Read Online [M__M 03] Misery Loves Company by Tracey Martin - Free Book Online Page A

architecture. Stately yet gaudy, with tall, narrow doors and windows, it nested deep inside Shadowtown. The stairs to the front door were steep, and the empty urns on the portico hosted ugly stone gargoyles instead of flowers. Indeed, one got the impression that flowers couldn’t bear to grow in such conditions. But if they did, they’d be darkly colored and poisonous. Monkshood maybe.
    I knocked once with the heavy brass knocker and waited, hands behind my back to hide my fidgeting. The door swung open, and the Dom’s liveried butler beckoned me in without a word. His large eyes appraised me, and his ears flattened against his head. I assumed he disapproved of my attire but was too well trained to speak of it.
    To be fair, I looked out of place. If the outside of Gunthra’s house belonged on the cover of Pred Homes and Gardens , it had nothing on the inside. Dark brocade covered the walls, an enormous crystal chandelier hung in the foyer, and a goblin-sized suit of armor stood in an alcove under the stairs. It was deeply moody and atmospheric, but in a way that screamed old money rather than wannabe goth.
    The servant opened the set of doors on the right. “Miss Moore for you.”
    I had to force my feet to enter the room. The last time I’d been in here was the day I’d learned what I was—not a woman whose gift was cursed, but a part satyr. An abomination, in Gunthra’s words.
    Since then, my understanding of my true species had gotten better. Or worse, depending on your perspective. According to Lucen, there was no such thing as a part pred. I was more like a subspecies of satyr. Whether his or Gunthra’s description was more accurate, I couldn’t say, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anyway.
    The goblin Dom rose from her fainting couch as I crossed the room. “Miss Moore, thank you for accepting my invitation.”
    Like I had any choice?
    Gunthra dressed like a regal old woman, but not one nearly as old as she must be. I wouldn’t have been surprised if all the antiques in this house had been purchased new.
    Yet with too many rings on her spindly fingers and too long a strand of pearls around her neck, Gunthra blended in with her décor. The sofa I sat on was upholstered in a gorgeous silk fleur-de-lis pattern, and the many artfully placed knickknacks scattered about the room and the paintings on the walls could give Eric Marshall a run for his money. The centerpiece in Gunthra’s room, however, were the butterflies preserved in glass that rested on top of her mantle.
    The Dom had a thing for butterflies. She liked the idea of metamorphosis, comparing humans to caterpillars and preds to their prettier, flying brethren. Personally, the analogy had left me with a disdain for butterflies, which I now thought of as pretentious moths.
    Same as she had on my first visit, Gunthra had set out a fancy china tea set, and she poured me a cup. “No milk or sugar, correct?”
    “No, thanks.” If she was trying to impress me with her memory, it had worked.
    “Have a muffin. Lemon poppy seed. My favorite.” She smiled at me in a creepy, predatory way. Either she enjoyed playing hostess, or she enjoyed testing my patience.
    Reluctantly, I took a muffin. It was polite, and if I recalled, Gunthra had a damn good cook working for her. “So,” I said, trying not to spill tea or muffin crumbs over what had to be a very expensive couch. “Thanks for the invitation, but since I know you’re not just being neighborly, shall we get on with it?”
    Shall we? Being surrounded by so much pomp and elegance must have brought out the pompousness in my vocabulary.
    Gunthra sipped her tea, and the silence dragged out. “Young people have no appreciation for the niceties of etiquette these days. Very well, Miss Moore. Since you insist, I did ask you here for a specific reason. You owe me a favor. I’m ready to collect.”
    I’d been expecting that, so I managed to swallow my bite of muffin without choking on it in panic. My