Misery Happens by Tracey Martin Page B

clothes were disheveled and his sunglasses were missing.
    “Yeah, I’m good.”
    Melissa burst through the crowd a second later, her red lips set in a scowl. Without a word, she adjusted my shirt for me and fixed my necklace. “Can’t risk Lucen seeing you look abused. Some bodyguard I am if I’m the one causing trouble.”
    “You didn’t cause it,” I told her. “They did.”
    For the first time, I noticed a faint, cherry-like scent from Melissa’s pheromones as she fussed with me. My skin tingled with magically induced lust near her fingers, and it hit me fully how a pred’s magic was as much for defense as offense. Yes, we called them preds because they were predators, but they could still be prey. With their power, a pred could subdue one, maybe two, human opponents. But an angry mob? Not so much.
    I combed my fingers through my hair and assessed the crowd. Things had quieted to a murmur. A few people had fled, but most were backing up politely while the PD reset their barricades. It was all far less boisterous than it had been before Melissa had been outed as a satyr. “What happened, and what is that blue stuff?”
    Andre signaled to a cop and started up the steps. “This? This is my new best friend. I call it kumbaya gas.”
    “Some kind of magical tranq?”
    I could sense Andre’s apprehension at talking with satyrs nearby, but he nodded as though everything was totally normal. “Yup. We’ve recently been authorized to use it. It won’t work on preds, and we’re covered in glyphs that protect us from it, but it’s better than valium on a regular human. Personally, if this insanity keeps up, I’m pushing to have a liquid version of it pumped into the municipal water system.”
    “If this keeps up,” I repeated Andre’s words, my stomach sick with dread.
    Realizing I still carried the stolen sign, I tossed it to the granite steps. MAGIC IS UNNATURAL was written on it in bright green letters. The sentiment was as uninformed and ridiculous as what was on some of the other signs, but at least the person who’d created it knew how to spell.
    “What is with the mob out front?” I asked. “I thought the demonstrations were being held at the Common?”
    Gi opened the main door, and we filed into the safety of headquarters. The four of us paused in the busy lobby, and Andre set down his canister to wipe sweat from his brow.
    “People are not happy with the Gryphons today,” he said.
    “Why? Most humans practically worship you, especially under the circumstances. They’re counting on you to save the world.”
    Andre shook his head. “Gryphon U.S.A. Headquarters issued a statement this morning, specifically not lending their support to the HELP Act. That’s what’s got those people outside riled up.”
    After showing Gi and Melissa to the back door so they didn’t have to face the mob again, I went up to the labs. Mitch Johnson and Grace Park were already there. We were the three surviving members of Le Confrérie de l’Aile’s experiments, the three Tom and the others were counting on to somehow save the world. Somehow being the keyword.
    I was no badass warrior or magical proficient. That I was alive today was due just as much to the massive amounts of help I’d received from Lucen and others as it was due to some innate cleverness or skill on my part. And while I was learning, and eager to learn more, I was depressingly far ahead of where Mitch was. More depressing yet, Mitch was far ahead of Grace.
    All the years I’d spent cursing my allegedly rogue gift were years I’d nonetheless engaged with it, used it and honed it. Mitch had tried to ignore his and used it only to assist in his work as a psychiatric nurse. Grace, on the other hand, had done her best to suppress hers altogether.
    “Here’s to the hero of last night.” Mitch raised a beaker filled with some murky concoction. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t recommend actually downing this stuff because I’m pretty sure