recently.

  “I trust him,” I said. “But speaking of trust and people I don’t trust, what’s up with those files you got from the Gryphons?”

  After Steph had hacked into their servers to get me the information I’d needed on Victor Aubrey, she’d done a bit more poking around. I supposed her appreciation of the Gryphons and all they did for humanity couldn’t overcome her curiosity. The Gryphons had patched the security hole she’d created, but before they did, Steph had discovered a file with my name on it, and four other similar files. One of those other files had Victor’s name on it. Given what I knew about our magical similarities, this was interesting.

  To put it very, very mildly.

  Alas, our names and “Philadelphia” were the only readable parts of the files. Steph had tried to decrypt them with no luck.

  She chewed her fry slowly. “I might have gotten the name of someone who could help, but I’ve been warned he’s not necessarily trustworthy.”

  “I’m looking for someone to break the encryption on what are stolen, probably top-secret Gryphon files. Anyone willing to do that is unlikely to be trustworthy by definition.”

  She made a face. “True. But you’re working for them, so don’t you think—”

  “No.”

  “But you might be able to find out more by poking around.”

  I threw my lemon wedge at her. “How? Poking around, asking about information I’m not supposed to know in the first place?” When Steph didn’t answer right away, I went on. “If you don’t trust this guy enough, I can ask Lucen. I’m sure there’s someone among the satyrs who can do it.”

  That got her back up. “Forget I said anything. I’ll set up a time to talk to my guy. Just consider this a warning. We don’t have any idea what dirt those files might have on you, and if he can decrypt them, he’ll be the first to find out. If it’s something you’d rather not be shared…”

  “Point taken.” I drained my beer and tucked into my fish. “And don’t worry. I have an idea for how to deal with the lack-of-trust situation.”

  Steph gave me a wry look. “Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”

  Chapter Six

  For the second day in a row I woke up to my cell phone’s ringtone. This time, however, I was in my own bed, which cut down on the disorientation. Rubbing my eyes, I checked the caller ID.

  Also, for the second day in a row, it was the Gryphons. “Yeah?”

  “Jess, it’s Andre. Sorry for the lack of notice, but the lab finished analyzing the Newton blood samples an hour ago. Can you come in to talk about it?”

  I rolled onto my side and sat up. Sunlight glowed around the edges of my curtains. It was almost noon. Apparently, I’d really needed to catch up on my sleep. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Great. Can you get here by two? We’re pulling together an official team meeting.”

  Beyond my door, I heard one of my roommates thudding about in the hallway. That’s when it dawned on me. “It’s Sunday. Don’t you people get any time off?”

  Andre laughed, but it sounded humorless. “Occasionally they let us out of the cage, yeah. But seriously, we got nine dead people in Newton. Time off will be in short supply for a while.”

  “Yeah, right. Nine dead people.” And a possible connection to the satyrs. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, wishing I could crawl back under the blanket. “I can be there.”

  Two hours was plenty of time to shower, eat and hope the magic analysis had discovered something totally different than what I feared. It was also, as it turned out, a long time to try to dodge my roommates. Geoff cornered me while I was in the kitchen settling down with the egg white omelet I’d made myself.

  “Where have you been?” Geoff stretched his hairy arms and took a soda from the fridge.

  “Busy.” I dumped salsa on the eggs, silently cursing myself for not taking breakfast into my bedroom.

  Geoff rested his elbows on the tiny counter. His casual stance was a total cover-up. Inside, he was a jumble of discomfort, and the taste of it did not mesh well with my breakfast. “Val ran to the store. If you have a minute, we should talk when she gets back.”

  In an effort to leave before that happened, I shoveled egg in my mouth. “No minutes, sorry. I’m running late and need to get to work.”

  “Already? I thought you worked at a bar these days.”

  “Quit.” I still felt like Lucen had fired me, but I’d gotten fired from my last job thanks to my inability to get to work while hiding from the Gryphons, and I didn’t feel like saying I’d been fired a second time. It sounded pathetic. “I got a better paying job, and I’m running late on my second day. Sorry.”

  I dumped my plate and coffee mug in the dishwasher, and hurried to my room to put on my shoes.

  “Can we talk later today?” Geoff called after me. Some of his anxiety had lifted, which suggested he didn’t want to have this conversation any more than I did. His reluctance didn’t bode well. I had a feeling we weren’t going to be discussing the electric bill or who kept leaving their hair in the shower drain.

  I grabbed my bag. “Yeah, sure. Later is good.” Then I dashed out the door before he could say anything else.

  Thanks to my roommate-avoidance efforts, I got to the Gryphon’s building twenty minutes early. I bought a large latte at the shop across the street, then called Andre because I didn’t know where to go. A few minutes later he met me in the lobby.

  “This is great that you’re early,” he said as we approached the elevators. “I can show you your desk.”

  “I get a desk? Fancy.” And here I’d been feeling special for simply being able to flash my shiny new ID badge at security.

  Maybe Steph was right. Maybe I was looking at this blackmail thing the wrong way. I could stew over it, or I could embrace what I couldn’t change. Throw myself into this opportunity and take some pride in what I was d
oing. Olivia Lee might have forced my hand, but that was no reason this wouldn’t necessarily work out for the best.

  Such cheery thoughts lasted about thirty seconds. That’s when I caught a glimpse of the painting in the lobby and remembered what I was. Besides, me plus bright-siding went together about as well as peanut butter and salsa.

  Nope, Little Miss Misery—that was me.

  “What was that?” Andre had been talking, and I hadn’t been paying attention.

  “I was saying most of the meeting rooms are on the fourth floor. Your desk is on the third. IT should have your computer set up for you to use today.”

  Andre gave me a quick tour that included a stop at my new quasi-office. It wasn’t much of one—a space partitioned off with a half-wall along a mostly empty corridor, no window, and barely enough room for both of us and the desk—but I was impressed in spite of myself since I hadn’t expected as much. After that and a tutorial on how to use my badge to unlock the interior doors, we reached the meeting room.

  Two other people were already in it—Anna, who I’d met yesterday, and one of the assistant directors named Brian, who I was told would be supervising our work. We sat around a long conference table while Anna brought some data up on the screen in the front of the room.

  Brian regarded me with some suspicion but was otherwise cordial. I didn’t sense any true negativity from him. My gift merely confused him, and that wasn’t something I could hold against anyone.

  After the introductions were over, he shut the door. “Anna, walk us through what the analysis found.”

  With a press of a button, Anna dimmed the lights, then presented slide after slide detailing the magical components found in each of the victims’ blood. Without any background in magical chemistry beyond the very basics, most of what she showed was lost on me, but I got the gist.

  There were two types of magical debris or dust—for lack of a better word—that could show up in blood. That debris was called natural magic if the person had a gift themselves, like I or any of the Gryphons did. It was called unnatural if the person had no gift, and the debris had been left by someone or something else. In the Newton victims’ case, the debris left a signature behind that resembled the signature left by F.