Demon's Fury: Part 1 of the Final Asylum Tales (The Asylum Tales series) (6 page)

Pulling her keys out of her pocket, she unlocked her car and got in while I walked around to the passenger side. Relief made me light-headed, but a small nagging part of me was insulted. I’d spent most of my life trying to prove to the Towers and myself that I wasn’t like the other witches and warlocks. They were only cold-hearted killers focused on gaining more power while crushing the world. But it was the perverse part of me that didn’t like being told that I didn’t have it in me to be something. Why couldn’t I be a warlock? I shrugged before pulling open the door. My aura must have been wrong. Gideon and the others exuded scary.

Boy, was I about to prove Serah wrong.

Chapter 5

P
ink Floyd was trickling out of the speakers at Asylum when we arrived, causing my stomach to clench with guilt and worry. “Wish You Were Here” was usually saved for when the troll was troubled. The album
A Collection of Great Dance Songs
had been played a lot in that first month after I’d been drawn back into the Towers. I’d never gotten around to telling Bronx what had happened, but then I hadn’t been my usual cheerful self during that time either, so he knew things hadn’t gone well.

The troll looked up as we came in the front door and gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment before reaching under the counter to turn down the music. “TAPSS got ahold of you,” he said, though I think it was meant to be a question.

“Yeah.” I shrugged out of my heavy coat and tossed it onto the wooden bench that ran along the back wall. “I’m sorry about Kyle.”

He grunted again, though this one sounded a little more thoughtful. “I hadn’t talked to Kyle in a couple years, but . . . to go like this. I was just starting to think that the Towers were the only thing that we needed to worry about.” He turned his piercing gold eyes on the woman standing in the middle of the lobby, looking undecided as to whether she wanted to be there.

“Bronx, this is Serah Moynahan, an investigator with TAPSS.”

As he rose to his feet, the troll’s relaxed demeanor disappeared like a wisp of smoke in the wind. I could see the muscles in his hard jaw tighten as if he were grinding his teeth. He didn’t offer her his hand, which was unlike Bronx since the troll’s manners usually put Emily Post to fucking shame, but Serah was TAPSS and no tattoo artist liked the regulatory agency.

“I’m sorry about Kyle,” Serah said as she shrugged out of her coat. She didn’t seem particularly put off by his cold demeanor, though she was keeping a good distance between them. At over six feet, Bronx was an intimidating figure of muscle and menace. It also didn’t help that Trixie had drawn dancing skeletons along Bronx’s bare arms using greasepaint. Since a troll’s skin was too thick for tattooing, Bronx had Trixie draw different images on his arms every night so that it appeared that he had some tattoos.

“Are you almost done for the night?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence that had settled in the room.

Bronx reluctantly tore his eyes off Serah to look at me, his expression softening. “No more appointments and I’ve only got another hour of my shift. Sunrise is in three hours.”

“No shit?” I twisted, looking out the front window as if I could use the moon to judge how late it was. But then, the moon was hidden from where I stood and I couldn’t use it to tell time even if I could see it. No matter. Between the trip out to Kyle’s shop, the investigation, and the drive back, the night had wasted away, when I had hoped to spend it in a more enjoyable manner. Or at the very least, a productive manner in terms of my relationship.

I shook my head in disgust. Life had a way of getting in the way of my plans. “On your way home, would you check on Trixie at my apartment?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“She was with me at Kyle’s shop. It wasn’t pretty.”

“She took it bad?”

“Yeah, and that wasn’t the first bad news of the night,” I muttered as the look on Trixie’s face when I told her I was once again an agent of the Ivory Towers flashed through my brain. I’d never forget that look for as long as I lived. The horror, the fear, the disgust, and disappointment threatened to drown out rational thought. Despite knowing why she couldn’t, I wanted her to understand my choices, needed her to understand.

“You finally talked . . .” Bronx’s deep voice drifted off meaningfully.

“Yeah.” My own voice had become rough with emotion. I wanted to fucking throw something as frustration welled within me, but a temper tantrum wouldn’t fix shit. It would only waste time I didn’t have. I just kept telling myself that my relationship was still fixable. “She can tell you or we’ll talk later. Check in with her before heading home if you don’t mind.”

“I got it.”

“I appreciate it.” And I did. I knew the risk he was taking. Trolls were vulnerable to sunlight, turning to stone at the first touch of the sun’s rays. It was a death sentence for them, but Bronx had risked himself for me time and again. My only hope was that I’d be able to return the favor one day.

“You need any help?” Bronx asked me, but was pointedly staring at Serah with a grim expression. I don’t know what the troll was offering, since he wasn’t the violent type despite his frightening appearance, and would never raise a hand to a woman.

“No, I got this,” I said, feeling the first hint of a chuckle in hours. “We think we’ve got a little of the attacker’s blood and we’re going to see what kind of information I can get out of it.”

Bronx’s narrowed gaze jerked back to me and he moved to block the entrance to the tattooing room when I stepped forward. “How?” he growled and I was warmed by his protectiveness.

“Using the bad stuff.”

“In front of her?” Yeah, he thought I’d officially lost my mind at last and I certainly couldn’t blame him.

Serah snorted. “I’m still here and can hear you,” she said in a loud voice vibrating with her annoyance.

Bronx ignored her outburst, keeping his eyes locked on me. “You don’t have to do this. You weren’t close to Kyle. Let the cops and TAPSS do their job.”

My weariness seeped back in and I shook my head. “Trixie asked me to.”

The troll frowned and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Why? She wasn’t close with Kyle.”

What Bronx wanted to say was
This isn’t your fight
, and I had to agree with him. I’d been dragged into Trixie’s problems with the Summer Court and a fight with the Towers that might have worked out better if I’d just stayed out of the mess to begin with. I wanted to walk away, but the look of fear and desperation in Trixie’s eyes was enough to put me on this path. If only to restore her faith in me again.

“Apparently Kyle wasn’t the killer’s only victim.” Learning against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at my closest friend. “Based on the evidence at the crime scene, the police think the same person has also murdered two pregnant women. It’s likely the person would never have struck without the tattoo. We need to find out who this is and why he’s targeting pregnant women.”

The troll’s expression grew even darker and he swore softly under his breath. “Any leads?”

“None so far,” Serah admitted with some frustration.

For the first time, Bronx’s expression softened toward Serah. “Have you tried the goblins?”

“Why the goblins? What could they have to do with this?” Serah asked, taking a tentative step forward.

“The area goblins run the baby black market,” Bronx volunteered.

The small woman’s mouth hung open for a second in shock before her face flushed red with anger. “And people know this is happening and aren’t doing anything about it?”

“They’re not stealing and eating babies,” I said and quickly bit my tongue.

Well, supposedly they weren’t stealing babies anymore. In the old days, goblins were quite fond of stealing human children from their cribs. Apparently, young humans are a delicacy. But as times changed, the goblins discovered they could make more money selling babies on a black market. Despite the significant progress we’ve made in recognizing most races as citizens and giving them access to proper health care, many lawmakers aren’t as open about adoption, particularly interspecies adoption.

“The goblins pay women quite well to have babies and give them over for adoption,” Bronx explained when she didn’t look convinced.

“There are a number of vampires as well as interspecies couples who can’t have children and aren’t allowed to adopt, so they go to the goblins,” I said.

While I’d never personally visited the goblins regarding their wares, I’d learned that once you became involved in purchasing goods in one black market, you tended to be aware of what else was going on in the underground. You never knew when turmoil elsewhere was going to impact your own livelihood.

“You don’t think that the goblins are behind the murders, do you?” I asked, drawing my tired eyes up the troll’s frowning visage.

“Probably not,” Bronx said with a shrug. “They’re fond of money and wouldn’t do anything to hurt their supply. More likely, they’ve already started looking into the matter and might be able to give you some information.”

“Could be someone they’ve crossed in the past?” Serah suggested.

“Possible. I’ll dig around and see if I can locate a contact after we finish with tonight’s little escapade,” I murmured.

The troll looked like he was going to argue with my decision to burrow deeper into this mess when I needed to step away from it, but after several seconds, he closed his mouth and nodded. Lines of tension still stretched from his eyes. He was worried.

“If you need anything . . .”

“You’ve got my back,” I finished when his voice faded.

Bronx stepped back and I cut through the empty tattooing room. I kept my head down so that the three chairs skated briefly through the periphery of my vision. The three of us had worked together for nearly three years. Laughter had almost constantly echoed through that room as we tattooed the people of Low Town. Crude jokes, strange misadventures, and unexpected revelations filled that room and a part of me worried that it was on the cusp of ending.

Pushing aside my personal worries, I concentrated on the soft patter of female footsteps as Serah followed me down the narrow hallway that connected the main tattooing room with the windowless storage room at the back of the building. When she entered, I closed and locked the door as I usually did when I planned to enter the basement. My eyes jumped to the back door, to find that it was still double-bolted.

“What are we doing back here? You know a potion to pull information out of the blood?” Serah demanded. Her voice had grown colder and harder with her increasing anxiety. My veiled conversation with Bronx had only raised her suspicions about me and the situation wasn’t going to get any better.

Taking her winter coat out of her arms, I tossed it on the padded table I used when I needed someone to lie flat for a tattoo. “Hand over the gun,” I said, holding out my hand.

Serah frowned and took a step backward. “Why?”

“So accidents don’t happen.”

She didn’t budge beyond her gaze hardening on me. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good. We have something in common. I don’t trust me either.” I tapped down the urge to use magic to make the gun disappear, but that wasn’t the way to win this person over. “Hand over the gun. We’re leaving it here.”

“Where are we going?”

“Basement.”

Her eyes darted from one locked door to the other as she thought it over. “Anyone else have a key to those doors?”

“No.”

While not pleased with the idea, Serah removed the gun from shoulder holster under her right arm and popped the magazine from the grip before placing the weapon on top of her coat. The magazine she shoved into the back pocket of her jeans.

“You’re left-handed,” I observed, talking mostly to myself.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, looking at me as if a few of my marbles had just rolled out of my ears.

I flashed her a crooked smile. “I’ve not met many left-handed people. Parents used to believe that kids who were left-handed would turn out to be a witch or warlock so they tried to train lefties to use their right hand.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Superstitious bullshit.”

It helped to break the tension a little bit. With a deep breath, I knew it was time to get down to business.

“I’ve got to set some ground rules before we continue.”

“And now I’m worried again,” Serah said. Her voice carried some levity as if she was trying to meet me halfway, but it was fading fast. “Why do we need ground rules?”

“For both our protection.”

“You know, Gage, if you’re going to use some kind of illegal potion, it’s unlikely I’m going to recognize it. I want to catch this bastard too.”
Ahh . . . dear Serah
. Already willing to bend the rules for me. Of course, she was right. If I’d decided to use a little pixie liver in a spell she wouldn’t be able to recognize it. While the ingredient was illegal, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and a shriveled up lima bean.

“It’s not a potion.”

“Hacking software?”

“No.” When Serah looked utterly confounded, I continued, knowing it was better to push ahead than to let her imagination run wild. “First rule is that you will wait here until I call you down into the basement.” When she opened her mouth to argue, I pulled the blood-soaked paper towel out of my pocket and held it out to her. “Since you don’t trust me, you’ll hold this until you join me.”

Serah wordlessly closed her mouth and took the paper towel, holding it carefully in her right hand. It was a fair trade. She could be sure that I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on her while I was out of her sight.

“Second rule is that you will remain calm no matter what you see.”

“How much illegal crap you got down there?”

I just frowned at her. The shit I had down in the basement wasn’t even on TAPSS’s radar. Warlocks could do some seriously fucked-up shit, but it often required some really strange and rare items. There was plenty down there that could be considered illegal if all the rule makers ever considered what a person could get their hands on. For now it wasn’t illegal simply because they hadn’t thought of it yet.

“Fine. I’ll stay calm,” Serah said in a huff.

“And third, you’ll give me a chance to explain anything you don’t understand before you consider breaking Rule Number Two.”

“Got it. Stay here. Stay calm. Give you a chance to snow me.” Serah ticked off each rule on her fingers while glaring at me. “Can we get this going now? I would like to crawl into bed before the sun comes up.”

Resisting the urge to flip her off, I turned and pushed a rolling table off the trapdoor in the floor, moving it to the far corner of the room. I didn’t care if she was irritated with me. There was a huge potential for disaster by taking her into my secret lair, and I wanted to at least try to cover my ass before descending into this nightmare. I glanced over my shoulder at her one last time to see her still standing across the room with the tissue in her extended hand before turning my attention to the yawning darkness at the bottom of the warped wooden stairs.