by Ella Summers
She hurried across the garage. She could hear him step out of the car, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even slow down until she was walking down the hallway to her suite. Kai’s suite was on an entirely different floor.
Riley stood in the open doorway, watching her come down the hall. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping aside as she reached the door.
She hurried inside and shut the door after them. And only then did she dare to breathe. “Nothing. Just Kai’s next job for me.” She slid out of her shoes, her toes screaming in relief. She’d been on her feet since before dawn—well, except when she was being hurled across fields. “This exclusive work sure is annoying sometimes. Being at the client’s beck and call.”
Riley grinned. “And keeping your smart mouth in check?”
“Yeah.”
“Kai’s not so bad.” He set down his backpack. “Not like that purple poodle lady.”
Sera snorted. “True.”
Kai was no purple poodle lady—that was for sure—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t big trouble. Maybe even bigger trouble than the Magic Games.
4
Army of Clean
Sera took a long, hot shower, scrubbing her dirt-freckled skin with copious helpings of the hotel’s flowery body wash. It came in teeny-tiny pretentious bottles, so it must be the good stuff. Sera drained four bottles, and she didn’t even feel bad about it. She’d earned it. That morning, she’d woken up at an unholy hour, and the extended ass-kicking session by the dragon that had followed hadn’t helped matters.
She stepped out of the shower with a stretch and a yawn, smiling as she oozed her toes into the plush bath towel. Two chocolate peanut butter granola bars and a tall glass of cold milk later, she grabbed her pink scooter Lily and kicked off toward Mayhem.
About two years ago, Mayhem had opened a New York branch. Monster infestation was a global phenomenon, and Simmons, the head of Mayhem, wasn’t one to ignore the call for profit.
Mayhem’s NYC office was located inside the posh ‘Magic & 8th Avenue’ building, the city’s goto place for all shops and services of the supernatural persuasion. Sera walked through the main entrance, right into the middle of a magical shopping paradise. There were shops for magic pets, magic potions, magic artifacts, magic books… It was all very boutique, and most of the magic they were selling there was actually legitimate.
She navigated an obstacle course of frenzied shoppers, heavy bags, and miniature purse poodles that smelled of mint perfume and self-entitlement. One of them—a pink dog with a gem-studded collar—turned its nose up at Sera as she escaped into the elevator. Apparently, even the dogs here looked down on her. She stuck her tongue out at Pinky. In response, it began to yap rapidly, like it was telling her off for her impudence. Its owner, a fairy with a flower crown, turned to see what all the fuss was about, but Sera had already mashed the button to the twelfth floor. The elevator doors slid shut, the sound as soft as whispered silk.
Alone at last, Sera checked her workout suit for any tears that might have gotten the pink poodle’s tail in a knot. Ha! She didn’t find any. There was, however, a bloodstain left over from the fight with the dark ponies last week. Her blood, not theirs. Those My Little Pony lookalikes hit hard. Maybe Kai was right. Maybe she should go shopping before tonight.
The elevator doors spread open, and she stepped into Mayhem. Here, the floors were marble, the walls frosted glass, and the high ceiling of painted angels as grandiose as an opera hall. Grace, the receptionist, sat primly behind a glass desk. Dressed in silk and cashmere, she looked like the twin of Fiona, the San Francisco office’s receptionist. The perfect lady, her ankles were tucked neatly together.
The sweet, seductive aroma of roses filled the air, mixed with a little caramelized magic. It was the perfect atmosphere to woo the magical elite. They didn’t know the fragrance was also a weapon. On its lowest setting, the mist was merely soothing; on its highest, it could knock out a first tier mage. The same could be said for Grace. The dainty receptionist was hiding a stash of knives and an automatic rifle in the cabinet beside her desk. She had a few grenades tucked away inside the secret bottom compartment of a nearby potted palm tree too. That woman was as scary as any of Mayhem’s mercenaries.
“Grace,” Sera greeted her.
“Ms. Dering.” She returned the nod. “You and Ms. Garland have Gym 4 reserved from one to three o’clock today.”
“Yep.”
“Please allow me to draw your attention to the gym rules. Due to high demand, you may use the gym only during your reserved hours.”
Sera didn’t point out that it was Sunday—and therefore over half of the mercenaries weren’t working at all. When she and Naomi had put in their reservation yesterday, all the gyms had still been available. She bet they still were.
But Grace continued to rattle off the gym rules anyway. “Before you leave, all pieces of equipment must be returned to their designated storage positions.”
“Sure thing. We always clean up after ourselves.”
One of Grace’s blonde eyebrows arched upward. “The Mayhem Disposal Team would beg to differ. I’ve read your file, Ms. Dering.”
Sera shrugged. “Monsters are different. I don’t fight them in the gym.”
Grace looked like she wanted to sigh, but she continued with the rules instead. “Please refrain from severely injuring other employees of Mayhem while training. Injuries increase the guild’s accident insurance premiums.”
“Does that mean she can’t toss me up in the air?” Naomi asked, wrapping her arm around Sera’s shoulder as she joined her at the reception desk.
“I guess that depends on my aim,” Sera said.
“I’d like to practice my flying today,” her half-fairy friend replied with a wink.
They’d picked Gym 4 because of the rings and ropes dangling from the ceiling. They were useful for throwing maneuvers. Naomi couldn’t fly as high as a full-blooded fairy. Sometimes, Sera had to give her a boost.
“Please pull out the mats if you plan on throwing each other across the gym,” Grace told them. She looked at Sera. “They are also fire-retardant.”
Sera frowned at her. “I’m not going to set the gym on fire.”
Grace folded her hands together, her expression guarded. Even wary. Apparently, word had gotten out about the tower Sera had set on fire when her magic had gone out of control. But how did anyone know about that? Finn, the madman behind the magic cult she and Kai had thwarted, was sitting in a cell inside some secret prison, and his minions hadn’t been heard from since they’d fled the scene. They were too busy hiding to spread rumors.
“Really, I won’t,” Sera assured her. What else could she say?
Grace’s shoulders relaxed, if only slightly. “I hope so. Because a fire would increase the guild’s fire insurance premiums.”
Insurance premiums again? It was no wonder a tight purse like Simmons had hired her.
“Come on, Sera,” Naomi said.
Her arm still wrapped around Sera, she nudged her toward the shaded glass doors that led into the underbelly of Mayhem. The doors slid open, revealing a man in neck-to-toe leather. He had enough knives and guns on him to send a metal detector into epileptic shock. The other mercenaries called him Raze, which basically summed him up. There was a rough look about him, like he chewed bullets for breakfast. There wasn’t, however, a single speck of magic in him. He was one hundred percent human. He’d worked for Mayhem for over twenty years, outliving even most of his supernatural colleagues. And he was proud of it.
Two years ago, Simmons had sent Raze to New York to build up Mayhem’s presence here. Before that, Sera had worked with him a few times. He’d always liked her because she was human too. At least she’d pretended to be. The hard look on his face told her Raze now knew she was really a mage. And he didn’t like it. He nodded at Naomi, but only glared at her, his cold eyes following her like a laser sight. Sighing, Sera turned back toward Naomi, and they entered the real and rugged Ma
yhem beyond the pretty front.
“Raze looks like he’s swallowed a razor,” Naomi said as they walked down the ugly corridor.
The red paint glossed over the floor only partially hid the rippled, raw concrete, and lamps that resembled upside-down flying saucers dangled from the pockmarked ceiling. It was pretty much identical to the San Francisco office. Simmons was nothing if not consistent.
“I lied to him. To everyone.” The words gurgled in Sera’s throat, threatening to choke her. She couldn’t even meet Naomi’s eyes; she’d lied to her too. “I’m sorry.”
Naomi’s hand closed around her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it? I mean, you don’t have to. But if you want someone to talk to, I’m here.”
“I…”
She dared a quick glance at Naomi, surprised to find no anger on her face. She should have been furious. Like Raze was. Well, at least Naomi didn’t know that Sera was Dragon Born.
Legend said that the Dragon Born had once been the most powerful mages in the world, a consequence of their unique birth. They were twin souls—in this case, Sera and Alex—born into one body and later separated by magic. Just like the dragons were born. For centuries, the Dragon Born had lived as part of the mage community, accepted and even respected.
But all that had changed. Sera wished she knew why the rest of the supernatural world had turned against her kind. Ever since that happened, the Dragon Born had been branded as abominations. The sentence of being born was death. If the Magic Council ever found out what Sera was, they would tear through her life to get at her. Everyone she cared about was at risk, including her friends. So, no, she couldn’t let the Council find out, even if it meant lying to her friends.
“When I was sixteen, I had a bad experience with magic,” she told Naomi. It was the understatement of the century, but half-truths were all that she dared tell. “A powerful mage killed my father.” The assassin who had discovered her and Alex’s secret and had come to deliver punishment. “We weren’t able to stop the mage. When our dad died, we…snapped. We lost control of our magic, and it killed the mage. Painfully. We boiled his blood from within. We froze off his fingers and drowned his lungs. We peeled the skin from his body…”
Sera looked into Naomi’s horrified face. The weight of the memory crushed her head and crunched at her heart. “After it was all over—after the magic high had worn off—we looked at the mage’s…remains. And we realized what we had done. We swore off that dark part of ourselves. We didn’t use magic anymore. We just wanted to get as far as possible from that world. To not be monsters. And so we became human and took up killing monsters.”
Naomi watched her in silence for a few moments, her usual mischievous expression subdued. Finally, she said, “I think I understand. In your place, I might have done the same. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sera. I’m not upset. I’m still your friend. I’m sorry you had to go through that. And now the Magic Council is forcing you into the Games. It’s a wonder you’ve escaped their notice this long.”
“I’m good at hiding my magic,” Sera said. She’d been doing it since she was old enough to understand what would happen if she didn’t.
“That I can believe. I never had a clue you’re a mage.”
Neither had anyone else. Well, not anyone except that assassin and then later Kai. Every mage was tested in the Magic Games at the age of sixteen. Sera had escaped that fate the first time by burying her magic so deep down that even the Council’s best magic Sniffers couldn’t find it. As her unease flopped and sank beneath the despair in her stomach, she wondered if she should have just let Finn and his psychopaths overthrow the Magic Council. Why had she helped the people who wouldn’t hesitate to condemn her to death?
“I just wish things would get back to normal,” Sera lamented. “Even though I know nothing will ever be the same again.”
“Some things will always be the same,” Naomi said, pointing down the hall.
Cutler was there, headed straight for them like a man on a mission. Sera didn’t know what he was doing here, all the way across the country. And she certainly didn’t have time for whatever was responsible for the huge grin plastered across his face. As his eyes met hers, the grin widened. He was smiling so hard, it looked like his jaw would break. Sera considered ducking into the locker room to escape him, but the only one in sight was the men’s room. That wouldn’t stop Cutler from following her. In fact, even running into the women’s locker room wouldn’t stop him.
“Sera,” he said, his voice as smooth as melted chocolate.
Magic hung in the air, crackling against Sera’s skin. Cutler’s magic was forced, rough, acidic—like a squirt of lemon in the eye. He thumped it against her with unabashed fervor.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he said, delight dancing in his eyes.
Sera folded her arms across her chest and glared back at him. Cutler was a first tier telekinetic—in addition to being a first tier pain in the ass.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Sera.” He leaned his arm against the wall in a completely unsubtle attempt to flex his muscles. “I know about that magic you did in Alcatraz.”
Cutler came from one of San Francisco’s important magic dynasties, its members characterized by an overabundance of magic and money. If his behavior were any indication, they were also characterized by a shortage of sense. No one at Mayhem wanted to work with Cutler because if his recklessness got him hurt—which it inevitably did—his mommy showed up on his partner’s doorstep with steam coming out of her ears. Literally.
“I want to see this magic of yours,” he said with a lazy wink.
“No.”
“No?” He looked amused, as though rejection were a foreign word he didn’t understand. “Oh, come on. Just give me a little taste of your magic.” He leaned forward, a wicked grin on his lips. “I promise not to tell anyone.”
“Even your mommy?” Naomi muttered under her breath.
Sera snorted.
“Playing hard to get, are you? Is that your game?” Cutler asked as the overhead lamps shuddered and shook.
“The only one playing games here is you,” Sera told him and pointed at the ceiling.
The lamps stopped shaking. Their cables went as limp as wet spaghetti. Before Sera could breathe a sigh of relief—she was not in the mood to fight Cutler—two doors blasted open behind him, expelling a tangled mass of brooms and buckets and mops. The cleaning supplies hopped up immediately and marched into picture-perfect lines, standing behind their master like an army of ill intentions. It was as though Sera had stumbled into a children’s cartoon. If it hadn’t been for the determined look on Cutler’s face, she might have even laughed.
The broom and mop soldiers charged forward, tin humming as the buckets swung above them like battle hammers being wound up for a mighty release. The buckets shot toward Sera and Naomi in a tidal wave of magic and metal. Naomi pushed out her hands, blasting them with Fairy Dust.
“Uh, Sera,” she said when the buckets cut right through the cloud of pink and silver sparkles.
“On it,” replied Sera, throwing herself against Naomi to push them both into the men’s locker room.
Zan, one of Mayhem’s veteran mages, gave them a curious look as they tripped over a bench, but he was the least of Sera’s worries right now. She hurried back to the door and peered out just as the buckets bounced past on their way back to the broom and mop soldiers. Metal echoed hollowly down the hall, bouncing off the bare concrete walls. The whole area stank of souring citric acid and wilted flowers, the after-stench of Cutler’s telekinetic spells.
“Ready to be reasonable, Sera?” he called down the corridor to her.
There was no point talking to him. He didn’t even realize how insane he was. Sera reached down, sliding two knives out of the straps buckled to her thighs. Before he could send the Army of Clean at her again, she launched the knives. They met their marks, sinking through the wooden handles of a mop and a broo
m.
“Cute,” Cutler chuckled. “But these aren’t monsters. And they can’t be stopped by knives.”
The brooms and mops marched forward, Sera’s two victims leading the way. Had they been monsters, those knives would have gone right into their eyes. Unfortunately, as Cutler had so cheerfully reminded her, his soldiers weren’t even alive. Sera ducked back into the locker room, scanning the area for something she could throw at them. Anything.
The only thing that might slow them down was a locker, and she wasn’t strong enough to rip one of them off the wall and hurl it at the mops and brooms. Well, she could try tossing Zan at them, but she didn’t think the seasoned mage would find that funny. Sera wished he weren’t even here. With him as a witness to this ridiculous fight, she really had to defeat Cutler’s Army of Clean—or risk becoming the laughing stock of the guild.
“Fine,” she muttered under her breath, then stepped into the corridor. If it was a fight he wanted, she’d give it to him.
The buckets were already winding up for another toss. Sera didn’t wait. She reached for her magic, deep and dark. A gust of wind rushed past her, kissing her cheeks on its way toward the buckets. It smacked into them so hard that it knocked every single one of them off its twirling axis. Spinning out of control, they shot in every direction. The veins in Cutler’s face bulged from the strain of trying to steady the wayward flights of two dozen tin buckets.
Fire poured down on the brooms and mops, bathing them in flames. Cutler spun toward them, the buckets forgotten. Wide-eyed and for once speechless, he gaped as the burning mops and brooms dissolved to ash.
The siren’s call of the fire magic sang out to Sera. It burned through her veins and bathed her skin in pure rapture. She wanted to make it blaze higher and hotter, to allow its magic to consume the world as it had her.
Whoa, there. Let’s rein in the crazy, shall we? The world doesn’t want to be consumed by fire, said the voice it her head.
As soon as it spoke to her, she knew it was right. She lowered her hands, and the flames died out. Her whirlwind fizzled out too, and the buckets that had been caught inside dropped to the floor. Sera’s plunging magic almost made her drop too. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and scanned the battlefield. Thankfully, the only casualties were a few brooms and mops.
