0.5-The Asylum Interviews: Bronx: An Asylum Tales Short Story by Jocelynn Drake Read Free Book Online Page A

was a pain in the ass. By the way, thanks for dropping off the food.”
    I discovered that while Parker may have been feeling full from his Jill-sized Happy Meal, the incubus was still a nervous eater. After being sent for coffee and pastries, I was forced to send Bronx out after dark for Indian takeout, greasy burgers, and something from Brownie Delights. I didn’t ask or look. I had no problems with the fey, but I had heard enough tales to know better than to eat anything made by them. Parke was now settled in with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a pile of old magazines.
    Jumping behind the wheel of my beat-up SUV, I shoved the key in the ignition and sat there, my mind swirling. Bronx clicked his seat belt in place beside me. The troll was well over six feet and weighed more than three hundred pounds of what I was willing to bet was pure muscle. He could make any space suddenly feel small.
    “Are we really planning to go there?” Bronx asked once he was settled in his seat.
    I heaved a heavy breath as I looked out the windshield. There wasn’t any choice. I needed something to counteract the potion embedded in Parker’s skin so the rest of us could move forward with our lives with him in it. I reached down and turned the ignition key, causing the SUV to rumble to life. “Yeah, we’re going to see the Vestal Virgins and we’re going to borrow some of their tears.”
    As we pulled out of the small parking lot and headed down the street toward the interstate, I flipped on the radio, jumping from station to station as I tried to find something to calm my nerves. Bronx didn’t seem to be doing much better as he shifted in his seat, his thick fingers absently drumming on the door.
    “I’m assuming that you made some calls, tried the shops,” Bronx said.
    I snorted. My hand returned to the steering wheel as I finally settled on a rock station that was playing a song I didn’t much care for, but I knew something better would come along in time. “Before you arrived, I spent more than an hour on the phone. I called every supply shop within a one-hundred-mile radius and came up with nothing. I even called a handful of other artists that I’m acquainted with in hopes that someone had it, but I struck out.”
    “What about the black market? I thought there was a . . . seller in the immediate area.” Bronx seemed hesitant to suggest it and I just smiled. For the most part, the troll appeared to be on the straight and narrow, which I could appreciate, but I didn’t know of any successful tattoo artist who didn’t know a black market connection or two so he could get the best and rarest of goods. This business wasn’t just about providing an excellent piece of permanent skin art. It was also about giving the client an edge in this world filled with creatures that had unique abilities and skills. And sometimes you needed to hit up some illegal connections to get the job done.
    “I exchanged some messages with the seller I frequently use,” I said, shoving my left hand through my short brown hair, making it stand on end as I pulled at it. “He didn’t have any on hand since the tears must be relatively fresh to retain their potency. He told me he could get some in a day or two. Unfortunately, his price was too steep. I thought I would try to get them myself first before caving to his demands.” Chang was a wily son of a bitch, skilled at getting more than his pound of flesh for everything he sold. The trade he had wanted to make was not something I was comfortable with.
    We fell silent as we drove out of Low Town and along the gray concrete strip that cut through the forestland that surrounded the city. The thick swath of trees that surrounded Low Town extended nearly fifty miles in all directions before giving way to several strips of farmland and the next town. Nearly every creature imaginable lived within the confines of Low Town, but many of the fey preferred to slip into the surrounding woods as if longing