Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) (39 page)

“Liar!”

And down came the shovel once more. Aching heat spread across the back of my head, then blackness overtook me.

I couldn’t have been out for more than a second. If I had been, the fight would probably have been declared over. Or at least Victor would have had the sense to finish me off.

My eyes opened, and that was a mistake because with sight came hurt. Grit on the floor dug into my left cheek. One arm was pinned beneath me, and I had no energy to roll off it. Being hit by a tractor trailer probably would have felt better.

There was pressure around my ankles, and I glanced down. Victor was tying them together, muttering “Liar” over and over again under his breath. He voice trembled almost like he might cry. And I thought I had issues accepting myself.

But maybe that was the difference between me and Victor—I hated the high, but it was what it was. I hadn’t asked for it, just like I hadn’t asked to be half-satyr. Shit happened, and as usual, it happened to me way too often. Yet so long as it did, I’d turn it into fertilizer. It still stank, but maybe something good could grow from it.

Victor, on the other hand, loved the high and perhaps hated himself for what he did to get it. He wallowed in the shit, sought it out even, and hated the way he stank of it.

But loving shit—er, misery—was no excuse for inflicting it on others. I had to stop him.

I stretched for my knife, but my right arm refused to move that far. I struggled through the pain, but it was either broken or my energy had run out. Vomit churned in my stomach.

I closed my eyes, voluntarily this time. Not that. I had to maintain some dignity, and puking during a fight—though not uncommon—pretty much destroyed what little I had left.

I counted to five, breathed, and opened my eyes again. I stared out into the audience. Only the first row or two was visible. But there sat Lucen. A lump formed in my throat.

I’m sorry. I did this for you.
Tears burned my eyes. I was pathetic. No wonder Lucen was ignoring me for the woman next to him.

Wait, what?

I blinked, and my sight cleared. No, I hadn’t imagined it. He actually was ignoring me, the bastard. What the hell? He had his arm wrapped around a lust addict and was letting her paw all over him.

My blood simmered. Was this some kind of pred joke? I was stuck in this damn cage, possibly going to die, and he was playing with one of his freaking addicts? This, after Devon had said he wanted to kill me for volunteering to save his worthless ass?

A scream grew in my throat. How could I be so stupid? Here I went again—self-destructive, misery junkie on the loose. Lucen had been absolutely right about me. I sought out pain. I’d been willing to risk my life for a freaking satyr. When was I going to learn?

Well, damn it—certainly not right before I died. That was too pathetic even for me.

Magic surged through my body. All that rage flooded my veins once more, but this time it was aimed at myself. Myself for being careless with my heart, for being stupid about Victor, for getting so caught up in wanting to be something I couldn’t that I’d denied myself everything else I wanted.

Goddamn it. Not tonight.

Victor’s cudgel was only a foot away. I grasped for it, and my fingers closed around the handle. Powered by my freaky emotional self-cannibalism, I shot up and swung it at Victor’s kidneys. He stumbled back. I jumped to my feet and bashed him again. The ropes around my ankles twisted me up, but I held my balance this time. Victor lurched away, searching for a defense. I brought the cudgel down on his ass, figuring it would be able to handle some of the blow. He collapsed forward.

This time I was the faster one, this time I was the stronger one. I flung the cudgel away and flopped on top of him, dug my knees into the small of his back and punched him in the neck. His cry got swallowed as his face hit the floor. Something cracked. I yanked his arms back and locked the handcuffs around his wrists.

His “No!” came out gargled. He wiggled free of me, but with his arms bound behind his back he couldn’t do much. Blood dripped from his nose. I pulled myself free of the steel twine and dropped him back to the floor. For good measure, I bound his ankles with the twine he’d used on me.

Then I flipped him over and brought the sharper, business end of the cudgel to his face. “Hi again, Vicky. Let’s talk. Or rather, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. See, I know you murdered those addicts, and I know your master worked with you to choose them. The way I figure it, you and Scumbag Pete were just looking for thrills. But your master, he wanted to start a war, and you made a great pawn. Correct me when I get something wrong, okay?”

I think Victor tried to spit on me, but all that hit me was blood. I wiped it away and chose not to ponder the sanitary issues.

“I’ll take that to mean I got the gist. So…” I lifted his chin with the spike because it would direct the next attempt at blood-spitting away from my face. “Any minute now, the Gryphons are going to arrive.”
Please arrive.
“You can either cooperate and enjoy your prison stay feeding off of all the other prisoners’ misery…” which was actually a way nicer punishment than he deserved, but I was willing to overlook it for the moment, “…or I can kill you. Choose. All you have to do is tell me who’s your master. Is it a fury with red eyes and hair?”

Screams of “Kill him!” echoed from the crowd and morphed into a chant. I pressed closer. “I can see the fear in your eyes that you so lovingly described.”

And then something totally unexpected happened. All at once, I could taste every delicious sour drop of Victor’s fear, every spicy nuance of his rage. Whatever magic had been holding Victor together drained from his body. His face sagged. He moaned as the agony hit, then whimpered as the full truth of what had happened followed.

As for me, my jaw dropped.

Victor’s master had cut him loose.

I wet my lips and tasted drying blood. All the advantage was mine. I ripped off his charms. “You know what I think, Vicky? I think your former master wants me to kill you, but I’m not that stupid. You’re my evidence against him.” Not to mention my own ticket to staying out of jail. “The Gryphons will go easier on you if you cooperate.”

Victor opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Shock seemed to have stolen his voice.

“Come on, damn it. Talk!” I shook him by the unbroken shoulder. “Tell me!”

The chanting grew fiercer. I released Victor, and he lay down on the ground, a blubbering mess. Evil intentions swept over my mind like a mist.
Do it. Kill him. Do it.
The mist solidified, became a hand around my soul. My body tensed.

So that was it. Victor’s master had dumped him, and I was the new prize.

Power and pain relief swayed just beyond my mental reach. At the same time, rage and bloodlust threatened to consume me. With so many fury pheromones flying, how could I fight it? I didn’t even want to.

Take the pain relief. Take the rage. Take the glory.

I hung my head, thinking furiously. Victor was a liability to his former master now, and he was weak. The fury had gotten what he wanted. Almost. If Victor died, if I killed him, the only evidence tying Victor’s old master to the addict killings disappeared. Then I would fight the sylphs, still weaker but backed by the power of my fury master. And whatever the outcome of that fight, more were guaranteed to break out. They’d spread to Shadowtown, then The Feathers, and without a doubt through the whole city.

The fury’s grip on my soul tightened. All my anger—at the Gryphons who’d denied me, at the satyr who’d stupidly tried to transform me, at Lucen who’d hurt me, at the sylphs who’d screwed me, at Victor who’d framed me—couldn’t be contained for long. I was going to burst.

But…

But my soul was less than worthless. Gunthra had said so. I couldn’t be addicted unless I let myself be. I was dangerous. So dangerous that the knowledge about how I’d come to be had been suppressed.
Piece it together, Jess.

According to Gunthra, the magical bond between masters and addicts wasn’t all one way. Devon had confirmed as much. Preds took from humans, but they also gave. Well, I had a pred’s power, albeit a weak one. I could take—from humans. Could I take from preds? Maybe not initiate the bond, but use it? It wasn’t impossible to consider. I could feed off my own emotions, something preds couldn’t do. So why not do something else preds couldn’t do? Something that made me, in a way, stronger than them?

Dangerous to them.

It was so insane it was worth a shot, and it might be my last one. My vision was going red. My will was weakening.

I grabbed Victor’s knee, sucked in every foul, sour, spicy, oily-tasting drop of his negativity. It globbed on to my own pain and fear and humiliation. Magic coursed throughout my body. My head grew fuzzy with it. I channeled all that power into my gift, imagined it forming into hands and grappling with the fury’s grip on my soul.

Slowly, the bond’s flow of power shifted. Instead of a highway with nine lanes running toward the fury and one to me, it became five lanes in, five lanes out. The fury magic poured into me and mine fled in a circuit. I embraced it, let him in. In succumbing, I gained access to all he had.

It was glorious. His power drenched me in a sizzling shower of rage. I’d never felt so alive in my life. No hit of human misery could compare. There was no pain, no despair, no doubt or confusion. Only this—perfection. Power.

Red-eye. My master. I knew for sure now. Knew what I had to do.

I stood, rested my foot on Victor’s head and pumped my arms into the air. The crowd’s hollering reached new heights as they anticipated the scent of blood.

Then I retrieved one of the curse grenades from my pocket. In the half second my speed charm provided, I activated it and threw it at the cage door.

It exploded in a bang of black smoke. Without waiting for it to clear, I rushed through. The magic binding me to Red-eye allowed me to sense his direction without needing to see him. Blindly, I dashed across the floor and charged over the first two rows of spectators, pulling Misery from its sheath.

The mood of the audience changed as the blackened blade appeared. A few furies who saw it scattered, giving me a clear path. I landed in front of Red-eye and jabbed the tip into his throat. A bead of blood formed from the unhealable wound. He gasped.

I grinned and inhaled a gust of power. For a second, the bond between us flowed faster in my direction. Although my feet were firmly grounded, my mind was in the rafters. Among the stars. No wonder people once thought preds were demigods. I felt like one. It was a euphoria beyond anything I’d ever experienced. I could take on the world like this.

“I guess Victor never figured out he could do that, huh? Or he never cared enough to try.”

There was a rumbling behind me. People yelled. The bleachers rattled and shook. I didn’t glance around, but I felt the presence of satyrs closing in. Weapons were being drawn.

“You see, you see?” Assym screamed. “She should have fought my people first. I told you.”

“Assym, get your skinny sylph ass over here! This fury has some explaining to do.”

Red-eye gaped at me as though I were an alien. No, as though I were an abomination, an actual threat. A pred was truly afraid of me. This was amazing.

Then, as he had with Victor, Red-eye cut me loose. The power slipped away from me. Pain swooped back in. My muscles shook. My arms wavered as my bruised or broken left one threatened to give out. A soft hand landed on my back to brace me. Dezzi.

Her pheromones smelled of coconut. I felt no stirrings of lust, and yet her heat gave me strength. “You encouraged Victor to murder the sylphs’ addicts, didn’t you? You instructed him to cut out their hearts so the magi would be implicated. You told him to frame me for the murders.”

A few people murmured. White and silver heads twisted and turned in consternation. Red-eye didn’t answer straightaway, so I pressed deeper into his thick neck with the blade. The trickle turned into a drip.

Red-eye inched away. “You pissed him off. Framing you was his idea, but I had to admit it was a good one.”

“And the dead men?”

“That was my good idea to drive the point home,” he conceded with an impish smile that didn’t entirely hide his fear. His hand rubbed the blood on his throat.

“Lower your blade,” Raj said. “This is a matter for my people to deal with, not you.”

I tightened my grip on the knife hilt. “Your people are ruining my life. That makes it a matter for me.”

“Dezzi, control her.”

Dezzi raised an eyebrow. “As you pointed out earlier, she’s not mine to command.”

Assym coughed. “If this…”

Collectively, all the preds straightened or stiffened. What the…? Then came the crashing and banging of dozens of curse grenades clearing a path into the warehouse.

The Gryphons had arrived.

Chaos followed. The preds fled. Someone grabbed me from behind, and most of the lights went out.

“No!” I fought free of the stranger’s arm, but it was too late. Red-eye had disappeared with the rest of them.

Smoke crept over the ground level like a sentient fog that aimed for the exits. In fact, it probably was part sentient. The clanging of swords and pounding of feet filled the air. Not all the fighting was between Gryphons and preds. Sylphs had turned on furies. Furies had turned on satyrs. The Doms in attendance had vanished.