Darkest Misery (11 page)

Lucen lifted my head and clasped my cheeks. His eyes burned green. “He did what?”

“I couldn't reverse the bond. I tried, and that's why my head is killing me. It didn't work on him.”

Lucen's whole body shook with rage. He pulled me closer, hands entwining in my hair. “I'm going to kill him. If he didn't let you go…”

I'd have been screwed. The fear Claudius sensed in me rose to the surface, and I clutched Lucen tighter. “And you wonder why I used to be so afraid of you all.”

“I'm going to kill him,” Lucen said again. He took my mouth in his and kissed me hard and slow.

A moan climbed up my throat, all my unfulfilled need begging for his touch. I pressed myself closer, slipping my legs around him. When he released my lips, I nibbled at his chin, rubbed my face against his throat. “He started this. I want you to finish it. Make what I'm feeling yours.”

Lucen set me back on the stairs, his hand trailing down my face and coming to rest cupping my breast. I inhaled sharply as he drew his thumb across my aching nipple. “Are you hurt?”

“A headache, but I'll live.”

His hand moved on, sliding down my stomach and pausing at my waistband. “Let me get you something for the pain.” He bent over, lifted my shirt and gently kissed my bare stomach.

My whole body quivered. “You'd better hurry. And then maybe carry me to a better spot because stairs are ouch, but I don't think I can move on my own yet.”

Lucen unbuttoned my jeans and kissed me lower, eliciting more heat between my legs. “Remember how I once said that I don't care who you fuck? I've changed my mind. If he ever touches you again, I'm going to feed him his genitals.”

Belatedly, I wished I hadn't taken off my weapons when I got to Lucen's. Maybe they would serve to deter Claudius next time. He might be too powerful for me to resist magically, but I was fairly certain salamander-forged steel could still kill him.

“I'd like to see that,” I told Lucen, struggling upright. “Better yet, I'd like to be the one who does it.”

Chapter Fifteen

The pain-relief charm Lucen gave me after my encounter with Claudius worked faster than any human-made remedy. When added to his own brand of spectacular sex and the Thai food he'd brought for dinner, I'd recovered my strength.

Or I thought I had. When I took off the charm later, my head still ached. Sleep helped some more, and by the next day I was back to normal. That it had taken almost twenty-four hours for me to get there didn't bode well for future confrontations.

I had a lot of time to dwell on what my weakness meant. Theo finished my charms the next morning, and I didn't object to as many protective or defensive spells as he felt compelled to add. My torso and arms were covered in a series of glyphs by the time I put my shirt on. After yesterday's encounter, however, I felt less than reassured by them.

As usual, I met with Tom, Ingrid and the others before the meeting, and I gave them a not-very-graphic rundown of what happened with Claudius. Their disappointment was palpable. Apparently, given how easily I'd flipped the bonds on other preds, they'd thought I could do better.

At least one good thing came out of my dismal failure. Because of my inability to fight off Claudius, I spared Grace the tedium of attending the day's meeting. Ingrid was growing eager to get her involved, but thanks to my difficulties, she opted to hold Grace back a while longer to better educate her.

I questioned Tom about Mitch and Olef, and predictably learned nothing useful about the former and only more confusion about the latter. The lab had positively identified the red feather found in Olef's apartment as belonging to a magi. But which magi, and did it matter?

I couldn't believe Olef's murder was unconnected to the prophecy, and I suspected the feather was a false clue. Tom didn't disagree, but the Gryphons had to be thorough and investigate every lead just in case.

With some trepidation and no small amount of dread, we arrived at the hotel for day three of the meeting from hell. Gunthra inquired after my health while the Gryphons set up the one thing certain to horrify humans, preds and magi alike—a PowerPoint presentation on the Vessels.

The High Council goblins watched me curiously, and now that I knew enough to fear them, I stayed as far away as possible. “I'm fine, thanks,” I said to Gunthra, hoping she only asked out of politeness and not for a more sinister reason.

The satyrs arrived next, and I dug my nails into my palms, hoping the completed glyph Theo had drawn was powerful enough to hide my anger and disgust from Claudius. Somehow I suspected not.

Devon had returned with them today, and the way he and Lucen circled around me like a couple of guard dogs was enough to let me know Lucen had shared what happened with his best friend. While I appreciated their protective instincts, it all felt rather suffocating. Especially since if Claudius wanted to harass me, all their hovering wouldn't actually do any good.

And then we waited. And waited some more. I sipped my increasingly cool coffee, more convinced with each passing minute that, after what happened yesterday, neither the harpies nor Xander were going to attend.

Ten minutes beyond the agreed-upon start time, Ingrid gave up and called for the meeting to begin. The tension in the air settled a bit while Tom reviewed the information we knew about the Vessels, including where some of them were rumored to have been hidden, but once he finished and asked for others to share their knowledge, an uncomfortable silence descended on the room.

Claudius was the first to break it. “You're asking me to share secrets, which I can't even say exist, on the basis of a flimsily held together theory and the vision of a dead prophet.”

My hands clenched into fists beneath the table. Though at this point, all it took was hearing Claudius's voice to set my teeth on edge.

“We've been over the evidence,” Ingrid said. “It is much stronger than you make it out to be. If you do not want to share what you know, then it will be on your head if the furies succeed in opening the Pit. If the histories are believed, you will regret it.”

“Perhaps.” Claudius stroked his chin, adopting an expression of the unconcerned. “But it occurs to me there might be a simpler solution than scouring the world in search of artifacts that may well have been destroyed centuries ago.”

I felt his amusement blossom in my mind, an ethereal buzzing in my skull like an imp's wings. And like an imp, I wanted to smack it away. Instead, I gave his emotions a mental shove, but it didn't help. Claudius's brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“What did you have in mind?” Dezzi asked, voicing the question everyone was clearly wondering.

Claudius stretched his arms. “You are all certain Jessica is tied to this prophecy, and Jessica is convinced the furies have been trying to keep her alive. Therefore, it stands to reason that they need her for something. If we killed her, they can't have her. Game over.”

The room exploded. This time, I wasn't one of the people yelling. I gawked at Claudius, and the asshole smirked at me.

The smirk knocked the shock right out of me. I seethed, focusing all my fury and hate at him. Devon had once told me being around too much lust could make a satyr queasy, like gorging on a high-fat meal. I sincerely hoped too much negativity could give Claudius an upset stomach.

“We will not tolerate comments like that.” Tom's face was red with anger. “If you can't keep it civil…” He trailed off, at a loss for a useful threat.

“It wasn't a pointless comment,” Claudius said. By all appearances he was unfazed by either the furor he'd caused or the emotional punch I kept trying to throw at him. “It was a serious suggestion. You created Jessica to be a warrior. Perhaps this was meant to be her battle. A sacrifice.”

I inhaled deeply, noticing that Lucen was hovering over me. I could forgive him for it this time. “You're an asshole,” I told Claudius.

“The satyr has a point,” Ulan said, and everyone's heads swiveled in the goblin's direction. “If the woman is somehow the key to all this, then her death could put an end to it.”

“Could.” Lucen gripped the back of my chair, his knuckles white. “You have no proof.”

“Lucen, sit down.” Dezzi spoke quietly, but her tone was firm.

Claudius turned a very critical eye on Lucen. The amusement I'd felt was gone, replaced by something cold. “You have little proof of anything. Why deny this but believe the rest?”

Dezzi's hand shot out, and she grabbed Lucen's wrist. “Sit. Now.”

“Do it,” I whispered. He was drawing Claudius's wrath. I could feel it. I didn't give a damn what Claudius thought of me, but I suspected Lucen could be in real trouble if the Upper Council was displeased with him.

Lucen sat, but his face was hard. The cinnamon scent of his pheromones was as potent as I'd ever noticed, but I was too angry and worried to register any lust. Throwing off power was simply what preds did when their emotions were heightened.

Tom also returned to his chair, but his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword as he did. “We are not entertaining this idea. End of discussion.”

I reached toward my own waist and patted my knife for good measure. “No, we're not.”

“I thought you were serious about stopping the furies.” Claudius raised an eyebrow. “Dezdemona, what do you think?”

Dezzi looked as though she'd swallowed something foul, and she fidgeted with the bracelets around her wrist. Her gaze flickered once toward Lucen, or maybe toward me. “It at least deserves discussion.”

My stomach sank, but what could I expect? Openly defying Claudius was a terrible move for her, and besides, I had no reason to believe she had any true loyalty to me. Maybe if I'd accepted her offer to join her council, things would be different. She'd have reason to defend me. Then again, perhaps not. I doubted such a move would have helped my case with Claudius. His feelings toward me were clear. Having joined the satyr council would probably only have lowered Claudius's opinion of Dezzi.

A muscle in Lucen's jaw twitched, and he flexed his fingers on his lap. The cords of muscle in his arms flexed with it, and I could only guess what he was thinking. Thank dragons, though, he kept his mouth shut.

I couldn't even look at Devon. He sat on Claudius's far side, so it would have required seeing Claudius too. Devon's silence could mean anything, but I had no reason to believe his opinion would differ from Dezzi's.

Gunthra cleared her throat, and her gaze met mine across the table. She was curiously unreadable. “I'm not sure it's wise to discuss anything so drastic while some members of this alliance are absent.”

“On the contrary,” Ulan said. “There is no need for the harpies to be involved at all, and if that pompous magi can't bring himself to attend the meeting, then he abdicates responsibility. Time might be of the essence. We should be willing to discuss all possibilities and ideas, not just those the Gryphons wish to put forth. The woman's full potential should be on the table, dead or alive.”

“The woman is right here.” My words came out like a growl. “And she is not going to sit around and listen to you discuss killing her as a solution when the only reason he brought it up—” I pointed to Claudius, unable to spit out his name, “—is because he considers me an imperfect satyr and is looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

Lucen reached for my hand, and I shook his off before he did anything else reckless. “Jess.”

I stood. “You know what my opinion is. Have your talk without me.”

For the second day in a row, I got up and stormed out of the room.

Someone hurried after me as I approached the elevator. Hoping it wasn't Lucen, I turned, and my shoulders sagged in relief at seeing Tom. “Don't expect me to go back in today and listen to this.”

“I don't.”

The elevator arrived, and Tom stepped inside with me. The blood had faded from his face, and his stress was evident in the dark circles beneath his eyes. For a moment, I felt bad for him. Tom was as much a pain in my ass as Claudius, but I was starting to accept that his intentions were good even if his methods left much to be desired.

“You following me?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I need to go back. More voices of reason are required. You should go to Headquarters and continue your training.”

“I should go to Headquarters and help find Olef's murderer. We need the magi's involvement, and that means we need to get to the bottom of it. Even if we can't point fingers at a specific fury, pointing to their race would help.”

“I agree, but especially in light of what's going on in the meeting, I think it's more important than ever that you prove how much more useful you are alive than dead.” The elevator stopped on the ground floor. Tom held the door open with his hand but stayed put. “Skip reading about laws and regulations, and practice your magic and how to kill things.”

Actually that didn't sound like a bad idea. I knew exactly whose head I would imagine during target practice.

Chapter Sixteen

Instead of heading straight to the shooting range when I got to Headquarter's training facility, I changed into my workout clothes and went to the gym.

Until Tom had showed me this place a week ago, I hadn't known the building housed any such thing in the basement. But house a gym it did, and a nice one too. It made sense that the Gryphons would want training and exercise space nearby for their use.

Stepping into the gym, I stretched my arms over my head and inhaled the scent of rubber and stale sweat. Gross, yet comfortingly familiar. The gym was divided into two sections, half given over to your standard equipment—treadmills and weight benches and the like—and the other half to more combat-style training. The latter side contained two punching bags and several large mats. On the walls, an array of practice weapons had been hung, along with body padding to facilitate sparring.

My gaze rested on the punching bags. They sounded about right for my mood. I'd been wanting to punch someone for days, and if I couldn't actually hit Claudius for what he'd done, I could pretend to.

Besides me, the gym was mostly empty. A Gryphon who had on a pair of headphones was using a treadmill, and she ignored me. I adjusted my ponytail, did a series of light stretches, then began whaling on one of the bags.

The rush of endorphins did wonders for my mood even though I suspected my muscles weren't going to be pleased tomorrow. I should have been holding back, focusing on technique and good form. But naturally I wasn't. With every punch I threw, I envisioned the bag as Claudius's face, and the only thing that mattered was power. I wanted to smash his perfect nose into a pancake, and so I grew sore and tired way too quickly.

“Whoa there, ex-partner. You're going to hurt something.”

I dropped a roundhouse kick on the bag in frustration and spun to face Andre. “I didn't see you come in.”

“I don't think you've been seeing anything. Someone having a bad day?”

I bent over, catching my breath and flexing my knuckles. “Let's just say that right now a group of preds are calmly discussing whether they should kill me for the good of all living creatures.”

To his credit, Andre didn't ask why. “I suppose that would be a no. I'm also thinking this isn't the first time preds have pondered killing you.”

“No, but it is the first time the word ‘good' has factored into their decision.”

Andre set an mp3 player down on his sweatshirt. “Since when do preds care for the good of anything except themselves?”

“Well, as was once pointed out to me, dead humans make for lousy food, and the end of the world as we know it would leave lots of dead humans.”

“I guess that's true. So you're planning on bringing about the end of the world, are you?”

I just smiled and silently cursed my slip-up. Andre didn't press.

Sweat ran down my nose, and I wiped it away, listening to the rhythmic sound of the treadmill. Memories of the night Andre and I had almost died played through my head, unbidden and unwanted. Andre half-naked, straddling me, the sweat running down his taut stomach. Me clawing at his pants zipper and wrapping my hands…

I remained bent over longer, pretending to pant for air that I no longer needed so I didn't have to look at him. Damn Lucrezia and the way she'd cursed us.

Judging by the potent pickled-olive taste of Andre's embarrassment, he was having similar flashbacks.

Had events gone differently, I might have slept with Andre anyway. I'd certainly thought about it at the time, and I could tell he had too. Ultimately, though, there never would have been anything between us except friendship. I was done contemplating normal—AKA human—relationships, but Lucrezia's schemes had made even my memories a challenge.

“How's your head?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Good,” Andre said, a little too enthusiastically. “My head healed fine. My psyche is another story, but that's not your fault.”

I offered him my best attempt at a smile, but it came out more like a cringe. “I look forward to testifying at Lucrezia's trial.”

Assuming I lived long enough.

“Honestly, I can't say the same.” Andre gave me a look of disbelief as he started stretching. “I am not ready to have everything that happened that night become public knowledge.”

“I was assuming we wouldn't have to delve into the more salacious details.”

Andre's expression suggested I might be assuming too much. “Let's hope not. By the way, I could use a sparring partner, and I do believe someone told me you're supposed to be doing weapons training.”

“You want to spar?”

Andre smiled hesitantly. “So long as no chairs are involved. Let's go for it.”

The longer we talked, the weaker his emotions tasted, and consequently, my own discomfort eased with his. It was about time. My life could be going to hell everywhere else, but if I could salvage a friendship, the day wouldn't be a total disaster.

Some of my gloomy mood lifted. “Let's.”

Andre picked up one of the practice blades that imitated a standard-sized Gryphon sword. “You game?”

“Sure.” I grabbed a matching one and swung it around a few times, loosening my wrists. “So any movement on Olef's case?”

Andre pulled on a pair of gloves. “Not much. We've started interviewing neighbors and associates, gathering financials, all the usual. You still think the case is connected to what you're working on?”

“Positive. I don't think you're going to find a motive by interviewing people.”

“Uh-huh.” He strolled to the center of the nearest mat, swinging his arms. “Yet there's obviously a motive. What is it? If you suspect something, I don't get why I haven't been told.”

“Talk to Tom.”

Andre grunted. “That's like talking to a wall.”

I laughed and started to make a joke about walls being friendlier, then changed my mind. A new idea was occurring to me. If my assumption about why Olef was killed was correct, it meant the furies had found out he possessed crucial information. And how would they have done that? It was certainly possible they'd managed it on their own, but it was also possible—perhaps even likely—they'd found out the same way they'd found out about Phoenix.

What if someone in the Brotherhood had clued them in to Olef's research or the many visions he'd had?

I lowered my voice. “This might not be related to your case exactly, but then again. I think someone in the Gryphons might be leaking sensitive information to the furies, and that might be what got Olef killed.”

Andre stared at me a moment, and I hoped he'd be curious enough to take the bait. “That's a serious accusation.”

“Against a potentially very powerful Gryphon, which is probably why the people I've mentioned it to are reluctant to do much investigating. But I'd bet my life that Olef's death is due to the furies, and that could make it the second time confidential information has reached them. I don't believe it's a coincidence.”

Andre raised his practice blade. “You have suspects?”

I adjusted my stance, mimicking Andre's form. While I'd taken martial arts since I was a kid, the Gryphons had their own unique fighting style, one that relied heavily on speed. With short, quick strikes, they danced in and out of an opponent's immediate range. It would minimize the length of time a Gryphon needed to get close to a pred, and since all it took was a nick with a salamander fire-forged blade to do serious damage, they didn't need any fancy moves to disarm or disable their opponents.

“I have a list of possibilities, but not the means to investigate them myself.” I batted my eyelashes in an attempt to lighten the seriousness of what I was suggesting.

Andre snorted, but he looked thoughtful too. “Send it to me, and I'll see what I can find out. No promises.”

A heavy weight lifted from my shoulders. Although I knew checking out my list of names couldn't be Andre's top priority, it was more than I could do on my own. I'd take what I could get. “That would be awesome.”

To thank him, I lunged at Andre, and he easily countered.

For the next forty-five minutes, we jumped and skittered around the mat, him offering tips and me occasionally sharing some of my own while we smacked the crap out of each other.

Sweat rolled down my back, and Andre's tan skin gleamed with it. Given his skill and greater size, I felt good knowing I'd made him work. Not only would I be sore tomorrow, I'd be bruised. But it would be worth it. With every hit or laugh, the past dissipated. We weren't just beating each other up, but our awkward memories as well.

In fact, the exercise had been exactly what I needed to soothe the edges on multiple areas of my life. Endorphins were wonderful. Claudius's threat and the meeting's lack of progress hung over my head, but I was able to ignore them temporarily, lost in the need to dodge, block and attack.

When we called it quits, I chugged some water and hung up the practice blade, breathing hard and thinking about next moves. A good first one would be to call Lucen or Tom and find out what was happening at the meeting. If the meeting was still going on, that was.

Andre wiped his face with a towel. “Look at that. I think it's beer o'clock.”

As I checked the time, my stomach growled. “A beer sounds pretty good.”

“I'm not surprised. You looked like you needed one, or three, earlier.”

“More like a six-pack.”

Andre grinned. “You got time?”

Biting my lip, I checked the clock again. Why not? I liked hanging out with Andre, and I especially liked things between us returning to normal. Nothing said I couldn't text Tom or Lucen from a bar. “Sure.”

Showered and changed into my street clothes, I met Andre in the lobby fifteen minutes later.

“I've rounded up a few more people,” Andre said as we headed outside. “They'll meet us in about ten minutes.”

The bar Andre had in mind was one I'd gone to with him once before. It was a few blocks from Headquarters, squished between a chain restaurant and an office supply store. Around this time of day it would be packed as businesses emptied for the evening and happy hour turned into hours, plural.

Yesterday's rain had lifted, but the air felt ripe with a storm, and the dark clouds to the southwest and falling pressure suggested more bad weather wasn't far away. Over my shoulder, I noticed with mild amusement that Gi and Melissa were following us. They wouldn't run up and flank me with a Gryphon at my side, so instead they literally watched my back.

Andre had been talking about Olef's case again, but halfway down the block he paused abruptly in mid-sentence, frowned and scanned the street. “We have company somewhere. Funny place for it.”

“Company?” It dawned on me what he meant as I asked. Gryphons trained their magical senses to pick up on preds. Once, back when I'd gone to the Gryphon pre-training Academy, I'd been able to do the same. I could have detected a feeling of cold, unnatural power radiating from a pred yards away. I'd lost the ability ages ago, but Andre wouldn't have. “The funny case I'm working on has funny implications. I have a couple satyrs acting as my bodyguards. They're behind us.”

Andre snorted. “Satyr bodyguards. Only you, Jess.” He resumed walking, but his frown returned almost as quickly. “Do you literally mean a couple. As in two?”

“Yeah, why?” My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, hoping it was Tom or Lucen, but it was an unknown number sending me a text. I almost ignored it, but my gut told me not to.

We think you have tails. A brown jacket and a blue shirt. Disguise charms.

I swallowed, checking the street's reflection in a storefront window as I passed. I saw nothing amiss, but Gi and Melissa had increased their pace, closing the distance, and Melissa had her phone out. She was the one who'd texted me.

I tucked my phone away and carefully adjusted my bag so that my hand brushed Misery's hilt at my hip. The gun from Tom was in my bag, but I wasn't about to whip that out on a busy street unless I had no other option. Alas, without knowing what I was dealing with, the knife might not be the most useful weapon either. Andre carried a similar blade, at least. Not all Gryphons did when off-duty.

“How many do you sense?” I asked, my voice low. “My bodyguards think I have tails.”

“Great. I sense three preds behind us, possibly more.”

We passed another large window, but I couldn't make out who Brown Jacket or Blue Shirt might be in the crowd. Who or what, for that matter. And while I was at it, why? Was I merely being spied on, or was something more sinister afoot? I wanted to find Mitch, but not by being another kidnapping victim.

We were almost at the bar. The best plan I could come up with was to take shelter inside and get a good look at my tails from within. If they followed us through the doorway, even better. Then we could grab them in the confined space.

I touched Andre's arm lightly. “I think—”

The opposite side of the street suddenly lit up like a camera flash. Blinding white burned my retinas. Instinctively, I dove low, but the explosion my reflexes anticipated never happened. Instead, everything went pitch-black a second later. Holding my breath, I stayed down. People screamed and tires squealed, followed by the unmistakable sound of crashing cars.

“Jess!” Andre's voice was right in my ears, but I couldn't see him. The light had temporarily blinded me, and now the darkness along the street was absolute, as though someone had flipped a switch from day to night. Though it was a night without stars or streetlamps, an eerie, thick darkness that could only be the result of magic.

I could hear chaos spreading all around me, the street shuddering to a panicked stop. People shouted and sirens wailed. Pounding feet beat against the sidewalk.

No, that made no sense. The darkness was complete. No one should be running in it. But someone—or someones—was, and I sensed no emotions tied to those feet.