Read Online Demon's Fury: Part 1 of the Final Asylum Tales (The Asylum Tales series) by Jocelynn Drake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jocelynn Drake
Ads: Link
number of vampires as well as interspecies couples who can’t have children and aren’t allowed to adopt, so they go to the goblins,” I said.
While I’d never personally visited the goblins regarding their wares, I’d learned that once you became involved in purchasing goods in one black market, you tended to be aware of what else was going on in the underground. You never knew when turmoil elsewhere was going to impact your own livelihood.
“You don’t think that the goblins are behind the murders, do you?” I asked, drawing my tired eyes up the troll’s frowning visage.
“Probably not,” Bronx said with a shrug. “They’re fond of money and wouldn’t do anything to hurt their supply. More likely, they’ve already started looking into the matter and might be able to give you some information.”
“Could be someone they’ve crossed in the past?” Serah suggested.
“Possible. I’ll dig around and see if I can locate a contact after we finish with tonight’s little escapade,” I murmured.
The troll looked like he was going to argue with my decision to burrow deeper into this mess when I needed to step away from it, but after several seconds, he closed his mouth and nodded. Lines of tension still stretched from his eyes. He was worried.
“If you need anything . . .”
“You’ve got my back,” I finished when his voice faded.
Bronx stepped back and I cut through the empty tattooing room. I kept my head down so that the three chairs skated briefly through the periphery of my vision. The three of us had worked together for nearly three years. Laughter had almost constantly echoed through that room as we tattooed the people of Low Town. Crude jokes, strange misadventures, and unexpected revelations filled that room and a part of me worried that it was on the cusp of ending.
Pushing aside my personal worries, I concentrated on the soft patter of female footsteps as Serah followed me down the narrow hallway that connected the main tattooing room with the windowless storage room at the back of the building. When she entered, I closed and locked the door as I usually did when I planned to enter the basement. My eyes jumped to the back door, to find that it was still double-bolted.
“What are we doing back here? You know a potion to pull information out of the blood?” Serah demanded. Her voice had grown colder and harder with her increasing anxiety. My veiled conversation with Bronx had only raised her suspicions about me and the situation wasn’t going to get any better.
Taking her winter coat out of her arms, I tossed it on the padded table I used when I needed someone to lie flat for a tattoo. “Hand over the gun,” I said, holding out my hand.
Serah frowned and took a step backward. “Why?”
“So accidents don’t happen.”
She didn’t budge beyond her gaze hardening on me. “I don’t trust you.”
“Good. We have something in common. I don’t trust me either.” I tapped down the urge to use magic to make the gun disappear, but that wasn’t the way to win this person over. “Hand over the gun. We’re leaving it here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Basement.”
Her eyes darted from one locked door to the other as she thought it over. “Anyone else have a key to those doors?”
“No.”
While not pleased with the idea, Serah removed the gun from shoulder holster under her right arm and popped the magazine from the grip before placing the weapon on top of her coat. The magazine she shoved into the back pocket of her jeans.
“You’re left-handed,” I observed, talking mostly to myself.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, looking at me as if a few of my marbles had just rolled out of my ears.
I flashed her a crooked smile. “I’ve not met many left-handed people. Parents used to believe that kids who were left-handed would turn out to be a witch or warlock so they tried to train lefties to use their right hand.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Superstitious
While I’d never personally visited the goblins regarding their wares, I’d learned that once you became involved in purchasing goods in one black market, you tended to be aware of what else was going on in the underground. You never knew when turmoil elsewhere was going to impact your own livelihood.
“You don’t think that the goblins are behind the murders, do you?” I asked, drawing my tired eyes up the troll’s frowning visage.
“Probably not,” Bronx said with a shrug. “They’re fond of money and wouldn’t do anything to hurt their supply. More likely, they’ve already started looking into the matter and might be able to give you some information.”
“Could be someone they’ve crossed in the past?” Serah suggested.
“Possible. I’ll dig around and see if I can locate a contact after we finish with tonight’s little escapade,” I murmured.
The troll looked like he was going to argue with my decision to burrow deeper into this mess when I needed to step away from it, but after several seconds, he closed his mouth and nodded. Lines of tension still stretched from his eyes. He was worried.
“If you need anything . . .”
“You’ve got my back,” I finished when his voice faded.
Bronx stepped back and I cut through the empty tattooing room. I kept my head down so that the three chairs skated briefly through the periphery of my vision. The three of us had worked together for nearly three years. Laughter had almost constantly echoed through that room as we tattooed the people of Low Town. Crude jokes, strange misadventures, and unexpected revelations filled that room and a part of me worried that it was on the cusp of ending.
Pushing aside my personal worries, I concentrated on the soft patter of female footsteps as Serah followed me down the narrow hallway that connected the main tattooing room with the windowless storage room at the back of the building. When she entered, I closed and locked the door as I usually did when I planned to enter the basement. My eyes jumped to the back door, to find that it was still double-bolted.
“What are we doing back here? You know a potion to pull information out of the blood?” Serah demanded. Her voice had grown colder and harder with her increasing anxiety. My veiled conversation with Bronx had only raised her suspicions about me and the situation wasn’t going to get any better.
Taking her winter coat out of her arms, I tossed it on the padded table I used when I needed someone to lie flat for a tattoo. “Hand over the gun,” I said, holding out my hand.
Serah frowned and took a step backward. “Why?”
“So accidents don’t happen.”
She didn’t budge beyond her gaze hardening on me. “I don’t trust you.”
“Good. We have something in common. I don’t trust me either.” I tapped down the urge to use magic to make the gun disappear, but that wasn’t the way to win this person over. “Hand over the gun. We’re leaving it here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Basement.”
Her eyes darted from one locked door to the other as she thought it over. “Anyone else have a key to those doors?”
“No.”
While not pleased with the idea, Serah removed the gun from shoulder holster under her right arm and popped the magazine from the grip before placing the weapon on top of her coat. The magazine she shoved into the back pocket of her jeans.
“You’re left-handed,” I observed, talking mostly to myself.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, looking at me as if a few of my marbles had just rolled out of my ears.
I flashed her a crooked smile. “I’ve not met many left-handed people. Parents used to believe that kids who were left-handed would turn out to be a witch or warlock so they tried to train lefties to use their right hand.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Superstitious
Similar Books
