[M__M 03] Misery Loves Company (3 page)

Chapter Three

“Everyone back off. Give him space.” One of the store clerks shooed us away. “Clear a path for the EMTs.”

Excess energy crawled along my skin, and I rubbed my arms. I wanted to help, but I was as useless as everyone else. Or was I? Something wasn’t right here, in more ways than the usual wrongness that surrounded anything pred.

Leaving Steph and the crowded bookstore behind, I stepped outside and called the Gryphons’ emergency line.

The mere act of someone turning into a ghoul wouldn’t get the Gryphons to come running, but this wasn’t an ordinary way of turning someone into a ghoul. “Magical attack,” I told the operator, which was true enough as far as I knew. “Someone’s seriously injured.” Also true.

I declined to leave my name since that was only likely to complicate matters these days. Then, taking a deep breath, I weaved my way back inside. The store clerks were still trying to appeal to everyone’s good sense, but though some customers were leaving, almost as many were hanging around and gawking. Already, down the narrow street, I could hear sirens approaching.

Steph pulled me closer. She must have told the clerks that she was Eric’s relative, so they let us be.

“Jess, what the hell?” Hair fell in Steph’s face, and she swatted it away. “He’s breathing, he has a pulse. Is this some kind of spell?”

“Not a spell. He’s become a ghoul.”

Shaking her head, Steph sat on one of the deserted chairs. “Ghouls are what addicts become, aren’t they? Eric…” She stared at him, her eyes widening with realization.

“Excuse me.” A shadow lengthened by my feet, and a woman cleared her throat. “Are you a Gryphon? Did I hear you suggest Mr. Marshall was an addict?”

I glanced up. The woman hovering over me had been standing next to Eric during the signing. I hadn’t paid much attention to her because I’d been pondering Eric’s little addict problem—which apparently wasn’t so little—but I’d assumed she was his wife or girlfriend. If that were true, then she was one of the last people I wanted to talk to. Explaining this was going to suck. It sounded like she hadn’t even known he was an addict.

Unfortunately, Steph jumped in before I could respond. “Yes, Jess is a Gryphon.”

“Well, not exact—”

“Oh, God.” The woman collapsed on the chair next to mine. “It’s true then? Gryphons can identify addicts, can’t they? I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. I’m Marissa Walker. I’m Mr. Marshall’s assistant.”

“Oh.” I pulled myself together. Assistant wasn’t good, but it also wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. The smorgasbord of stressful emotions around me was hard enough to deal with. A weepy or angry significant other would have been too much of a head rush. “I, uh, consult for the Gryphons. Sometimes.”

“So Eric was an addict?” Steph’s voice was as strained as her face. She was sickened and in total disbelief.

Slowly, I nodded.

Before I could say anything else, I was saved by the EMTs. As they burst into the bookstore, I scurried out of their way, leaving the awkwardness of that conversation behind.

It’s no good,
I wanted to tell them, but they’d figure that out themselves soon enough. Eric’s assistant ran over to meet them, as did the store clerks. I debated joining them and explaining, but Steph maintained her grip on my arm.

“I thought…” She made a queasy face. “I don’t know much about addicts or ghouls, but doesn’t it take a long time to become a ghoul?”

Over Steph’s shoulders, I could see the EMTs checking Eric’s vitals and discovering they were fine. I dragged my attention from them.

I rubbed my eyes, no longer with tiredness but with frustration. “Yes. Ghouls are what happens to addicts whose pred masters suck them dry. If a soul is a person’s life energy, then it means the pred has taken away all the good parts of it. And yes, it takes a long time in many ways. First, it takes years of being fed on. Second, it happens slowly, over a long period. People don’t become ghouls in a matter of seconds. Eric…” Shit. There was no easy way to point it out. “Eric likely sold his soul in order to gain his success. He could well have been an addict for years. But even if that’s true, he shouldn’t have become a ghoul this way.”

Steph groaned and closed her eyes. “What the hell was he thinking?”

I forced a humorless smile. “Probably what everyone thinks—something else is more important than their own suffering.”

“But you’re saying this isn’t normal?”

“Definitely not normal.” I shrugged. “At least I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“Great. You’re supposed to be my encyclopedia of magical knowledge.”

I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. “Sorry. I’m nothing of the sort.”

Across the room, someone said “Gryphon,” and both Steph’s head and mine snapped that way. Marissa was gesturing to me. Peachy. I might not be an encyclopedia of knowledge, but Steph wasn’t the only one assuming I was.

Repressing a curse, I headed over, Steph on my heels.

“Jess?”

I paused, turning at the sound of a familiar voice. The real Gryphons had arrived, and my friend Bridget was in the lead. A wave of black-and-gold uniforms parted the shop’s remaining gawkers.

“Hi.” Checking out the new faces, I let out the tiniest of sighs of relief.

My former partner, Andre, wasn’t one of the four Gryphons who’d shown up. Until this moment, I hadn’t thought to worry about running into him again. Our last—and only—case together had ended in some serious, naked awkwardness thanks to Lucrezia and her powerful magical drugs. Oh, and I’d hit him with a chair.

It was too bad because I liked Andre, but the last time we’d talked it had seemed like he wanted it to be
the last time
we talked. It was hard to blame him.

Two of the Gryphons kept right on walking to where the paramedics were tending Eric, but Bridget frowned at me. “Did you call this in?”

“Yeah. That’s Eric Marshall over there. He was doing a reading.”

“And?” Bridget’s raised eyebrow made it clear she had no idea who Eric Marshall was.

“He became a ghoul,” Steph said. “He’s my cousin. Jess says it shouldn’t have happened.”

Bridget glanced between us. “Why not? Was he an addict?”

I held up a hand in Steph’s direction. Her nerves were getting more frayed by the moment. “Let me start from the beginning.”

I filled Bridget in on what happened. The remaining Gryphons returned by the time I finished, and the paramedics were packing up. Apparently, they’d discovered they weren’t needed, or the Gryphons had told them they’d take over.

“So he was fine earlier?” one of the unknown Gryphons asked. “Were there any indications that his health was declining?”

Steph had no idea, but Marissa had joined us as well, and she shook her head forcefully. “No, he was fine. He competed in a 5k run yesterday. It was his hobby. He was telling me on the way here that he’d made his best time yet.”

“That shouldn’t be the case, right?” I asked Bridget.

She sighed. “No. That wouldn’t be right. He should have been undergoing a steady decline. There would have been signs.”

“So was this some kind of curse or something?” Bending under the pressure, Steph had pulled out her cigarettes and was tapping the pack against her hand.

The Gryphons glanced at each other, baffled.

One of the guys held up a vial. “We’ve got a blood sample. Initial analyses look normal so far—for a ghoul, I mean—but I’ll be analyzing it at the lab in more detail.”

Bridget produced a notebook and a pen from her bag. “I doubt you’ll find anything unusual if you haven’t yet. My guess is that this is exactly what it looks like.”

I placed my hand over Steph’s jittery one because the tapping was getting to me as badly as the spearmint anxiety that she radiated. “How is this possible?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Bridget said. “It’s rare magic, but I’ve heard of it being done. It’s also illegal. We need to find the goblin who did this.”

“Because that will be so easy,” Steph muttered.

“It’s what we do.” Bridget sent two of the Gryphons back to headquarters to begin work on analyzing the blood sample. Then she and her partner interviewed Steph, Marissa and the bookstore staff.

I hung around with Steph while she went outside to smoke. “Does Eric have family to take care of him? A wife or something?”

She shook her head and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night sky. “Nope. He divorced a few years ago. I don’t even know his ex-wife’s name. What happens to him?”

“Without someone to take care of him?” I let the silence be my answer.

Sadly, ghouls comprised the largest percent of the homeless population in any city. They were mostly unable or unwilling to take care of themselves. Just shells of people. If you gave them food, they would eat. If you didn’t, they might not think to find it themselves. Holding down a job was impossible. Those without family to take care of them almost always found themselves on the streets.

Lucky for Eric he had family, and he was wealthy. I didn’t see why some of his money couldn’t be used to pay for care if his family didn’t want to bother.

“They won’t,” Steph said, crushing her cigarette butt. “Mark my words. My family is evil.”

“Come on, you used to include Eric in that. Now you’re getting along. Or were.”

Steph adjusted her earrings with a wry expression. “We were getting along because he admitted he was wrong. I know the rest of the family didn’t approve of him making nice with me.”

I winced. For all my issues, a loving family was not something I lacked. My choices confounded my mother, but that seemed normal enough. Of course, I’d never come out to my family like Steph had. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Steph to tell her family: “I’m a woman, and from this day on, I’d like you to call me Stephanie, not Stephen.”

All I knew from Steph was that it had gone over every bit as badly as she’d anticipated. Since I dreaded finding out what would happen if I ever sat my mother down and said, “I’m a really messed up type of satyr, and just so you know, I feed on misery,” I’d never done it.

Steph had way more courage than I did.

“I should take him home,” Steph said.

“What about his assistant? She came here with him.”

“He pays her. I’m family. And all signs suggest he’s not going to be selling any more books so that he can keep on paying her.”

True enough. Eric’s writing career, or any career, was over.

We went back inside the dead store. All the people who’d turned up for the reading and signing had left. The clerks spoke in hushed voices, their faces long. The inviting atmosphere given off by the heavy wood and book-lined walls weighed on my shoulders. All it struck me as now was a jungle of dead trees. Dark and depressing.

Bridget was getting off the phone, and she beckoned us both over. “If what we’re thinking happened is really what happened, then it’s dawned on me that not all is lost. We might be able to save Eric if we move fast.”

Hope lit up Steph’s eyes. I felt it too, a quickness in my heartbeat, but I tried to suppress it. Me and hope didn’t usually end well. “How? What do you mean?”

“Assuming Eric was healthy, there’s no way the goblin who did this would be able to feed on his soul to the point of depletion so quickly. That means the goblin must be storing it somewhere, and if it’s stored, theoretically, it can be returned. But we might not have a long time to do it.”

“How long?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. I need to do some research.”

Steph turned to me, and I didn’t like the desperation on her face one bit. “Jess, you have connections in Shadowtown, don’t you? You can help.”

“I…”
I don’t work for the Gryphons. I hate the Gryphons.

Bridget’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the caller ID and ignored it. “I’d be happy to bring Jess in on this case if the director approves it.”

“I…” Dragon shit on toast. How could I say no to Steph?

Easy answer. I couldn’t.

I swallowed down a thousand rebuttals. “Yeah, of course. I want to help.”

“Thank you.” Steph draped an arm around me, the closest my not-so-touchy-feely best friend came to hugs.

I forced a smile, though I felt sick. After my epic storming out of Gryphon headquarters and vengeful vow that I would never, ever work with the Gryphons again, here I went.

Wouldn’t Lucen be so pleased?

And, oh, wasn’t I? The Gryphons had experimented on me as a child. They’d withheld damning information about what they’d done and what I was. Yet they, and the knowledge and resources they possessed, were the best hope for helping Steph’s cousin. So, sick as it made me, I would do this for Steph because she was my best friend, and she and her cousin deserved my help.

Much as I hated to admit it, by doing this, I was acknowledging that the Gryphons weren’t all bad. They served a useful purpose, and sometimes they were the only people who could be counted on to help humanity.

Although they’d destroyed my life, they saved other lives. How could I condemn them all for that?

As usual, nothing could ever be simple.

Chapter Four

Getting Eric home became a complicated dance of logistics. Marissa offered to help, but Steph didn’t like turning over the key to Eric’s house—and his BMW—to someone she didn’t know, so it was up to us. Eventually we worked it out, got Eric into said BMW and hit the road.

“You haven’t explained to me how we’re going to return to Boston,” I said, inspecting the GPS. I was trying to figure out how to program it to take us to Eric’s house. We wouldn’t need the directions until we were well out of the city, but it might take me that long to convince the thing to cough them up.

Steph braked nervously as she wound through heavy Cambridge traffic, and I grimaced as my seat belt choked me. “I’ll drive us back. It’s not like Eric needs the car tomorrow.”

“Okay then.” It was just that she was as anxious driving the car as she was doing things like entering Shadowtown.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “You’re making this face like you do when you taste spearmint.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your fault.”

“I know, and it’s making me more nervous. I’m driving a fucking BMW. The last car I drove was Jim’s Honda, and that thing’s almost as old as you.”

“All right! Sorry.”

She shushed me.

Fighting a smirk, I went back to poking at the GPS, and we made the rest of the drive in near silence.

Eric lived in a ritzy development on the New Hampshire seacoast, about forty-five minutes north of Boston. I’d made the GPS obey my will by the time we hit I-95, so it guided us dutifully off the highway, through dark winding roads, and finally onto the curved driveway of an enormous brick mansion.

“Whoa.” It actually took a couple seconds to scope out the whole place. It was that big. With a shaky laugh, I shut the car door. “To think, I contributed to his ability to buy this monstrosity. What does a single guy need so much house for?”

Steph opened the back passenger-side door for Eric. “Got me, but I bet my family’s going to be wondering that too.” She pressed her lips thin.

With a bit of coaxing, Eric stumbled out. His eyes were unfocused, and he seemed to be moving on autopilot as he lumbered up his front steps without assistance. But that was as good as he got. He stood in the shadows by the door, as if waiting for it to magically open.

Sighing, Steph unlocked it.

Eric’s house was as amazing inside as the outside had led me to believe it would be. There was nothing modern here. Nothing glassy or sleek. The floors were beautiful parquet, the furniture heavy and dark, and the rugs thick and soft. Everywhere I turned—on the walls, in a cubby or simply standing around on a pedestal waiting to be appreciated—was art. No wonder Eric needed such a house. It was as much a gallery as it was a home.

It took us a few tries before we found what appeared to be Eric’s bedroom, though in our defense, I counted six rooms on the second floor, not including the bathrooms. We convinced him to lie down on the oversized bed, which was done up in very manly shades of plaid, and Steph removed his shoes.

“Will he sleep?” she asked.

“I assume so.”

“You assume?”

I backed out of the room so Eric could have whatever peace ghouls could find in solitude and darkness. “I’ve never seen one sleeping. I told you—I’m not an expert. I see ghouls hanging around Shadowtown. Some are more lucid than others, but I don’t know why.”

“Fucking preds.” Steph stormed down the hall. “I swear, Jess, if I could kill the one who did this to him with my bare hands, I would do it. I’d kill them all.”

Since I could sense her fury, I didn’t doubt it.

I took my time catching up to her at the bottom of the stairs. I knew her rage wasn’t personal, yet my internal conflict writhed and burned in my gut like a salamander trapped in water. The only thing that was clear was that the drive back to Boston would be the wrong time to confess my species.

“Most preds don’t let their addicts become ghouls,” I said cautiously. Like Lucen. Lucen would never allow that to happen. I’d seen him take care of the ghouls that hung around Shadowtown, making sure they got fed and sheltered.

Steph threw me what I called her Medusa expression, the one that turned the hapless people who pissed her off to stone. It didn’t have quite the same effect on me, but it was the first time she’d ever directed so much aggression my way. “Don’t defend them. Ever.”

Right. I opted to change the subject. Now was not only not the time for personal confessions, it was not the time for a more nuanced discussion on pred personalities. Steph had a right to be angry. Respecting that was appropriate behavior for a friend.

Not cowardly avoidance.

“We should leave out some food,” I said, pretending to be distracted by a glass sculpture of a seahorse.

“Will he eat it, or do you not know that either?”

I decided to assume that wasn’t intentional snark. “The latter, but if we leave stuff out, there’s a better chance he’ll eat than if we don’t leave stuff out.”

Steph nodded. “Okay. Let’s find the kitchen.”

That was easier than finding the correct bedroom, although I did get sidetracked by a gorgeous library on the way. Apparently, Eric Marshall didn’t only write books. He coveted them. His library was two stories of books, covering nearly as much floor space as my entire apartment. He even had one of those cool ladders for reaching the second story.

Steph tugged on my sleeve. “Focus, girl.”

“Yeah, sorry. But did you see he has a signed first edition of
Pet Sematary
in that case over there?”

“My cousin always liked to collect things. It was Matchbox cars when we were kids.”

“His taste improved.”

Steph’s smile was thin and highlighted the cracks in her fading lipstick. “He paid a high price for all this shit.”

In that, we were in agreement.

Unsurprisingly, the kitchen was also enormous. We searched the cabinets for stuff to leave out on the center island, settling on cereal, some snack food and protein bars. By the sink, we left a glass of water.

Forlornly, Steph added a banana to the stack of food. “This is the best we can do? Pathetic. I guess I’ll make some calls later. Maybe someone else can check in on him during the day while I’m at work.”

“You’re a good cousin, especially considering you didn’t talk to him most of the last ten years.”

She rolled her eyes. “Someone in my family needs to not be an asshole. Let’s get out of here. It’s depressing seeing so much money go to waste and knowing what was used to buy it all.”

“Don’t knock Eric too hard. He’s a good writer. That alone might not have been enough to get him this.” I spread my arms wide. “But it’s not like he sold his soul for a winning Powerball ticket. He still had to put in a lot of work.”

“True. I guess.” A sweet, vanilla sadness overtook her anger as Steph locked the heavy front door. Our footsteps sounded loud as we crossed the stone-paved driveway, but the night was louder. The insects chirped a lonely chorus. “Thanks, by the way. For helping. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I’m just…”

“Yeah, I know. No worries. But if you want to kiss and make up, you can drop me off at my new home.”

Steph paused before shifting into gear. “In Shadowtown? That’s one hell of a make-up smooch.”

On the way back to Boston I found a radio station that was playing Barry Manilow, and Steph and I belted out our best version of “Mandy”. Alas, our best was by no means good.

Still, Steph was in better spirits by the time we got home, and she didn’t even whine about driving through Shadowtown. I took pity on her and let her drop me off on one of the main roads instead of at my building.

Once I turned the corner, I caught sight of the sylph’s scissors flashing in the barbershop and decided I’d be happier seeking out Lucen than hanging out at my new, mostly bare home.

Since it was Sunday, The Lair was closed. After dropping off my signed Eric Marshall book—now certain to fetch a very high price once word of his condition spread, and if I were crass enough to auction it off—I gave Lucen a call. I needed to know if he was unoccupied with…things.

Addicts.

It seemed no promises or vows to be a better satyr could kill the bitterness I felt about them or my unease about our relationship.

Fortunately, Lucen picked up quickly, and I put those thoughts out of my head and strolled over. It was a short walk, and moving my legs felt good after being cooped up in a car.

Shadowtown was more subdued than usual, but I wrote that off to it being a Sunday night. Preds didn’t like the weekends coming to a close any more than humans did. The few I saw out and about paid me little attention. The satyrs acknowledged me, the harpies and the goblins ignored me, the furies gave me strange glances, and the sylphs sneered. But none of them approached me or made any aggressive moves. That was a pleasant change where the sylphs were concerned, in particular.

Between my showdown with the fury who’d framed me for murder a few weeks ago, and my takedown of the satyrs’ former number two last week, I was apparently building a bit of a rep. Although I was still considered defenseless human prey by most, I must not be considered defenseless enough to be worth the risk.

Without needing to worry about pred aggression, I was able to keep a lookout for ghouls, which was more difficult than I’d have expected. It was as though my brain had wired itself not to notice them, to move past and look away rather than face the sadness of their plight. They crowded together in the shadows like wraiths. I’d catch them only as I passed, hollow eyes, sallow skin and greasy hair. Usually they clustered in small groups, though they acted like they didn’t notice each other’s presence.

And this, if I were to be honest, was why I didn’t normally “see” them. The awfulness of their existence threatened to overwhelm me when I did. Worse than feeling sad, I felt helpless. Even if I could afford to feed and clothe and shelter each one, I could never give them back their old selves. All the years I’d journeyed into Shadowtown I’d turned away, letting the knowledge of their existence rub a thick callus over my heart until they became almost invisible. It wasn’t nice, but it was necessary.

Tonight reminded me of why. I didn’t even know why I was studying them. Nothing I could see gave me any greater insight into their situation. There was nothing to help me help Eric. If Bridget was right, our only shot was finding the goblin who’d drained him and getting his soul back in time.

But I guessed I’d needed the reminder of what I was up against and the cruelty of it to harden my resolve to return to the Gryphons. Because the satyr I was about to meet? He was so going to try to talk me out of it.

Bracing myself, I knocked.

A muffled voice came from behind the door. “You have a key, little siren. Use it!”

I sighed and dug into my pocket for it.

After closing the door behind me, I crossed the tiny entryway. To my left was Lucen’s kitchen. To my right, his living room. That’s where he was, flopped on the sofa with his bare feet resting on a table. Something was playing on his TV, but whatever it was, it wasn’t as distracting as his chest. He was shirtless and in jeans. Just the way I liked him best.

He smiled at me as I stood in the doorway. “Did you forget you had a key, were you trying to make me move, or were you testing my ability to sense your presence at the door?”

“None of the above. I was being polite and not barging in. Although I am a bit miffed that you couldn’t be bothered to get up for me. No respect.”

He sprang with the more-than-human speed that all preds possessed. Muscular arms wrapped around me, and he picked me up and spun me around the living room. I shrieked.

Laughing, Lucen set me down but didn’t let go, and I buried my face against him. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “God forbid the day I don’t get up for you, little siren.”

I groaned. “That sounds like a bad pun.”

“Are there any other kind?”

“Fair point.” He loosened his grip around me enough that I could move, and I slid my arms around his waist. Mmm…freshly washed satyr. I could detect a faint scent of lemongrass soap intermingling with his cinnamon pheromones. Damn. I would never get tired of that scent. “You smell good. Bet you taste good too.” I tested that theory, first by licking the closest patch of skin then kissing my way across his pecs and slowly downward.

His breaths quickened, but he let me continue for only a moment. Then he tugged me upright so he could kiss me. I melted into him, as he entwined his tongue with mine. “So what brings you here?”

“I can’t get enough of you?”

“That much we know. But something’s bothering you.”

Ah, preds. You couldn’t hide anything around them. Well, not unless anything was something happy.

I removed my arms from his waist because it was hard to concentrate while standing so close to him. As usual, my brain wanted to shut off and my body, well, it became very on in its place.

I motioned toward the beer sitting on the table. “Got another?”

Lucen obliged and retrieved one from the fridge. “So?”

“So.” I drew out the word, settling on the sofa. Did I give him context first, or did I rip off the metaphorical bandage and get on with it?

Lucen raised an eyebrow.

I ripped. It was more my style and totally what he would do to me. “I’m going back to work for the Gryphons.”

Though he said nothing in return, the eyebrow remained raised, frozen on his face along with every other feature.

When he didn’t so much as blink for a disturbingly long time, I figured context was now appropriate. “There was a magical attack on Steph’s cousin. You know, the guy whose book signing I went to earlier? It was a goblin. Steph is in a bad state, understandably, and she’s my best friend. She asked me to get involved, and so I am.”

Slowly, the eyebrow lowered. Lucen took a long drink of beer and shut off the TV. “You couldn’t help without going back to the Gryphons?”

“What happened is out of my league. This isn’t some soul-swapping case where I can go all vigilante.”

If I had known Eric was an addict, I could have offered my services to him before this happened. But he was a prize-worthy soul, no doubt. It would probably have taken a lot more than the usual creeps I went after to get the goblin to relinquish him in a trade. “I need the Gryphons’ resources to do this, and besides, they were already involved.”