Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1)

by A. Blythe

  I intended to flick a dismissive hand in his general direction, but I think it ended up dismissing the guy at the table next to us. So my aim was off. That didn't mean I was drunk.

  "Come to think of it, I've never seen you drunk," Paulette said to Mix.

  "Because of our healing and restorative abilities," Mix explained. "It would take a ridiculous amount of alcohol to get a djinni drunk."

  Paulette nodded toward me. "Then how do you explain her? She's only had a few drinks."

  Mix sighed deeply. "Alyse is not her complete self."

  "That's putting it mildly."

  "She can't shift," he explained. "Or use any of her djinn powers. She's been cuffed, meaning she's trapped in her human form. That's why her aura is off."

  I shushed him. "My situation is not for public consumption."

  "Alyse, I hate to say it, but you're going to need to take better care of that body," Mix said. "When's the last time you exercised?"

  "Dunno." I thought it best not to mention the yoga class.

  "First thing tomorrow," he said, pointing a bossy finger at me. "Go for a run and dust off the cobwebs."

  "Schuylkill River Trail is nice," Paulette said. "Jeremy and I like to walk along the river."

  "Don't go too early or you get the worker bee crowd," Mix warned. "Those guys are competitive."

  I'd take it under advisement. Right now, the thought of dragging my butt out of bed early and going for a run was right up there with playing Spin the Bottle with a room full of Ifrits.

  Paulette pressed her lips together, her freckled face oozing sympathy. "How long will you be trapped like this?"

  Oh great, we were back to my predicament. "Until I find the scumbag that did this to me and exact horrible vengeance."

  "What will happen if you can never get the cuffs removed?" she asked.

  I downed the rest of my drink. That was a possibility I was unwilling to contemplate.

  9

  By the time I left the bar, the streets were quiet and empty. Farah disappeared with the muscled Hinn and Mix and Paulette left soon after. Thankfully, my two stooges had abandoned their posts over an hour ago, probably to head over to Lucky's or one of the other strip joints. I had no doubt that Mickey possessed a well-worn frequent flyer card. Buy ten lap dances and get your eleventh free!

  Despite the late hour, I stuck to the alleyways out of habit, avoiding any high-traffic areas. We weren't called the Shadow Elite for nothing.

  I sensed a shift in the shadows around me and the back of my neck tingled. Seems I had an admirer. Given the lack of footsteps, my money was on a djinni.

  I hadn't gone toe-to-toe with a djinni since getting cuffed. In my mind, I cycled through all the moves I'd been taught to use when in human form. None of them seemed adequate. My daggers were too far from my hands and Farah made me leave the Glock at home. Apparently, walking around town with visible weapons was frowned upon by humans. Since I could no longer turn invisible or veil my weapons, I'd have to bear that in mind.

  I could, however, still bluff.

  "I have a gun," I said and pretended to reach for it. Maybe the threat would be enough.

  "You'd miss," a voice said.

  I spun around to face my stalker. I should have known.

  "You can't even walk straight," he said. "There's no way you can shoot straight."

  "Why are you following me, Flynn?" I asked. I dropped the gun ruse and resumed walking. I couldn't believe I'd experienced a fleeting moment of fear over Flynn. Man, I hated these cuffs.

  "My girlfriend said there was a disruption in her class the other day," he said, hurrying to fall in step beside me. "There's only one person I know who could disrupt a yoga class."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I lied. He couldn't prove it was me.

  "She said the woman's name was Alyse and she had -- and I quote -- a salty attitude."

  Damn.

  I stopped in my tracks. "Fine, it was me. Much like the two of us, yoga and I are not a match made in heaven."

  "That's because we're both hot as hell." He leaned closer and I felt the old, familiar tug of attraction. I quickly buried the sentiment, unwilling to entertain it even for a moment.

  "Go home to your very flexible girlfriend, Flynn," I said and started to walk again.

  He grabbed my arm and pulled me up against him. "How does it feel? Not being able to shift right now."

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Vulnerable Alyse is your wet dream come true." Although he never admitted it, I knew he resented the fact that I was stronger than him.

  He pinned my arms behind my back and I resisted the urge to free myself. A struggle would give him too much satisfaction.

  "You were strong, Alyse. You could control the goddam weather. Now look at you." His breath was warm on my skin. "By the gods, I think even sweet Tessa could take you in a fight. You two and a vat of Jell-O...I could make you a YouTube sensation."

  I skipped straight over the Jell-O part to the real insult. He thought Tessa could take me down? Not even with the help of her entire yoga class.

  I couldn't reach my daggers, so I punished him the old-fashioned way. I kneed him in the balls. He huddled over, releasing my arms.

  "You should've shifted," I said, giving his left calf a swift kick for good measure.

  He dropped to his knees on the ground and began to laugh. "You can take the girl out of the djinni..."

  "Did you seriously come here tonight to torture me?" I asked. "Between the warehouse and the yoga class, you've done quite enough of that. I'm tired. My human body doesn't do well on less than seven hours sleep. It makes me cranky."

  Reluctantly, I pulled him to his feet.

  "Oh, that makes you cranky." He dusted off his dark jeans. "I followed you because I have a lead for you and I didn't want the entire bar to overhear our conversation. Happy now?"

  "Depends." My hands flew to my hips. "Do you mean the kind of lead that gets me trapped in a warehouse with a dead Protector and his boss? Or the kind that gets me kidnapped by a herd of Italian Stallions? Either way -- no thank you."

  "How about an undercover PAN agent?"

  Better. "If he's undercover, how do you know he's PAN?"

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Give me some credit, Alyse. I'm not a complete moron."

  History suggested otherwise. "Tell me how you know."

  Flynn rolled his eyes. "He sought me out when he got to town. He's not undercover per se. It's more like a long-term mission that PAN wants to keep quiet. Anyway, we have a mutual friend from the Academy."

  "I thought I was the only one from the Academy willing to speak to you?"

  He ignored me. "He's going by the name of Tom Watt."

  "Which caste is he?"

  "Which djinn make the best undercover agents?" he asked with a knowing look.

  "Shaitans." It seemed that Tom Watt was using his gifts of deception for the greater good.

  "If you're interested, he does his food shopping on Wednesday mornings at the mini-mart in Wynnewood. Regular as clockwork. Wears an Eagles hat."

  I eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you know this?"

  "I've met him there a couple of times to trade information."

  "What kind of information does he give you?"

  He patted me on the head. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

  "This pretty little head is capable of knocking you unconscious if you piss me off one more time." The Tessa comment had already pushed me close to the edge.

  He laughed. "I think you're going to be unconscious in about thirty minutes, with a killer hangover to boot."

  I punched him in the gut and he doubled over, groaning. "I am not drunk."

  Flynn looked up at me and smiled through the pain. "Welcome back, Alyse. By the gods, I've missed you."

  10

  I woke up the next morning with a thundering headache and a severe case of cottonmouth. I was grateful Farah was still out so she couldn't pa
ss judgment.

  I showered and washed the stench of The Night Owl from my body. Mix was right. If I was going to be trapped in this form for a while, I needed to take better care of it. I decided to heed his advice and go for a light run along the Schuylkill River Trail. When we were younger, Farah enjoyed running along the Schuylkill at night in her fox form. I wasn't sure if it was something she still indulged in. These days, most of her nighttime activities seemed to involve movies on the sofa or a member of the opposite sex. Only one of those could be considered a workout.

  Once I was dressed and ready, I took the bus from Broad and South to Pennsylvania Avenue and Twenty-Fourth Street and made my way to the trail. The smell of body odor filled my nostrils and I fought the urge to gag. Public transportation was one more thing I needed to get used to without my ability to travel quickly. When I got my powers back, I would never take shadows and light for granted again.

  I stepped off the air-conditioned bus and walked straight into a wall of honey, at least that was what the humidity felt like. Thick, syrupy air. Ugh. This was probably not the ideal weather for running. Then again, I wasn't about to wait until September rolled around to burn calories. I was too vain to risk a tummy bulge or back fat. It was bad enough that I had to buy my own clothes. Buying clothes online was even worse -- it was the equivalent of sex with an ugly guy. Sure, it might give you two seconds of pleasure, but, for the most part, you wanted to close your eyes and pretend it never happened.

  The trail was fairly quiet, not too many exercise enthusiasts were out and about at this hour. Probably because it was midday at this point and they were smart enough not to invite a heart attack.

  I took time to stretch, paying special attention to my hamstrings since they were apparently shorter and tighter than other women's. I made a quick effort to touch my toes but no dice.

  I jogged past Lloyd Hall where people were waiting to rent rollerblades and bikes and continued past the rest of Boathouse Row. As I approached Girard Avenue Bridge, I sensed trouble ahead. The red flashing lights in the nearby parking lot confirmed my gut feeling. I noted several police cars and an ambulance.

  I slowed my pace and tried to gauge the situation. I didn't need djinn powers to know that this was more than a rollerblading accident. Uniforms were crawling the area. I noticed one cop, an African-American woman, combing an area away from the mass of uniforms, closer to the river. She was about five feet four inches tall and wore a black uniform shirt. Not high-ranking then.

  "Is there a problem, Officer?" I called to the woman. It seemed inhuman to pass by without seeing what all the fuss was about.

  She was intent on studying something on the riverbank. I decided to see what had caught her interest. I peered over her shoulder to see a Day-Glo orange high-top sneaker.

  "That can't be good," I said.

  She jerked her head toward me. "Ma'am, what do you think you're doing?"

  "I was going for a run, but that plan's been scuppered. Too much excitement around here." Something bad had happened. I could feel it. The agent in me had an insatiable need to know what it was.

  "This area is a crime scene," she said. "You need to move along."

  Sorry, Officer. It isn't in my nature to 'move along.'

  "It hasn't been cordoned off," I pointed out. "And the rest of the cops are over there." I gestured toward the parking lot.

  "That's because that's where the remains were found."

  "Apparently not," I said, with a pointed look at the sneaker.

  She folded her arms across her enormous bust. "Kids lose sneakers all the time. This one probably fell out of a backpack and ended up here."

  I raised an eyebrow. "I don't think this one falls into that category."

  "Why not?"

  "Because a lost sneaker doesn't usually still have the foot in it."

  Her head snapped back to the sneaker. "You see a foot?"

  It was the stench more than the sight. "Trust me. It's in there. Summon your lab geeks or whatever the professionals do."

  The cop studied me intently. "Why'd you come over here?"

  "I told you. I was running the trail."

  "I know, but what made you come over here? Why not go to the parking lot where the men in uniform are." Her arms were still folded. She seemed to be assessing me.

  "You look smarter than they do," I said. "If I wanted a date, I'd go over there."

  Her arms dropped to her sides and her shoulders relaxed slightly. "You sure? Michaelson is single."

  I followed her gaze to the man in the middle of the group barking orders. He was average height with a paunch and a balding head. "I can see why. He looks like he'd like to bite his toenails but can't make it past his belly."

  She cackled. I'd never met anyone before who actually cackled.

  "I'm Detective Thompson," she said.

  "You work in homicide?"

  Her gaze shifted away from me. "Sometimes."

  Sometimes. Who worked homicide cases sometimes? Oh.

  "You're PTF," I said. The Paranormal Task Force is the secret section of the police department that serves the supernatural world. Cops like Detective Thompson are the human liaisons to crimes involving djinn, the Nephilim or magicians. Although their existence would be denied, every colony has one. Some colonies take the supernatural more seriously than others. It depends on who's in charge and whether they're believers.

  Her face registered surprise. "You know about the PTF?"

  I nodded. "I've had reasons to know." I wasn't about to tell her I worked as an Elite agent or that I was cuffed. That seemed a bit premature.

  "There's been a lot of activity in my area lately," she said. "When I heard there were remains found, I came here to see for myself that they were human."

  "And are they?" The sneaker wasn't a guarantee that the victim was human. The sneaker only told us that the victim wasn't a Naphil. No self-respecting Naphil would dare wear Day-Glo orange high-top sneakers.

  Detective Thompson shrugged. "They're still putting him back together up there. We'll know soon enough." She eyed me. "Why do you have reasons to know, anyway?"

  "In my line of work," I replied smoothly, "I have all kinds of clients." I placed heavy emphasis on all kinds.

  She made a grunting noise. "Maybe you want to warn some of your clients then. There seems to be some kind of serial killer on the loose." She paused and glanced around to see whether anyone was listening. "If this guy turns out to be not entirely human, then it will be the fourth one this month in my precinct."

  "Are they all like this one?" I asked, gesturing toward the wayward shoe.

  "Sliced and diced," she said and nodded. "To varying degrees. From what I understand, they're still looking for this guy's torso."

  "And foot," I said.

  She gave a small smile. "I'd better summon the lab geeks, as you say. You should clear out. Now that we've found a piece over here, this whole area will be off-limits."

  She seemed nice. A nice contact in the PTF could prove useful during my stay in Philadelphia. "Do you have a card, Detective?"

  She pulled one from her pocket. "My extension seems to get changed regularly without anyone telling me. If you get someone else, ask for Detective Kenya Thompson. There's another Thompson in vice and my calls are usually sent to him."

  Typical. "Thanks." I slid the card into my waistband. Although I had no pockets, the running pants were made of Lycra, tight enough to wedge the card in place.

  I turned around and jogged back to my starting point. The run may have been a wash, but the day had just gotten a little more interesting.

  11

  On Wednesday morning, I left the apartment while Farah was sleeping off another late night with the muscular Hinn. At least she came home this time.

  I managed to grab a cab one block over and save my new sandals from immediate wear and tear. These babies had to last.

  I gave the driver the address of the mini-mart in Wynnewood. Although traffic wasn't bad leaving
Center City, I couldn't say the same for incoming traffic. I didn't know how people commuted every day.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled into the parking lot.

  "You want me to wait?" the cabbie asked.

  "No, thanks." I had no idea how long I would be. I couldn't afford to keep the meter running. I paid the man and departed the cab.

  The mini-mart wasn't too big, hence the name. I figured it would be easy to find him if he stuck to his routine as closely as Flynn claimed.

  I strode inside, keeping an eye out for a man in an Eagles hat.

  "Good morning, sunshine," a baritone voice said.

  I spun around and groaned at the sight of Niko and Mickey. Niko picked up a handheld shopping cart.

  "What are you doing?" I asked through gritted teeth.

  "There was another murder yesterday. The boss asked us to accompany you in case of trouble," Niko explained. "We trailed you to this place."

  "I'm here to food shop," I said. "The only trouble here is the price of cereal."

  They exchanged glances.

  "So where's your cart?" Mickey asked. "You didn't pick up a cart when you came in."

  I huffed loudly. "I'm only grabbing a few things. I don't need a cart or a babysitter."

  My breath hitched when I spotted the telltale Eagles hat. Tom Watt was in the produce aisle, weighing pears.

  "The boss is anxious to locate his missing heirloom," Mickey said. "You've been taking so long, he figured you could use our help."

  "Well, I can't." I began to walk toward the produce aisle, but Mickey laid a hand on my shoulder.

  "Let me put it another way," Mickey said. "He insisted that we accompany you on any outings. He wants to make sure you're making his business a priority."

  "Tell your boss that's awfully kind of him, but I prefer to work alone." That much was true. Shadow Elite agents don't have permanent partners, just temporary teams like the one I had in Monaco. The one that left me high and dry. I brushed off the bitterness.