Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (27 page)

I wasn’t sure which of them did it, but one moment another Gryphon was reaching for me and the next he was on the floor. I jumped over him, banging my hip on a chair as I ran. Lucen and Gi grabbed a large, circular table and overturned it. Flatware and glasses clattered to the floor. I threw a chair in the table’s direction, hoping to extend the blockade.

“Jess, go!”

I turned and ran. Right into the debris. A tablecloth that had slid to the floor tangled around my feet and I tripped. My knees landed in someone’s pasta salad.

Outside, alarms sounded. Someone had called the cops.

Strong arms lifted me from the floor and hurtled me toward the door. By touch alone, I knew it was Gi, but adrenaline—his or mine—kept the lust at bay. He released me as we shoved our way through the hysterical crowd.

Blue flashing lights joined the alarms. Two cop cars tore down the street. I turned in the opposite direction and was amazed by how the crowd scrambled to get out of my way. Then it occurred to me that they weren’t parting for me. They parted to run from the satyrs.

Whatever worked.

“That way!” Bridget’s voice cut through the tangle of screaming, honking and sirens.

Thick, hot air settled in my lungs like iron. Just my luck that the day’s temperature was supposed to hit record highs.

“Split up,” Lucen said. “Jess, stay with me.”

I attempted to acknowledge him but didn’t have enough breath. My legs pushed against the pavement, each footfall eating up the power in my speed and strength charms. The buildings disappeared into gray and red blurs. I flew, feet barely touching the ground. And yet I knew the whole time that I hadn’t lost the last black-clad figure on my tail. His charms were as fresh and strong as mine. While the other Gryphons lost steam, he remained.

I leaped over trash cans and fences, flung myself around corners and crashed into objects I couldn’t name. I’d be in a world of pain when the adrenaline wore off, but Lucen could help me procure charms for that.

Lucen.

I paused for breath in a dingy side street. Although I was fairly sure I hadn’t lost the Gryphon, I was sure I’d lost the satyr. Had he split intentionally, or had I failed to turn when he had?

Breathing heavily, I fingered my charms and wondered how much juice they had left. I’d never used them over such a sustained period before. And where the hell was I?

Spicy lemonade flooded my mouth. Anger, anxiety—the Gryphon was getting closer. I heaved my sore legs down the filthy road and caught the colorful flags on the lampposts. I had to have been running in circles to still be in The Feathers.

I took a deep breath, preparing to draw on the charms again, when four clawlike fingers wrapped around my shoulder. Before I could scream, an arm pressed over my mouth and tweed cut off my cry.

“Ssh. In here, Ms. Moore. Quietly.”

Strong hands maneuvered me up two steps and through a doorway in the wall. I stood in a well-lit but tiny kitchen-like room. The door shut behind me and latched.

I shook off the grip and spun around. “Olef?”

The magus raised his hand and gestured to the open window far above the door. I wiped sweat from my forehead, tasting the Gryphon’s tangy emotions as they swelled in time to the pounding feet outside. Then both retreated.

More sweat plastered my clothes to my body. I must have looked like I went swimming, and yet my mouth was parched.

“What are you doing? Where am I?”

Today’s newspaper was spread on the cheap, fake wood table, and books with loose spines and tattered covers were stacked on a cart. The electric kettle on the counter began to whistle.

“You’re in The Feathers’ branch of the Boston Public Library,” Olef said, pouring the boiling water into a cup. Watching the steam made beads of sweat roll down my back. “This is the staff break room.”

I supposed that explained the books. “And what are you doing?”

“Rescuing you. Care for some water?”

I was thirsty enough that I ignored the rescue comment in favor of the drink. Olef poured me a cup from a cracked, brown-splotched filter attached to the tap. I did the mental work and decided the pressing need for water outweighed the risk of what was living in the filter.

“You realize it was the Gryphons chasing me?”

“Yes, I was perched up on the roof, having my lunch, and saw you running them ragged for the past ten minutes.”

Now I was thoroughly confused. Humans didn’t tend to need rescuing from Gryphons. “I appreciate the help, but what made you think I deserved it?”

“I’m a librarian. Information is my life. They believe you are somehow involved in those murders we discussed, don’t they? I did warn you to be careful.”

“Yeah, they do. But you didn’t exactly give me any useful information with that warning.” I gulped the water. “So why are you helping me and not the Gryphons? Besides the fact that I’m innocent, which you can’t know for sure.”

The small brown feathers on top of Olef’s head fluffed, and he smoothed them down. “No, I can’t know for sure, Ms. Moore. But I had a vision.”

“Of the real killer?”

“In a matter of speaking. I couldn’t see his face, but I’m sure it was a man. And I saw things that are much worse.” He sat down at the table and sipped his tea.

Gingerly, I sat across from him and rubbed my aching thighs. “Worse?”

“The city will burn in salamander fire.”

My skin chilled as though an air conditioner had turned on. “Friday? That’s how long the sylphs gave us. They’ll start a war.”

“I don’t know the day. I saw the flames, the lizards consuming bodies. The sky was purple, and the streets were red and black.”

Peachy. No pressure there. I checked for the thumb drive and was relieved to find it remained in my sweat-soaked pocket. I didn’t foresee it doing me any immediate good since it was unlikely to contain information about the murders, but I was dying to know what that file on me said. I also didn’t want this afternoon’s run-in with the Gryphons to be for nothing.

Poor Steph. I hoped the Gryphons hadn’t arrested her after I ran. Some friend I was.

“It could well be war.” Olef scratched his ear, and a feather fell to the floor. “Do you know who the killer is?”

“Yes and no. I know who, but I don’t have his name or where to find him.”

The white feathers around Olef’s eyes contracted. “Then I would say you do not know who.”

“I do. He’s another…” I grimaced. “Another freak like me. Another human misery junkie.”

The magus sucked in a breath. “Another human with pred magic?”

“Yeah. Apparently there’s more than one of me.”

“How odd. There can’t be many of you, can there? I admit I was fascinated when I detected that power in you the first time. I did some research into it, but it defies even my knowledge.” He chomped on the words, sounding extremely annoyed by this failure of his intellect. “That there’d be two of you in the same city purely by chance seems highly improbable.”

“Tell me about it.” My muddled thoughts drifted to Gunthra. Was I being completely stupid for refusing her price? “You didn’t happen to get a good view of this guy’s face in your vision, did you? A white male, brown eyes? Voice that sounds like a lilting guitar string? Anything?”

“A pale-skinned male, as you say. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more.”

I groaned and collapsed back in my chair. Well, it wasn’t as if I’d been counting on Olef’s help.

“Rest, Ms. Moore. You’ll be safe here for a while.”

Except there Olef might have been wrong. The kitchen door flew open, and three unfamiliar magi barged in.

The one in the lead smiled nastily. “There she is. Grab her.”

Chapter Nineteen

I darted up, but my muscles rebelled. Sharp nails dug into my arm. For the love of dragons, hadn’t I been inappropriately grabbed enough for one day? My heart pounded, aware of the taste preferences of my new company and the fact none of them appeared friendly.

“Xander, let her go,” Olef said. “She’s innocent.”

This was Xander? Since I wasn’t going anywhere, I stopped thrashing and gave the new magi the once-over. All three were falcon shifters, judging by their red plumage. The one who’d taken command wore an expensive suit—Xander, no doubt. The other two were dressed like bodyguards.

Xander spit. “Innocent? With a gift like hers, innocent is an impossibility.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Predatory magic comes from a corrupted soul.”

Shivers tickled my spine. I refused to believe that, yet was impressed at the same time. Either Xander already had heard about me, or he’d picked up on my gift wicked fast. “Go peck yourself.”

Xander slapped me. Feathery bastard. I returned to my regularly scheduled struggle against his thug, which continued to not go very well.

Olef clucked his tongue. “She didn’t commit the murders.”

“Then why,” Xander asked in a tone one might use on the mentally deficient, “have I witnessed the Gryphons searching The Feathers for her for the last fifteen minutes?”

If I were to be fair—which I wasn’t in the mood for after being slapped—it was a reasonable question. It was also a surprising one. The Gryphons must not have crossed the magi off their suspect list if they weren’t sharing information. Probably that was why Xander hadn’t called them already. Much as he’d like to get the Gryphons off his back, their lack of trust stung. Magi were proud, and someone with Xander’s influence was possibly too proud for his own good. I might yet get out of this without being arrested.

“Someone framed me for the addict murders.”

“Why would someone frame
you
?” Apparently, my gift made me unworthy, in Xander’s eyes, even of being framed for murder.

I kept my mouth shut since I didn’t have a good answer.

“Ms. Moore.” Xander produced a cellphone from his inner coat pocket. “I humbly request you enlighten me as to what is going on, or I call the Gryphons now.”

Only the magi would humbly request something of a person they were holding captive.

I drew a deep breath and twisted my wrists, but Xander’s thug held tight. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m trying to find out.”

“The evidence against you is good enough to convince the Gryphons, yet you have no theories?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t have theories.”

“So?” He sat and folded his hands in front of him.

“For the…” I bit my tongue. Must play nice. “I think, at first, whoever instigated this wanted to split the suspicion between your people and the satyrs. Then, at some point, I pissed off the guy actually doing the murders, and he decided to frame me for the crimes. So long as they continue to remove the victims’ hearts, suspicion lands on you. And since I…” Since I what? “Since I have a friend among the satyrs, I was as good a patsy for them as anyone.”

Xander narrowed his golden eyes. “What could you have done to piss someone off that much?”

“How should I know? The guy’s a freak who gets off on the Meat Matches. For the love of dragons, you think I’m evil because of my gift. This guy has it too, and he obviously likes it.”

That actually seemed to catch Xander off-guard. He flinched and turned to Olef. “You believe her?”

Olef nodded and briefly mentioned his vision to Xander. “You’ve always trusted my visions before.”

The falcon shifter seemed torn between wanting to believe Olef and wanting to condemn me. He repeatedly fluffed and smoothed his head feathers as he paced. I watched him warily, wondering what was going on in that quasi-bird brain of his.

“I have met another human with a pred’s power before,” he said at last.

“You have?” In my shocked excitement, I tried to leap forward, but Xander’s goons held on tight. “Do you have his name?”

“Do you have any idea how many people I meet on a regular basis because of my position? I doubt I ever asked.” Disdain dripped from his words. Asshole. “It was awhile ago too, but he stuck out because of his gift. He was the first human I ever met who was corrupted that way.”

My stomach sank, and the excitement gushed out of me in a disappointed sigh. “But without a name I’m no better off. I still don’t have anything to tell the Gryphons.”

“Someone among the preds would know his name.” If it were possible, the contempt in Xander’s voice increased. “He was an addict.”

My stomach picked itself off the floor. My jaw, I had to pick up with effort.

I hadn’t noticed an addiction about Note-writer, but the time I’d met him face-to-face by the Gryphon Tribute I’d been suffering from the aftereffects of an imp sting. And, if my theory was correct that he’d been watching me from a van the night I went after Scumbag Pete, this would explain why I hadn’t sensed him—no one could feed off an addict but his pred master.

This could change everything. If Note-writer was an addict, odds were he wasn’t working alone. Not on something like this. His master would know, and that meant it was a pred who was pulling the strings. A pred was trying to cause a pred war. But what sort of pred would be that stupid, or illogical, or rash? Or all three? That was the question. Oh, I couldn’t wait to tell Lucen and Dezzi when I got out of here.