Semi-Magical

by Isabel Jordan

  His smirk morphed into a full-blown grin as he let go of Riddick’s hand, stood up, and snapped his chains with nothing more than a flick of his wrists and ankles. He snapped Riddick’s chains next.

  The flames in his eyes danced higher as he turned to the cell door and shot a ball of fire right at it. No more than a second or two later, as Riddick gaped at the puddle of molten steel that had once been a cell door, Gabriel turned back to him and said, “Let’s go get your wife.”

  Finally. A plan Riddick could get onboard with.

  “Damn right,” he muttered.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harper woke slowly with an aching head and the sinking realization that she was handcuffed to a steel-framed table in what looked like an interrogation room. There were very few things that pissed her off more than being knocked out, dragged somewhere against her will, and handcuffed to a table.

  Sadly, this was not an incredibly rare occurrence in her life.

  Which was why she kept a hairpin tucked into the sleeve of her jacket at all times. She moved her hands under the table so that anyone who might be watching wouldn’t see her trying to pick the lock on her cuffs.

  “Where’s my husband?” she snarled at the mirror, which was probably a two-way, if her years of watching Law and Order hadn’t led her astray.

  The door of the tiny, concrete-walled room squealed as it opened, and Harper did everything she could to school her features into an indifferent glare as her father—a man she hadn’t seen since she was about Haven’s age—came in and sat down in front of her.

  “Hello, darling,” he said with a smile that didn’t come anywhere close to reaching his green eyes.

  The bastard looked pretty good for someone who had the balls to kidnap and drug his own daughter. A daughter he hadn’t bothered to contact in over two decades until he needed her for something.

  His once shoulder-length brown hair was now steel gray and cropped super-short, military style. His green eyes—so much like her own—now seemed even colder than they used to, almost indifferent. But other than that, and a few extra lines around his eyes and mouth, he looked pretty much the same as the guy who used to tuck her in at bedtime and pour her Frosted Flakes in the morning.

  “David,” she said, not willing even for a second to refer to this man as dad. “Long time no see. Did you ever get that pack of cigarettes you went out for when I was six?”

  He straightened his combat fatigues—seriously, the guy looked like he was straight-up channeling GI Joe—and took a seat across from her. “I understand how my leaving might have hurt you. But I didn’t have a choice. You were too young to understand why I had to leave back then—my mission. But I watched out for you over the years. I was never too far away.”

  Harper snorted. “You were watching out for me? Says the guy who never bothered to even let his family know he was alive for the past twenty-odd years.”

  Her jab didn’t even make him flinch. “My organization wouldn’t allow it. I had no choice but to keep you in the dark. It was the only way to keep you safe.”

  “’My organization,’” she said with an eye roll. “Why not just say what you mean? Sentry. You worked for Sentry. And they’ve been defunct for a long time. You can’t hide behind them anymore.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. “I never worked for Sentry. I spent years working against them. The safety of the human race should have always been left up to military control.”

  Oh, this was just rich. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who outed Sentry to the public. Then, once they were gone, you stepped right in and took over.”

  Again with the cold smile. “You always were a clever girl.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to rein in her temper. The more he talked, the longer she had to pick the lock on her cuffs, get out of this stupid room, and find her husband.

  “Well, David,” she began, “it’s been great catching up. But I believe I asked you once what you’ve done with my husband. Don’t make me ask again.”

  His brow furrowed and for the first time since he came into the room, she saw a tiny sliver of emotion in her father’s eyes. “I can’t believe you actually married one of them.”

  The nasty emphasis he put on the word them made her want to rip his heart out with her bare hands and cram it down his throat. She leaned forward and bared her teeth at him in a mockery of a smile. “I sure did marry one of them. And he’s the best man I’ve ever known,” she all but snarled at him.

  She would’ve said more, but the implication was clear.

  He’s twice the man you’ll ever be. He’s the kind of man who’d never abandon his family.

  David sighed. “The dhampyre is fine. Locked away for safekeeping while we chat.”

  Even though she wanted to hurtle herself at this man and knock him across the room, she couldn’t help but smile for real. “Then you better talk fast, David. Because if he woke up about the same time I did, I’d say you have about, oh, five minutes before he’s up here, looking for me and out for blood.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s locked in a cell designed to hold much stronger paranormal creatures. There’s no way he can escape.”

  Well, I guess we’ll just see about that.

  She lifted a shoulder lazily. “Like I said. Five minutes, tops. So, what is it that you want to chat about?”

  Harper did her best to feign interest as he recapped everything she already knew. Magical beings, beings created by science, the mad scientist they want to use to create more dhampyres to fight anyone who might be coming through the tear in the fabric of the veil…blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yaddda. But her ears perked up considerably when he mentioned having a so-called demon onsite.

  She sat up a little straighter. “You have a demon here? What’s he like? What powers does he have?”

  David obviously didn’t like the direction in which she’d taken the conversation, but must have decided it was easier to humor her than redirect her, because he said, “Like vampires, it doesn’t age. It’s regenerative and healing capacity is off the charts. It feeds off human energy and emotion—the stronger the emotion, the better. And when fully…nourished, it has pyrokinetic abilities.”

  Her father’s use of the word “it” wasn’t lost on Harper. To him, all supernatural beings weren’t worthy of names and proper pronouns. “If he,” she began, putting a very pointed emphasis on he, “is so powerful, how did you and your people manage to capture him?”

  And for the first time since she’d seen him, David looked decidedly uncomfortable. Unsure. “It…turned itself over to the government. Before I took over here. It offered information about the other side.”

  Oh, this was just priceless. “Let me see if I have the whole picture here. He turned himself in. Surrendered. Offered to give up information about the other side, and in turn, you people imprisoned him. Left him in a cell to rot. Am I right so far?”

  He shifted in his seat. “You say that like we could have ever trusted anything it had to say. It’s a demon, Harper. It doesn’t tell the truth. Just because it said it wanted to seal the tear in the veil, we had to assume that wasn’t its true motive.”

  She shook her head. “Wow. Just…wow. And how long has he been a prisoner—and I assume guinea pig that you’ve been torturing in the name of science—of the military, and Sentry before that?”

  “Since the first dhampyres were created.”

  Harper slow-blinked at him. “That’s over thirty years.”

  He slow-blinked right back at her. “Yes. Your point?”

  She sputtered. “He’s had information that he was willing to give, but you didn’t want to believe him, so you locked him up thirty years ago. Why hasn’t he burned his way out and killed everyone here?”

  “I said it has to be nourished to access its pyrokinetic abilities. We haven’t been letting it feed.”

  And that’s when an interesting—and somewha
t terrifying— thought occurred to her. “I don’t suppose you put Riddick anywhere near this demon?”

  Her father harrumphed. “The dhampyre wouldn’t ever let the demon feed on him. No dhampyre would.”

  Harper couldn’t help it. She smiled at him. “Oh, you poor dumb bastard. What you haven’t taken into account is what Riddick would be willing to do to get to me. And believe me when I say, he’d do anything to get to me. So, you put a desperate, pissed-off dhampyre somewhere next to a pissed off, hungry demon. Wonder how long it’ll take that demon to charge up on all that rage Riddick must be feeling?”

  That’s when they both heard it. The sound of a contained explosion, followed by shouts and a few quick bursts of gunfire coming from the level below them. The floor beneath them shook like it was about to open up and swallow them whole. Her father’s eyes met hers steadily. He paled. She grinned.

  “Oopsie,” she sing-songed. “Guess our five minutes is up, Pops. Good talk. We should do it again sometime. If you live that long, of course.”

  Her laughter followed him as he rushed from the room to face whatever hell her husband and his new demon pal were unleashing on the lower floors.

  Things were about to get very interesting. She could just feel it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Riddick tossed the guard he’d been holding above his head through the wall as Gabriel blasted a ball of flames at the other ten or so guards who rounded the corner, guns aimed in their direction.

  It sounded like every alarm in the state was going off and the sprinkler system had kicked on immediately after Gabriel melted the door on their cell. So, his head was pounding, he was sopping wet, and he was pissed off enough that Riddick was starting to reconsider his don’t kill anyone plan.

  Gabriel didn’t exactly look happy, either. His fire was scary enough to make the guards scurry away like little mice when he aimed it at them, but the sprinklers were dousing it before it could do any real damage.

  And Riddick got the idea that Gabriel really wanted to do some substantial damage. He imagined thirty years in a pit without feeding would do that to a demon.

  Gabriel shook a hank of wet hair off his face and gave Riddick a palms-up gesture. “She’s got to be on this floor somewhere. I can feel her energy.”

  Riddick was about to tell the bastard to quit feeling his wife’s energy when the door to what looked like a tiny interrogation room slowly opened, and he caught a quick glimpse of Harper’s now-soaked curls.

  Oh, thank you, Jesus.

  His gaze moved over her quickly, assessing her for injuries. She had her hands lifted in surrender with a metal cuff dangling from one wrist, and she looked good and pissed off, but other than that, it seemed she was unharmed. He took his first solid, deep breath since he woke up in a cell without her.

  Then he shifted his gaze past her and saw why she was so pissed off.

  A guard was right behind with the barrel of a semi-automatic rifle pressed into her spine.

  The guard was only a little taller than she was, dressed in military fatigues like all the other fuckers in the building, and he looked fidgety. He also had what looked to be a busted nose and a gash over his left eye that—if Riddick hadn’t missed his guess—had probably been caused by Harper’s elbow.

  That’s my girl.

  “Take that fucking gun out of her back now,” he snarled at the guard.

  The guard’s eyes darted nervously between Riddick and Gabriel. “No way,” he said. “You’ll kill me.”

  Gabriel nodded. “You’re right. I would. But he told me not to.” He turned to Riddick. “Have you changed your mind about that, friend? Should I go ahead and kill this one?”

  Riddick mulled it over for a half second or two before Harper frowned at him and shook her head to indicate that, no, it was indeed not OK to kill the fuckwit who had the gun pointed at her. He sighed. “No. No killing.”

  Gabriel looked disappointed for a moment, then said, “Fine, but just remember that you never said they had to be comfortable. Just not dead.”

  And with that, Gabriel lunged at Harper, moving so fast he would’ve been invisible to the normal human eye. Shit, Riddick barely saw him before he grabbed Harper and rolled her out of the way of the rifle. He moved like a fucking ball of light.

  The guard looked comically stunned for about a heartbeat, then his finger flexed on the rifle’s trigger. Riddick dove at the guard, going low, taking him out at the knees. Then he knocked the gun out of his grip and slammed the fucker’s head into the ground—not enough to kill him, but more than enough to give him the mother of all concussions. He’d be feeling that for weeks.

  The idea made Riddick way happier than it probably should’ve.

  Harper took a step toward him and stumbled a bit, raising a shaky hand to her temple. “Whoa. That was super weird.”

  Riddick shot Gabriel a glare before tugging Harper into his arms. “What did you do?”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I might’ve gotten a little hit off her energy because I couldn’t really help it, but I didn’t feed. I swear it.” Then he turned his attention to Harper and added, “But if you’re up for it, love, I wouldn’t say no. Your energy is…delicious. Chaotic, but delicious.”

  Harper lifted her forehead off Riddick’s chest and frowned at Gabriel. “First of all, ew. Don’t call people delicious. It makes you sound like Jeffrey Dahmer. And two…how the fuck did you move that fast? It made me dizzy.” She looked up at Riddick. “He moves twice as fast as any dhampyre or vampire I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s because he’s a demon,” Riddick said. “He’s what Lane and Hunter’s moldy old books were warning us about.”

  She glanced over at Gabriel, who gave her a very Bruce Willis-like smirk and offered her an elaborate bow. “Huh,” she said. “You don’t look especially…demon-y.”

  His smirk deepened. “Why thank you. You’re very pretty, too.”

  Riddick rolled his eyes. “Can we go now?”

  “Not just yet, I’m afraid,” a deep voice boomed from the hallway behind them.

  Riddick turned, positioning Harper behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabriel raise his hands, ready to incinerate anyone who stood between them and the exit.

  “Well,” Riddick said reasonably to the man he assumed was Harper’s father, “you could try to stop us. But I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Somewhere in the distance, on what sounded like the south side of the building, he heard more gunfire and doors being broken down. Riddick couldn’t help but smile. “Let me guess,” he said over his shoulder to Harper. “You managed to press your panic button before we were taken.”

  “Yep,” she said, making a popping sound on the “p”. “Sorry, Daddy dearest, but you’re about to be outmanned and outgunned. I suggest you tell your men to stand down. And shut off the sprinklers, for fuck’s sake. I’m soaked here.”

  He looked like he dearly wanted to argue, but after a few tense moments, he grabbed the radio on his belt and told his men to stand down and allow their guests to assemble in the mess hall.

  When the sounds of war at the opposite end of the building finally quieted, Harper’s father looked at her with one brow raised and said, “Can we call a truce? Whether you believe me or not, we’re on the same side. We both want to close the tear in the veil. Neither of us can do it alone.”

  Harper turned to Gabriel. “Is he right? Do we need them for anything? Or can we do it on our own?”

  “No. We at least need them to tell us where the rift is. I’m guessing it’s here, somewhere in town, since they’ve made their base here. But there’s no easy way to find it otherwise—especially since I have no way of telling exactly where I came through. When you come through, you’re disoriented at best. Your memories are all…off. It took about a month for me to even remember who I was or why I was here.”

  “Well, that’s inconvenient as fuck,” Riddick muttered.

  “Right?” Harper asked. “So, wit
hout the fire and super- speed, you’re kinda useless, huh?”

  Gabriel blinked at her. “I also have my charm and good looks,” he said, deadpan.

  She shifted her gaze down his length and wrinkled her nose. “If you plan to get anywhere around here on your charm and looks, you better take a shower first.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “Are we about done with this nonsense? Can we go to the mess hall where we can all dry off, sit down, and communicate like grownups?”

  Riddick glanced back at Harper and shrugged. “Up to you, babe. I’m just as happy to let Firestarter over here blast us out.”

  Harper shot him a disappointed look. “All your pop culture references are so old. We have to work on that. But first, let’s go see what the government has to say about demons and sealing rifts in the veil between worlds.” Then she turned to her father and added, “Oh, and by the way, the Firestarter goes where we go. He’s no longer your prisoner.”

  “The name’s Gabriel,” Gabriel muttered, “but something tells me you wouldn’t call me that even if you knew my real name.”

  “Probably not,” Harper said.

  “Fine,” her father said through clenched teeth. “The demon’s your problem. For now, at least.”

  “You good with that, Sparky?” she asked Gabriel. “Are you in?”

  He raised a brow at her. “Since I’m the only one in this building who realizes how much danger we’re all really in if that rift gets any bigger and lets any more demons through? Yes, I’m in.”

  Harper scowled at him. “Way to bring the room down, man.” Then she stage-whispered to Riddick, “You know, only you would make friends with a fire demon in a military prison.”

  “You did tell me it wouldn’t kill me to make some friends, you know,” he reminded her.

  She glanced back at Gabriel. “Yeah…let’s hope I was right.”

  Chapter Fourteen