Marked: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 2)

by J. A. Cipriano

  “Glad, I could help you out,” I mumbled, trying to figure out why this clown seemed so pleased about me offing Vassago’s right-hand man. Sure, Vassago might have been the demon prince of twenty four realms of Hell, but I was under no illusions about my ability to take on the demon mano a mano. If Vassago wanted me dead, I’d be a smudge on the ground. I was just hoping the demon didn’t actually care enough to make that happen even though I’d spent all of yesterday thwarting his evil plans to kidnap a woman and her son.

  “I appreciate your moxie, but that doesn’t change things between us, Mac,” the clown replied before spouting off a phone number that burned itself into my brain like a red hot poker. I cried out, clutching my forehead as actual smoke curled from between my fingers. As the pain subsided, leaving behind one hell of a headache, I glared at the man through my splayed fingers.

  “You could have just wrote it down,” I growled as tiny invisible elves took turns smashing numbers into my brain.

  “I did write it down. I just did it on your brain so you wouldn’t have some excuse later like you forgot it,” he replied before flipping me the bird and straight up vanishing from sight. The only trace he’d ever been there was a pair of molten footprints in the cement. I swallowed hard. Had he been a demon like Vassago? Or another Cursed? I’d seen both of them pull off a similar trick. Something about him made me think he might actually be a demon, and that wasn’t just because I sort of remembered a Cursed kicking my teeth in when my sister had been kidnapped. It was more because the guy had given me the creeps in that same icy water down the neck way Vassago had. Well, this was just great. Apparently, I had caught the attention of another demon. Today was fixing to go swimmingly.

  I had half a second to let that thought roll around in my head as I climbed to my feet. The moment I was standing, time seemed to explode forward all around me. The Chevy Tahoe broke free of the tent in a squeal of burning rubber as the assailants let loose a flurry of bullets in my general direction.

  Chapter 3

  My arm went up instinctively to shield my body as the word, “Tueri,” burst from my lips. Red light spilled down around my body, forming a translucent shield over my delicate flesh just before a horde of angry bullets slammed into me. Thankfully, the bullets broke apart with little flares of star fire instead of reducing me to Swiss cheese. A guttural cry of anguish exploded from my throat. Each and every one felt like I’d been hit by a Roger Clemens’ fastball.

  As I stepped off the curb, a spray of bullets caught me in the back of the left knee. My leg shot out from under me. My arms windmilled as I tried to regain my balance. Unfortunately, my right heel took this wonderful opportunity to slip off the sidewalk. I fell backward onto the cement, and my skull rebounded off the sidewalk like a basketball. Everything went dark and spotty around the edges. Well, screw this. Getting shot was no fun, even with a magical shield.

  As bullets ricocheted off the cement around me, I rolled off the sidewalk and into the street. Already I could see several men running toward me, firing their MP5s in quick bursts as they went. Definitely professionals. It made me wonder why they’d driven into the swap meet instead of perforating me from outside. It didn’t make sense unless they were trying to drive me back outside before unleashing their weapons.

  Before I could answer that question, my spider sense went absolutely berserk. I tore my gaze from the machinegun-toting assassins and found myself staring into the grill of a black Humvee as it barreled toward me going well past the speed limit. It was so close, I could see the bald driver smiling at me over the wheel as a little hula dancer bobbed and weaved on the dashboard. They’d tricked me, chasing me into the path of the vehicle. Dicks.

  I cried out in rage and frustration as I threw my arm out in a pathetic attempt to block the oncoming Humvee. The vehicle slammed into me an eye blink later and crumpled around my outstretched arm in slow motion like I was Superman. Time seemed to slow down as my feet skidded backward across the asphalt. Then everything went sideways. The light clinging to me flickered and went out, and I was flung backward under the force of the impact. I landed some thirty feet away, flat on my back. The horrible smell of gasoline and smoke filled my nose as the glow surrounding me faded completely. That wasn’t good.

  No one was shooting at me, which was awesome because I was suddenly so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. The taste of blood filled my mouth as I tried to get to my feet, but it felt like my legs were made from Jell-O. The ground swam underneath me as I stumbled away from the ruined vehicle. Some of my attackers had broken off, rushing toward the vehicle, probably to try to pull their compatriot out before it exploded. How nice for him because plumes of dark smoke were already rising off of it and where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The others, unfortunately, were still coming toward me, albeit cautiously. Whatever. As long as they weren’t shooting, I was good.

  I whirled to face them, wobbling like a punch-drunk boxer. I was pretty sure I didn’t have enough hellfire left in me to light a cigarette, but with any luck, they didn’t know that. I took a menacing step toward them that was really more of a drunken sway and held my right hand out to them, palm up. Then I slowly curled my fingers toward me like a bad ass.

  “Come get some,” I tried to say, but wound up coughing so violently I was pretty sure my words were lost as blood sprayed from my lips. They lined up their weapons on me. Damn.

  “Don’t try anything stupid, Mac,” said a familiar sounding voice I couldn’t quite place. It came from the closest of the black-suited nut jobs. This one was a little different in that he was wearing expensive tactical gear over his suit and tie. He gestured at me with his MP5. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but out of professional courtesy, I promise not to let them pump you full of lead if you come quietly.”

  I was about to flip him the bird when a burgundy Corvette flew past the demolished Humvee like a bat out of Hell and skidded to a stop between me and the guys with the guns. The passenger door flew open, and Ricky sat there behind the wheel, wearing wraparound shades and a predatory smile. She leaned toward me and held her hand out to me.

  “Come with me if you want to live,” she said in her best Arnold impersonation. It was surprisingly good, and I would have laughed if I had non-bruised ribs. Instead, I shot her a good-natured wince. Ricky was the werewolf Alpha I’d encountered while trying to rescue Sera and her son from Vassago, and even though she’d had me dead to rights, she’d let me go. I already felt like I owed her one, so even though I was happy to see her, I was sort of annoyed it involved her saving me yet again.

  “Ricky?” I asked flummoxed. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one confused by her sudden appearance because no one had shot at us yet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving you, obviously.” She raised one perfect eyebrow into the air and grinned so her braces caught the light and glinted. Which was also when the Humvee exploded into a fireball of death and debris. The shockwave sent me sprawling toward the Corvette. Her hand shot out of the opening viper quick and seized me by the collar of my trench coat.

  Thanks to her werewolf strength, she hauled me inside like I weighed about as much as a swimsuit model after purge week while simultaneously flooring the Corvette. My feet were taken out from under me as the street roared by, but before I could let out so much as a single girly scream, she deposited me lightly in the seat next to her. She made a sharp turn as gunfire erupted from behind us, and the passenger door next to me swung closed.

  I ducked instinctively as bullets pinged off our vehicle, which was when I realized they were bouncing off the windows instead of going through them. Ricky caught my expression, and it must have been strange because she shrugged.

  “Yeah, it’s bulletproof. Just because I can heal from gunshot wounds doesn’t mean I like getting shot full of holes.” She glanced back at the road, and her hands were a literal blur of motion as she worked the clutch and the wheel with her superhuman reflexes. It made me wonder how many of her kind
were professional racecar drivers. Probably all the good ones. Well, that wasn’t fair at all.

  “Good to know,” I said, trying to catch my breath while adrenaline surged through my veins. “But why did you come to save me?”

  “Remember when I was slicing you open, and you told me a story?” She didn’t look at me, but I saw her tongue snake out and rake over her lips, and I had to try very hard to ignore the fight-or-flight response that exploded through every inch of my being. “You said you were helping Sera because she happened to be there when you got all high and mighty.”

  “Yeah…” I said, resting my head against the headrest and staring at the ceiling so I wouldn’t freak out. My hands started to shake anyway. I’d been about to be killed by a bunch of gun-toting maniacs and had survived only because I was demon-enhanced. What would have happened to me if I’d never gotten my magic? I’d be good as dead now. The thought was sobering.

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a girl.” She gestured at herself with one hand, and even though I hadn’t been paying her much attention before on account of the whole moments from death thing, my eyes followed along the line of her body.

  She was wearing a pair of tight black yoga pants along with a pink and black top that hugged her lithe, nubile form in a way that would be hard not to notice under normal circumstances. Even though she wasn’t super chesty, the outfit did a good job of making me not care very much. I pushed the thought away before it could get its claws in me and cause problems of a decidedly different nature than men with machineguns could. While it might have been okay to admire the werewolf, something told me, I didn’t want her getting the wrong idea.

  “I noticed,” I said, looking away as my cheeks threatened to color. As far as I knew, I’d never really been one to go after the cool, tomboy-type girls, but just looking at her made me want to go for it in a way I couldn’t describe. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time or place to think those kinds of thoughts. If I did, well, I might get us both killed, and I really didn’t want that. Besides, I had a murder to commit and a sister to save.

  “What’s your point?” I asked, forcing myself to think unsexy thoughts about the Yankees and how they were a way worse team than the Mets, you know, to distract myself.

  “I also happen to be in distress, and since you’re all about taking down supernatural jerks, I thought you might lend me a hand.” I couldn’t see her staring at me since I wasn’t looking at her, but I could feel it like a high-intensity laser beam.

  “I’m actually sort of busy,” I replied, spinning around in my chair and gesturing behind us. We were so far away, the only thing I could see of the carnage was smoke billowing high into the sky. That wasn’t that strange, I guess, given her supersonic driving, but I still hadn’t heard any sirens. What was the deal with police in this town? Did they even respond to calls?

  She stopped at a red light and tapped anxiously on her steering wheel. “I noticed,” she said in an eerily similar imitation to my own voice. The only difference was she sounded a little dumber. I gritted my teeth. Why did people always sound dumb when they mimicked my voice? “But I think you’ll help me anyway.”

  “Why is that? Do I seem like the kind of guy who helps murderous werewolves?” I asked, turning and looking at her. She was staring at me like she was trying to decide whether or not she wanted to eat me. A shiver ran down my spine, and I unconsciously reached for the door. Maybe I could leap out and run away… except Ricky was a werewolf, and not just any werewolf, but the alpha werewolf of this city. If I ran, she’d chase me, and worse still, she’d enjoy it.

  “Because at this particular moment, our priorities happen to align.” The light turned green, and she swung her gaze back to the road. “Those assassins work for a fellow named Pierce Ambrose, and he’s one bad mamma jamma. He probably won’t stop coming for you until you kill him. I’m not sure what you did to piss him off, but, and let me be clear on this, I don’t care. I just want you to help me.”

  “I can work with that,” I said, leaning my head against the window and staring out at the cars outside. I’d thought about shrugging, but she wasn’t looking at me so I wasn’t sure my gesture would have had the effect I was going for.

  “Let me be crystal clear, Mac. I want Pierce Ambrose dead, and if you’re the type of guy who can kill Van, then maybe, just maybe, you can kill Pierce Ambrose too.” She reached up and finger-combed her red hair nervously, almost like she thought I’d refuse to help her, which was probably the smart play. I could walk away right now.

  Of course, if I did that, I’d be sentencing my sister to death since I had to kill Ambrose anyway and having her help me would greatly increase my odds of success, but I was willing to bet Ricky didn’t know that. She was just playing the percentages. If Pierce was after me, I’d kill him. Still, if I was her, I’d stay away and let me do it on my own. Her helping so directly was a dumb move. It meant she was doing this for more reasons than she let on, and that could be dangerous.

  I swallowed hard as another thought reared its ugly head. If Ricky was seriously asking me to help her kill the same guy I had been hired to kill, what had this Pierce Ambrose done to piss off so many people in the supernatural community and why was he still alive? Not only did he have an actual demon wanting him dead, he had the alpha of a werewolf pack wanting him dusted too. Not many people could survive such a combination. I would have thought I’d have done a better job vetting my targets before accepting jobs. Some assassin I was. Only, I probably had known Pierce was incredibly dangerous and had been overly confident. Stupid overly cocky previous self, look what you’ve gotten me into.

  “Were you following me?” I asked before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly in a vain attempt to calm myself. It sort of worked. Maybe I needed to try counting to ten.

  “Yes.” Color filled her cheeks as she looked away. “I asked Duane where you were going and persuaded him to give me the address he’d had you dropped off at. And before you go and get all high and mighty,” she blushed harder, “you should be happy I showed up when I did. Otherwise, you’d be paste right about now.”

  “Hey, I’m not judging,” I replied, keeping all my comments to myself because the last thing I wanted to do was anger the werewolf sitting next to me while I was trapped inside what amounted to a very tiny metal box moving at high speeds. “But the timing makes me think you might be working with the people who tried to kill me.”

  She shot me a look that could have melted steel. “Mac, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead, and I’d be using your entrails as a jump rope.” Her words conjured an image in my head I was very keen to dismiss. “But do me this solid, and I’ll make sure no one ever comes after Sera and her tyke ever again. Okay?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out through my teeth. I should take the deal, and not just because I needed to kill Pierce Ambrose to save my sister and her son, but because it would keep Sera and her son safe too. I wasn’t sure why Van and Vassago had wanted the woman, but I was willing to bet that killing Van was more like a Band-Aid than a permanent fix.

  Sera and John would no doubt be much safer with Ricky’s pack watching over them. I still wasn’t sure why I cared so much about them. Saving them last time had cost me a day, and right now, that extra day would have been invaluable. I know you aren’t supposed to cry over spilled milk and all, but this definitely felt like I’d knocked the last of the baby’s milk off the counter right before feeding time. Surely a few tears were in order.

  “Okay,” I replied, not even feeling a little guilty because I was totally going to wax Pierce Ambrose anyway.

  “Awesome,” Ricky said, and the elation in her voice almost made me feel guilty. Almost. “So what’s the plan?”

  I opened my mouth to shout something like “You mean to tell me you don’t have a plan?” but before I could, a gargoyle leapt off the building next to us and broadsided our Corvette. The force of the impact sent our vehicle careening through the guardrail on
our left in a squeal of tortured metal and a shriek of broken glass.

  Chapter 4

  Have you ever been trapped inside a metal coffin while a two-ton living statue tried to splatter your skull like a casaba melon? I hadn’t before either, and let me tell you, it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounds, and yes, I realize it doesn’t sound terribly fun. That’s sort of my point.

  As we slid down the muddy embankment toward the lake below, the gargoyle’s stone fist punched through the Corvette’s bulletproof hardtop ridiculously close to my skull. Its stone fingers wrapped around the metal and peeled the top of the car back like it was the lid on a sardine can.

  “Goddamn it!” Ricky cried while grabbing hold of her seatbelt and tearing it free of the car’s frame in one fluid motion. It was pretty amazing because I’d managed to do little more than stare dumbly up at the creature while it eyed me like I was a particularly tasty sardine. Yup, not done with that metaphor quite yet. It’s got at least three more uses left, I think.

  Ricky’s left hand lashed out in a blur of motion I could barely follow with my naked eye. She smashed her fleshy fist into the giant rock monster. A sickening crack that was equal parts bone and stone filled my ears as the gargoyle actually lifted off the hood of the car and hit the muddy ground like a bag of wet cement. The dazed creature slid backward across the embankment, throwing up a cloud of dirt and debris as Ricky’s hand flopped like a dying fish at the end of her wrist. Broken bones writhed and twisted back into place underneath her skin while blood oozed from the torn flesh on her knuckles.