Darkest Misery (2 page)

“Someone's home,” I said to Tom.

He gave me a funny look, then his eyes widened in understanding. “You're sensing him. Interesting.”

I crossed my arms, wishing I could make Tom sense what it felt like to be a lab rat. “Yes, Doctor Frankenstein, I am.”

Tom ignored the jab and knocked a third time. At last, I heard footsteps, and the door was thrown open. Startled, I straightened and wiped away my pissy expression.

On the other side of the screen door stood a guy about my age. Tall and thin, he wore a faded T-shirt over a pair of blue scrubs. His black hair was shaved close to his scalp, and a heavy five o'clock shadow covered his chin. His dark eyes swept over us. Though they were small, they were expressive. You didn't need to be an empath to figure out what he was feeling.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Mitchell Johnson?” Tom asked.

Johnson's irritation morphed into suspicion in my mouth. “Yeah, I'm Mitch. What's this about?”

Tom flashed his badge. “I'm Gryphon Agent Tom Kassin, and this is…”

I didn't hear the rest of Tom's speech because the strength of Johnson's panic almost knocked me over. The emotional rush left my head spinning.

Then the door slammed in our faces.

Chapter Two

I pressed my fingers to my temples. Behind the door, I could sense Johnson's racing emotions. He was a jittery mess, but fear was a pure emotional response as far as I was concerned. The most potent sort of hit, aside from lust.

It enabled me to get a good read on his intentions. “He's going to run.”

Tom yanked open the screen door and knocked again. “You can't possibly know that.”

“I know what he's feeling.”

“We startled him.”

“Yeah, that's part of it.” I bounded off the front step while Tom called Johnson's name.

He turned sharply to me. “Where are you going?”

Good question. The tiny backyard was fenced off, but I found a gate to the left. “There.”

Without a glance back at Tom, I ran toward it. He wanted to bring me here? He could let me be useful.

Johnson was on the move. His panic was ebbing, though a heavy current of key-lime fear ran though him. His confusion was lifting too. I couldn't tell for sure what this meant, but I could make guesses, and one of those guesses was exactly what I'd told Tom. Johnson was preparing to run, and I suspected I knew why.

Maybe Tom had been right to bring me here. Wasn't that a depressing thought?

I darted through the gate. Keeping low, I crept into the backyard, which was barely big enough to hold a gas grill and a cheap plastic patio table.

Keep positive, I told myself. Believe helpful things.

Not being a ray of sunshine under the best of circumstances, I cringed at my own pep talk. But if Johnson was like me, and he probably was, then he could sense any negativity in me as well as I could sense it in him, and I didn't want him to figure out I was lying in ambush.

Whether my attempt at forced positivity helped, I'd never know. The back door crashed open, and Johnson came flying out before I was ready for him. He wore a backpack and an expression like that of a cat trapped in a corner. Yet there was nowhere to go except through me if he meant to get to the gate.

“Wait!” I reached out for him, moving slowly, doing my damnedest to project a calm I wasn't sure I felt. “You're not in any trouble. This isn't what you think it is.”

He should have been able to sense I wasn't lying, but maybe he was too far lost in his distress to notice. Judging by his eyes, I wasn't even certain he'd heard me.

I took another tentative step forward, thinking I could subdue him if necessary. I had the training. Alas, Johnson apparently had training too. I held out my hand, and unprepared for his response, I screamed as my feet flew out from under me. My backside smacked the stone patio.

Luckily, I managed to keep my head from colliding with the ground, but dragon shit on toast. Throbbing pain shot up along my spine from my tailbone all the way to my shoulders. Stunned motionless for a moment, I thought I heard Johnson mutter “Sorry” before his long legs disappeared from my peripheral vision.

Sorry? Was he fucking kidding?

I rolled over and crawled to my feet. Beneath the hair that fell in my face, I caught a glimpse of him opening the gate. Yelling Tom's name, I hobbled after Johnson.

Tom flew around the corner just as Johnson reached the same area. I clutched the gate with one hand and my aching butt with the other, but before I could warn Tom that Johnson wasn't going quietly, the men clashed.

Groaning, I pulled myself together, ready for round two, but Tom was quicker on the uptake than I was. He'd gotten to see my old-lady-with-a-bad-back act, and he must have figured out what to expect. So although Johnson had about six inches on Tom, the grappling didn't last long. And when it was over seconds later, Tom had Johnson on his knees on the path, hands pinned behind his back. Smooth, efficient, and I hated to admit it, but impressive.

For the second time today, I blinked at Tom in surprise. Well then. I'd known for a while that Tom carried a small arsenal of rare weapons. I suppose I should have expected he wouldn't be a slouch in hand-to-hand combat.

Feeling stupid, I walked over while massaging my tailbone. “I'll consider your apology if you'll cooperate now.”

Johnson's confusion was heady. If only I had some super healing powers I could activate with the juice he was feeding me. Instead I was stuck with a useless head rush and a sore butt.

“I want a lawyer,” he said. The annoyance was gone from his tone, his voice quiet and resigned.

“Why? What did you do?” Tom asked. He hadn't loosened his grip.

“Nothing.”

Tom didn't get it, but I did. So yeah, this was why I was here.

I sighed and knelt in spite of the pain. “No one's arresting you because of your gift.”

Johnson's dark skin seemed to turn a couple shades lighter. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

I almost laughed at his denial. He'd rather run and make us think he was a criminal than admit to being a misery junkie.

For a fleeting second I considered whether there was a reason for that. Wouldn't it be just our luck to come all this way to find a guy who I believed was screwed over by the Gryphons, only to have him turn out to be another murderous Victor Aubrey? Then the second passed and I knew better. Face-to-face with Johnson, I couldn't sense any evil in him. Victor, on the other hand, had reeked of it—a foul, burnt-oil taste that set off my gag reflex.

“Mr. Johnson, listen to me. I know what you can do because I can do it too. I can sense negative emotions, and no one is here to arrest you. We're actually here to help and explain, and to apologize.” I glared at Tom as I spoke the last word, and he returned the expression.

Whatever. Just because he didn't think
Le Confrérie
needed to apologize for screwing up our lives didn't mean they shouldn't. An apology had been part of my condition for coming along. Though, to be fair, I was glad now that I had. Johnson needed my reassurance. Tom had been right about that much.

I wet my lips. “Tom, let him go. He knows I'm not lying.” I hoped so anyway.

Tom wasn't happy, but he released Johnson's arms.

Johnson stretched his shoulders a few times, looking between us but mostly at me. “I'm really not the only person with this curse?”

With an achy effort, I climbed to my feet. “It's not a curse, and no. Agent Kassin here is going to explain a lot of things to you after he apologizes, but we should have this conversation indoors.”

Johnson stood, clearly dubious. Although I couldn't sense curiosity, I felt confident we'd gotten his attention. He picked up his backpack and gestured for us to follow him into the back. “All right. If the two of you can really explain things, I'm all ears. I've got a lot of questions.”

“Be prepared to have your mind blown,” I said, adopting a falsely cheerful smile.

A short time later, Mitch sat across from me, cradling a beer bottle in his hands and probably wishing he'd opted for something stronger. “So let me get this straight. The Gryphons are the ones who made a mess of my gift, and they did it because it appears a prophecy about some really old preds escaping from a magical prison is coming true, and I'm supposed to be able to fight them?”

Condensation slid down Tom's water glass and dropped onto his perfect pants. “That's the gist. If we'd known the experiments had worked—”

Mitch laughed the slightly insane laugh of someone who can't believe what he's hearing. “This is crazy. I've lived with this curse for the last ten years, and only now are you seeking me out?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “All my fault for alerting them to our existence.”

Mitch rubbed his chin. “I guess I should thank you since I have an answer finally. But I don't get this part about actually being a kind of satyr. If that's the case, I'd think my dating history wouldn't suck so much.”

I shrugged. “I always figured it was hard to date when other people's misery makes you feel good.”

“There's that.” He swigged his beer thoughtfully. “But I don't have any satyr-like abilities besides emotional feeding. Do you?”

I cast a wary glance at Tom, but he already knew this much about me. I merely disliked reminding him. “I can create addict-like bonds of lust in people and use the lust to influence them. I wouldn't be surprised if you can too. Maybe no one's ever showed you how.”

Mitch blinked at me over his beer. “No, definitely no one has ever shown me how. I've never even told anyone what I can do. You have?”

Tom was staring at me. “So that ability didn't come naturally, Jessica? I assumed it had.”

I reclined in my seat, trying to act like none of this was a big deal. “Nothing about this power is natural, and it's not like I could have discovered it by accident. I'm not giving off a cloud of lust-inducing pheromones wherever I go. A satyr taught me.”

Tom chewed his lip thoughtfully, but Mitch gaped at me. “You talk to satyrs?”

“Sometimes.” Talk to them. Sleep with them. Live among them.

Tom cleared his throat. “Jessica's example isn't one we advocate following. In fact, given the situation and the gravity of what we believe is on the horizon, we'd like you to return to Boston with us. We want to provide you with the training you never received and make you part of the alliance we're forming.”

Mitch set his beer down and stood, shaking his head. “I can't just pick up and leave. I understand what you're saying, but the Gryphons dumped me. After that, I moved on. I have a life here. A job. I'm a nurse. I can't forget my other responsibilities.” He paused his pacing in front of the window. “Unless you're going to arrest me, after all. Force me to go.”

“We'd rather not force you,” Tom said, also standing. “But this is a matter of global security. Whatever you need the Gryphon World Office to do in order to make it possible, we can and will.”

And did.

Over the next hour, Tom persuaded Mitch to come to Boston, at least temporarily. A few phone calls later and the phrase “global security” tossed around like it actually meant something, Tom had also made sure Mitch's leave of absence from his job was not only approved by the hospital, but encouraged.

It wasn't surprising, but it was rather infuriating. The world was full of people who believed Gryphons were saviors. If only they knew what I did.

By the time Mitch was ready to go, darkness had settled outside. He dumped his small suitcase in the living room and scanned the place. Worry lines were deeply etched on his face, and anxiety rolled off him in great spearmint waves. I understood the sentiment and tried to forgive him for it, but I hated that flavor.

“So this is it?” He sounded like a man who expected never to see his home again.

“I've booked us on a red-eye to Chicago,” Tom said. “We should get going.”

“I thought we were going to Boston.” Mitch stuffed his phone in his back jeans pocket.

“Detour first,” Tom said.

I hung back while Mitch locked up his house. “Remember what I told you earlier? There are three of us left. The third is in Chicago. Tom's plan is to pick her up on the way.”

“So I get to tail along for the ride, like you.” Mitch nodded uneasily. “You're pretty calm about all this.”

I forced a smile and got in the car. “I've had longer to live with the knowledge. Besides, the real danger won't come until we're stuck in a room with a bunch of preds, some arrogant magi and a few zealous Gryphons. It'll be amazing if no one dies.”

“We're not zealous.” Tom's annoyance flared, and I smirked. “Not unless you mean about protecting humanity.”

“Oh, so much is obvious.”

Tom ignored my sarcasm as he turned off Mitch's street. Sighing, I reached for my water bottle, and as I did, something silver flashed in the corner of my eye. I had just enough time to think
Car!
before the object slammed into us, and we went spinning off the road.

Chapter Three

Shock reduced my world to colors and sounds. The car's gray interior. The crunching metal. Tom swearing. And a single, errant and idiotic thought—huh, that might be the first time I'd ever heard Tom swear.

My seat belt strangled me, and before I could adjust to what was happening, a second impact followed the first. I flew back against my seat this time, grunting and gasping for breath. My head rolled to the side as the car rattled, and we finally came to an abrupt stop.

Warily, I opened my eyes. A pole. We'd been knocked into a utility pole.

Wasn't that lovely. My brain didn't seem to want to work. Some part of me was aware this must be what shock felt like, and I squeezed my eyes tight to snap out of it. Where was the pain? Where were my emotions? My reasoning?

I found my voice if nothing else. “Tom? Mitch?”

“Yeah,” came Mitch's voice from the backseat.

I tried to look around, afraid of what sort of pain would hit when I did, but adrenaline had me covered. I felt nothing. No physical pain, that was. Mental clarity was coming, and I didn't like it.

“Tom!” Blood dribbled down his forehead, but he blinked and murmured something I couldn't make out. Shit. Phone. I needed my phone. Forcing down the panic that came on clarity's heels, I undid my seat belt.

“Um, Jess?” Mitch's voice hardly registered with me, but the sudden spark of his orange fear cut through my fog.

I twisted in my seat. “What?”

“Look out!”

The front passenger door flew open, and before I could see who was there, something dark obscured my vision. A sack or bag had been thrown over my head. Strong hands pressed my shoulders into the seat. Uselessly, I flailed against my attacker and whatever was over my eyes, but I got nowhere. Then I felt a prick on my arm, like a needle, and my scream died on my tongue.

I couldn't move. Couldn't yell. My lungs worked—I breathed barely—but that was all. More doors opened and shut. Mitch was yelling. He was being attacked too. Then he also fell silent.

Careless hands yanked off my seat belt and grabbed me from under the arms. I mentally shrieked and strained with every molecule of my being, every sour orange hit of Mitch's and my collective fear, but I couldn't break the paralysis. Just as frustrating, I couldn't sense who the attackers were. Not a single emotion registered from them. I couldn't even count their number because they didn't speak. I was completely helpless, trapped with my rage and fear, my heart thrashing against my breastbone.

Internally, I recoiled in horror as more hands grabbed me about the legs. Being unable to move added an extra layer of revulsion to my attackers' touches. As if being abducted wasn't terrifying enough, knowing they could do anything to me and I'd be helpless pushed me into panic territory.

I heard a whooshing noise, like a van door opening, and my arm banged into something. Someone swore in a low voice. I could tell I was being loaded into a vehicle, but that was all. A car door slammed, and a man shouted, “Go.” As I was stuffed into a seat with an unknown person pressed against me, we began to move.

I'd like to say I counted the seconds we drove or memorized the turns, but I couldn't. Panic left no room for anything so intelligent. All I could do was focus on being paralyzed. All I could do was think what these people—men from the sound of it—might do to me.

When the vehicle stopped, I was carried down a flight of stairs into a room blissfully cooler than the place I'd just left. Dumped on the floor, I held my breath, waiting for what was to come.

Nothing did. A door shut, and I got the sense I was alone.

After what felt like hours but was probably mere minutes, my right eyelid twitched. Little by little, more motion came to me. Soon, I could blink fully and shrug my shoulders.

Come on,
I willed my body.
Get it together faster. Before they return.

But whether I could will myself to heal quicker became irrelevant a second later. The unseen door opened again, and multiple sets of heavy footfalls approached. Shit.

“You sure you got the right ones?” a man with a Spanish accent asked.

“Of course we got the right ones.” The second guy, who had no accent, sounded offended. “How stupid do you think we are?”

Someone, presumably the first man, snorted. “Very.”

Suddenly the bag over my head was yanked off. I sucked in a mouthful of air and found myself face-to-face with a fury addict. I should have known that's who these guys were, but it made no sense. The furies in Boston had been protecting me, so why would fury addicts in Phoenix snatch me?

The addict held up his phone and glanced between it and me. The stink of cigarette smoke wafted off him. “Yeah, looks like her. Let's go.”

“That's it? All this work to grab her, and we got to leave her?” The guy behind me lifted my hair. I tensed, and as pleased as I was that I could manage that much, I couldn't do more. My heart beat a death march as I waited for what would come next. “Seems such a waste when I could do with—”

“You'll not do anything,” the first guy snapped. “Not if you want to keep your guts on the inside. Now shut up, and let's get going.”

The second thug grumbled, and I caught sight of his legs as he walked around me. Furious but relieved, I watched the men leave through a rickety wood door. One of them flicked off the light switch before they left.

In the dark, I lay there, trying to think of a way out of the situation while I tested my muscles for movement. Also, trying not to think about spiders or scorpions or anything else that might be scurrying around the floor.

Once I could move a finger, I could move an arm soon after. Soon after
that
, I was back to normal. Whatever they'd drugged me with wore off almost all at once. I sprang to my feet, feeling surprisingly not too bad.

Slivers of light seeped into the room through a high window. Using it to guide me, I fumbled my way to the far wall and ran my hand over the spot where I thought the switch should be.

With the light on, I simply appraised my location for a moment. The room was small, more like a glorified closet than anything else, and the floor was dirt. Huge boxes were stacked floor to ceiling against one wall. Against another were metal shelves piled high with linens, sacks of onions and braids of garlic. Was I stuck in some restaurant's storeroom?

Wetting my lips, I inspected the aforementioned window more closely. Beneath the block cloth draped over it, it was high and narrow. I might just be able to fit through the thing. If I could open it. If I could reach it.

But if I did, what about Mitch? It was no wonder we'd been separated since there wasn't much room in this closet for more than a single person, but where was he?

Just to be certain my captors hadn't done something stupid, I tried the door, but it was definitely locked, and I had nothing on me to try picking the mechanism with. I put my ear to it next but heard nothing.

Until Mitch called my name.

I spun around because his voice hadn't come from the other side of the door. Rather it sounded like he was on the other side of the wall with the shelves. I shoved a bag of onions aside and searched in vain for another door that I didn't honestly believe would be there.

I was right—there wasn't one. “Mitch, are you okay?”

“For the moment. You?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “For the moment too. Do you know where you are?”

A clunking noise came from behind the wall. “Some kind of closet, I think. The door's locked, and there's no light.”

Shit. Well, that wasn't helpful.

My gaze landed on the giant boxes, and hope sprang to life in my chest. Lowering my voice just in case the addicts were nearby, I rested my forehead against the wall. “I have a window. I'm going to see if I can open it.”

The boxes were sealed, and the first one I tried moving was ridiculously heavy. The second was no less so, and I resorted to pushing it with my back. I was certain I was banged up from the accident, but adrenaline prevented me from feeling much pain. If I got out of here though, I suspected I was going to be in a world of hurt soon.

At last, I positioned the box beneath the window and crossed my fingers that whatever was inside could support my weight. Pushing aside the heavy black fabric, I discovered the window opened onto an alley. A Dumpster sat across the street with several bags of trash next to it.

The window had an easy latch, the kind that popped the glass out, but the box didn't provide me with quite enough height. Somehow, I'd have to pull myself up at an awkward angle with not much to use for grip.

But first things first. Could I even open the window? My fingers trembled with anticipation as I went to work on the metal latches. They were sticky, but the glass came out easily once I defeated them.

Setting the glass on the floor, I tensed. Assuming I could get through the window and run, I hated leaving Mitch. Of course, odds were I wouldn't get far. I had nothing on me. Not my cell, not my ID, not even change for a pay phone, assuming such things existed around here.

I patted my jeans pockets to affirm my hopelessness and discovered a small bulge. Thinking it was a hair tie, I reached in and discovered two curse grenades. Peachy. That was much better than a hair tie. The two weren't the most useful items right now, but they were something. Vaguely, I wondered how airport security hadn't caught them.

“Jess? You still there?”

I leaned up against the wall again. Curse grenade or not, Mitch still should have been the one with the window. This was his city, and although I'd wanted to go sightseeing, this was not what I'd had in mind. “Still here, but I got the window open. I think I can get out. If I can, I'll get the Gryphons and be back soon.”

“Okay. Good luck. Be careful.”

“Thanks.” I started to add something else, but voices outside the door stopped me cold. People were coming. I had to move faster.

Legs shaking, I climbed onto the box and pulled myself halfway into the alley. Hot grit dug into my hands, and I had to be careful to avoid broken glass. Across the street, a dragon poked its red nose out from between a couple trash bags and stared at me. I rested on my forearms and tried to will it away. Behind me, the voices grew louder.

The window frame and the concrete scratched my stomach and thighs as I pushed through the rest of the way, and I scrambled to my feet. The dragon snorted smoke at me then scampered. Good idea.

The building I'd crawled out of was a simple two-story, done up in the same muted color scheme as much of the city. But where was I, and where were all the people? It was hot as hell out here, sure, but why wasn't I picking up on any negativity? I could really use an energy boost.

Shadowtown. The answer came to me all at once, making my predicament even more precarious than I'd originally thought. Obviously, this wasn't my familiar Shadowtown, but it had to be Phoenix's neighborhood equivalent. Shit. The fury addicts had brought me to their masters' turf. I wasn't going to find friendly help around here.

On cue, shouting emanated from the open window behind me. I'd been spotted.

I put on a burst of speed, heading toward the street. Heavy air settled in my lungs. I had just enough time to catch part of the name over the restaurant's door before the door itself burst open. Three of the addicts, including one of the ones I'd met earlier, spilled onto the street.

Without a clue where I was going, I took off.

“Remember, don't hurt her!” It sounded like the guy with the Spanish accent was yelling after his friends.

Peachy. Don't hurt me. That ought to give me some advantage, right? I would have no such qualms about hurting these men if it came to that.

The street was mostly empty, strange for an evening in pred territory, but it was wicked hot. Every step I took felt like I was running into a wall of heat. That also meant I wasn't going to be able to keep up this pace for long. Sweat had beaded on my skin the moment I crawled out of the building's air conditioning, and it ran down my face and chest.

The few preds out and about merely looked on in amusement—goblins, a harpy. No furies, thanks goodness, but that couldn't last.

Gasping for breath, I retrieved one of the curse grenades from my pocket. My pursuers were getting close. Their footsteps grew louder. Frantic, I scanned the area for ideas. Up the next block, a lust addict was getting out of a taxi. If I could only get to it before the cab pulled away…

I smelled the guy behind me before I felt him. Fingers snagged my hair. I put on an extra burst of speed, drawing from reserves I didn't think I had, and activated the curse grenade. They must have been in my pocket for ages, so I had no clue what kind of spells they'd been filled with.

Hoping they were good ones, I spun on my heel and threw the sphere at the nearest guy. Soon as it touched him, it exploded in a bang of black powder.

It was some kind of general anti-magic then. Not nearly as effective on a human or an addict as a disorientation curse would have been. Damn it. Nonetheless, the confusion the grenade caused was better than nothing. One of the three was down, at least temporarily.

Another man swore, and I turned, waving frantically at the cab ahead. The lust addict was getting his belongings out of the backseat.

More fingers reached for me, digging into my shoulder. I wasn't going to make it. The remaining two men had overtaken me, and one of them darted ahead, tripping me up.

I dodged, and he blocked my path, giving his partner a second chance to grab me. I could scream for help, but this was unfamiliar pred territory. Judging by the audience who was enjoying the show, I'd get no assistance. That left only one option.

There was no time to consider how close I was to my targets. I slammed the curse at the guy in front of me, and it exploded with a bang and smoke. The force of the blast sent us both flying in opposite directions. I crashed into a lamppost, hitting my head, but I felt no magical effects other than the acrid air singeing my nose. The addicts, however, yelled as the anti-magic probably disrupted their bonds with their fury masters.