Dirty Little Misery (Miss Misery)

by Tracey Martin

  Finally, he returned to his breakfast. “You know my opinion of the Gryphons.”

  “Uh-huh. Well aware. Watch out who you’re talking to these days.”

  “Little siren, if you were putting half as much effort into your consulting job as you are into investigating yourself, then I’d be worried.”

  I smiled, though that didn’t exactly make me feel better. More like guilty.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on chores—mainly laundry and restocking Lucen’s kitchen with food. Then I had an appointment with the orthopedist who announced I could ditch the cast on my wrist for good.

  That upped my spirits considerably, and I decided my next move was to finish the deal for Bee. It was early in the evening, and I could probably catch Rik at the bakery and exchange the blood samples.

  Lucen was busy opening The Lair, so I didn’t see him as I got my vial and left again. The scent of sugar, coffee and all things wonderful hit as soon as I stepped into The Shadowtown Bakery, and I breathed in deeply. Seriously, it challenged my brain to understand how a place run by people so evil could smell like so much heaven.

  A glass case filled with croissants, muffins and assorted pastries sat in the center of the large room, and preds circled around it, placing their to-go orders. Along the back wall was another case filled with cakes and cookies. That one was less crowded, fortunately, because behind it stood Rik.

  I waved to him as I wove through the mismatched tables and chairs where a few goblins were eating their croissants and coffee.

  Harpies tended to be tall and disturbingly thin, as though someone had stretched them on some medieval torture device, and they had fanciful colored feathers in place of hair. In that way, they resembled the magi, but their skinniness and more rainbow plumage differentiated them from the human-friendly bird-shifter race.

  That, and if you were a normal person, the intense feelings of jealousy they aroused in you when you got too close.

  Rik motioned for me to have a seat at one of the empty tables. I chose one next to the wall, so I could keep my back to it.

  He pulled up a chair, but his face was grim. “You still trading souls?”

  “Yup, and you have one I want.”

  “Unfortunate for whomever you promised to help. I’m not trading.”

  My good mood evaporated, and a pit of dread opened in my stomach. “Why not?”

  “You’re a Gryphon. Everybody knows it.”

  For the love of dragons—everybody had heard about my new job? Just a few weeks ago I didn’t think most of Shadowtown even knew my name. I guessed fame was what happened when you nearly slit a fury’s throat right in front of his Dom and a few hundred witnesses.

  I slapped my hands against the table. “I’m supposed to be consulting for the Gryphons. It’s not the same thing, and I didn’t have much choice. It’s still me. I’m still offering a commission.”

  That wouldn’t mean as much to a harpy as it would to a goblin, but it was worth a shot. Money was money, right? Unless…

  “Eyff’s warned us to stay away from you.”

  Unless the harpies’ Dom had slapped a “Danger” sign on me.

  Oh, this was bad. I’d never failed to come through for a client, and I had no intention of starting today. Bee might not be the most deserving or blameless person I’d attempted to help, but I loathed the thought of a pred getting the soul of anyone who wasn’t a seriously nasty person.

  I struggled to keep my voice down. The bakery was loud, but I didn’t want to yell. “Are you kidding me? The Gryphons ask for my help with one case, and I’m a damned pariah? I’ve been doing this crap for ten years.”

  Rik ruffled his feathers, which were a bold, robin’s-egg blue. “It’s nothing personal, but you can’t expect to play both sides. We don’t do business with Gryphons.”

  My hands had balled into fists, and I banged my knuckles impatiently against the Formica table. “This isn’t Gryphon business. This is personal. Will you talk to Eyff? Ask for just one exception? I know you don’t care, but I gave my word to someone. I won’t take on any new cases until this gets straightened out. That’s the best I can do.”

  Rubbing my eyes, I caught a glimpse of two horns peeking out of familiar black hair. Beneath it, a black shirt and black pants. Their owner’s back was to me as he paid for his food, but it had to be Devon. I hoped I could sneak out without his notice when this conversation ended. He’d enjoy my frustration too much given the hassle I’d recently caused him.

  A sylph approached the far counter where Rik had been working, and the harpy stood, raising one finger. “I’ve never had trouble with you, Ms. Moore. I’ll talk to Eyff this once.”

  My muscles unclenched as I got up. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  I darted around the other side of the center case, trying to avoid Devon’s line of sight as I left. A wall of hot air and the relative stink of the city slammed into me as I stepped outside. Swearing under my breath about uptight harpies, I fumbled for my phone as it rang.

  “Jess, it’s Andre.”

  I paused. Crap. Had I missed a meeting? “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to check in. I didn’t see you around today.”

  I took a few more steps down the sidewalk, pausing for shade under a spindly tree. “Yeah, I didn’t come in. Had a doctor’s appointment, then thought I’d do some work on the other side of things if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t specifically want to say “question preds” while surrounded by preds, not after recently pleading my case with Rik. And especially since I hadn’t actually questioned anyone.

  Andre was quick on the uptake though. “You in Shadowtown?”

  “Right now, yup.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Not yet.” Nor was I going to unless I did some of that purported questioning.

  Andre made a sympathetic noise. “Be careful, and good luck.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Hanging up, I found myself staring at Devon. So much for being sneaky.

  He wore his usual smirk and had rolled up his sleeves, a small concession to the intense heat. “I didn’t realize you worked more than one side, Jess. How lucky for Lucen.”

  I cringed, feeling my skin flush. “Funny. Too bad I’m not in a humorous mood.”

  “No, I can tell. Things didn’t go down so well with Rik, did they?”

  “Were you listening to my conversation?”

  Devon took a long drink from his iced coffee. “Far too noisy in there to hear. But you were broadcasting your opinion to everyone, and given your side job, it wasn’t difficult to figure out you weren’t giving Rik an order for an elaborate birthday cake.”

  “Do preds even celebrate birthdays?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “No. You realize no one is going to want to do business with you anymore. It’s not only the harpies. You need to pick a side.”

  “A side? Seriously? I’m on the same side I’ve always been on. Team Human.”

  “Which we could overlook while you were part of the infantry. But lately you’ve been promoted to officer class. The situation’s changed.”

  We turned left onto a main road, and two furies on enormous Harleys roared past. I had to wait before they ran a light until I could hear myself think again. “You’re mixing your metaphors. I was going for sports, not war.”

  Devon gave me an admonishing look. “Sports are just simulated wars with uglier uniforms and less risk of dying. Besides, the last time I used a sports metaphor, you got angry at me for making light of the situation. Seriously, Jess, I’m offering you good advice.”

  “Shocking, all things considered.”

  “What can I say? I like you, and Lucen likes you. So I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m touched.”

  “Not yet by me. Hence m
y concern with you getting hurt before I get my chance.”

  There it was again. That faintest, fleeting sensation of lust rippling through my body, reminding me that I might not be totally immune to pred power. I’d forgotten all about it until now. The last time it happened had been around Devon too, hadn’t it?

  Weirdly conscious of this fact, I stubbed my toes on an uneven section of sidewalk. “Hope you’re patient.”

  He laughed, stopping beside one of the more ritzy apartment complexes in Shadowtown. “Oh, I am. It’s one of my few virtues. See you later, Jess. It’s always fun talking to you.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  Devon disappeared inside, and I pushed on to The Lair. I could use a place to ponder the dead ends I’d run into with both my jobs.

  And a strong drink to wash all that thinking down.

  Lucen was sympathetic to my plight with the harpies, but he basically agreed with Devon. This shit was not going to get better. I didn’t have time to talk through it with him because it was Friday and The Lair was hopping.

  I stuck it out for a while, nursing a shot of Jameson’s, but eventually the stupid-human watching got on my last nerve. With the darkening sky, the satyrs and harpies flocked to the bar, driving the tipsy human clientele into doing dumber and more embarrassing things.

  Up in Lucen’s apartment, I kicked off my shoes and lay on the sofa. I could either nap so I’d be awake when Lucen closed the bar, or I could do something useful. The latter held more appeal, but I wasn’t sure where to start. Maybe Brian had a point and the goblins could help, but the idea of seeking them out, particularly Gunthra, was not welcome.

  Aimlessly, I flipped on the TV to see if I could catch a bit of the Red Sox game while I pondered. Then I shut it off before I even found the right channel.

  Devon’s comment about sports rang in my head, and there was my answer. I was going to go to Purgatory. Not as a Gryphon this time, but as an anonymous club-hopper. One who was interested in scoring some F. If I could get someone to sell it to me, it would be a start. I’d get a face, a person I could keep an eye on and see who they talked to. See if they spent time around any particular satyr. It might not be the world’s greatest plan, but it was a plan. At the moment, that was all I cared about.

  For the second time today, I hit up the jar of glamour I’d brought with me. Since I still had Jennifer Coleman’s ID, I used her face as a model again, although this time I gave myself bright red hair and heavy eye makeup. On went my leather pants, combat boots and the slinkiest black top I owned.

  When I was done, I looked nothing like myself. I’d simply have to hope Devon would be too busy doing whatever it was he did to sense me in the crowd. The odds were in my favor. It was Friday. From experience, I knew the club would be even more packed than The Lair.

  Finally feeling like I had chance of being useful, I headed out.

  I never stood in line or paid cover at Purgatory. Although Devon owned it, his staff was a mix of satyrs and humans, with the humans working the most public-facing jobs. One hit of my gift and the human bouncer was only too happy to let me jump the line, much to the annoyed squawking of the black-clad queue.

  Stepping inside, it was hard to believe I’d been here a few days ago. The empty club in my memory was so different.

  So much quieter.

  My eyes adjusted to the dark and flashing lights before my ears adjusted to the industrial metal. The music wasn’t bad, but I rather wished my eyes could have remained blind. Friday nights at Purgatory were known as Fetish Fridays. Although the club never tolerated men in preppy shirts or women in designer dresses, Fridays ratcheted up the weirdness by a couple degrees. What it took to get in was…interesting.

  While there were plenty of people in the world who didn’t look to their best advantage in latex, the crowd here drove home the fact that there were plenty more to whom I’d have paid good money to see covered in it. So long as it required covering up the little else they wore.

  I meant, if dog collars and leashes were your thing, knock yourself out. Fishnet? Rock it. Women who wanted to go around with nothing but electrical tape over their nipples? I’d cringe when they danced, but whatever. However, the overweight guy in nothing but a leather thong and boots? My eyes—they bled.

  I turned away from ball-bagger guy and circled the main room, swaying to the music and eyeing anyone who gave me a second glance. Lust, anger and general angst were thick in the air, along with the reek of alcohol and sweat. Vinyl and latex, though stylish in some circles, were not the most breathable clothes for dancing.

  When I’d made it back to the main bar, I wormed my way through the crowd and ordered a drink. I didn’t need the alcohol, but a woman drinking was more likely to be approached than one who wasn’t, and I needed to appear available and potentially interested to a dealer.

  And approached I was, although not by dealers yet. First, it was by a woman whose hair reminded me of Mace-head’s, then by a guy who wanted to show me what his tongue piercings could do for me.

  I chatted up everyone who came my way and danced with a few people too, drawing energy from the potent buffet of unfulfilled desire that swirled around me like smoke from the machines. On the balcony, hired dancers set each other’s nipples on fire, and on the dance floor, a woman in full dominatrix gear slung her whip salaciously over people, smacking the backsides of those who asked for it.

  As ball-bagger guy inched his way toward me, I begged off another dance and headed toward the bar because I’d seen my target. A woman with a white-blonde pixie haircut was talking to group after group of people. She was a lust addict, and if she was approaching tables, there was good chance I’d found an F dealer.

  The bar area had gotten crowded as the club’s numbers swelled, and it was a struggle to get close. She was heading toward one of the stairwells that led to the balcony and the VIP room.

  I signaled her with a wave of my finger. “Hey, you got something?”

  “You alone?” Her gaze lingered on me, and I flung my hair around, trying to act like I was drunk.

  I smiled coyly. “Yeah, but not looking to leave that way.”

  She ran a finger down my arm, her gaze ending lightly on my lips. As a lust addict, the only person who could satisfy her needs was the satyr who’d addicted her, yet she was simultaneously doomed to suffer from a hellacious sex drive. It was the satyrs’ version of the double punch to the soul that all addicts had to live with. And it had to suck.

  The dealer pulled herself together. “Twenty bucks will make two people happy.”

  “That’s all I’m looking for.”

  “All right, then. I’m out. Hang around the bar and I’ll find you soon.”

  “Okay.” I melted back into the shadows as she climbed the stairs.

  Once she reached the top, I followed. Unfortunately, as I suspected she might, she turned right, heading toward the VIP room. The bouncer obviously recognized her because he lifted the velvet rope without a word, and then she was gone down a dimly lit hallway.

  Damn it. Leaning against the balcony, I reached out with my gift toward the bouncer. Under his stoic expression, he was bored and somewhat irritated. That was more than I needed to know. So long as he was a nonaddict human, not a satyr in disguise, this chase wasn’t over yet.

  I sauntered over to the guy with a flirty smile, and his I-get-this-from-a-hundred-girls-a-night-and-I’m-not-impressed scowl faded as I exhaled my gift on him. “You want to move the rope for me.”

  His eyelids drooped slightly, and his brain emptied. A salty caramel sweetness washed over my tongue. All lust tasted good to me, but the particular type my gift could arouse was the best by far.

  The bouncer lost most of his coordination as he reached for the rope. His eyes were plastered on my breasts. “Anything for you, doll.”

  I squeezed his arm in thanks as I slipped through, and he inha
led sharply.

  Then another male voice stopped me cold. “Who are you?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. A second bouncer had arrived.

  One disadvantage of my gift, compared to a full-blooded pred’s, was that I wasn’t able to use my power to seduce more than one person at a time. Although in this case, I quickly realized it wasn’t going to matter. As soon as I took a read on Bouncer Number Two, I discovered nothing. No emotions at all. Since he wasn’t an addict that meant one thing—he was a satyr, probably using a cheap disguise charm to hide his horns.

  Shit. I wracked my brain for an explanation.

  That, apparently, was also in vain. Satyr bouncer could tell I’d worked my gift on his coworker, and he scratched his head, looking between me and the human. “What did you do to him?”

  “Uh, nothing?”

  The hallway into the VIP room was lined with blue and purple lights like guide lines. I didn’t suppose making a run for it would help. My F dealer was probably talking to her contact this second, and I was missing everything.

  Cautiously, I took a step farther inside. “Do you mind?”

  “Actually, I do.” That voice was familiar—a faint British accent tinged with cocky sarcasm.

  Double shit.

  Giving up, I turned all the way around, taking in the two new people who’d joined the satyr bouncer. One was unknown to me. The other was Devon.

  He, too, was wearing a charm to disguise his horns. But unlike the others, he didn’t seem the slightest bit confused about what I’d done to the first bouncer. No surprise. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who the human with the satyr’s power had to be even if she was flaunting someone else’s face.

  Devon wore the expression of an exasperated parent staring down an unruly child. “Jess, nice hair. Now, kindly release my employee from your thrall, and next time, if you’re going to work your way into the pants of anyone here, feel free to start with mine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I cut the bond that attached me to the human bouncer, and he shook himself.

  “What the…?” The guy stepped away from me, his caramel lust evaporating, replaced by tangerine fear. As though I were the biggest threat here. It was almost funny.