Darkest Misery (22 page)

Think of Lucen, I told myself. Think of Lucen and what the furies are trying to do. Get angry or scared. Doesn't matter which.

My thoughts drifted to the way I'd left Boston. Was that supposed to be the last time I saw him? It was inadequate, not a proper goodbye.

I thought of my mother, ignorant of the truth because I'd been too chicken to tell her. And I thought of the Vessels, the people who'd suffered and died as the furies filled the three they had. The many more who would die if they broke open the prison.

I didn't get angry or scared. I got depressed.

In the end, it didn't make much difference. Negative emotions were fuel. My own might not be as ideal as someone else's, but in a pinch, they'd do.

My hands clenched into fists, and my shoulders straightened. My legs steadied beneath me, and I pounded on the door. “Hey! Open up! Where's Lucen?”

Screaming with a dry throat didn't work all that well. I choked on half my words, my voice weak in spite of my self-feeding. Banging on the door worked better, so I abandoned yelling and kept that up. The door shuddered and creaked, but the hinges were thick and strong and the wood heavy. It gave me only the illusion of being able to break it down.

My door was a damned tease. That finally made me angry, and I kicked it a few times. The more I beat on it, the angrier I got, and the anger fueled my pounding. I was aware this was both stupid and futile, but if I did it long enough, maybe I'd get a response.

At last, I heard a door open somewhere, and clunky footsteps approached. I banged the door once more for good measure, but my hands were sore, and I suspected splinters were involved.

Someone undid the lock, and I backed up as the door opened, expecting hostility. I got it too—in the form of a gigantic fury whose appearance was hostility personified.

Furies tended to favor outlandish dress and ornamentation, part punk, part comic book villain. Their natural appearance helped it along—their strange-colored eyes and their weird horns that could take a variety of shapes and sizes. But the rest? The tattoos, skin dye and piercings they sported were deliberate. Like the satyrs who cultivated their appearance to maximize seduction, and the sylphs who attempted to project flawless perfection, the furies decorated themselves to instill fear. Some more so than others.

The guy in front of me didn't need to do much. He had to be over seven feet tall, and he was built like a linebacker—a virtual wall of muscle, all covered in tattoos, including his face. He glared down at me, arms crossed, and it was a good thing I'd decided not to try to rush out the door. I'd probably have ended up with a concussion where my skull met his pecs.

“Nice ink.”

He grunted. “Quit your bloody banging. They want to see you anyway.”

“British, huh?” First Bostonian furies had a Vessel, then French ones abducted me, then ones speaking an unknown language had dumped me in this cell. Oh, and I couldn't forget the ones raising hell in Argentina and Australia. This was turning out to be quite an international affair.

Given the mess I'd left behind in Boston with the satyrs and goblins, I had to almost admire the furies' ability to work together and get shit done. If only human governments could do the same.

“Let's go.” Big Fury stepped aside so I could leave the cell. “Don't think about running.”

“With you chasing after me? I'm not.”

The rest of the basement he led me through was every bit as dreary as my cell, but it was brighter. Someone had strung bulbs along the wall. Naked and dusty, they illuminated more doors and lit a path up a narrow staircase.

I rubbed my arms for warmth, following the light. The steps, too, were stone, as were the walls. No way was this a normal basement or a normal house.

My theory was confirmed when we reached the top, and the fury directed me through a series of rooms, also with stone walls. Finally, after yet another winding staircase, we entered the biggest room yet. An enormous table sat in the middle, and fraying tapestries covered one of the walls. Sunlight poured in through narrow windows.

And at the table's far end, sat three furies, including a very familiar one—Raj, Boston's Dom. He smiled at me. “Hello, soul swapper. So we meet again.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It was the perfectly cliché thing to say and fitting because Raj looked like a cliché of evil. Two curved horns sprouted from his head, adding to his already imposing height, and black and red glyphs covered his face. He had more of them than I remembered, masking almost all of his skin. His eyes were so dark it was hard to tell where his irises ended and his pupils began.

His very presence unnerved me. It shouldn't have surprised me that he'd be here—he'd disappeared from Boston weeks ago—yet standing in the same room as him made my last two months come full circle.

I licked my lips, summoning the ability to speak. “Actually, I don't soul swap anymore. Things changed after you left on vacation.”

Raj clapped his hands together happily. “I'm glad to see you haven't lost your wits. I remember you being quite a force of nature. Such an excellent and unexpected triumph at the Meat Match.”

“You mean when I almost slit your fury's throat?”

“That too, but also when you beat up what's-his-face. That killer my people were using.”

I clenched my jaw tight to keep from retorting. Too many people were dead because of this asshole, and he didn't sound the least bit upset that I'd stopped more from dying. That pissed me off. He was the fury. Where was
his
rage over me thwarting his people?

Raj took a drink from what appeared to be a beer bottle. “Your anger is sadly muted. I hear the Gryphons marked you.”

“Glad to know their charms are working.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gryphon magic can be effective, but it's not important. I should introduce you to people, and you should eat. You must be hungry.”

Was he serious? This was getting crazier by the second.

When I didn't respond, Raj motioned to his companions and rattled off their names, which meant little to me. What I found curious was that Raj indentified one as the Dom for Vienna, and the other as the Dom for Beijing. So I could now add Austria and China into the unholy international mix.

“So where are your superiors?” I asked.

The furies glanced amongst themselves, and it was the Austrian one who answered. “We are the superiors, satyr.”

“Ah, you're thinking where's our equivalent of an Upper Council?” Raj tapped his fingers together. “That's who we're trying to free. Unlike those weaker races, we've vowed only to obey those who truly are our superiors. Not mere social climbers, but gods.”

“None of you are gods.” But a shiver ran down my spine. I'd read enough descriptions of the original preds at this point to take Raj's description seriously. When the creatures humans used to call demons called other demons their gods… Yeah, not good.

“Sit,” Raj urged me.

I wanted to refuse, but it was taking an awful lot of energy to remain standing. And when a fury addict carrying a tray of heavenly-smelling food placed it at the table, my stomach overrode my brain.

I sat. But damn it, I scowled doing it.

All the furies were drinking beer, but they'd given me a pitcher of water, and I attacked it first. Only good sense kept me from gulping the whole thing down. The water was cold and tasted clean. I didn't pause to consider what the furies might be tainting my food with until after I'd finished a giant glass.

I stared at the plate, which was covered in an enormous quarter of roasted chicken, broiled potatoes and broccoli in some kind of sauce. My stomach demanded I dive in. If these people were going to kill me, I might as well enjoy a last meal. But what else might be in the food? Poisoning me made no sense when they could have killed me easily already, but it was possible to work charms and curses into anything.

I sipped my water, holding my face steady. “What's this for?”

“You must be hungry, that's all,” Raj said. “Hurting you has never been our intention. You should realize that. In fact, I apologize for the rough handling you received upon arrival. Given how you blew up a street in Phoenix, your reputation for being difficult preceded you. But I didn't expect you to be thrown in a cell.” He glared at the Austrian Dom, who didn't look the least bit apologetic.

I rolled my eyes with so much force it was painful. “I hardly blew up a street in Phoenix, but why let that interfere with your pretty speech? You're obviously not above cursing or drugging me—or almost killing me in a car accident, for that matter—but throwing me in a cell was too much?”

“I don't believe we've ever cursed you, but I admit the accident was a bit of a risky move. Also, it wasn't my idea.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“I'm glad to hear it. Drugging you was necessary after what you did last time. You're a hard person to make cooperate, although you should know we let you go in Phoenix.”

I laughed, though my throat was so dry it sounded more like a cough. “That was you letting me go?”

Raj shrugged. “We let you go in the sense that we didn't try very hard to get you back. Now you should eat. Get the remaining drug out of your system. I promise you, the food's not tainted with anything. We need you healthy.”

Only an idiot would trust a fury's promises, but Raj wanting me healthy—that I believed. Clearly it wasn't for my own interest, yet getting my strength up, regardless of their desires,
was
in my own interest. I couldn't hope to rescue Lucen and save my own ass if I had trouble walking.

Why the furies wanted me healthy, well, I'd deal with that later. For the moment, Raj's reasoning was good enough for me. I jabbed my fork into the chicken and tore off a chunk.

Wisely, they hadn't given me a knife.

“Why is it so important I be healthy?” I asked between bites.

“You'll find out soon enough. More than that though…” Raj got up, grinning. “You and Mitchell are rare creatures, capable of rare magic. You should be protected. We'll talk about that later.”

Mitch. Chicken stuck to my throat, and I washed it down with water. It figured he'd be here too. “I assume he's okay.”

“Perfectly fine. We can take you to him when you're done.”

I rubbed my head. I had so many questions I wasn't sure where to start. “If you didn't care enough to come after me again until now, why did you kidnap me in Phoenix to begin with?”

The Austrian fury seemed to grow bored with the conversation and left, muttering to himself, but the Beijing Dom chuckled. He stared at me as though I were a fascinating toy.

“It was a question of resources and timing,” Raj said. “The Gryphons made their move, and we had to act quickly before they tightened security around you both. It wasn't the ideal timing though, so once you got away, we figured we'd let you run. That was a gamble, but with our informant able to feed us information on you, it was an acceptable risk. Even better, you led us straight to another Vessel.”

With our informant.
The food turned to stones in my stomach. So nice to know I'd been right. Damn it, I'd told Tom. Maybe if he'd taken the possibility more seriously, I wouldn't be here now. “Who is it?”

Raj grunted. “Can't tell you that. They might still be useful. But to go back to your question, I promise you,
I
didn't want to grab you in Phoenix at all. It wouldn't have been as much fun.” He loomed over me, a towering nightmare, and I inadvertently pushed my chair back. “We're going to succeed with our plan. But where would be the sport in crushing your hopes—and the Gryphons' hopes—so quickly? You're fun to watch, Jessica, and like in the Matches, we always make sure the people who are fun to watch live to fight another day. Life is nothing without entertainment.”

I darted out from under Raj's bulk. “You're as insane as Victor Aubrey was. Now I understand where he got the idea to call us rare creatures the way he did—from you. Speaking of which, if we're such rare creatures that need preserving, why did you order your furies to kill him in prison? Why not break him out?”

Raj sat on the table, spinning his bottle around. “Victor, yes, I remember his name now. He became a liability, and he was crazy. It's true. Because of that, he was mostly useless. Even among the rare, the herd needs culling to keep it strong. I'm curious how the one you brought to Boston is faring, but we'll check her out soon.”

Grace. I winced.

“So.” Raj shoved the bottle away and spread his arms. “Any more questions I can answer, or would you like to clean up and see Mitchell?”

“I want to see Lucen. I want to make sure you're upholding your end of what I was promised.”

Raj's face fell, and he dropped his arms. “That won't be possible.”

“I am not—”

“We don't have the satyr. We never had him.”

I faltered mid-stride. “What? Your French goon—”

“That was Mitchell.” Raj bounded off the table, his faux-sad face replaced by a delighted smile that I wanted to punch. “Why take the extra risk to capture someone when we could easily put a glamour on Mitchell?”

My breath left me, and I hunched over, head to knees. Relief and rage left me speechless. Lucen was safe. Thank dragons, Lucen was safe. But what the hell—I'd been fooled by a damn fury with a glamour spell? I wanted to kick something. Raj. In the nuts.

I finally pulled myself together with the thought that Raj must be enjoying my silent seething. “Fuck you. You're lucky you didn't hurt him.”

Raj and the Beijing Dom were laughing. “Your belief that you could have done anything about it is so…so you. It's very entertaining. I've noticed you haven't asked anything about Olef yet though.”

I snapped my head toward him. Of course. I'd suspected the furies were behind his murder, but I should have guessed the details. “That was you, wasn't it? You killed him.”

“Not personally,” Raj said. “I only gave the order, but Olef had to go. He knew too much. Plus, it was such an easy way to disrupt that whole silly alliance you were trying to put together. Murder Olef, point blame at both the magi and the harpies—instant chaos.”

My hands balled into fists. Raj was grinning, proud of himself, and that shit-eating expression was what pulled me over the edge. No one murdered my friends and laughed about it.

I rushed him, blindly, madly, as though caught up in a fury-induced magical frenzy. Blood pounded in my ears. I wanted to make Raj hurt. Make him bleed.

But blind rage was a terrible motivator. Raj could sense it a moment before I sprung, and without coordination on my part, it was simple for him to subdue me. I cursed loudly as Raj pinned me to the cold stone floor.

“Get off me! Fuck you, you dragon-fucking son of a—” Coherence was for losers. Words spilled out of my mouth in nonsensical, unfinished phrases.

Being a fury, Raj's power did nothing to calm me down. Touching as much of me as he did, I became vulnerable to it, and it engulfed me, turning my thoughts chaotic.

It left off at once as each of my arms was grabbed out from under me. Two fury addicts had taken control of my body. I struggled in their grasp, but I was also partially relieved not to have those fury pheromones clouding my emotions.

“I will make you pay for killing Olef,” I said, getting my breathing under control.

Raj laughed some more. “I look forward to you trying. It should be extremely entertaining. But for now, I think you should go see Mitchell. Get reacquainted and rested. You two have such a big role in what's in store tonight.”

I fought against the addicts, but they were big guys, much like the furies I'd seen. Fighting would get me nowhere. I needed to clear my head, calm down and come up with something useful to try.

The addicts practically dragged me into another area of the castle. Or building. Whatever it was, I no longer cared. Not all of it was so wholly medieval compared to its basement, at least.

The addicts pushed me into a thoroughly modern bathroom and slammed the door. I fumbled into the sink and caught my balance. I used the toilet because I was really starting to need it, and I washed my hands and face, both of which were covered in dirt. That done, I took advantage of the moment alone to search the room for anything I could use as a weapon.

Talk about futile. The medicine cabinet held someone's toothbrush and toothpaste, and nail clippers. The cabinet under the sink had only extra toilet paper. There wasn't even a plunger I could swing at people. There was, however, a towel bar and a shower rod.

I tried the bar first, but although I did my best to unscrew the damn thing with my thumbnail, it wasn't happening. This was what I got for preferring my nails very short. I tried the nail clipper on it next, but the clipper was too thick. The curtain rod was as big a letdown—a cheap plastic thing that would be as good as useless. I briefly considered taking the lid off the toilet, then thought about how far that would get me and opted against it. In my current state, I only had a couple good swings in me.

The nail clippers then. I slid them and the tiny file I found with them in my pocket.

I was just in time because an addict flung the door open. “What are you doing?”

“Grooming.” I pretended to adjust my jeans so he wouldn't get suspicious about why my hand was in my pocket. “Did you ever hear of privacy?”

“No. Move.”

I rolled my eyes and hurried out of the room before they took my attitude as an excuse to manhandle me again. We didn't go far. One of them unlocked the next door over and stared at me. My hand started to my pocket as I sensed this might be my best chance to make a run for it, then a familiar voice called out my name.

“Mitch?” I glanced in the room, and that was my mistake.

The addict stuffed me inside. I went tumbling forward, and the door shut. Damn it.

A pair of hands caught me by the arms and steadied me. I straightened, and Mitch released me with a sad smile. “On one hand, it's nice to see a friendly face. On the other, shit. They finally got you back.”