He mustered a smile when he saw us. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here." It hadn't been easy to convince him to come out tonight. He'd been avoiding me since his disappearing act at the Dive, which was probably for the best. He needed time to process and to heal, if it was possible from a blow like that.
Farah nudged him with her shoulder. "Come along, Mixie. Let's get bombed."
The Night Owl wasn't too busy tonight. Farah and Mix grabbed a booth and I went to the bar to pay for the first round. Good friend that she was, Farah had agreed to loan me more money until I picked up work. In the meantime, I would help her out with the armory. Weapons I could do, but I drew the line at Tops and Bottoms. My first order of business was to ask Pinky to put a protection spell on the dressing room mirror. Even though it was hidden from the public, Farah was too trusting with her special customers.
Khalil was elated to see me again. The moment I stepped up to the bar, he pressed a vodka tonic into my hand and leaned across the counter to kiss my cheek.
"Still here," he said. "My spirit is radiating joy." Khalil had always fancied himself a poet at heart, although precious few agreed.
"I guess you heard about my encounter with a wannabe necromancer."
"It's the only thing customers are talking about. Alyse Winters is back, baby."
I guess they didn't get the memo about my cuffs.
"They do realize I had nothing to do with killing Hugo, right? That was all Mix."
His gaze flickered over to Mix and he snorted. "Sure it was." He lowered his voice. "Everyone is talking about how you single-handedly obliterated Dive."
As long as they were saying things like that, I'd let them keep talking.
"I don't think the word has spread about your cuffs," he added.
"Well, that's a relief." I needed to keep a lid on my incapacitation for as long as possible.
"Any progress on who burned you?"
"Not yet, but I'm still working on it." And now that I was off the hook for the murders, I'd have more time to devote to it.
"Good luck, Alyse. If anyone can survive this, you can."
I hoped he was right. "Thanks, Khalil."
I ordered drinks for Farah and Mix and carried them to the booth. Farah held her glass aloft.
"A toast," she said. "To old friends reunited."
I raised my glass to meet hers, but Mix remained still, his pint on the table. His expression was difficult to read.
I sighed. "I'm sorry about Paulette, Mix. I really am."
His gaze met mine. "You're sorry?" he asked softly.
I set down my glass. "Of course I am. I know you think I have a heart forged from cold iron, Mix, but I mean it. I hate seeing you suffer. I hated being helpless when Hugo threw that choker on you." My stomach turned, remembering.
He pushed his fingers against his forehead and for a fleeting moment, I thought he was going to rip into me. When he looked at me again, his eyes were damp with unshed tears.
"You don't understand," he said. "I'm the one who's sorry. I feel like an idiot. The things I said to you..."
I waved him off. "Forget it, Mix. No hard feelings, I promise."
"I almost got you killed." His hand squeezed the pint glass with such intensity, I was afraid he'd break it.
"You almost got yourself killed," I reminded him. "She was the first one woman to fool you, Mix, but if you live long enough, she won't be the last."
"That's encouraging."
"There's a Shaitan at two o'clock who seems to have her eye on you," Farah told him.
Casually, he glanced in that direction. "How do you know she's a Shaitan?"
Farah tossed back her beer. "Because she has horns where her tits should be."
I laughed. "You're not very observant, are you?"
"Says the djinni who was willing to overlook Flynn's bad qualities." He arched an eyebrow, challenging me.
"Ancient history," I said.
"Well, ancient history just walked into the present." He nodded toward the front door where Flynn had stepped inside, alone.
"Is he stalking you again?" Farah asked.
"Possibly. He has a tendency to do that."
Sure enough, Flynn sauntered over to our table like he knew exactly where I was.
"Good evening."
"Looking for me, darling?" I asked with a wide smile.
He nodded without returning the smile. "Wanted to make sure the rumors were true."
"That I got my ass kicked again?" How he would have loved to be a spectator for that particular sport.
His jaw tightened. "That you're alive."
I opened my mouth for a snappy comeback, but the serious expression on Flynn's face stopped me. His relief was palpable.
"I'm alive," I replied. "How's Tessa?"
He shifted. "She'll be fine."
"So she hasn't kicked you out?"
"Not yet. There's always tomorrow." So Tessa stuck around, even after finding out the truth about Flynn. Interesting.
"Want to train next Thursday at eight?" I asked. My attempt at an apology.
"You sure you're up for it?" he asked.
"Always," I said.
"Thought so. You never could resist physical contact with me." He grinned, and just that quickly, the old Flynn was back. All was forgiven.
"I think you mean physical combat," I corrected him, but he was already slithering out the front door. Egotistical bastard.
My phone rang and I glanced up quizzically. It wasn't Flynn and the only other two people who would call were sitting right in front of me.
I picked up the phone. Unknown caller.
"Hello? Is this Miss Winters?" The male voice on the other end was nervous and uncertain.
"Who's asking?"
"My name is Greg. Detective Thompson gave me your number. She said you were good at recovering lost things...You know, possessions and stuff. I can pay you."
I smiled at my friends. "I'm good at finding nouns of any kind, in fact. How can I help?"
Finding 'stuff' may not be a job for a Shadow Elite agent, but it would have to do -- for now.
Don’t miss the rest of the series—
Death Match, Book 2
Demon Hunt, Book 3
Soulfire, Book 4
Great Balls of Fury
Federal Bureau of Magic Cozy Mystery, Book 1
Chapter One
I am the villain of my story.
I didn’t mean to be. In fact, I’ve been trying my whole life to stay on the straight and narrow, which is why I moved far away from my hometown and became a federal agent in the first place. I thought the FBI was the perfect career for me. No magic or supernaturals. Just good, old-fashioned federal law enforcement, where I was on the right side of the law. Where I was undeniably good.
Then Thursday happened.
I was tailing a suspect through the streets of San Francisco—a drug trafficking case that I’d been working on for weeks along with my partner, Fergus. The suspect turned and fled down a dark alley, so I followed, ignoring the stench of rotting food that filled my nostrils. I was so thrilled to finally be on the verge of a break in the case that I failed to sense the suspect’s true nature until it was too late.
Big mistake. Huge.
The suspect tackled me in the alley and, somehow—maybe it was my natural defense mechanism kicking in—he triggered my siphoning power. For the next few minutes, I was a bloodthirsty vampire, which would have been fine except for the fact that Fergus had followed me into the alley. The real vampire staggered off in one direction and Fergus took one look at the fangs protruding from my mouth and took off in another.
Unfortunately, my partner didn’t run as fast as me. Fergus carried a little extra weight around the middle that slowed him down. I spent a lot of time biting my tongue when he reached for the extra donut because, gods above, I didn’t want to turn into my nagging mother. Anyway, Fergus’s fearful escape set off my temporary hunting instinct. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. He was on
e hundred percent human. He had no clue about Otherworld or the supernaturals that lived right here, hidden in plain sight.
Supernaturals like me.
I’m a rare supernatural known as a fury. Furies have been in my father’s bloodline going back centuries, but the last few generations yielded only demons and magic users like witches until I came along. I got to inherit a little of everything. My siphoning power is the one that turned me fangtastic. See, I can siphon another supernatural’s power—only briefly—and it leaves us both in a weakened state afterward. I can thank my mother’s witchy side for that particular talent. I hate the way it makes me feel, and most of the powers possessed by other supernaturals are ones I don’t want anyway. I just want to be normal, but that’s not what the gods intended for me.
Thankfully, I didn’t kill Fergus. The vampire traits wore off before I could do any permanent damage, but Fergus ended up in the hospital in need of a blood transfusion and the suspect got away. It was not my best day, and, unsurprisingly, it was also my last day in the field. When I arrived home that night, emotionally exhausted and racked with guilt, it got worse. I sprouted wings—huge black wings. I stood in front of the mirror for what seemed like hours, staring at the monstrous symbol of my failure with tears in my eyes. Eventually, I couldn’t handle the sight of them anymore and willed them to disappear. Thankfully, they did, but they were mine now. I’d earned them by using my abilities. That was how being a fury worked. The more power you used, the more the gods gave you. Except I didn’t want any of it.
I knew the job situation was bad when the Bureau ran a few tests on me and then scheduled an appointment with Dr. Suzanne Zagat, the Bureau psychiatrist. I wondered whether they were deciding to have me arrested or declared insane or both. How could I explain my abilities to a human doctor? It had been easy enough to hide my true nature through the training program. No regular human tests could detect that I was a fury. I looked and acted completely human and I’d had years of practice hiding my supernatural identity.
I sat in the waiting area of Dr. Zagat’s office, pretending to read the gossip magazines on the coffee table. In truth, I couldn’t focus. I was too worried about what would happen to me. I’d wanted to be an agent for as long as I could remember, my penance for the sins of my family. I’d worked so hard to be a good person and, in the snap of a fang, I’d ruined it.
The office door clicked open and Dr. Zagat’s head appeared. “Come in, Agent Fury.”
My stomach was harboring a hurricane. Any more movement in there and I’d hurl. Something I definitely didn’t want to do under the circumstances. I stood and smoothed my shirt, trying to appear calm and completely normal.
I tripped over the threshold on the way into the office and bumped against the psychiatrist. Understandably, she jumped as though I’d attacked her.
“Sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay,” she said, more warmly than I expected. “Try to relax. We’re just going to have a nice chat.”
“How’s Fergus?” I had so many questions whirling inside me, but that one shot straight to the surface.
“He’s absolutely fine. He’s been discharged from the hospital.”
Thank the gods.
She took a seat and opened the file on her desk. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened on Thursday?”
“What does the file say?” I asked.
“I’d rather hear the story from you.”
To catch me in a lie, no doubt. “The alley was dark. The suspect attacked me before running off. I was dizzy when I got up and I accidentally fell and knocked into Fergus.”
Dr. Zagat cocked her head. “Fell right into his neck and accidentally lodged your absurdly pointy teeth there?”
“My mouth was open because I was yelling as I fell.” An anemic excuse if I ever heard one, but it was the best I could do.
She slotted her fingers together and regarded me. “Well, you’re not a vampire. So what made you choose Fergus as your next meal?”
I blinked. She just used the word ‘vampire,’ yet didn’t seem to be freaking out, which was odd. I decided to play it cool. “I don’t think this is a joking matter, Dr. Zagat.”
“Apologies, you’re right. Vampires aren’t allowed to feed on humans, not since the Vampire Act of 1852.”
I reeled back. “You really know about vampires?”
“Know about them?” she asked. “I have one for a sister-in-law.” She shook her head. “Holy hell, is Madge a pain at Sunday brunch. Always insisting her Bloody Mary must be authentic or she’s going home to make her own.” The psychiatrist shook her head. “Yet my brother loves her. Poor sap.”
I sank against the chair, instantly relaxed. “My stepmom is a vampire.” Sally. She and my father had met on one of his business trips to Otherworld.
Dr. Zagat threw back her head and laughed. “Even worse for you then.”
“Not really. I don’t see them often,” I said. “They live back in Chipping Cheddar, Maryland, my hometown.”
“Yes, Chipping Cheddar,” Dr. Zagat said, her gaze dropping to the file on her desk. “And what are you then, if not a vampire?”
“I’m a fury.”
Her brow lifted. “Really? The test results only say you’re an MHV.”
“What’s an MHV?”
“It means you’re of a Magical Hybrid Variety.”
“The Bureau can test for that?” I asked.
“Of course. It’s not part of our routine testing, but in a case like this…” She trailed off. “So, forgive me, but my knowledge of furies is a little rusty. You drive wrongdoers insane? That’s your deal, right?”
“I have a lot of deals,” I said.
“According to the report, your mother is a witch.”
“On many levels.” I paused. “Wait. You have a file on my mother?” Somehow, this news didn’t surprise me.
“No, this is from the test we ran on you. Sort of like a supernatural DNA test. We also learned that your father is…” She reviewed another line. “Ah, yes, a vengeance demon. So how are you a fury?”
I shrugged. “It happens. Our last name is Fury, so they knew we had the bloodline. Then I was born and they thought they’d won the lottery, having a fury in the family. They were sure I’d be the most evil one of all.” My laugh was bitter. “Boy, were they disappointed.”
“Their loss is our gain.” She tapped her nails on the file. “So what exactly can you do as a fury?”
“My powers aren’t fully developed because I rarely use them,” I said. I neglected to mention my shiny new set of wings.
“You stunted your own growth?”
“Basically.” Much to my family’s dismay. “One of my abilities is that I can siphon another’s power or ability for a brief period.”
“Ah, hence, your bloodlust over Fergus.” She closed the file. “Now I understand. You absorbed the vampire’s energy.”
“Long enough to want to bite Fergus,” I admitted. “Does he…remember what happened?”
“Not anymore,” Dr. Zagat said. “He thinks the suspect attacked him with a knife.”
“You can do that?”
She smiled. “We can do a lot of things, Agent Fury. We just keep them well hidden, just like you.”
“I don’t suppose the Bureau is very happy with me right now.”
“You’re a good agent, Eden,” Dr. Zagat said. “The Bureau doesn’t want to lose you. On the other hand, you’ve proven yourself dangerous and we can’t take the risk that something like this will happen again.”
“But I’ve been doing this job for three years and it’s the first time…”
She held up a hand. “And you nearly killed your partner.”
My gut twisted. I didn’t want to lose this job. I’d worked too hard to get here. “I can control it. I swear.”
“Or you can use it.”
I opened my mouth to argue but then stopped. “You want me to use it?”
“Not here, of course. The FBI can’t
allow it. Too risky.”
The hurricane in my stomach picked up speed. It was now a Category Five. “You’re transferring me?”
She seemed pleased to finally be cutting to the chase. “That’s right. The Federal Bureau of Magic can use someone with your particular talents. San Francisco doesn’t have an Otherworld portal, so there’s no field office here. As it happens, though, there’s an opening somewhere very familiar to you. Call it kismet.” She leaned forward. “Eden, how would you like to go home?”
No, no. Not the Federal Bureau of Magic. FBM agents investigate crimes of a magical or supernatural nature in the human world. I’ve spent my whole life trying to distance myself from those roots. The last thing I want to do is take up the mantle in Chipping Cheddar.
My heart pounded. “No, I can’t go there.” Anywhere but there. “How about the portal in Antarctica? I’ll go there.”
“No openings there, I’m afraid. What’s wrong with home?”
“I told you—my family lives there.”
Dr. Zagat offered a sympathetic smile. “They can’t be that bad.”
Good Goddess. She had no idea. “Why is there an opening?” I asked. “What about Paul Pidcock?” The supernaturals in town tend to know each other—we were like freemasons with actual power.
Dr. Zagat pressed her lips together. “He died recently.”
“Of what—boredom?” Paul was the sole agent in Chipping Cheddar for a reason. With the Otherworld portal in my hometown dormant for centuries, the FBM rarely had cases to handle in the area. Usually, it was to do with a new supernatural resident drawn to the town for its mystical energy. Someone who hadn’t learned how to settle quietly among humans.
“According to the report, it was due to an unfortunate encounter with a beehive,” the psychiatrist replied. “Turns out he was allergic.”
Poor Paul. “I’m sorry to hear it. He was a nice guy.”
“The Bureau feels that you’ll be able to adequately fill his shoes, so congratulations. The position is yours.”
Just like that? “And if I don’t want it?”
Spellbinding Starters Page 40
