Читать книгу Dead Man’s Deal - Jocelynn Drake - Страница 10

I DON’T RECALL getting to my feet, but I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of the lobby, barely holding together the rage that was burning through my brain. That fucking bastard! Reave had my brother. My older brother was working for that low-life Mafia scum. The dark elf had found a way to get even with me. I thought it was over when he had ordered Bronx’s beating. I had been punished and I thought we would be starting fresh, but Reave had shoved the knife a little deeper into my gut.

The Svartálfar was using my brother for whatever horrible job he needed done, putting him in danger. It was the perfect way to force me to do exactly what he wanted. I had to protect my brother. No matter what he was doing or how he was involved, I had to protect my brother.

“Reave?” I demanded in a rough voice when I could get my teeth to unclench enough so I could speak. “You work for the fucking Svartálfar bastard Reave?”

Robert pushed to his feet and pointed one finger at me, his expression losing all its earlier lightness. “Watch what you say about Reave,” he warned. “He’s my boss and he’s been good to me.”

I pressed my hands to my temples, my fingers threading through my hair as I swallowed a scream of frustration. It had suddenly become hard to breathe, as if the air had been sucked from the room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to block out the sound of blood pounding in my ears like a tribal drum. Energy sizzled against my skin. The magic was building, pressing against the seams of the walls. With a push, I could blow the entire building down. I could rip it apart like a twister blowing through a trailer park.

Trixie’s voice was suddenly there. Soft, breathless, and desperate. Her pleading penetrated the fog, so that I could feel her gentle hand on my cheek and the other arm wrapped around my back, her slim fingers digging into the side of my waist.

“You have to breathe, Gage. Just let it go,” she was saying. “Let go of the magic. If they catch you, they’re going to kill you. They’ll kill us all.”

Another, larger hand landed on my shoulder opposite to where Trixie was pressed against me. Strong and firm. Bronx. “Let it go, Gage.”

Overhead, soft popping followed by the tinkle of glass echoed through the shop. The lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling were exploding and the glass was falling inside the protective containers that surrounded them. I opened my eyes to find that the parlor was black except for the light coming in the front window and door from the street. Robert was standing with his back pressed against the far wall. There was no missing the terror on his face.

Fresh pain lanced through me. I flinched and Trixie pressed closer, holding me a little tighter as if she could absorb the pain. Robert was working for the devil but he was looking at me with fear in his wide eyes—as if I would ever hurt him. We had had scuffles as kids, but I didn’t hurt him and I had never hurt him with magic.

“He’s got my brother,” I whispered in a rough, broken voice. My world was breaking apart around me, but Trixie and Bronx continued to press close.

“We’ll fix it,” Trixie murmured in my ear, and Bronx’s hand squeezed my shoulder.

Dropping my hands from my head, I dragged in a deep breath in an attempt to relax the muscles that had tensed throughout my body. The energy dissipated. The soft snap and crackle faded to nothingness and the air seemed less thick. Trixie loosened her grip on me, but remained close.

Bronx waited for a nod from me before dropping his hand. He looked up at the darkened light fixture above us. “I think we’ve got some spare bulbs in the storage closet. I’ll go get them and the stepladder.”

“It could have been worse,” Trixie said, drawing our gazes. “It could have been the front window … again.”

Bronx shook his head as he left the room. I tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. Trixie was trying and I appreciated it. “I’ve yet to break the front window. That’s Bronx.”

Trixie dropped her arms from around me and grinned. “It’s not like you didn’t want to.” She was right. Less than a year ago, a customer Trixie was tattooing had hit on her hard. She was polite but it was obvious that she was becoming uncomfortable with his persistence. Bronx gave the asshole one warning, but he didn’t listen. A minute later, he was flying through the front window.

Trixie tried to step away from me, but I grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. “Trixie, this is my older brother, Robert,” I started, looking at my brother. He was still pressed against the far wall as if he were trying to sink into the plasterboard rather than be in the same room with me. The fear was gone from his eyes, but so was the easy laughter. “Robert, this is Trixie. She’s a tattoo artist here, and she’s … my girlfriend.” The last two words fumbled from my mouth, but then it was the first time I had ever introduced her as such.

Trixie shot me a smile before turning to face Robert. She extended a hand toward him and he hesitated before quickly shaking it. “It’s nice to meet someone from Gage’s family.”

Robert mumbled something that I didn’t quite catch before sinking back against the wall. Trixie turned to me and gave a little roll of her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of me and I loved her for it. Bronx wasn’t afraid of me, and in my own way, I loved him for it, though I was grateful that I didn’t feel the need to kiss him like I needed to kiss Trixie.

She wrapped her long arms around my neck as she snuggled close. “Get out of here. Your shift’s done. Spend some time catching up with your brother.”

“I’ll see you later tonight.”

“You’re stopping by?” she asked, going for innocent, but the wicked light in her eyes ruined it.

“Oh, yeah. Gonna need to.”

Trixie gave me one last lingering kiss that managed to put a different kind of tension into my body before gracefully sauntering from the room. I glared at Robert when I saw his eyes following her. My older brother opened his mouth, but I stopped him.

“Watch what you say or I will give you a reason to be afraid of me,” I warned.

Robert glared at me. “She’s hot,” he said as if daring me to argue with him.

I snorted and shook my head. “Yeah, I’ll give you that one. Let me grab my jacket and we can get out of here.”

“What about the tattoo Reave said you’d work on?”

Rage flooded my veins once again, but I kept my head this time. It wasn’t as much of a shock as it had been the first time. “I doubt what Reave has planned is something I can slap on in a few minutes. We’ll need to talk and plan. And drink.” The drinking probably wouldn’t help much with the planning, but it would help me from exploding again—safer for all those around.

Using the dim light from the front window, I walked into the main tattooing room to find that Bronx had already lit some candles and was in the process of setting up the stepladder so he could replace the fluorescent bulbs I had destroyed.

“I’ll be upstairs in case you need anything,” I announced. I crossed to the far cabinet and knelt down as I pulled it open.

“You taking the Mordred?” Bronx asked from the stepladder in the center of the room.

A little shudder racked my frame. “Absolutely not. I need to mellow out, not get stupid. I’ve got a bottle of Jack that should get us through without killing each other.” I may have hated Reave and held no love for the entire Svartálfar race, but by all that was sacred and pure, they knew how to make a damn good whiskey. Mordred was fucking hard to get your hands on if you weren’t Svartálfar and like liquid fire going down, but damn, it was good.

“I can take your keys to the shop. Protects against intoxicated tattooing,” Bronx offered.

“Fuck you,” I grumbled with no real venom. The last time Bronx and I had drunk Mordred together, the results were not good. Suffice to say, Bronx had tattooed an incubus, resulting in an outbreak of mass fornication that needed to be stopped.

I grabbed the liter bottle and stood, shutting the cabinet with my knee as I scooped up my jacket off a nearby chair. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

Robert was out in the lobby when I returned, looking as if he wished he had left but was afraid to after my temper tantrum. He followed me out the front door of the parlor, but paused when I started down the alley beside the shop.

“Where we going?” he demanded, stopped at the mouth of the alley.

“Somewhere we can talk and drink.” I held up the new bottle and gently shook it back and forth as if trying to tempt him. Or hypnotize him. I’d take that. He frowned, but started to follow after me through the alley to the back of the shop and then up the wooden stairs to the second floor of my building.

After Asylum took off, I managed to buy the entire building from the owner instead of renting. I had lived in the second-floor apartment for a while, but had moved out a few years ago so I could get a little space in my life from work. The apartment above the parlor was kept empty for times like these, when it was better to deal with matters here rather than drag anyone into my home.

“This your place?” Robert asked as he shut the door behind him.

I shook my head. “Just somewhere I crash on occasion.” Setting the bottle on the scarred coffee table, I walked into the tiny kitchen and grabbed a couple plastic cups that I kept there. I paused, staring at the disposable plastic cups. It had been a while since I had gotten plowed in this apartment with a friend or two. Was I mellowing out too much? Getting old? I rolled my eyes and wandered back into the living room with its cracked beige walls and stained carpet to find Robert sitting on one of the sunken cushions of the couch.

Sitting on the other end of the couch, I poured us each a healthy shot of whiskey and sat back. “All right, talk.”

Robert took a big swallow and winced as it went down. Definitely not as smooth as Mordred, but it would get the job done. “I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“You’re going to talk and tell me every fucking thing I ask for. I deserve that if I’m going to protect you from whatever Reave has got you involved in.” I set my own glass down without drinking. It was like talking had triggered all the emotions that I had managed to get a handle on. “Why are you fucking working for Reave? You’re not an idiot. Fuck. How could you do this to Mom and Dad?”

“Do this to Mom and Dad?” he repeated, looking at me like I had lost my mind. “I’m not doing this to them. I’m helping myself, and what the fuck do you care about Mom and Dad? What the fuck do you care about any of us? You left!”

“Of course I left!” I shouted, jumping to my feet. Robert pushed to his feet as well so I wouldn’t tower over him. Whatever fear he was feeling toward me wasn’t there now—we were both too pissed. “I had to leave if I wanted to protect you and Meg and Mom and Dad. The Towers might have let me go, but they weren’t going to let me live happily ever after. I’ve had warlocks and witches hunting me for years. You think they wouldn’t have tried to use you or Meg as leverage to get me to do what they wanted? Fuck! I left because I had to.”

“You should have never come back in the first place!” Robert roared. I took a step back, my anger instantly melting away, but Robert didn’t notice. Apparently there was something on his mind that he had been itching to vent. “When you disappeared as a kid, we told the world that you had been killed in an accident. You think we could tell anyone that you became one of them? We would have been lynched in a heartbeat. But no! You came back, destroying everything. Dad tried to make up stories, like you were a distant cousin, but no one believed him. They knew you had been taken to the Ivory Towers. They knew you were a warlock, and everything changed.”

Robert paced a couple angry steps away from me and then turned back, his face twisted with pent-up rage and pain. “You want to know why Mom and Dad moved to Low Town? Because of you. They left Vermont and New Hampshire and Pennsylvania and West Virginia because they were trying to outrun the rumors that they had given birth to a warlock. They came to Low Town to hide!”

I collapsed on the couch behind me, staring blindly at the wall. Whatever anger I had felt only seconds ago about my brother being a part of the Low Town Mafia evaporated. My chest ached and there was a lump growing in my throat threatening to cut off my breathing. In my lifetime, I had been burned, stabbed, poisoned, shot, and had a chunk of my soul ripped off. This felt worse. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to think, but I couldn’t stop my mind from churning over the same thought. If I had never returned home after leaving the Towers, my family would have been happy, healthy, and safe.

I had been sixteen when I left the Towers and I couldn’t think of any place I wanted to go more than home to my family. I hadn’t seen them in nine years, but they still represented the only happy memories I had in my life. They were laughter, warmth, and love wrapped in a modest middle-class home on an old tree-lined street in Vermont. I had nowhere else to go and nowhere else I wanted to go. I knew that it was only temporary; I didn’t trust the council’s promises and reassurances. But I needed help and my feet set. I was only sixteen.

When I walked in the front door, Mom cried. She held me so tight and cried tears of joy. She cried for four days every time she looked at me. Dad cried too, his arms wrapped around Mom and me. No one asked questions. We hugged, cried, and were happy to be together. I could only guess that was before anyone started to think about how the rest of the world would react to my miraculous return from the dead.

I should never have gone home.

“Gage, man,” Robert whispered beside me. The couch shifted as he sat down again, but I was still staring straight ahead, my body so stiff that muscles ached. I was afraid that if I moved, I’d shatter. I had destroyed my family. I destroyed them by being a warlock and by returning home to give away their secret shame.

“I didn’t know.” My voice was rough and low like I had been gargling razor blades, and it was starting to feel that way as well.

“I know. They didn’t want you to know and, man, I’m a fucking idiot. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not your fault.”

A short, bitter laugh escaped me as I looked over at him through narrowed eyes. “Yeah, not my fault that I was born a warlock, but it was my fault that I came home.”

“We never felt that way.” I frowned at him, not needing the lies. Robert squeezed my shoulder and smiled. “Well, okay, so maybe I was pissed at you for a year or two right before I dropped out of college, but then I got my shit together. Mom and Dad never regretted you coming home. Not once.”

“I ruined their lives. I’m guessing I screwed up yours pretty badly as well as Meg’s.”

Robert gave my shoulder a shove but didn’t let go when I started to look away from him. “It’s not your fault. Blame it on the assholes in the Towers. Hell, better yet, blame it on the assholes that ran us out of New England. They only focused on the fact that you’d been born a warlock—which could have happened to any one of them just as easily. They should have been focusing on the fact that Mom and Dad raised a kid who was smart and brave enough to fucking leave the Towers.”

I nodded, trying to breathe. “Thanks.”

Robert dropped his hand back to his lap while reaching for his drink with the other hand. I did the same and we both finished our first glass before either could speak again. The alcohol would numb the worst of the pain. There was truth to what Robert had said, all of what he said. It wasn’t all my fault, but by the same token, I should never have gone home when I was a teenager.

“You should go see them,” Robert suggested. He reached across the table and snagged the bottle, pouring us both a new glass.

“Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah. I know they’d love it. They miss you.”

I sat back against the couch and stretched out my legs, trying to ease the tension crawling through my frame. “I don’t know if it would be safe.”

“I think they would argue that it’s worth the risk.” Robert took a drink and smiled at me. When he spoke again, his voice was rough from the whiskey burn. “Do you honestly think it’s ever going to be safe? You’re wasting time.”

“You could always go talk to them first for me. Warn them that I’m in town, what I look like now so it wouldn’t be such a shock if I showed up on their doorstep.” Robert frowned at me and remained silent. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly subtle. I wanted to hear why he was no longer talking to our parents. “Did you fight?”

“No, not really.”

“So … what? You just stopped seeing them? Stopped answering the phone when Mom called?”

“Pretty much.”

I set my cup on the table and waited. Robert sighed before downing the last of his drink and placing his empty cup next to mine. “Things didn’t work out at college,” he started.

“Because of me.”

He shrugged. “Part of it, but I think I was looking for an excuse. I was tired of school, wanted to be doing something. I made some friends here that I probably shouldn’t have, started helping them out on the occasional job. I knew the business they were in, but I told myself that I wouldn’t get drawn in.” He stopped and stared down at his hands.

“But you did.”

Robert looked at me with a little self-mocking smile. “Reave came to me and offered me a job personally. Said I was good. He offered me a lot of money and I took it. I told myself that I wasn’t hurting anyone, so it was no big deal.”

I clamped my mouth shut. People were getting hurt by the things that Reave was into. Robert might not have been the one to pull the trigger or wield the blade, but anyone who supported Reave was only adding to the body count.

“Did Mom and Dad find out what you were doing?”

“No. Well, I don’t think so.” He stopped and threaded a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “They had such hopes for me at college and getting some big job in an office building wearing a tie and carrying a briefcase. Every time I went to see them, I had to see those hopes. Got tired of it, so I stopped going.”

I stared at the bottle of Jack on the table, a part of me wishing that I had brought up the Mordred. Numb and stupid would have felt a lot better than what I was feeling right then. After leaving for Low Town, I didn’t let myself think about my family much because I knew that I couldn’t go back, but I told myself that they were all happy and safe. Unfortunately, happy and safe were extremely relative terms, I was learning. All I knew was that they weren’t the kind of happy and safe that I had imagined.

“I’ll get you out,” I said in a low voice.

“What?”

I looked over at Robert, meeting his confused expression. “I’ll get you out. Get you free of Reave. I’m stuck with him holding threats over my head, but I’ll get you out when I get out.”

“I don’t want out,” he said. “Didn’t you hear me? The pay is good and I’m good at what I do. It might not be legal but I’m not hurting anyone. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

I sat speechless for a minute, staring at him. Between Bronx and me wanting out so badly, I had naturally assumed that Robert would consider himself trapped as well. But he wasn’t trapped. He was exactly where he wanted to be and … I was being an asshole. I might find Robert’s line of work distasteful, but I couldn’t judge him because he had chosen to color outside the lines. There was a good percentage of my own work that was off the books because it wasn’t exactly legal. Well, that and the whole warlock thing, which wasn’t illegal but it wasn’t a crowd pleaser either.

“Sorry,” I muttered, feeling like an ass while, at the same time, finding a whole new reason to hate Reave.

“No problem. Are you still going to help me? Reave said you would.”

I nodded as I moved to the edge of the couch. Snagging the bottle, I filled up my cup and Robert’s. I had a feeling that I was going to need this. “Keep you safe? Sure. What’s Reave got planned for you?”

“Nothing too major. I’m just a package boy.” Robert shrugged, but there was something in his expression that wasn’t quite modest. He might have been a package boy, but there was such a thing as a valuable package boy based on intelligence, courage, and resourcefulness. “He wants me to deliver some information to a buyer.”

“What kind of information?” Robert was silent so long that I finally looked over at him to find him frowning down at his whiskey. “You have to at least give me some kind of hint if I’m going to be able to protect you effectively. It will give me an idea of whom I’m protecting you from.”

“You don’t think we’ll be overheard here?” Robert asked, lowering his voice to a whisper.

It was a struggle not to whisper as well. “By who?”

“Them.”

Fuck. What the hell was Reave dealing in that my brother was worried about drawing the attention of the witches and warlocks? We all worried about the Ivory Towers, but for the most part, we didn’t worry about them listening in to our conversations. They pretty much ignored the fact that we existed until we stepped on something that did interest them. Apparently, Robert had stepped into something big.

Putting my cup on the table, I stood and quickly tapped the energy floating around in the air. It only took a couple of seconds and a brief wave of my hand to summon the silencing spell that was becoming a regular part of my repertoire recently. For someone who had chosen to break away from the Towers, I was frequently in the midst of things that would most interest them.

“Don’t move,” I said, flopping back down on the couch. “I created only a small bubble—attracts less attention. No one can hear you.”

Robert looked at me a bit skeptically. “I didn’t see you do anything but wave your hand in the air.”

“The best spells are the subtle ones. Now talk.”

A smile peeked out for a second. “I still can’t believe you’re a warlock. My brother …”

“My brother, the warlock. Scourge of all that is good and just in the world. Yeah, yeah,” I said a bit irritably. When I lived in the Towers, I was told that I was being reborn into godhood. When I moved back among the “mortals,” I became the bane of their existence. Such a fall back to earth tends to bruise the ego. “Now, what does Reave have you transporting?”

Robert’s smile faded. “I don’t know how he acquired this information, but Reave knows the exact location of all the Towers.”

My heart stopped and then started again, pounding away like a madman on crack. I lurched to my feet, wanting to put some distance between my brother and his words as if I was expecting a bolt of lightning to strike him, but I remained rooted to the spot. I couldn’t move outside of the spell without disrupting it and I definitely needed to do a little venting that wouldn’t be overheard.

The first of the Ivory Towers was built before the Great War, but the warlocks and witches forced everyone after the war to work on building others—one on every continent plus a secret eighth so that they could tighten their hold on all the peoples of the world. As each Tower was finished, the memory of everyone was altered and powerful spells were placed over the Towers to hide them. No one but the warlocks and witches knew where they were, and I believed it to be for the best. If you couldn’t find them, then you couldn’t start shit that was going to get everyone killed.

Reave was going to get us all killed.

“What the hell is he thinking?” I yelled.

“Maybe that he’s tired of being under their thumb,” Robert snapped.

“We all are!” I shouted simply because I couldn’t stop shouting. I dropped back down onto the couch and put my head into my hands, trying to learn to breathe again. When I spoke, my voice was low but not particularly calm. “I don’t want to know what he’s planning. That’s the least of our problems. If they find out he’s got that information, they will come down off the Towers and kill us all.” I glared at my brother. “You don’t know them like I do. If they suspect anyone has that information, they won’t bother to hunt down you or Reave. They will destroy the entire city, every living creature, to make sure the information has been silenced.”

Robert tried to smile. His mouth moved in the right direction, but it was strained, while his eyes flickered with fear. “Then I guess you better come up with something good.”

“Has he told you yet? Do you know the locations?”

“Just one. He said it was insurance so that you wouldn’t try to ‘rescue me.’ He also said that if you tried to erase the location from my memory, he’d kill me.” Robert didn’t look particularly disturbed by the threat, probably because he knew that I would do everything within my power to protect him.

My teeth were clenched so tightly that my jaw had begun to throb. I was going to kill Reave. I wasn’t a killer, but this dark elf was driving me to it. My brother might not have wanted out, but he needed out because Reave was shortening his life substantially by putting him in the path of the Towers.

“I need time to think and prepare.” The words were stiff and hard when I spoke. “When are you scheduled to make your delivery?”

“I get the information in three days. You’ll have one day to tattoo them on me—”

“What?”

“Reave is giving me the locations as coordinates. I can’t memorize seven sets of exact coordinates and he doesn’t want paper or digital copies traveling. He wants them tattooed on me, and you have to include a spell to protect the information.”

Sitting back against the couch, I rubbed my eyes with my right hand against the pain that had started there. There was some small relief that he said seven—even Reave didn’t know about the secret eighth Tower. Hell, even I wasn’t completely sure where it was. All the same, I could feel the strands of the web Reave was weaving around Robert and me tightening, entrapping us so perfectly. It seemed as if he had thought of everything, tying my hands so I couldn’t free my brother.

I needed to think. This was more than protecting Robert and all of Low Town from this information. The Towers had become a powder keg of unrest, and Reave was creating a human torch out of Robert. If the Towers and Robert collided, the war that ensued would make the Great War look like a playground scuffle between third-grade girls.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn to Sofie or Gideon for advice. They would have only one answer. Kill Robert. Kill Reave. There had to be another way. I had to figure out what the hell it was.