A Shaitan. It figured. Shaitans are known as the deceivers. Although they can shift like the rest of us, they prefer to toy with reality, creating illusions and generally messing with people's minds. They aren't inherently evil or anything. Like most groups, there are as many good Shaitans as bad ones.
"That sword is a particularly heavy bastard," she said with a smile, "but very handy in a dark alley with an Ifrit."
"I can imagine." I knew from experience that Ifrits were not easy to kill. A blade like this would help a lot with slicing and dicing. I filed its image away in my memory so I could summon it when I got my powers back.
I turned my attention to the wall on my right and Farah followed my gaze.
"Those are the boring weapons," she told me. "Mainly for humans without a supernatural clue."
My gaze was drawn to a Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter revolver. I wouldn't call that boring if it were pointed at my chest. "And you sell all of them?"
"Everything you see, sure, but I don't carry every brand. I'm choosy about my stock. Whatever I don't have, Rocco Paretti probably does or he can get it."
"Who's that?"
"A member of the local crime syndicate. He's their weapons dealer."
"Human?"
She nodded. "I haven't met him, but I hear he's a decent guy."
"For a mobster," I added.
I stared at the wide array of weapons. It was almost as intoxicating as the Neiman Marcus Christmas sales.
"I'm spoiled for choice and woefully out of practice. What do you recommend?"
Farah pointed to a set of small daggers with jade handles. "I always think of you when I see those. They remind me of happier times before you left for the Academy." She blew out a regretful sigh.
Happier times seemed like an overstatement. We spent most of our time getting in and out of trouble. Not much had changed for me.
I walked over to the daggers and fondled them. The faded green handles were designed to resemble dragon skin. They looked old and expensive. I smiled.
"They are me, aren't they?"
"Beautiful and deadly?" she replied. "Yep. That pretty much sums them up."
I took them down and handled them. They were lightweight and easy to conceal. Perfect for me.
"I've got sheaths so you can strap them to your calves. You should take a gun too," Farah urged. "If one of your enemies comes looking for you in your current state, you're going to need more than pretty daggers to protect yourself."
She had a point. I moved to the section of the wall adorned with firearms.
Farah tapped a Glock 43. "This is the one for you, Alyse. I have special cold iron bullets for it, and I know how much you like rapid fire."
She handed me the gun. It fit perfectly in my hand, comfortable and balanced. "I'm not used to carrying around a gun, though. Where am I supposed to put it?"
Farah clapped her hands excitedly. "I so rarely get to show off my holsters for women. This way, my dear."
In the corner of the room was a display of pouches, bands and other holsters.
"Check out this belly band," she said, holding up the black lace holster. "I can picture this on your narrow hips."
I waved it away. "Not a fan of black lace."
"How about these compression shorts?" She pointed to a pair in nude. "Gives your ass a little shaping, too. Not that yours needs it."
I gravitated to a simple black tank top with a built-in holster just under the armpit. "I like this one." I could wear it on its own or as a base layer.
"It comes in other colors."
"Black is good."
Farah pulled my size from the shelf. "I have one you can wear in your bra, too..."
"No, thanks. This'll do for now," I said. I didn't need to amass a weapons wardrobe. As soon as I had these cuffs off, I'd be back to summoning weapons instead of carrying them. "How much are they? I'll pay you as soon as I get to the bank." I was uncomfortable owing anyone and that included money or favors. In my line of work, both were dangerous.
Farah waved a hand. "On the house, Alyse. Take whatever you need. Me weapons is you weapons."
"I don't deserve it." I really didn't. I'd been a crappy friend to Farah these last few years. No visits and too many calls left unreturned. She was selfless, generous and caring and I was...not.
Farah stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. "I know, but I love you anyway."
"I'll be back shortly," I said.
"Whoa, whoa," she said, waving her hands. "You can't go out like that."
I looked down at my sweat-infused outfit. "Well, like you said, I'm not going to fit in any of your clothes and I'm sure as hell not putting on a sexy Catholic schoolgirl uniform." In an outfit as skimpy as that, I'd have nowhere to hide my weapons.
"You've been away too long, Alyse. You can't walk around this town in a Mets T-shirt. It's like a target on your chest."
I sighed. "So what do you propose?"
Chapter Three
I left Farah's wearing the same drab bottoms and sneakers, but I replaced the Mets T-shirt with the black tank top that I chose in the armory. The top was too sexy for a visit to Mix's workplace, but the alternatives bordered on obscene.
I left the gun back at the store for now. The jade daggers, however, were strapped to the inside of my calves. They felt right -- like they belonged there.
I walked across town to Eighteenth and Market and located the office. It was housed in one of the taller buildings in the city that seemed to be made entirely of glass.
Part of me enjoyed the reaction of the people in the lobby when I stepped through the revolving door in my unprofessional attire. Thankfully, there were no metal detectors. Security consisted of a single guard so the concealed daggers wouldn't be an issue.
"Can I help you?" the man asked from behind his enormous white desk.
"I have an appointment with Jeremy Mix at Knopf, Dewey and Hamilton." The plaque outside the building had given me the name of the firm. Not exactly rocket science.
"Nineteenth floor," he said with a nod toward the bank of elevators behind him.
I took the elevator and eyed the security camera the whole way up, wondering if both men in the lobby were now glued to the screen, watching the woman in the body-hugging black tank top as she headed to the nineteenth floor. Two human males? The odds were pretty good.
The doors opened and I winked at the camera on my way out.
The receptionist here was a young woman with plastic features. Between her blond ringlets and severe makeup, she looked like an actual doll. Freaky.
"Hi," I said, mustering my friendly side. After years of professional solitude, it was a muscle in desperate need of exercise. "I'm looking for Jeremy Mix."
She blinked. "Who?"
Typical Mix. Under the radar in his own place of employment.
"Jeremy Mix. He works in IT."
Her expression shifted at the mention of IT. "Oh, of course. IT is down the hall to the left."
"Thank you."
I made my way down the hall until I reached the IT room. I could feel the heat of the electronics emanating from the wall.
I knocked on the door as I opened it. "Special soft pretzel delivery for Mix," I cooed. Soft pretzels were his favorite, at least they had been years ago. Maybe his tastes had grown more sophisticated now that he had a career and a girlfriend.
Mix's head popped up from behind a large screen, along with about five other heads. I watched Mix's expression change as the realization set in.
"Alyse?"
"In the flesh," I said. "Literally." Casually, I held up a wrist and heard him suck in a breath.
"No," he whispered. He turned to his colleagues, his shaggy brown hair sweeping across his eyes. "Be back in five." His lanky frame appeared from behind his desk and rushed over to me in his familiar, bumbling way. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him until I saw him move.
He hugged me and I let him. I wasn't exactly comfortable with hugs, but I understood the im
pulse.
"Come with me," he said, taking my hand. We rounded the corner and entered an empty conference room.
"The lighting in here is hideous," I said. It was yellowish and every shade of awful.
He gaped at me. "I can't believe you're here."
"I'm having the same experience."
"Are you back because of these?" He touched my wrists and lowered his voice. "Why exactly are you cuffed? What did you do?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's the Elite's way of avoiding a termination letter. They do hate paperwork." It was one of the things that appealed to me about them.
He flopped into a chair and rubbed his hands over his face. "A real burn notice?"
I shook my head. "I was kidding about the termination letter." I really hoped my employer hadn't orchestrated this. I assumed that something bad happened to Jamie and that was the reason his number was out of service, but what if I was wrong? What if he was ordered to sever contact with me?
"Where did it happen?" Mix asked.
I explained what happened in Monaco and how I ended up here.
"So you don't know why or who or anything?" He sounded as frustrated as I felt.
"No," I replied. "That's why I'm here. If you're as good online as Farah swears, you can help me."
His expression clouded over. "You went to see Farah first?" Ah, the old sibling-style rivalry reared its ugly head.
"South Street was closer," I lied. "Besides, I didn't know where you were. I never would have looked for you in a law firm."
He smiled and his body relaxed. "I like having a job. Keeps my mind occupied. And I have a girlfriend. Did Farah tell you that?"
I nodded. "Congrats. Sounds like things have been going well for you." And now I'm here to mess it all up. Typical.
"Let me see how I can help." Mix pulled out his phone. "I'd rather do this type of search on a laptop, but if I go back into the room now, the guys are going to demand answers." He gave me a pointed look.
"Are they all human?" I asked.
"Yes." He flexed his fingers, preparing to type. "What am I looking for?"
"Not what. Who. I need to find Flynn."
Mix's mouth dropped open. "Are you kidding me?"
I knew it would be an argument, but it didn't matter. I needed his help.
"Flynn is guaranteed to be plugged in to all things unsavory," I said. "He might be able to get some answers."
"Because he's a lowlife," Mix said.
"Yes, he is."
"That you willingly dated."
"Briefly," I said.
Mix's fingers hovered over the phone screen. "Maybe I can help. Tell me what you need."
I took the seat beside Mix and rolled closer to him, leaning forward. "Mix, the kind of help I need isn't going to be found online. It's going to be dark corners and whispered conversation. Word on the street, not the screen."
His attention was momentarily diverted to the exposed mounds of flesh, otherwise known as my chest.
"Did you grow your boobs? I don't remember this form having such big boobs."
I leaned back and folded my arms in an effort to cover up. "They're not that big. It's this outfit. It makes everything look big."
"Not your ass," he said. "That still looks small. Small butts aren't popular these days, you know. You should've plumped it up before they cuffed you. Now there's nothing you can do."
My tension quickly faded. "I have missed you, Mix."
His expression softened and I knew we were back on track. "So you're sure you want me to locate Flynn? Once he knows you're here, there's no going back."
I inhaled sharply. "I'm ready."
"Word of advice," he said, as he tapped away on the screen. "Find a new top before you see Flynn. If you go looking like that, he might get ideas."
"Flynn is incapable of getting ideas," I replied. "That's why he got kicked out of the Academy."
"I thought it was because he blew up the cafeteria."
"In his defense, the food there was terrible." And no one was hurt. He exacted his vengeance on the unhygienic room in the middle of the night. Meatloaf be damned.
Mix turned his phone toward me. It showed an address on the outskirts of Center City.
"How did you do that?" I asked. Flynn kept to the shadows. It was highly unlikely he'd left an online footprint.
"You have your skills. I have mine." He waved the phone in front of me. "Last chance to change your mind."
I shook my head. "I'm shackled, Mix. I can't stay like this forever. I need to get my life back. Fast."
Mix handed me the phone. "Keep this one so I can track you. I have a stockpile of others."
That didn't surprise me. Mix loved his gadgets almost as much as I loved shoes. I took the phone and thanked him. "I'd like to meet Paulette while I'm still in town."
His face lit up. "Really? That'd be great."
My heart swelled at his genuine delight. It mattered to him that I meet his girlfriend because I mattered to him. After the past few years, it was a nice change of pace.
"I'll be in touch," I said and left the conference room. At least I hoped to be. Now that I was heading into the great wide world without my powers, all bets were off.
Chapter Four
The thing about ex-boyfriends is that you only want to see them when you're doing well. You don't want to give them any sense that your life took a wrong turn after you split up, especially someone like Flynn. He'd take it as a sign. Then again, he took fast food commercials as a sign that he should eat. He was highly susceptible to suggestion. I learned that when we first met and used it often to my advantage. He would've been an easy mark. PAN had been right to remove him from the program after the cafeteria fiasco. Of course, Flynn didn't see it that way and never would, just like he viewed our breakup as a temporary setback despite the fact that he lied and cheated throughout our relationship.
I'd managed to swipe an outfit from a boutique in Liberty Place before making my way to Flynn's man cave. I kept the tank top on underneath the blouse but left the sweatpants behind. The khaki capris and floral blouse weren't my style, but it was better than prêt-à-prostitute. I made a mental note of the shop's name so I could send money when I found time to hit the bank. Sadly, stealing clothes was easy. Preparing to see Flynn -- now that was hard.
I stalked the entire block before going to his building. I didn't want any nasty surprises. Not with two jade daggers to my name. I had to move them higher up my legs because the capris were too short to conceal them.
The building wasn't what I expected. Neither was the neighborhood. It was clean and wholesome. The kind of neighborhood where people had garden flags with pictures of ladybugs and smiling suns. I assumed he'd be holed up in a dingy loft with a broken toilet, not suburban central. This place was a tasteful brownstone. It was actually pretty nice.
I took a deep breath and composed myself for the visit. Even though this body was in good shape, I wasn't prepared to throw down today. I wanted information from him, nothing more.
Originally, I thought I'd break a downstairs window and slip inside so I could scare the shit out of him, but I opted for the mature approach. I rang the doorbell.
To say I was unprepared for the version of Flynn that answered the door was putting it mildly. He was in the same human form -- six feet of sculpted masculine beauty with black hair and piercing blue eyes. Even the same perpetual stubble on his chin. This still-gorgeous Flynn, however, sported a kitchen towel over his shoulder and a ladle in his hand.
I caught the look of stunned surprise in those blue eyes. He masked it quickly, though. He was good at masking things. I'd learned that the hard way.
"Alyse Winters, as I live and breathe."
"You don't really. Breathe, that is. Unless you're in your human form which, right now, you clearly are. So I guess you are living and breathing." Oh gods, stop talking. Stop talking now. Even his thick eyelashes oozed sex appeal. Dammit.
He leaned against the doorjamb and gave me a
lazy grin. "I still have that effect on you, huh? Good to know."
I could take down a band of Ghuls single-handedly, but I couldn't manage a coherent sentence in front of my psychotic ex. The world just wasn't right in the head.
His gaze traveled over my conservative attire. "Why are you dressed for an afternoon social? A covert mission at the Lutheran church?"
"Not important." I glanced over my shoulder. "Can I come in?"
He stepped aside and I walked into the house, leaving plenty of space between us.
"Welcome to my humble abode," he said.
As we walked down a narrow corridor toward the back of the house, my eyes took in the details. The neat and tidy foyer. A stack of magazines on the console table. The framed photographs on the wall. Flynn the Djinni had gone Pottery Barn suburban.
"Who's the woman in the pictures?" I asked, once we reached the kitchen.
There was a chopping board on the counter, along with a knife and half an onion. A large pot bubbled on the stovetop and I realized that Flynn was mid-recipe. Flynn was cooking.
"She's my girlfriend, Tessa."
I flinched at the word 'girlfriend.' "Human?"
He nodded. "She's at work. Teaches yoga at a place in Rittenhouse Square."
Flynn was living with a yoga teacher. I never would have guessed.
"Does she know what you are?" Knowing Flynn, I doubted he was honest with her.
He removed the lid from the pot and stirred the contents. "A perfect boyfriend who makes a mean marinara sauce? Yeah, she knows."
So she didn't know.
"What does she think you do all day when she's at work?" I had no doubt he hadn't changed his shady ways. That was the reason I was here. If anyone kept his ear to the dirty ground, it was Flynn.
"She knows what she needs to know."
Of course. Like a mob wife. "How Jersey of you."
"I've changed, Alyse. You'd be surprised. I'm practically domesticated."
"And this is all because of Tessa?"
He nodded. "She's even got me meditating. You should check out one of her classes while you're in town. Someone like you could definitely benefit from a little yoga."
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