by A. Blythe
"It hasn't been a problem so far," she replied.
"I'm sure that's what Todd thought right before he died."
"Fair point. I'll consider it."
We reentered the front of the store and I replied to Mix with a yes. He responded with a smiley emoji. Oh boy.
"So who else might deal in curved blades?" I asked, putting the phone away. "You mentioned a Shaitan and one of the guys in O'Leary's gang."
"Why are you interested in which weapon killed the Protector?" Farah asked. "Last time I checked, you thought Protectors were overachieving Boy Scouts with great abs, patrolling the wasteland you hate. You call it Filthadelphia, remember? Had to run off and become a supernatural spy to get away from the grime."
"It's the means to an end," I replied, picking up a jar of caramel body paint. "Now I would actually consider this. Have you tried it?"
Farah shook her head. "Too sticky. I prefer the milk chocolate."
I set down the jar. "Anyway, if I help with the investigation, then the Boy Scout might feel obligated to help me. A win-win."
"And here I thought I was special," a deep voice said.
I recognized that low rumble.
Farah froze, her attention fixed on the person behind me.
I whipped around to face Captain Reed.
"Your eye healed nicely," he said.
"Not really. It's under two coats of concealer."
"I tried not to hit you too hard."
"Next time try harder," I shot back. "How did you find me here?" And why are you looking?
"I didn't," he said. "Well, I did, but I'm not looking for you. I'm looking for Farah."
"I'm Farah," she said and fluttered her long eyelashes at him. I was glad she'd been in fox form at the warehouse. As far as I knew, she'd never banged a Naphil. One human look at Captain Manly and I thought she decided it was an oversight she'd like to remedy.
His brow lifted. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you without the fur." He displayed the hand that she'd bitten in the warehouse. "You'll be glad to know I'm rabies free."
Farah smiled. "Still think I'm cute? I can shift, if you'd prefer my fox form. You wouldn't be the only one." She winked.
Captain Reed cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
"I understand you might be able to locate a certain type of weapon." He looked around the store, only now appearing to notice exactly what kind of store he'd wandered into. "Or maybe not."
"I don't know what would give you that impression," Farah said. She was no fool. Potential customers needed a password and Reed didn't have it, as long as Farah didn't think about the password in Reed's presence.
I stared at him, the realization settling in. "You got her name from me, when you were in my head." In the warehouse, I remembered thinking that I would ask Farah about the kukri. Stupid telepathy.
He shrugged. "Does it really matter?"
"And what's in it for me? Why would I help Johnny B. Law?" Farah asked. I couldn't tell if she was angling for a date or protecting her business.
"The name is Grayson, actually," he said with a slight smirk. "Captain Grayson Reed."
"Nice to meet you, Captain Reed," she said.
"So if you answer my questions about the weapon, maybe I can help your friend with her problem." His gaze shifted to me.
As much as I wanted his help, I didn't want Farah to compromise her business for my benefit. She'd already done more than enough for me.
"The only weapons around here are of the female variety," I said, nodding toward Farah.
"I don't think feminine wiles are responsible for the death of my Protector, do you?" He narrowed his gaze.
"Well, he was naked and missing a heart," I said.
His jaw clenched and I could tell he was deciding his next move. I tried to keep my mind clear so that he couldn't ransack my thoughts.
"It's fortuitous that you're here," he said, his dark eyes glinting.
"Fortuitous?" I repeated.
"Yes, it means happening by a lucky chance."
I glowered at him. "I know what it means."
He withdrew an object from his inside pocket. "I believe this belongs to you. No fire damage. Must be the magical kind."
It was. He handed me the Glock that he'd knocked out of my hand at the warehouse.
"Have you been carrying this around, hoping to run into me?" I asked.
"Relax," he said. "It's not a glass slipper. I'm a Boy Scout, not Prince Charming, remember?"
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "If you change your mind, give me a call." He handed the card to Farah and she promptly tucked it down the front of her T-shirt.
"What? None for me?" I pretended to be insulted.
"I already have your number," he said. One hard look at me told me he meant it.
"Since you're here," Farah said, "you might as well look around the store. See if anything strikes your fancy. I could even model a few things for you."
Captain Reed smiled politely. "Perhaps another time." He glanced back at me. "Say, did you ever manage to find O'Leary?"
I stiffened. "I did, actually."
"And was it a fruitful meeting?"
"Possibly." I folded my arms across my chest, unwilling to elaborate.
"Fair enough," he said casually. He picked up the jar of caramel body paint I'd been admiring. "How much?"
"Fifteen," Farah replied, her voice suddenly reduced to a breathy whisper. I nearly had to wipe the drool from her chin.
He took out his wallet and handed her a ten and a five. "I'll let you know how it is," he said, giving me a final glance before he strode out the door.
Farah looked at me, her brown eyes wide. "I think you might be wrong about the Nephilim."
"What do you mean?"
Her gaze moved to the door where Reed had just exited. "I don't think Boy Scouts use edible body paint."
The Night Owl is a bar in the Old City neighborhood, tucked away in an alley that looked straight out of the Colonial period. Red brick buildings lined a cobblestone street and sported a variety of tasteful shutters -- clay red, French gray, mustard and black. Old-fashioned lampposts dotted the street. Some homes still had metal boot scrapers and iron hitching posts out front. One of the ballsier residents flew a Union Jack flag. Loyalists to the end.
The bar was owned by a member of my caste, a Marid named Khalil. I'd been deliberately avoiding places like this so that the royal court didn't get wind of my return. The last thing I felt like doing was explaining to Prince Simdan and his cronies what happened to me. Khalil was an old friend, though, and he generally knew how to keep information quiet. That was one reason his bar was popular among the supernatural in the city. That and the excellent food.
Farah and I entered the bar together. In honor of the occasion, she'd traded her usual T-shirt for a strapless yellow dress that accentuated her hourglass figure. Farah didn't typically wear dresses. She found them too restrictive when she had the itch to fight. Hinns could be passionate creatures. Their closeness to their animal forms often resulted in flaring tempers and overturned tables.
I spotted Mix and his girlfriend in a booth at the back of the room and waved.
"I want to say hello to Khalil first," I told Farah. "What do you want to drink?"
"Whatever's on tap," she said and sashayed through the room to the booth. I heard a few admiring whistles as I turned to greet Khalil behind the bar.
"Surely, this is a mirage," he said, breaking into a huge smile. "Alyse, my love. You're back."
"Only temporarily," I said and reached across the counter to embrace him. He smelled like saffron and stale ale. "How's business?"
"No complaints," he said. "What dragged you back to our little pit of despair?" He dropped his voice. "Have you shown your face in court yet?"
I shook my head. "Not part of my travel plans."
"Well, I'm pleased you came to see me. I see you're keeping the same mixed company as before." He nodded toward the ba
ck booth where Mix and Farah were engaged in conversation.
"They're good djinn," I said.
"I know. They're here often enough."
"Are all these customers as loyal?" I asked. The place was packed.
He dropped his voice. "It's been busier than usual lately. I think they're on edge with the recent murders."
My brow wrinkled. "Murders? Plural?"
"Yes, several in recent weeks."
So Lieutenant Adams wasn't a solo victim.
"Have any of the victims been djinn?"
"No, but my sources tell me there've been two Nephilim, a magician, and several humans."
I rested my elbows on the counter. "Why would human deaths make these guys nervous? People die here every day."
He leaned closer. "It's the manner of the deaths. Some of them have been in pieces. So much so that the detectives haven't located all the missing parts."
Thankfully, Adams' body had been intact. Mostly.
"Maybe an animal shifter?" I proposed. While all djinn were shifters, not all djinn opted to shift into animals. I rarely chose an animal form unless it served a specific purpose.
"Possibly," he replied. "Although my money's on a Ghul."
Ghuls are the most depraved of djinn. They prey on the living as well as the dead. Many of us believe that the idea of vampires originated from Ghuls. They're driven by their lust to feed. Corpses ripped apart could easily be Ghuls.
"What about the missing parts?" I asked. "What are we talking about? Arms and legs? A heart?"
"There have been missing organs, among other parts," Khalil said. "One of the humans was missing a liver. With another, they found all of him except the lungs."
And Adams had been minus a heart. I shivered. "That doesn't sound like the work of Ghuls. They wouldn't eat one small part and leave the rest of the bodies."
"Unless we've got a few in town with refined taste." He smiled. "Perhaps a European Ghul."
"Any consistency with the weapon used?" I thought of the curved blade.
He shook his head. "Not from what I hear."
"Speaking of weapons," I began, "I'm trying to track down an heirloom that was stolen from a client."
"The Elite has you tracking heirlooms?" he queried. "Talk about a waste of talent."
I didn't bother to correct him. As much as I liked Khalil, the fewer djinn who knew my situation, the better.
"Tell me about it," I said. "Have you heard of anyone trying to sell a scian? It's special, made from copper and cold iron."
One eyebrow lifted. "Both, huh? Somebody dislikes our kind."
I smiled. "I try not to take it personally." I reminded myself that it was the means to an end.
"I haven't heard anything," he said. "But I'll keep an ear out. What's your number?"
I gave him my cell number. "And one more thing," I said.
He grinned. "Let me guess. Whatever's on tap for Farah and a vodka tonic with a twist of lime for you."
"You remember?" I was touched.
"How can I forget?" he asked. "You're the only badass in the city that ever favored cocktails over hard liquor." He moved behind the bar, pulling Farah's pint first before preparing mine.
"I nearly ordered a blackberry martini, but I didn't want to embarrass myself."
He pushed the drinks across the counter. "On the house for your visit home."
"Thanks, Khalil." It helps when you're dead broke to have a bartender as a friend so you can drown your sorrows for free.
I took the drinks and threaded my way through the crowd toward my friends in the back booth. Before I could reach them, I spotted two men I neither wanted nor expected to see.
Niko gave a small wave from a nearby table. Mickey merely scowled.
I took a sharp turn in their direction, still clutching the drinks.
"What are you two doing here?" I demanded. "This is a supernatural bar and you know it."
"We like the atmosphere," Mickey said, polishing off his bottle of beer.
"How long have you been tailing me?" I asked.
"Long enough to lead us here," Niko said diplomatically. "The boss wants to make sure that you're working on his case. It's important to him."
I took a sip of my vodka tonic to keep myself from throwing it in Mickey's face. It would be a waste of good booze.
"I'm working on it," I assured them. "The Night Owl is a hotbed of information, kinda why I'm here, so please let me do my job."
"Those your friends over there?" Mickey asked, nodding toward the back booth.
"Not your business," I snapped.
"The brunette looks familiar," Niko said. "I think I've seen her around."
"How can you see anyone else with that redhead sitting there? She is fine," Mickey said, licking his lips. "Is she a djinni? I bet she'd make all my wishes come true."
I fought the urge to finish the vodka and break the glass over his head. I hated guys like Mickey.
"Tell your boss I'm going to find his precious heirloom, but I need space to breathe. Please stop cramping my style." I spun on my heels and joined my friends.
"Alyse, finally," Mix said, as I slid in beside Farah. "I thought you were going to talk to everyone in the whole bar before you got to us."
"Sorry," I said and smiled. "You must be Paulette." I reached across the table and shook her hand. She was a slight young woman with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Cute.
"Nice to meet you," she said. Her smile faltered and she released my hand.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"Jeremy said that you're a Marid," she said.
"I am."
"I...I can usually see auras. Yours should be blue, but I see nothing around you."
I understood her confusion. The Marida are known as the blue djinn because of our blue auras. The different aura colors are one way to figure out a djinni's caste, and in my case, quickly identify their strengths and weaknesses. Janns are green, Hinns are yellow, Shaitans are orange, Ifrits are red, and Ghuls are brown. The blue djinn are older and more intelligent than the others, or so claim the Marida djinn. The copper cuffs stifled everything though, including my aura. The djinni was locked away and my human body was the bottle.
"Is that the extent of your Third Eye?" I asked. "You can read auras?" The Third Eye doesn't work the same in every human. Some can read auras; some can simply sense a difference in beings without understanding it. In addition to a small number of garden variety humans, all magicians possess a Third Eye.
"There's a little more to it," Paulette said in a quiet voice. "But that's how I knew that Jeremy was different from other guys I've met."
"Not the only difference, I hope," Mix quipped.
She squeezed his arm. "Of course not."
"You always loved computers," I said. "Farah and I used to pry his fingers off the keyboard and force him to mingle with the outside world."
"Then you left," Farah said pointedly. "And I had sole responsibility for Mix." She chugged her beer.
"But it all worked out," I said, gesturing to the happy couple. "If I had been around, this never would have happened."
"Why not?" Paulette asked.
I clamped my mouth closed, inwardly cursing myself.
"Because she's so bossy," Mix interjected, saving my sorry ass. "She would've demanded to vet you before I was allowed to date you."
The truth was that Mix used to harbor a massive crush on me, which we had all been very aware of, but he had learned I wasn't interested. I loved him like a brother. It had taken him a while to accept it, but he eventually had, and we had become better friends for it.
"So Mix says you're a secretary," I said, making an effort at polite conversation. It wasn't one of my strengths.
"I know it's probably not as glamorous as what you've been doing, but the pay is decent and I'm good at my job."
"Yes, it's very glamorous to be stooped over a dead Protector in a grimy warehouse that your psycho ex-boyf
riend sent you to." I took another sip of my drink. The vodka was hitting me harder than I expected. Must be the full-time human body.
Paulette inched closer to Mix. "A dead Protector?"
"Oh yeah. Then it became a real party when another Protector stumbled onto the scene and stole my gun."
"My gun," Farah corrected me.
"To be fair, he did bring it back." I still couldn't believe Captain Superman returned my illegal firearm to me. He really was a Boy Scout.
"Alyse, can you maybe tone it down?" Mix asked. "Just because Paulette knows a little bit about our world doesn't mean she wants to drown in it."
"Sorry," I said. "Anyone want another drink?"
"I'll get this round," Mix offered and slid out the side of the booth. Before he made it to the bar, a tray of drinks arrived.
The server placed the drinks in front of us and put a hand on her hip. "For the redhead, courtesy of the guy at the end of the bar."
Farah craned her neck for a better view. "Which one?"
"Blond hair, big muscles," the server said. "We call him Popeye."
Farah smiled. "You had me at blond."
The server collected the empties and returned to the bar.
Farah raised her new glass to her admirer and he beckoned her over.
"He's like you," Paulette said.
"Hot?"
"A Hinn," Paulette replied. "His aura matches yours."
Another mention of auras only served to remind me that I no longer had one. I tipped back my next drink.
"Make sure you go to his place," I said. "Remember, you have a roommate now. A roommate who can't shift her way out of an uncomfortable situation."
Farah winked at me as she fled the booth, drink in hand. "Don't wait up."
Mix's mouth dropped open when he returned to find a fresh round of drinks. "Someone beat me to the punch?"
"That's okay," I said, slurping the last drops of my second vodka tonic. "I'm really thirsty."
He eyed me carefully. "You seem to be confusing vodka with water." He sat down across from me and leaned forward. "Your eyes are glassy. Alyse, I think you're drunk."
"Am not. I've never been drunk." To be drunk after these few drinks, I'd have to be human, or my regenerative powers would have to be on the fritz. Oh.
