"What are those?" Detective Thompson asked. To her credit, her voice remained relatively calm.
"Your first tango with Ifrits?" I asked. Adrenaline rushed through me as I prepared my daggers for action. While my human body cried out for flight, my djinni soul remained firmly rooted, ready to fight. "Welcome to the dance, Detective Thompson."
Loud screeching pierced the air as the Ifrits sailed closer to us. As a caste, Ifrits are strong and cunning and have a well-documented hatred for mortals. Thankfully, they tend to prefer animal forms to human forms, which makes them less likely to lurk in cities. They have a strong preference for serpents and scorpions and love to show off their fire-spitting abilities.
Like Ghuls, Ifrits are limited to one human body and they have no control over how it looks. If an Ifrit shifts into his human body and it's butt ugly, no amount of magic in the world can change that. That's probably why Ghuls and Ifrits prefer other forms. They exercise more control when they operate as mist or in their natural djinn forms.
I sliced at the Ifrit as it descended, but it quickly rose out of reach. I heard the pop of gunfire as Thompson shot at her assailant. Her Ifrit escaped upward as well.
"What kind of bullets are you using?" I asked.
"Don't worry," she replied. "I'm covered for either."
With no djinn powers and limited weapons, I wasn't equipped to handle two Ifrits and I suspected the detective wasn't either. It was too bad the rusty building wasn't made of cold iron, giving us a distinct advantage. Then again, we probably wouldn't have been lured here if it had been.
Thompson shot again as her Ifrit screeched toward her. As the bullet reached the djinni, it shifted into mist and the bullet carried on until it hit the ceiling. The Ifrit reformed and continued its noisy descent.
Despite my years of experience, I felt powerless and I hated it. I had relied on my djinni magic for too long. One training session with Flynn wasn't going to change that. The Ifrits had all the advantages.
I looked around the plant for an escape route. We needed to get out, plain and simple. I was arrogant but not stupid. I couldn't win this fight, even with Detective Thompson by my side. She was human and, right now, I needed more than what a human could offer.
"Thompson, duck!" I yelled as the second Ifrit swooped low and skimmed the top of her head. Sparks flew around her, courtesy of the fiery wings. Good thing she listened. If she'd been a punk like me, she'd be sporting a reverse Mohawk right now.
Thompson patted the top of her head, making sure it was still there.
The Ifrits rose up again, preparing for another strike. Guns and daggers were useless under the circumstances. They needed to be distracted so they couldn't shift away from the bullets or the wings would need to be clipped to keep them on the ground. Neither prospect seemed likely.
We'd never make it back to the garage door in time. It was too far away now. It didn't take a genius to figure out why someone had chosen this building as my final resting place. Once you were in, it was damn hard to get out again, especially with two Ifrits guarding the exit.
I whistled to Thompson and then pointed to the closest window. It was high off the ground and boarded up, but if we could get the Ifrits to spit fire in that direction, that would at least take care of the wooden obstacle.
She nodded and I hoped she understood. I didn't have the luxury of Captain Reed's telepathy.
I sprinted toward the window and the Ifrits shot after me like two fiery missiles. I broke right at the last second and dodged behind one of the smoke stacks. A stream of fire poured from the Ifrits' mouths and disintegrated the boards. Light filtered in, and I breathed a sigh of relief. One option was better than none.
They screamed in anger and swooped upward to avoid hitting the wall. Although they were agile for their size, they couldn't reach me on the ground between smoke stacks in their current forms. They'd need to shift. While I certainly wasn't safe here, I wasn't dead yet either.
Detective Thompson had taken the opportunity to squeeze behind a boiler on the opposite side of the window. Looking at the height of the window, though, I realized that she was too short to reach. I was going to need to boost her. In that moment, I was glad to be stuck in a tall human form. Small mercies.
I looked up to gauge the position of the Ifrits. They must have been thinking along the same lines as me because one of them shifted into mist and came drifting down toward us. The other remained in its winged form, probably waiting to burn us to a crisp. For once, I found myself wishing for Ghuls. They were horrible, ugly djinn and tough to kill, but they weren't particularly smart. I needed an advantage right now and I didn't have one.
The mist reached the ground and I knew I had to act before I missed my chance. I ran to the window, calling to Thompson as I did so.
She ran out from behind the boiler, but not before the Ifrit on the ground shifted into a giant scorpion. It struck without warning, its stinger knocking Thompson to the floor. I saw a nasty gash on her leg. To my surprise, she rose to her feet and hobbled back behind the boiler.
I stood my ground, debating the next move. I was tempted to rush the scorpion with my daggers, but it would be foolish while the other Ifrit still circled above us. I preferred its animal form. I could work with that.
Thompson beat me to the punch. She stepped out from behind the boiler and shot once. The scorpion advanced. When it got close enough, she pumped a round of bullets into its body and it fell on its side, shuddering. The scorpion form dissolved into black dust and blew out the open window.
The other Ifrit screeched in protest. It charged downward and fire poured from its mouth. The wall of flames hit Thompson's boiler and the metal began to melt from the intense heat. She waited until the Ifrit turned and then she raced toward me, still limping. Her face was streaked with soot and her leg was bleeding, but her expression was determined. I had to find a way to get her out that window.
The way came in the form of a fireball that pushed the Ifrit to the very top of the ceiling. It took me a second to realize it wasn't the Ifrit's own firepower.
"Reed," Thompson said, more to herself than to me. Her face was awash with relief.
A shadowy figure appeared, cutting through the haze of smoke that filled the interior. He raised a hand skyward and released another fireball, this one just as potent as the last. I'd seen the Nephilim fight before but had never fought alongside one. Not that I'd be doing that now. Even one Ifrit was more than a match for muzzled me.
I pushed Thompson toward the window and got down on my knees in front of her.
"This isn't time to pray," she scolded me.
"If you think I'm praying, you have a lot to learn about djinn." I urged her to step onto my shoulders. It should be high enough for her to grab the edge of the window and pull herself up. With her ample boobs and butt, she wasn't the most athletic-looking cop I'd ever seen, but I didn't have time to worry about it. This was her chance to get out.
Her feet dug into my shoulders as I felt the full weight of her pressing on me. She was heavier than I expected. Then again, I had little experience lifting people in my human form. This was all new to me.
I couldn't move my head to see whether she'd reached the window or to see how Reed was faring. The heat in the air was my only clue the firefight continued behind me.
"I've got it," she called and I rose slightly, trying to help her gain purchase.
She lifted a leg over and straddled the base of the window. "What about you?" she asked, her gaze shifting from me to Reed's solo battle.
I glanced at the metal railings that ran along the walls. "You go. I have a plan." Okay, it wasn't a good plan, but it was better than nothing.
I ran to the nearest railing and began to climb upward. If I climbed high enough, I could leap to the open window and grab on. I wasn't the best jumper in the world -- the ability to shift tended to render those basic skills unnecessary -- but, under the circumstances, I was motivated to try.
As soon as Tho
mpson dropped out of sight, I made my move. I soared through the air and was about to hook my arm through the opening when an unseen force slammed me against the wall. Intense pain rocked my body and I dropped like a stone.
The last thing I heard before I blacked out was Reed's deep voice shouting my name.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My eyes slowly opened and a soft groan escaped me. My body felt like it had been processed through a meat grinder. It took a minute for me to realize I was back in Farah's apartment. How did I get here?
I tried to roll over on my side, but my lower back screamed in protest. Although I couldn't see the bruises, I could sure as hell feel them. Those Ifrits were not kidding around. When I found the party responsible for sending them in my direction, they would be very, very sorry. Or they would be -- when I could walk.
The door creaked open and Farah's red head poked inside. "Are you up?"
"Mentally, yes." I struggled to sit up.
"Wait, I'll help," Farah said, hurrying over.
She lifted a few fluffy pillows from the chair next to the bed and tucked them behind me. I pushed my hands against the mattress and slid onto my bottom.
"I feel like hell," I said.
"Well, if it's any consolation, you look better than you did when you got here. I thought you were dead."
I jerked my head toward her. "Seriously?"
Her expression was sincere. "I've never seen anyone carry you before. Your body was limp." She shuddered. "Captain Handsome had to calm me down before he brought you inside."
I blinked at her. "Reed carried me?" I had no memory of escaping the plant.
"The cop was with him. She seemed concerned, too."
"Were they okay?" I hoped so. Any injuries they suffered would be on me.
Farah nodded. "She was limping and bloody, but otherwise okay. He looked like he came straight from a photo shoot. Asshole."
I snorted. "That asshole carried my broken body all the way here from Willow Street."
"I offered to thank him in my own special way, but, sadly, he declined. Again." She cocked an eyebrow. "You owe me one T-shirt, by the way. Detective Thompson apologized for the gaping hole on the side of it."
"Put it on my tab."
Farah sat on the edge of the bed. "So what happened? He said you got attacked by Ifrits."
I nodded. "We were supposed to be meeting the organ trafficker."
"But it was a trap."
"Apparently so." Never trust anonymous texts. Stupid.
"Can I get you anything? Water? Pain pills?"
My shoulders sagged. "Oh, gods and stars. I do need pain pills." I couldn't believe I had to take pain pills. Being human sucked.
"Be back in a sec." She moved swiftly, using the shadows and light. I had a glass of water and two pills in my hand before I could say 'thank you.'
I swallowed the pills and washed them down with a gulp of water. "Why do you have a stash of pills?"
Farah smiled demurely. "I've had more than my share of human guests with hangovers."
Ah. "Is my phone here?" I had several calls to make if I intended to find out who was behind the attack.
"Here." Farah took the phone from the bedside table and handed it to me. "Are you calling your Prince Charming?"
I shot her a confused look. "Prince Charming?"
"Well, he did rescue you. That's twice now, isn't it? Or three times if you count the warehouse."
"Bullshit," I replied hotly. "One Ifrit was already dead by the time I blacked out, thanks to Thompson. She and I played as big of a role in our survival as he did."
She held up her hands, palms out. "Whoa, sorry. Guess I hit a nerve."
I folded my arms across my chest. "Just because I'm human doesn't mean I can't take care of myself." Unless I'm being attacked by two Ifrits in an abandoned steam plant. Then I need help.
"I know, Alyse. You don't need to prove anything to me."
I dialed the first number on my mental list.
"Falcon Industries," a male voice said.
"I need to speak with Jamie Fenton," I said. "It's urgent." This wasn't Jamie's number, but I suspected the person on the other end of the line knew how to reach him.
"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number."
I ignored the lie. "Give him this number. Tell him his niece needs to speak with him. It's a matter of life and death." I hung up.
"I thought your handler's number was disconnected," Farah said.
"It was. This is a Hail Mary." Falcon Industries is one of the Shadow Elite's fronts. I had no idea who was running it, but I figured they'd know how to get in touch with Jamie. Since I didn't know who was behind my cuffs, I preferred to control the information that traveled through the agency. At this point, though, I had to take the risk. I needed to get in touch with Jamie. He was the closest thing I had to family in the Shadow Elite and I trusted him. Even if someone higher up in the agency blacklisted me and cut off my resources, I had confidence that Jamie would do what he could to help me. If my whereabouts had become common knowledge among my enemies, then I needed to prepare for more visitors.
"You think the Ifrits were sent by someone from the agency?" Farah asked.
"Possibly. Or by former enemies who know I'm here." And vulnerable. I particularly hated that part.
"Or by the organ trader," Farah added.
"Or the killer, if it's not the organ trader." Damn. The list of those who wanted to kill me was way too long. If I was going to be stuck in this body indefinitely, I needed to turn over a new leaf.
"My head hurts," Farah said.
"Join the club." I raised my arms above my head and stretched. I was starting to feel a little better. Hopefully, my minimal healing powers would kick in now that I was awake and refreshed.
I threw the sheet back and Farah jumped up. "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to shower and then I have a few people to visit. I'd also like to pay another visit to the armory. I need to be weapon-forward. Mine haven't been appropriate for the occasion."
Her mouth dropped open. "Alyse, you can't. You're still recuperating. Use the phone."
"Not as intimidating," I said.
"Then let me come with you," she begged.
I shook my head adamantly. "I almost got Thompson and Reed killed yesterday, which in no way helps my case. They're probably going to arrest me as soon as I'm healed for luring them into a trap. Until I know who was behind the attack, I'm not endangering anyone else."
Farah bit her lip. "At least call Flynn. If anything happens to him, you won't feel so bad."
At the mention of Flynn, I thought about Mix's theory. I still wasn't convinced that Flynn and Tessa were involved, not when there were other, more likely options.
"I'll consider it," was all I said to Farah. No need to worry her.
"Tell me where you're going so I know where to send Prince...Captain Reed if you don't come back."
I glared at her. Prince Charming, my ass. "I'm going to start with Hugo, the guy who works under O'Leary. He was supposed to set up the meeting with the organ guy. Let's see if he thinks he did."
I flagged down a cab to take me across town and quickly regretted it. The road resembled a parking lot and, even though I wasn't in a hurry, I couldn't stand sitting idly in the back of a cab. We made it about six blocks before I gave up. I paid the driver and fled the stuffy interior of the cab before I vomited all over it.
I hobbled the rest of the way to Hugo's office and ignored the pain in my chest when I breathed. The air was thick with humidity, which didn't help matters. If I still felt this crappy after my chat with Hugo, I'd ask about seeing the Protectorate's healer. It was humiliating, but I couldn't afford any permanent damage to this body. Until I sorted out the cuffs, I didn't know how long I'd need it.
On the plus side, thanks to Farah's cosmetology skills, my bruises were invisible to casual passersby and I had my Glock in its armpit holster. It was hard to conceal under a formfitting Phillies T-shirt, b
ut the obnoxious red color of the shirt was so blinding, I figured no one would notice the gun-shaped lump.
In the end, I'd decided against calling Flynn. If Tessa was somehow involved in the murders and trying to kill me, I didn't want to give her another opportunity. Besides, I wasn't going to another clandestine meeting in a creepy, abandoned building. Right now, I was entering an accountant's office in broad daylight. The only thing I had to fear was stale coffee and boredom.
The reception area was empty again and I laughed when I looked at the clock on the desk. Five minutes past twelve. She was consistent, I'd give her that.
"Hugo, my love," I called, strolling down the corridor to his office. I wondered if he'd finished Dracula. Maybe he'd moved on to War and Peace.
There was no answer. Out of habit, I slowed my pace and felt the daggers pressed against my skin. Well, I wasn't going to leave them behind, was I? Just because I brought the Glock didn't mean I had to take them away. They might get jealous.
"Hugo," I said again. I kept my voice neutral. No need to have him reaching for the drawer again.
Still no answer. I edged my way toward the office. The light was on, but there was no sign of Hugo.
I crossed the threshold and looked around for signs of trouble. Everything seemed to be in order. Books on the shelves, ledgers on the desk, computer. Hugo must have gone to lunch, too. Maybe it was Administrative Professionals' Day, and he'd actually taken her to lunch. There were no flowers on the reception desk, though. A guy like Hugo would definitely default to flowers. He didn't strike me as someone who had the imagination to experiment.
I took the opportunity to peruse the contents of his desk. Maybe I could find information on the identity of the organ trader. It was unlikely, though. His files were undoubtedly squeaky clean or he wouldn't have a job with a crime syndicate.
I thumbed through the books on the shelves. If he had a secret hiding place for files or flash drives, that was the obvious place to look. Well, obvious to someone like me.
Bram Stoker's Dracula was back on the shelf, nestled between Mary Shelley and Oscar Wilde. Apparently, Hugo was a stickler for alphabetization. No surprise there.
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