by Jaye Wells
I chose my words carefully. “So you’re not upset?”
“About Erron and Cadence?” He chuckled. “Hell no. I’m relieved. I’ve felt guilty for a long time about breaking things off with her.” I must have betrayed some emotion on my face because he caught my hand and squeezed. “Guilt isn’t the same thing as regretting it being over. We didn’t belong together. I just hated to know she was hurting. But now?” He took a deep breath. “I think she has a lot of work to do to get her life on track, but it’s headed in the right direction.”
I smiled at him. “You’re a good male, Mancy.”
He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “I’m best when I’m with you.”
Now my eyes really did sting with tears. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the emotional stress, or maybe it was simply relief of being reminded that what we had was as real as I’d hoped it was. To dispel the tears, I glanced around at the celebrations surrounding us on all sides. After a couple of seconds, I realized something. “You know, it was on another Halloween that we finally admitted our feelings for each other.”
He smiled the same smile that had made me fall for him. “That year was the best trick-or-treat ever.”
I raised a brow. “How are we going to top it this year?”
With a wicked smile, he caught a handful of beads and candy from the air. “Depends on what you’re willing to do to earn these.” His expression took on a particularly roguish tilt.
And with that, Adam and I flashed out from the middle of the parade, for once not caring who witnessed our magical exit.
What started out as a crappy week had turned out to be one of the best Halloweens ever. A night when the lines between monsters and men were nonexistent. A night when the most hopeless beings could find a light in the darkest shadows. And it for damn sure was a night to believe that sometimes even monsters deserved happy endings.
Meet the Author
Raised in Texas, USA Today bestseller Jaye Wells grew up reading everything she could get her hands on. Her penchant for daydreaming was often noted by frustrated teachers. She embarked on a series of random career paths, including stints working for a motivational speaker and at an art museum. Jaye eventually realized that while she loved writing, she found facts boring. So, she left all that behind to indulge her overactive imagination and make stuff up for a living. Besides writing, she enjoys travel, art, history, and researching weird and arcane subjects. She lives in Texas with her saintly husband and devilish son. Find out more about Jaye Wells at www.jayewells.com.
Jaye Wells — copyright On Location Portraiture
Also by Jaye Wells
PROSPERO’S WAR
Dirty Magic
Cursed Moon
SABINA KANE
Red-Headed Stepchild
The Mage in Black
Green-Eyed Demon
Silver-Tongued Devil
Blue-Blooded Vamp
SHORT FICTION BY JAYE WELLS
“Rusted Veins”
If you enjoyed
RUSTED VEINS,
look out for
DIRTY MAGIC
PROSPERO’S WAR: BOOK ONE
by Jaye Wells
MAGIC IS A DRUG. CAREFUL HOW YOU USE IT.
The Magical Enforcement Agency keeps dirty magic off the streets, but there’s a new blend out there that’s as deadly as it is elusive. When patrol cop Kate Prospero shoots the lead snitch in this crucial case, she’s brought in to explain herself. But the more she learns about the investigation, the more she realizes she must secure a spot on the MEA task force.
Especially when she discovers that their lead suspect is the man she walked away from ten years earlier—on the same day she swore she’d given up dirty magic for good. Kate Prospero’s about to learn the hard way that crossing a wizard will always get you burned and that when it comes to magic, you should never say never.
Chapter One
It was just another fucked-up night in the Cauldron. Potion junkies huddled in shadowy corners with their ampules and pipes and needles. The occasional flick of a lighter’s flame illuminated their dirty, desperate faces, and the air sizzled with the ozone scent of spent magic.
I considered stopping to harass them. Arrest them for loitering and possession of illegal arcane substances. But they’d just be back on the street in a couple of days or be replaced by another dirty, desperate face looking to escape the Mundane world.
Besides, these hard cases weren’t my real targets. To make a dent, you had to go after the runners and stash boys, the potion cookers—the money men. The way I figured, better to hunt the vipers instead of the ’hood rats who craved the bite of their fangs. But for the last couple of weeks, the corner thugs had been laying low, staying off the streets after dark. My instincts were tingling, though, so I kept walking the beat, hoping to find a prize.
Near Canal Street, growls rolled out of a pitch-black alley. I stilled and listened with my hand on my hawthorn-wood nightstick. The sounds were like a feral dog protecting a particularly juicy bone. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and my nostrils twitched from the coppery bite of blood.
Approaching slowly, I removed the flashlight from my belt. The light illuminated about ten feet into the alley’s dark throat. On the nearest wall, a graffiti-ed dragon marked the spot as Sanguinarian Coven’s turf. But I already knew the east side of town belonged to the Sangs. That’s one of the reasons I’d requested it for patrol. I didn’t dare show my face on the Votary’s west-side territory.
Something moved in the shadows, just outside of the light’s halo. A loud slurping sound. A wet moan.
“Babylon PD!” I called, taking a few cautious steps forward. The stink of blood intensified. “Come out with your hands up!”
The scuttling sound of feet against trash. Another growl, but no response to my order.
Three more steps expanded my field of vision. The light flared on the source of the horrible sounds and the unsettling scents.
A gaunt figure huddled over the prone form of a woman. Wet, stringy hair shielded her face, and every inch of her exposed skin glistened red with blood. My gun was in my hand faster than I could yell, “Freeze!”
Still partially in shadow, the attacker—male judging from the size—swung around. I had the impression of glinty yellow eyes and shaggy hair matted with blood.
“Step away with your hands up,” I commanded, my voice projected to make it a demand instead of a suggestion.
“Fuck you, bitch,” the male barked. And then he bolted.
“Shit!” I ran to the woman and felt for a pulse. I shouldn’t have been relieved not to find one, but it meant I was free to pursue the asshole who’d killed her.
My leg muscles burned and my heart raced. Through the radio on my shoulder I called dispatch.
“Go ahead, Officer Prospero,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the radio.
“Be advised I need an ambulance sent to the alley off Canal and Elm. Interrupted a code 27. Victim had no pulse. I’m pursuing the perp on foot bearing east on Canal.”
“Ambulance is on its way. Backup unit will be there in five minutes. Keep us advised of your 20.”
“10-4.” I took my finger off the comm button. “Shit, he’s fast.” I dug in, my air coming out in puffs of vapor in the cool night air.
He was definitely freaking—a strength or speed potion, probably. But that type of magic wouldn’t explain why he mauled that woman in the alley—or those yellow predator’s eyes. I tucked that away for the moment and focused on keeping up.
The perp loped through the maze of dark alleys and streets like he knew the Cauldron well. But no one knew it better than me, and I planned to be right behind him when he finally made a mistake.
As I ran, my lead cuffs clanked heavily against the wood of my nightstick. The rhythm matched the thumping beats of my heart and the puffs of air rasping from my lungs. I had a Glock at my side, but when perps are jacked up on potions, they’re almost unstop
pable with Mundane weaponry unless you deliver a fatal shot. Killing him wasn’t my goal—I wanted the notch on my arrest stats.
“Stop or I’ll salt you!” I pulled the salt flare from my left side. The best way to incapacitate a hexhead was a little of the old sodium chloride.
A loud snarling grunt echoed back over his shoulder. He picked up the pace, but he wasn’t running blind. No, he was headed someplace specific.
“Prospero,” Dispatch called through the walkie. “Backup is on its way.”
“Copy. The vic?”
“Ambulance arrived and confirmed death. M.E. is on his way to make it official.”
I looked around to get my bearings. He veered right on Mercury St. “The suspect appears to be headed for the Arteries,” I spoke into the communicator. “I’m pursuing.”
“Copy that, Officer Prospero. Be advised you are required to wait for backup before entering the tunnels.” She told me their coordinates.
I cursed under my breath. They were still five blocks away and on foot.
A block or so up I could see one of the boarded-up gates that led down into the old subway tunnels. The system had been abandoned fifty years earlier before the project was anywhere close to completion. Now the tunnels served as a rabbit warren for potion addicts wanting to chase the black dragon in the rat-infested, shit-stench darkness.
In front of the gate, a large wooden sign announced the site as the “Future Home of the Cauldron Community Center.” Under those words was the logo for Volos Real Estate Development, which did nothing to improve my mood.
If Speedy made it through that gate, we’d never find him. The tunnels would swallow him in one gulp. My conscience suddenly sounded a lot like Captain Eldritch in my head. “Don’t be an idiot, Kate. Wait for backup.”
I hadn’t run halfway through the Cauldron only to lose the bastard to the darkness. But I knew better than to enter the tunnels alone. The captain had laid down that policy after a rookie ended up rat food five years earlier. So I wasn’t going to follow him down there, but I could still slow him down a little. Buy some time for backup to arrive.
The salt flare’s thick double barrel was preloaded with two rock salt shells. A bite from one of those puppies was rarely lethal, but it was enough to dilute the effects of most potions, as well as cause enough pain to convince perps to lay down and play dead. The only catch was, you had to be within twenty feet for the salt to interrupt the magic. The closer, the better if you want the bonus of severe skin abrasions.
The runner was maybe fifteen feet from me and a mere ten from the gate that represented his freedom. Time to make the move. I stopped running and took aim.
Exhale. Squeeze. Boom!
Rock salt exploded from the gun in a starburst. Some of the rocks pinged off the gate’s boards and metal fittings. The rest embedded in the perp’s shirtless back like shrapnel. Small red pockmarks covered the dirty bare skin not covered with tufts of dark hair. He stumbled, but he didn’t stay down.
Instead, he leapt from the ground with a snarl. His hands grasped the top edge of the gate. A narrow opening between the gate and the upper concrete stood between him and freedom.
“Shit!” Frustration and indecision made my muscles yearn for action. My only choice was to take him down.
Speedy already had his head and an arm through the opening at the top of the gate. I surged up and grabbed his ankles. Lifted my feet to help gravity do its job. We slammed to the ground and rolled all asses and elbows through the dirt and grass and broken potion vials.
The impact momentarily stunned us both. My arm stung where the glass shards had done their worst, but the pain barely registered through the heady rush of adrenaline.
Speedy leapt off the ground with a growl. I jumped after him, my grip tight on the salt flare. I still had one shell left, not that I expected it to do much good after seeing the first one had barely fazed him. In my other hand, I held a small canister of S&P spray. “BPD! You’re under arrest!”
The beast barely looked human. His hair was long and matted in some patches, which alternated with visible wide swaths of pink scalp—like he’d been infected with mange. The lower half of his face was covered in a shaggy beard. The pale skin around his yellow eyes and mouth was red and raw. His teeth were crooked and sharp. Too large for his mouth to corral. Hairy shoulders almost touched his ears like a dog with his hackles up.
If he understood my command he didn’t show it. That intense yellow gaze focused on my left forearm where a large gash oozed blood. His too-red lips curled back into a snarl.
I aimed the canister of salt and pepper spray. The burning mixture of saline and capsicum hit him between the eyes. He blinked, sneezed. Wiped a casual hand across his face. No screaming. No red, watery eyes or swollen mucus glands.
His nostrils flared and he lowered his face to sniff the air closer to me. His yellow eyes stayed focused on my wound. An eager red tongue caressed those sharp teeth in anticipation.
For the first time, actual fear crept like ice tendrils up the back of my neck. What kind of fucked-up potion was this guy on?
I don’t remember removing the Glock from my belt. I don’t remember pointing it at the perp’s snarling face. But I remember shouting, “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
One second the world was still except for the pounding of my heart and the cold fear clawing my gut. The next, his wrecking-ball weight punched my body to the ground. My legs flew up and my back crashed into the metal gate. Hot breath escaped my panicked lungs. His body pinned me to the metal bars.
Acrid breath on my face. Body odor and unwashed skin everywhere. An erect penis pressed into my hip. But my attacker wasn’t interest in sex. He was aroused by something else altogether—blood. My blood.
My fear.
The next instant, his teeth clamped over the bleeding wound. Pain blasted up my arm like lightning. Sickening sucking sounds filled the night air. Fear burst like a blinding light in my brain. “Fuck!”
The perp pulled me toward the ground and pinned me. The impact knocked the weapon from my hand, but it only lay a couple feet away. I reached for it with my left hand. But fingers can only stretch so far no matter how much you yearn and curse and pray.
The pain was like needles stabbing my vein. My vision swam. If I didn’t stop him soon, I’d pass out. If that happened he’d drag me into those tunnels and no one would see me again.
Fortunately, elbows make excellent motivators. Especially when they’re rammed into soft temples. At least they are usually. In this case, my bloodthirsty opponent was too busy feasting on my flesh and blood to react. Finally, in a desperate move, I bucked my hips like a wild thing. He lost contact with my arm just long enough for me to roll a few centimeters closer to my target.
I reared up, grabbed the gun and pivoted.
The pistol’s mouth kissed his cheek a split second before it removed his face.
Backup arrived thirty seconds too late.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Rusted Veins
Meet the Author
Also by Jaye Wells
Bonus Material
About Orbit Short Fiction
Orbit Newsletter
Table of Conten
ts
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jaye Wells
Excerpt from Dirty Magic copyright © 2014 by Jaye Wells
Cover design and illustration by Wendy Chan. Cover photos by Shutterstock. Cover copyright © 2013 by Orbit Books.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First eBook edition: October 2013
ISBN: 978-0-316-37159-9
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