Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2)

by A. Blythe

  "Who's asking?" As in Jamie or the Shadow Elite.

  "I am. I've always had an interest in motivations. Why do X when you can do Y? That sort of thing."

  "And I could have joined PAN."

  He broke into a broad grin. "You, my dear, could have done just about anything. Staged a successful coup and taken over your court. Headed up to the weak New England Colony and kicked your way to the top. Maybe climbed the ranks in PAN." He shook his head in admiration. "I'll be honest. I was shocked when they told me you chose us."

  "You don't think the Shadow Elite is good enough for me?"

  "Oh, it's good enough," he said. "But it's like the dark corners of the internet. Not an advisable place to hang out for any length of time."

  In that moment, I made a conscious decision to trust him. It was one decision I never came to regret. I only wished that I'd taken his words to heart. That we both had.

  21

  There was a noticeable chill in the air as we stepped onto the field the next morning. Indian summer was finally over.

  I hadn't slept well, too nervous about the match. My dreams had been more disturbing than my conscious thoughts, so I watched television while I experimented with Luke and Leia. Pinky had done even better work on the yantoks than I'd given her credit for.

  Our competition spilled out of the dugout. Four Shaitans, as promised. I assessed them quickly and tried to remember the strengths and weaknesses I'd noted in their previous match. They'd lost a teammate in that round, so one of these four was an unknown threat. It wasn't difficult to guess which one was the FNG.

  "I've heard of big balls," Cyrus hissed under his breath, "but this is ridiculous."

  No one laughed. We were too busy picking our jaws up off the ground.

  The animal parts on these four Shaitans were visible—no surprise as it was often a show of dominance—and none was more visible than the elephant balls on the FNG.

  "How does he find pants that fit him?" Pinky asked.

  I tore my gaze away from the awkward display of testicles. "He summons them," I said. Shaitans shared that particular skill with my caste.

  The other three animal parts were more subtle. A donkey tail. Bull horns. Tiger stripes. I hated to admit it, but I kinda liked the tiger stripes on his muscular arms and legs. Under different circumstances, I may have found it attractive.

  Reed arched an eyebrow. "Tiger stripes? Really?"

  "Do I need to put you on lockdown?" I demanded. It was just for show, though. As much as I disliked him lurking in the shadowy corners of my brain, we both knew I needed to be as connected to him as possible during the match. In a situation like this, a quick telepathic exchange could mean the difference between life and death.

  At the sound of the horn, Cyrus and Pinky's low chants began. Despite its containment, my djinni soul vibrated inside me, desperate to mingle with the magical energy.

  I ran forward, unleashing my lone dagger. It sliced through the air, hitting the thigh of the nearest Shaitan. The one with the donkey tail. He gnashed his teeth and pulled the dagger from his flesh. Then he did the unthinkable. He tossed it back to me.

  Arrogant sonuvabitch.

  He stood erect, his fists clenched and his muscles pulsing. Something was simmering beneath the skin. I really hoped he was shifting into an oversized donkey. I could handle a giant ass. Gods knew I had experience dating one.

  "Hey, Eeyore," I called. "What's your specialty? Losing your tail?"

  He didn't seem familiar with Winnie the Pooh. I only knew the stories because Esme, my youth guardian, had been a fan and read them to a group of us every night for a year. The Hundred Acre Wood was a far cry from One Thousand and One Nights.

  Eeyore surprised me by not turning into a donkey. Instead, he duplicated himself. In a fraction of a second, I was surrounded by six angry Eeyores. I was fairly certain multiplicity magic was prohibited by the rules. I wondered if anyone would care. The judges were a fickle bunch. Maybe they'd let him kill me first and punish him later.

  I couldn't afford to scan the crowd for the judges. I had to keep my focus on the five new opponents I had to face. Why had I opted to taunt this one? It was a stupid question. I knew why. Because I was used to having incredible powers, djinn magic at my fingertips, and I could say whatever the hell I wanted. Nobody could touch me.

  But that was before my cuffs. Before my burn notice.

  I tucked away the dagger and crouched low in a prepared stance and swiveled to take on each Shaitan in the circle. They were identical copies with identical angry glares. If I could take out the original, the copies might disappear.

  Slowly, I withdrew my yantoks.

  As I lunged for the original Shaitan, an electrified shield sprang up around me. The pinkish hue clued me in to the spellcaster's identity.

  The six Shaitans attacked at once. The shield around me buzzed as they made contact. The shock hurled their bodies to the ground in tandem.

  I glanced at the shimmering pink bubble. This wasn't a simple protective spell. This bubble was functioning as a shield and a sword. When had she figured out how to do this?

  I barely had time to admire her handiwork when a blast of yellow light shot through the three Shaitans in front of me and their bodies disintegrated instantly. The crowd went wild. At first, I thought Cyrus or Pinky had come to my aid—Reed didn't have a magic beam as far as I knew—but I quickly realized that the light wasn't coming from the field.

  It was coming from the judge's box seats.

  The remaining three Shaitans were no longer focused on me. The original Eeyore was trying to bring them back into the fold and reabsorb the forms into his willing shell. The judges, however, had other plans.

  A second blast of light skimmed the top of my shield, deactivating the spell, and hit the original Shaitan square in the chest. There was no mess, no leakage of disgusting bodily fluids, only a few dust particles blowing in the breeze.

  With the shield gone as well as my opponents, I checked the field for my teammates and realized there was more djinn magic to contend with, not that I should be surprised. Shaitans were smart and talented djinn. The baseball field appeared to have turned to lava with geysers of hot, molten liquid spouting from an assortment of mini-volcanoes.

  They'd launched a full court press—or whatever the equivalent was in baseball terms.

  I quickly scanned the field for the other three Shaitans, careful not to focus on the lava bubbling around my feet. I knew I had to reject this version of reality. If I accepted any part of it, I was doomed.

  I pictured the AstroTurf in the outfield and the brown dirt in the infield. The bull-horned Shaitan was near home plate, fending off Cyrus's magic whip with impressive footwork for a djinni his size.

  Reed and Pinky were working together to bring down Tiger Stripes and Elephant Balls, but they seemed off kilter, most likely because of the twisted version of reality. Both Shaitans were busy dodging fireballs and summoning objects heavy enough to break through the protective shield that held Pinky and Reed. Pinky had to bring down the shield each time Reed wanted to shoot a fireball. It wasn't ideal.

  The two Shaitans seemed fully engaged. Either one of them could be responsible for the mirage.

  I glanced back at Cyrus in time to see the bull-horned Shaitan grab the tip of the whip and yank with brute force. Cyrus didn't have time to let go. He went sailing through the air and skidded at the feet of his opponent.

  Double shit.

  Cyrus needed help, but I couldn't make it that far unless I turned off the vision of early earth.

  I whirled back to Pinky and Reed and saw what I needed to know.

  Take out Bullwinkle, I told Reed. He's the reality bender.

  I'd attended PAN Academy with a Shaitan named Jasper with the same tell. A slight curl of the upper lip when he was mindfucking someone. When I'd pointed it out to him, he accused me of being hypercritical. That it would never matter in a fight.

  It sure as hell mattered now.
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br />   Although Reed didn't respond, his next fireball told me my message got through. He spun away from Tiger Stripes and Elephant Balls and left Pinky at the helm. Instead of aiming for the legs to knock the bull-horned Shaitan off his feet, he aimed straight for the face. It wasn't enough to do any real damage, but it was enough to destroy his focus. The djinni could move his feet and still concentrate. What he couldn't do was close his eyes and tolerate horrific pain without losing focus.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when Lava Land disappeared.

  Pinky and Reed didn't waste the moment. Together, they went for the more talented Shaitan. Reed drew a circle of fire around him and coaxed it up high, effectively separating him from his buddy. Then Pinky sealed him inside one of her pink bubbles, except this bubble wasn't designed to protect its inhabitant. The fire consumed the Shaitan and the shield prevented him from escaping the flames. They licked his skin until he shifted to mist, but he still had nowhere to go. The bubble was airtight.

  The spell was taking a toll on Pinky. I recognized the pain behind her eyes.

  The trapped Shaitan wasn't done fighting. He attempted to shift to something bigger, something strong enough to break out of the shell. By the time he tried to go large, he was too weak to complete the transformation. The cheers from the stands were deafening. Then came a cacophony of loud grunts and stomping feet. The supernatural equivalent of the wave.

  Elephant Balls refused to go gentle into that good night. While Pinky was recovering from her intense spell, he summoned an axe and ran straight toward her, raising his long arm and screaming like a Banshee.

  Reed met him halfway, brandishing his sword. Metal crashed against metal and both weapons went flying out of their hands. Reed switched back to fire, his fuel tank replenished, but the Shaitan was already on the move.

  Pinky mustered her remaining bits of energy and threw up a shield before the Shaitan reached her. He bounced off and fell to the ground. Reed retrieved his sword and ran toward their opponent. He wanted to get there before the Shaitan got back on his feet.

  The Shaitan was too smart. He shifted to mist before Reed reached him.

  "What's wrong with Pinky?" Cyrus asked. He was bruised and covered in what appeared to be pieces of black soot. He held his whip at his side.

  My attention moved back to Pinky, her shield now gone. She looked...spent.

  "Pinky," I began.

  Her eyes rolled back, the whites exposed, and her mouth drooped sideways. She began to shake, first her legs, then her torso, until her entire body was convulsing. Tremors rocked her until she collapsed onto the ground. It was painful to witness. A magic-induced seizure. Basically, a grand mal seizure times ten.

  I scrambled to her side, falling to my knees when an axe skimmed the top of my head. I crawled the rest of the way and threw myself over top of her to shield her from any incoming projectiles. I tried to keep one eye on the fight around me, but Pinky's rattling body demanded my attention. The seizure seemed to stretch into eternity. The world around us slowed and I watched with fascinated detachment as Reed held his sword against our opponent's throat.

  "He won't do it," I whispered to Pinky. "But I sure hope the other guy doesn't know that." Her eyes were still closed. Even if she survived, I had no clue what the long-term ramifications of the seizure might be. Magic-induced seizures were unpredictable. I'd seen a few in the field. One got up and brushed himself off afterward. One recovered after a few months of physical therapy. One was taken away in a body bag.

  By the time the tremors ceased, Reed was kneeling beside me. Gently, he took me by the shoulders and urged me aside so he could get to Pinky. He lifted her easily, her blond ponytail hanging loosely.

  I blinked with uncertainty. "Is it over?"

  "It's over," he said.

  "Elephant Balls?"

  "Castrated."

  I cringed at the thought. "Without a medical license?"

  "I don't think anyone cares. Let's get her to Lana."

  For once, I didn't argue. Rows of spectators respectfully moved aside as we threaded through the crowd to reach the interior of the stadium. A stretcher was ready and waiting in the corridor. Reed laid her down carefully before stepping away. I gave her hand a quick squeeze.

  "Hang in there, Pinky," I whispered.

  Her eyes were closed and she had a trail of drool across her cheek. I wiped it away, not wanting her to feel embarrassed later. It was a stupid sentiment.

  "She pushed herself too hard," Reed said as we watched the stretcher disappear around a corner.

  "What choice did she have?" I snapped. "She didn't want to die. Go figure."

  His jaw tightened. "Don’t take out your anger on me."

  "Oh?" I whirled around on him. "Now you're telling me who I should be angry with."

  "With whom I should be angry," he corrected me.

  "Nobody talks like that!" For the first time, I noticed the deep cut across his forehead. "When did that happen?"

  He touched the wound and glanced at the blood on his fingertips. "It will heal by tomorrow."

  Of course it would. I forgot who I was dealing with. Or with whom I was dealing.

  "More bad news," Cyrus said, joining us. "Gina just told me that Sam Amstell is dead."

  Damn. I'd hoped to question him when he woke up. "What happened? Was it an overdose?"

  Cyrus looked grim. "Worse. Someone snuck into Quarantine and slit his throat."

  My breathing hitched. I wasn't expecting that. "How could someone breach security?"

  "Must be the games," Reed said. "Most of the Enclave and its security team are here."

  "But there are protective spells," I argued. "Even Oscar needed a spell to get us inside the elevator."

  "Well, the only one who would have seen anything is Sam and he isn't talking," Cyrus said.

  No, he wasn't. Not anymore.

  I heard her voice before I saw her. She was in a frenzy, running barefoot down the corridor with her heels in her hand, blond wisps of hair flying in multiple directions. She looked tipsy, with her red blazer askew and her lipstick smudged.

  "I would have been here sooner except the mayor cornered me to talk about his next campaign. He thinks because I'm raising money for one cause that I'd be interested in throwing money away on a lost cause. Idiot."

  "Serena," I said, as calmly as I could. "Thank you for coming."

  Her eyes popped. "Thank you for coming? I'm not accepting a damn party invitation. I've come to see my hurt baby. Now where is she?"

  I guided her to Pinky's room. Before we opened the door, I placed a hand on her arm.

  "She's been unconscious since the match. The healer thinks it's some kind of protective stasis. Her mind and body are working together to heal her."

  "So it's a magical coma?"

  "I guess that sums it up nicely."

  I opened the door and we stepped inside the sterile room. Serena rushed to Pinky's side and clutched her limp hand.

  "My baby," she whimpered and smoothed back her daughter's hair so she could kiss her forehead. "What have they done to you?"

  "They're doing everything they can." Oscar appeared from a dark corner of the room, his face drained of its usual color and energy.

  Serena spun around to face him. "This is your fault," she yelled, poking him in the chest with a perfectly manicured fingernail. "Your job is to protect her, not toss her into the lion's den."

  It seemed Mama Bear had finally come around to my way of thinking.

  To his credit, Oscar looked contrite. "She is a talented mage. The future of the Enclave. Her participation was the highest honor."

  "Right," Serena snapped. "She looks real talented laying here unconscious. What an honor."

  Oscar glanced at Pinky and his expression softened. "You're right, Serena. I should have waited another four years."

  He didn't seem interested in telling me I was right, too. Under the circumstances, I'd let it slide.

  "And you," Serena said, jerking her head
toward me. "You're supposed to be her mentor. She was safer with the mob than you. Jimmy O'Leary is a scumbag, but he never hurt her. He never put her in danger. You, on the other hand, seem to be a magnet for trouble."

  Hanging out with the crime syndicate was safer than teaming up with me? Ouch.

  "I'd like to remind everyone that I didn't want her to compete," I said. Her selection for the team would have happened whether I was in her life or not. It was an Enclave decision. "I tried to keep her out of it."

  "You didn't try hard enough," Serena said. "You dishonor your caste, Alyse Winters. Now leave my daughter's room so we can be alone."

  Oscar and I exchanged glances. I didn't love the idea of leaving Serena alone with Pinky when she was in such an emotional state. What if she did something stupid like try to take her to a regular hospital? Humans often didn't understand how magic interacted with the human body.

  "I'll be right outside if you need anything," I said. There'd be no sneaking out with a comatose daughter if I guarded the door.

  Once outside, Oscar took out his checkered handkerchief, wiped down the doorknob, and stuffed it back in his pocket. Apparently, nothing rained on his OCD parade.

  "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, Alyse," he said and I nearly collapsed from shock. "She seemed eager to represent us." His shoulders sagged. "She seemed proud to have been chosen."

  "Because she wanted to please you," I said. "If it hadn't been you asking, she never would have gone through with it."

  He met my penetrating gaze. "It wasn't my intention to...I didn't manipulate her."

  "I know you didn't," I said. "But someone manipulated you. Someone who felt Pinky was a threat."

  His brow lifted. "A threat? To the Enclave?"

  Typical man. Failed to see that he was one pointy end of a love triangle.

  "No," I said. "A threat to a relationship with you. Gina Akron suggested Pinky for the games, didn't she?"

  "Gina? No, she..." He trailed off, thinking. "Yes, actually. It was Gina who proposed Pinky."