Darkest Misery

by Tracey Martin

  For a second I froze, not wanting to get ahead of myself. Then I eagerly pushed the bag down and lifted the object within. It was lighter than it looked, but wow, did it look ugly—a misshapen clay pot, no larger than my spread hand. It was nicked and lumpy, something my childhood self might have produced in art class. It also gave off no telltale signs of power. No tingles in my hands, no hairs rising on my neck.

  Gingerly, I set the object on the shelf and poked around in the bag in case I’d missed anything. Some of the items had their labels stuffed in their storage containers. I was rewarded when my fingers closed around a piece of paper. The writing had faded to a barely readable purple, and I stepped into a better lit aisle to read it.

  Believed to be Saint Nora’s Cup. Original tag lost. Verification needed.

  Verification, huh? We could do that.

  With shaking hands, I carefully set the label inside the cup. “Found it!”

  It would be another hour before we left. The Gryphons came running, and every member of Le Confrérie wanted to examine the object themselves and pass judgment. A few wouldn’t be satisfied until we finished searching the area, and I got the sense that they wouldn’t truly accept the damn thing until they’d searched the entire warehouse and maybe did some carbon dating on it. Fortunately, they were overruled.

  While the Brotherhood fussed over packing the Cup for transport, and our support lounged around the vehicles eating lunch, I checked my phone. Devon had texted me about ten minutes ago.

  Are you almost done? It’s hot as balls out here.

  You would know.

  So would you.

  I sat on the metal steps and took a sip of water. We should be leaving in a minute.

  Good.

  Indeed. I was starving, and the granola bar I’d brought along was not tiding me over, but there’d be no stopping for lunch on the drive back with the would-be Vessel. So very disappointingly un-French to skip the midday meal.

  I clambered to my feet as the security door opened.

  “We’re leaving.” Tom had won the war over who got to take possession of the Cup. He carried it inside an innocent-looking cardboard box.

  We’re leaving, I told Devon, then I crumpled my granola wrapper and started down the steps.

  Wait.

  I frowned at my phone. What?

  Devon didn’t respond immediately. Impatient, I texted him again, but my phone buzzed with an answer too late. The giant doors in front of the warehouse rattled, and an explosion thundered in my ears. The whole building shook. Dust fell from the ceiling, and I grabbed the metal baluster for support even as I doubled over.

  Alarms shrieked overheard, mixing with a cacophony of English and French shouting. Though the doors remained unharmed by all appearances, I heard someone yell something about wards weakening.

  Staying low, I checked the phone I’d been clutching to my chest. Fury addicts. About two dozen.

  Shit. How was this possible?

  I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, letting the panic have its way, then I pulled myself together. “Fury addicts!”

  No one asked how I knew, which was a good thing. The reason they didn’t ask, however, was because another explosion swallowed the end of my words. When the doors clanged and vibrated this time, smoke began to seep into the room. The Gryphons and the security team leapt into action, but whatever they intended to do, it was too late. Seconds later, the doors burst apart in a blaze of light and shrapnel.

  I wasn’t the only one screaming as I hit the floor. Smoke or dust, hot and heavy, settled in my lungs, but I felt no pain. Only heat. Only panic tearing at me from the inside. Where was the cup? That was the single thought running through my mind. People might be hurt, I might be hurt, but protecting the possible Vessel had to be my focus.

  I coughed and my ears rang, and it took a moment before I realized the warehouse floor had descended into bullet-flying chaos. Security had rushed out from their perch inside the office, and the heavy security door hung open. My eyes burned as I crawled up the steps and put the door between myself and the stairs in a pathetic attempt at a shield.

  Below, the red-tinged smoke was lifting, informing me that was no ordinary explosion but a series of magical blasts designed to take out any magical, as well as mundane, security measures. It might have been addicts leading the charge, but with weapons like those, this assault had been planned and provided for by their masters.

  This was no time to think about how it was done though. I’d come armed like everyone else, and I took the gun from its holster, not the least bit comforted by its heft. For all my shooting practice with Tom, it felt like an awkward weapon in my hand. A fistfight was far more my style, but no one had asked me.

  The Gryphons had opened their car doors and were using them as cover. I couldn’t find Tom or the cup from my vantage point, but I could see a couple black-clad bodies on the ground and blood.

  Anger soared through my veins, and I sucked in the power it gave me. The hit drove away some of my fear, and my fingers adjusted their grip on the gun. It was unfortunate it had been loaded with those pred-killing rounds. They’d be wasted on humans.

  Crouched low, I nudged the door open as far as I dared with my knee, and fired into the melee. My first target screamed something in French and dove to the floor. My second shot missed completely, but it served to alert the addict I’d targeted to my presence. I threw myself back around the door just in time. I swore I could feel the bullets he sent whizzing through the air.

  Fear told my anger it could fuck off. This was not my type of fight, and I wasn’t ready to find out what lead poisoning felt like. Breathing heavily, I slunk farther into the security office, wondering if there was something else I could do. Some other weapon I could use from my height advantage. Curse grenades would be handy, but I carried none.

  My phone buzzed, and if it weren’t for the vibration, I’d never have heard it. “Devon, where are you?”

  “Jess, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine for the moment. You?”

  “I’m okay. I’m right behind them. I’ve got some grenades loaded with disorientation curses. They’re enough to knock out a good number of addicts at once, but they’re short range. I can’t get close enough to set any off so long as the Gryphons are returning fire.”

  I swore. The gunfire below was ceaseless, and the Gryphons were outnumbered. It was a good bet that since the furies were orchestrating this, they were pumping their addicts full of power, giving them a preternatural ability to overlook pain and fight through any injuries. They’d also be charmed out the ass. They could go on fighting well after a normal human should have dropped.

  And all it would take was one to get close enough to the cup to grab it.

  I swallowed, an idea forming that I didn’t much care for. “What if I can get the Gryphons to stop shooting?”

  “I’ve got the grenades, a gun, and I’m fast. What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing any of us will like. Just be ready.” I hung up before Devon could protest or I could come to my senses.

  Taking a deep breath, I peeked down below. More smoke had cleared around the giant doors. They’d partially collapsed, forming a convenient pile of twisted scrap metal for the addicts to use for cover. New smoke also indicated someone had set off another curse, but I found no indication of what it had done. More Gryphons were down. Marie was holding her right arm, braced against one of the cars. And there, I thought I could see Tom’s blond hair.

  The shooting had slowed but not stopped, and this would be my best chance to be heard. I had to trust the furies didn’t want me dead and that these jackasses knew it.

  I threw the door open and stepped onto the stairwell. “Arrêtez! Je suis Jessica Moore. Votre…” Ah, fuck. That was where my high school French ran its course. “Uh, votre masters want me alive. Oui?”

/>   Slowly, I set my gun down. I had their attention, and one of the addicts yelled at the others to stop firing. Shock grabbed me by the throat. I recognized him. It was one of the guys who I thought had been following me in Grenoble. Damn, that meant the furies had known where I was all along. If only I’d gotten close enough to figure out what kind of addicts they were the other night…

  I pushed these thoughts away. Too late now, and this was no time for self-recrimination.

  I could hear a couple of the Gryphons’ annoyed swearing as they expressed their confusion. What the fuck was I doing?

  Good question.

  I clomped down the stairs, silently screaming at Devon to get on with it. The Gryphons had stopped shooting when the addicts had, and this window wouldn’t last for long. I hadn’t thought beyond distracting the shooters.

  I needn’t have worried. A third of the way down, a dark blur streaked past the ripped-open doorway. Devon wasn’t exaggerating about being fast. He had to have been wearing a speed charm. It was the only way to account for his movement.

  A couple of the Gryphons saw him too, and they started to shout, but it didn’t matter. He was faster than them and faster than the addicts—a combination of a pred’s natural abilities enhanced by charms. Two mild bangs in quick succession shattered the silence, and a soggy fog whooshed out of the curse grenades and enveloped the nearest addicts.

  While they fell to their knees, grasping their heads with a terrible case of vertigo, the unaffected others spun around. But Devon had anticipated that too. One addict went down before it registered with me who was shooting. Then another.

  Attacked on both sides, the remaining addicts didn’t know which way to turn. I dove behind one of the car doors and landed next to Marie. The other Gryphons were taking advantage of the confusion, and I hoped Devon got out of the way.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, and I could barely hear my own voice.

  Either Marie was a good lip reader or she got the gist because she nodded. Her arm was soaked in blood, but although pale, she didn’t seem in imminent danger of dying.

  Before I could decide what to do next, the shooting stopped all at once and gave way to shouting. Or what I thought was shouting. My hearing was terrible, my ears rang, and the space reeked of gunpowder and various unnatural smokes. My knees trembled when I stood for a better view.

  The last addicts had been shot or subdued, a couple Gryphons were on the phone, and what followed could best be described as a clusterfuck. Over the course of the next hour, we pieced it together.

  Local police had heard the shooting but been unable to get into the compound because the addicts had created a barricade. The addicts had also killed several of the private security guards. When I found Devon, who was unscratched, and I explained to Tom and the others who’d been responsible for taking out over a dozen addicts, they were as thrilled as might be expected.

  The Paris Gryphon Office came along with the ambulances, and we spent what felt like forever taking stock of the situation while the wounded and dead were tended to. One Gryphon had been killed, and a member of the Brotherhood was in critical condition as she was whisked away. Marie had received a flesh wound, but she went to the hospital after Tom insisted.

  Not quite a part of the group, I sat on the stairs, wiping away my sweat and drinking water. Devon sat with me, and his icy expression dared any Gryphon to tell him to leave. No one tried, probably because they were preoccupied with other matters, but more than one gave us wary looks, and I could taste their suspicion.

  Tom approached me at long last. He appeared exhausted but otherwise unharmed, and I was strangely relieved. Not that I wanted anyone to get hurt, but it hadn’t been so long ago that I was threatening to punch him or worse for what his group did to me. So much for familiarity breeding contempt. He was growing on me.

  “Still don’t think you might have a leak?” I asked, my voice low.

  Tom frowned. “Once the Vessel is secure, it’s a situation that deserves more attention. Fair enough? Are you ready to leave?”

  I pressed a cool water bottle to my forehead. “Good. And yes. What’s going on?”

  He checked over his shoulder as one of the Gryphon vehicles pulled away. “The addicts who don’t need medical care are being taken into custody locally. Some of our group are staying behind to question them. The rest of us are returning to Grenoble with the prize, and an escort from the Paris Office is coming along to make up for our lost numbers.”

  I rubbed my temples. “You expect another attack on the way?”

  “I’m not ruling it out.”

  Devon cleared his throat. “Radical suggestion that you won’t take, but since you are a known target at this point, why don’t you give the Vessel to me. I’ll be following you back to Grenoble, and—”

  “No.”

  “My mistake for bringing in logic.”

  Tom’s lips thinned. “Even if I trusted you fully, which I don’t, do you have any idea what would happen to me if anyone found out I’d handed a Gryphon artifact to a satyr?”

  “You mean like I handed a satyr artifact to a Gryphon?”

  “That was a photograph.”

  “Which I stole for you.”

  “For all of us.”

  I spread my arms out between them. “Enough. We’ll stick with the original plan. I want to get back, get the cup locked away and have my ears stop ringing.”

  “The last one’s out of my control, but let’s get moving with the others.” Tom motioned for me to follow him.

  Devon grabbed my arm as I got up. “He’s such a friendly guy. Can we throw him and Claudius into a ring together?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  No one attacked us on the way back to Grenoble, but everyone was on high alert, particularly as we pulled into World. For a brief time, the cup was out in the open, then the building doors shut behind us and we were within the security limits.

  Safe at last, I calmed down enough to become aware of my body. I needed a bathroom, food and alcohol. Preferably in that order, but I wouldn’t be picky.

  The first two were managed. After the cup was tucked away within the archive’s security, one of the Brotherhood Gryphons announced we needed dinner. Magic should never be attempted on an empty stomach, and it had been a long time since most people had eaten.

  Soon enough, someone brought in food, but alas, no wine. While we ate, I listened to the others discuss the spell we’d found. One of the Gryphons suggested that I might want to go home and relax, and I stared at him with my best Are you fucking kidding me? expression.

  Tom noticed and laughed silently. Maybe he was starting to understand who I was, after all.

  Preparations for the spell work took time, so I checked in with Devon to make sure he’d returned safely. Then I sent Andre an email, asking if he’d made any progress with the list of names I’d sent him. If Tom really was going to dedicate some time to investigating the possible leak, then I didn’t want to waste Andre’s time. I just wasn’t sure I believed him.

  I felt more than a little superfluous while I waited for the Gryphons, but there was no way I was going to miss anything. If the cup really was the Vessel, I wanted to holler with triumph. And if it wasn’t, I wanted to know immediately.

  Whichever the outcome, I informed Devon to have wine waiting in the hotel room. I’d need it.

  Tom came over to get me when all was ready, and he took me up to the lab where the deed was to be done. Even he was fidgeting with excitement.

  “Too bad Marie and Umut can’t be here to witness,” I said as the elevator doors opened. “They played such a big role in this.”

  Tom smiled in a distracted way. “They’ll both have time to check it out later. Don’t worry.”

  The lab we entered was far more industrial than the ones I’d seen in Boston. Everything shined in brushed stainless steel
and polished glass. Narah’s Cup appeared more pathetic than ever sitting on a gleaming lab table amongst all the modern trappings.

  Various containers of unknown ingredients sat next to it, and a baby salamander crawled around inside an obsidian bowl. Several bottles were also present, including one that contained a sprite. It pressed its watery face to the glass, its gray eyes following the salamander.

  “Let’s begin,” said an older woman.

  I felt like I was witnessing a religious ritual rather than a charm-casting, or un-casting in this case. Though, to be fair, this was magic unlike any I’d ever seen or heard of. If we were right, there were spells on the cup that somehow disguised the fact that there were spells on the cup. At first, I thought it might just have been my ignorance of magic that had me confused, but talking to Tom and listening to the other Gryphons had clarified it wasn’t me. A couple of them had heard of such things, but to work this kind of magic was something else.

  I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by the original magician’s skill, or terrified by these current people’s lack of knowledge. My gut clenched, and it occurred to me for the first time to wonder what the odds were of the Gryphons screwing up the counter-spell and getting us all killed. Until this point, I’d taken the cause of their nervous energy to be the same as mine.

  These happy thoughts only increased my anxiety, and I turned my attention to the Gryphon who was actually doing the charm work. It wasn’t Jacques Maurice this evening but an older man. I wondered how he’d been selected and if he’d prefer not to have an audience.

  All these thoughts swirled around my brain as the minutes ticked by. I watched as inks were made, glyphs were drawn, unknown substances were sprinkled or rubbed, and yet nothing about the cup changed. Not physically. It was possible the magical energies were shifting, or just as possible nothing noticeable would happen until the end when—if—the spell was lifted and the object’s power became detectable.