Jocelynn Drake - Dead Man’s Deal

“Gideon.”

“You’ve spoken to Gideon?” The ghost’s mouth hung partially open and it was only then I realized how much I had gotten accustomed to trying to discern Sofie’s moods by her tone of voice and the expressions presented on a cat’s face. I was beginning to think that I was wrong … a lot.

“Yeah, we’re not exactly mortal enemies, though I can’t say that I would trust him with my darkest secrets. He’s indicated to me that he could help you if he knew who cursed you.”

Sofie moved away from me. She sat and then stood as if she meant to pace around the room, but she didn’t move. “Her name is Victoria, though I liked to call her Vicki to piss her off.”

“It worked.” I snickered.

“ That wasn’t why she cursed me.”

“I hope not. I don’t want to think about this lunatic running around using magic. Last name?”

“Tremaine.”

“I don’t remember her.”

“She didn’t spend much time in the Tower you were living in. You wouldn’t have met her.”

“Would it help Gideon if he knew why she cursed you?”

The ghostly Sofie frowned at me. “If he needs to know, then he can talk to me.”

I threw up my hands and smiled at her. “That’s fine with me. I don’t need to know.”

“Why is Gideon doing this? Particularly now after all these years.”

“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with him, but I will give you the same warning that he recently gave me.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned back against the table. “Things are getting bad in the Towers. Lot of unrest and anxiety, from what he tells me. I’d keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What does that mean for you?”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “Nothing good. As it stands, I’ll most likely lose Gideon as my assigned guardian soon unless he hands the council my head on a pike. From there … well, I’m sure you can imagine the shit storm that’s going to follow.”

“I’m sorry.”

I shrugged helplessly. There wasn’t anything I could do about it. “Thanks. I would appreciate it if you could keep this info to yourself. I don’t want Trixie worrying yet. You know how slow the council can be at times. It may be months before anything happens.”

“Or days.”

“Even so, she has her own problems, things that we can do something about. For now, we have to sit with our thumbs up our asses until something is decided in the Towers.”

“Agreed.”

I pushed away from the table, stretching my arms above my head. “Thanks, Sof. We better get back upstairs before Trixie comes looking for us.”

Sofie started to walk beside me then paused. “I thought you had some things you needed to do down here.”

I stopped with one foot on the bottom step and smiled down at her. “I did. Gideon wanted me to talk to you and I didn’t think you’d want to discuss this in front of Trixie.”

Sofie purred as she headed up the stairs. “You always were a smart boy.”

I snorted at her, but kept my mouth shut as I followed her. For such a smart boy, I seemed to be in a hell of a lot a trouble with few ideas on how to get out. As soon as the cat reached the main floor, I waved my right hand at the symbol on the wall and, with a little push of energy, reactivated the protection spell. One thing at a time. First, Trixie and the elves. Then, free Bronx from Reave. And if there was anything left of me after that, I’d find a way to wipe my memory from the Towers.

Yep. I was in big trouble.

AFTER LAST NIGHT’S clusterfuck, I was relieved to find that tonight was quiet at Asylum. Sofie had settled on the glass counter at the front of the shop, lounging between the cordless-phone charger and the framed article proclaiming Asylum the top tattoo and potion parlor in Low Town for 2012. It was the third year in a row we had won the local award. We didn’t get anything for the title besides a nice certificate and an increase in business. I preferred to display the article rather than the certificate, since it contained a cheesy photo of Bronx, Trixie, and me sitting in the lobby of the shop.

Business was steady, but far from hectic. Trixie finished up her appointment with a banshee in a matter of minutes. From what I overhead of the conversation, the death wailer had recently gotten a job at a nursing home. Unfortunately, she had been bemoaning the dying so much that she had gotten a sore throat, which was threatening to give way to laryngitis. Instead of a tattoo, Trixie gave her a mixture to be steeped with tea daily and advice to get a job at a day care.

From there, I tattooed a drake with an antiseasickness potion. Apparently the cannibalistic ogre was going deep-sea fishing with some friends off the coast of Florida in a few weeks but was having problems managing boat trips. I kept my mouth shut for most of the tattoo. Drakes, who are not related to dragons as many people believe, are more likely to take a bite out of you than hit you if you piss them off. Trixie enjoyed lightly teasing this one despite my glares, but then a pretty girl could get away with so much more than a guy.

Trixie then handled a pair of goblins wanting matching tattoos to express their love for each other. At least they didn’t want to get each other’s name tattooed on their shoulders. But I wasn’t being fair. From what I heard, goblins were among the few races that were good at relationships. Once they bonded with a mate, it tended to be for life and they were happy with each other the whole time. Humans couldn’t even come close to understanding something like that.

I was finishing up a tattoo on a young werecat when Bronx came in. The werecat had wanted a tattoo on her hip that would keep her from getting pregnant for the next five years. She’d still go into heat every season, but the ink would protect against pregnancy. There were special waivers required for that particular tattoo since I didn’t want to be sued in case something was off. I had yet to have that one come back to haunt me, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

The troll settled onto his stool with only the softest of grunts. The swelling had gone down in his face and there was only a slight discoloration around one eye. Otherwise, he looked normal. He was moving a little slower than normal, but most wouldn’t notice it.

“You know you could have stayed home tonight,” I said after the last client left the shop.

“So you said yesterday,” Bronx grumbled. He set up his station with his usual meticulousness, checking to make sure that he had all the supplies he had put aside the previous night.

Trixie flit across the room and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying her head on top of his. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Bronx said, patting one of Trixie’s hands.

“I knew that Gage would be trouble. I don’t think you should hang out with that bad influence any longer,” Trixie continued in her best doting-mother voice.

At that, Bronx finally smiled. “Yes, Mother, but he’s my only friend.”

“No, dear, you’ll always have your mummy,” she said, earning a bark of laughter from me. Trixie kissed Bronx’s cheek and then walked over to where I was lying back in the tattooing chair in my station. She put a knee between my legs, a little too close for comfort. “What are you laughing at? I’m old enough to be a great-great-great-grandmother to both of you. Sometimes I think I need to take you over my knee, spank some sense into you.”

I placed my hands on her hips and tried to pull her closer, but she grabbed the top of the chair, halting her descent. “I could be up for that.”

“Good grief,” Bronx muttered under his breath with no small amount of disgust. I laughed. For the most part, when Bronx was in the shop with us, Trixie and I maintained a somewhat professional atmosphere. Well, as professional as it ever was before we started dating. Every once in a while I let something slip to make Bronx shake his head.