Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1)

by A. Blythe

  I picked up the drinks and nudged my head toward the back of the room. "Come on, Flynn. Stay with us until you sober up. We'll go back to Farah's together."

  I cringed inwardly. I hated my weakness for him. He wanted to be better than he was, but he always managed to get in his own way.

  I located Mix, Farah and Paulette near the edge of the dance floor. Farah was already sandwiched between two bare-chested guys and Mix and Paulette were in a world of their own, foreheads pressed together. They swayed to a much slower beat than the one that was playing.

  I handed Farah her beer and took a long sip of my vodka tonic before I started to move. No point wasting alcohol on the floor.

  "What took you so long?" Mix asked. "We thought you'd be here ages ago."

  I rolled my eyes at Flynn. "I hit a roadblock."

  Mix's eyes narrowed. Like Farah, he wasn't a Flynn fan.

  "Who's that?" Paulette asked.

  "The illustrious Flynn," Mix told her. "Alyse's ex."

  "He's not here with me," I said. "But I couldn't leave him like this."

  "I can see why," Mix said dryly. "He seems in dire straits."

  I followed Mix's gaze. Flynn's moves were attracting both male and female attention on the dance floor. He was dancing like no one was watching, completely immersed in the music. I'd forgotten how smooth his moves could be when he wasn't busy being an ass.

  "What's that area up there?" I asked. Behind us was a terraced area that overlooked the dance floor.

  "VIP lounge," Mix shouted over the music.

  I wasn't sure who was considered a VIP in a place like this. Athletes and celebrities? Mobsters? The hottest people in the room? Probably all of the above. There was only one guy up there now, nursing a beer while he watched the dance floor. He definitely checked the hot guy box. He didn't look like a mobster. Too gorgeous.

  "I need the ladies room," Paulette said. "Anyone else need to go?"

  Mix shook his head.

  "Not me," I said. "It usually takes at least two drinks before my bladder complains."

  She didn't bother asking Farah. Her red hair was getting tossed left and right as she flirted shamelessly with her hip-thrusting dance partners. They were Hinns, judging by their bulging muscles and primal moves.

  "If the line to the bathroom is anything like the line to get in, I'll probably be back in an hour," Paulette said.

  "Good luck," I called. It didn't seem necessary to tell her that Farah and I were ushered right through the front door. Bouncers were no match for Farah's boobs. Her bouncers won every time.

  "Do you two come here a lot?" I asked Mix.

  He took a swig of beer. "A few times. Paulette likes to dance."

  "Well, I certainly didn't think it was your suggestion." Mix had always been too self-conscious to dance in public. He was more of a living room rock star.

  "I dance," Mix said, a tad defensively.

  "Let's go then, Mr. Disco," I urged. I raised his hand and twirled underneath it.

  For a few songs, it felt like old times. We were three happy-go-lucky djinn tearing up the dance floor. A small part of me missed those days.

  I could see why the club was popular. It was packed and fully charged with sexual energy. A sea of half naked bodies flooded my vision. Men and women writhing to the beat. Sometimes alone, sometimes against each other. The music was so loud, I felt the bass reverberating inside my body. I'd forgotten how it felt to be in a club for the fun of it. Usually my visits involved a club owner with intel.

  I enjoyed watching Mix strut his stuff. He had more confidence than when I'd left here. It was a nice change.

  When Paulette finally returned, she seemed mildly annoyed that I'd displaced her. I didn't want her to get the wrong idea, so I quickly made room for her.

  "Anyone need a drink?" I asked. I desperately needed water. My full-time human body craved water more than it ever had before.

  They shook their heads. I was about to tap Farah on the shoulder when I spotted trouble headed my way. Captain Reed was pushing his way through the crowd and he didn't look too happy about it.

  "Uh oh," I said, to no one in particular.

  Reed halted when he saw me. His expression seemed to say 'again?' That look could mean only one thing.

  Somewhere in the club was a dead body.

  15

  "Where is it?" I asked.

  Reed gestured to the back of the club and continued to push his way through the mob of people. The further into the club we went, it became more like the parting of the Red Sea. Dancers moved aside, making space for us to pass. Well, for the hot Naphil to pass. I was just his parasite.

  We climbed up a few steps to the VIP lounge area and my stomach lurched at the sight of the body on the floor. I inhaled sharply when I realized who it was -- the gorgeous guy I'd seen up here earlier, nursing a beer.

  "You know him?" Reed asked, scrutinizing me.

  "No," I replied. "But I saw him up here a little while ago. He was alone, watching the dance floor."

  "Watching it like he was patrolling or waiting for someone?"

  I shrugged, unable to tear my gaze away from the young man who, only a few minutes ago, had been enjoying life. For a fleeting moment, I felt grateful for the copper bands around my wrists. At least I was alive.

  "He had a beer," I said. "I suspect that's prohibited while on patrol."

  Reed didn't answer.

  Detective Thompson stood on the opposite side of the lounge, talking to a waitress. She caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye and nodded.

  "He was here alone," the waitress was saying. "I brought him a beer. The next time I came to see if he wanted anything else, he was gone."

  "Maybe he was already on the floor and you didn't see him," Detective Thompson suggested.

  "No." She shook her head adamantly. "He wasn't here. Not even his glass."

  The empty glass sat on the coffee table, so he'd obviously returned to the lounge from wherever he'd disappeared to.

  "When I passed by this last time, I saw him on the floor." The waitress broke into sobs and Detective Thompson placed a comforting arm around her.

  "You're certain you didn't see him with anyone?" the detective asked.

  "A young woman, but only for a minute."

  Captain Reed stepped closer to her. "A young woman? Could you describe her?"

  "Dark hair," she replied and looked directly at me. "Like hers. Same hairstyle, too, I think." She cocked her head, studying me.

  Terrific.

  "But she wasn't me, right?" I said. "I mean, you'd recognize her if you saw her again?"

  "I couldn't say for sure. I only noticed her for a second." She started to cry again.

  "Thank you," Detective Thompson said. "You've been very helpful, Melanie. If you think of anything else, here's my card."

  Melanie took the card and wiped a few stray tears before exiting the VIP lounge area.

  Immediately, they both turned and pinned their laser eyes on me.

  "Hey, how can I be a suspect? For one thing, I have alibis on the dance floor. I never came up here."

  "Do you have witnesses?" Detective Thompson asked.

  I swept a hand toward the dance floor. "Hundreds of them."

  They continued to study me, deciding.

  Reed spoke first. "Let me see what I can pick up from here."

  "You don't go anywhere," Detective Thompson warned me. "In my experience, three corpses in one person's presence are too many to be a coincidence."

  I'd feel the same way if the situation were reversed. So how was I going to convince her I was innocent?

  Reed closed his eyes, soaking up the surrounding energy. I saw him flinch and knew that he was filtering out the victim's pain. It couldn't be easy for him.

  He touched a few spots. The glass coffee table. The lime green sofa.

  "It's the same two," he murmured.

  "Sex and fear?" I queried.

  "You shared confidential intel with a
possible suspect?" Detective Thompson asked with an air of annoyance.

  "In the warehouse," he said. "She was helpful there."

  "I am helpful," I insisted. "And I'm not a suspect."

  Detective Thompson gave me some serious side eye. "I don't think that's something you get to decide."

  "Well, if it's the same two from the warehouse, then it's not me."

  "Unless I've been misinformed, there's no proof it wasn't you in the warehouse," Detective Thompson said, glancing at Reed for confirmation.

  He gave a reluctant nod.

  "Let's focus on the facts, shall we?" I said, my pulse racing. It wasn't going to be easy, but I had to make them see me as an ally rather than a suspect. "What was a Naphil doing alone in a club?"

  "What does anybody do in a club?" Detective Thompson shot back. "Drinking and dancing."

  "The Nephilim don't dance." I paused. "Do they?" I'd never seen one dance.

  Reed folded his arms across his chest. "You really do paint us all with the same brush, don't you? You realize that we're half human. That means we're as different and varied in our behavior and interests as all humans."

  Detective Thompson cleared her throat. "So how did Scared and Perverted manage to murder this poor bastard in the middle of a crowded nightclub and run off with his kidneys without any witnesses?"

  "They took his kidneys?" I asked. Maybe Khalil was right -- it wasn't organ traffickers. Maybe it simply was a European Ghul with refined tastes.

  "I'll need confirmation," Detective Thompson said, "but I'm pretty sure."

  "You said there were two emotional imprints here," I said and Reed nodded. "But the waitress only saw a single female with the victim."

  "Maybe the other suspect is a djinni who turned invisible," Detective Thompson said. "You'd know all about that."

  I held up my wrists. "I'm not exactly firing on all cylinders."

  "I still don't think it's a djinni," Reed said.

  Thank the gods for small favors.

  "Then how else do we explain what happened?" Detective Thompson asked.

  I studied the VIP lounge area. There was no way a murder this brutal could have happened without a witness. Unless...

  "The waitress said when she came back the first time, that he was gone and so was his glass."

  "And?" Detective Thompson prompted.

  "What if he wasn't actually gone? What if he was here the whole time?"

  "A cloaking spell?" Reed queried.

  "I bet you're looking for a mage." I felt a rise of excitement. Yes, definitely the work of a mage.

  I surveyed the dance floor and the steps leading to the VIP lounge area. "The two came together. The girl approached the Protector first, made him feel comfortable, then she did a cloaking spell so the killer could make his move without anyone noticing."

  "So the magician is female," Detective Thompson said.

  "Then who's her partner in crime?" Reed asked.

  Detective Thompson glanced at her surroundings, mulling it over. "Why such a public place? Why not murder him in a dark alley?"

  "Why him at all?" Reed added.

  "What can you tell us about him?" I asked.

  "Mayer was one of our younger Protectors," Reed said. "He usually patrolled with two other Nephilim."

  "Not tonight, though." I stared at the victim. His face was almost babyish. I felt a rush of sorrow. All those abilities wasted. Abilities he probably hadn't fully developed yet.

  "The vic from the warehouse," Detective Thompson began, "he was a younger guy, too, wasn't he?"

  Reed nodded, his expression grim.

  "And those guys are usually with other Protectors of the same rank," Detective Thompson continued. "Why lure one of these guys away from the herd when the higher ranked Protectors patrol alone?"

  "Because we're too strong." He raked a hand through his blond hair. "They're targeting the younger guys because they're less experienced, easier to isolate."

  "I bet organs of the Nephilim are worth a lot of money on the black market," I said.

  Detective Thompson's dark eyebrows knitted together. "But not all the victims have been the Nephilim."

  "It could be a motive and opportunity situation," I said. "If they can acquire the higher value target, they do. If not, they go after what's available."

  Detective Thompson looked at Reed. "I'm gonna lean on one of my informants for the name of the Dragon's organ trafficker."

  The Dragon was the crime boss for the entire Mid-Atlantic Colony. Like the elusive organ trader, no one knew his true identity. He was simply known as the Dragon.

  "And I'll check with the Enclave about a woman fitting this one's description on their register." Reed fixed me with a hard stare. "You'd better hope none of these paths leads back to you."

  I wholeheartedly agreed. I needed to clean up this mess and fast. I pictured myself shivering in a tiny cell, a far cry from the Prestige Suite in the Sails Hotel and Casino. How had I fallen so far so quickly?

  "My friends are on the dance floor. Go ask them if I was absent at any point tonight." On second thought, that probably wasn't a great idea. I had separated from them to get drinks at the bar. I wasn't sure how easy it would be for me to match up the timelines.

  "Miss Winters, as far as I'm concerned, you have the motive and opportunity you mentioned," Detective Thompson said.

  "Motive?" I blinked. Opportunity, yes. But motive? "What could possibly be my motive?"

  "As I understand it, you lost your job and your bank account," Detective Thompson replied. "What better way to get quick, quiet money than the black market?"

  "You think I would kill for money?" I asked through gritted teeth. Yes, a mission sometimes resulted in death, but I only killed as a last resort, and I never felt good about it.

  Detective Thompson remained calm in the face of my potential fury. "Isn't that what you did for the Shadow Elite?"

  "I wasn't an assassin," I said. My attempt to keep my temper at bay was on the verge of abysmal failure. "This is ridiculous. I am not involved in this. I have no djinn powers and no desire to carve up perfectly good bodies for money or entertainment."

  "Then prove it," Reed said. "You want to help? Prove you're not involved."

  Two sets of eyes fixed on me, and I knew with absolute certainty my innocence wasn't going to be settled over a cup of coffee or a friendly training match. Reed was smarter than I gave him credit for. He was going to use me to help solve the crime the way he used the mob to drive other criminals out of the colony. If I was guilty, I'd slip up and show my hand. If I was innocent, they'd still find their killer. Either way, problem solved.

  I couldn't afford to get arrested and he knew it. If I spent all my energy and limited resources defending myself against murder charges, I might as well plunge a copper blade into my heart right now because my life would be over. News of my arrest would be a matter of public record. My enemies would swarm the city until they found me. Cuffed and isolated in a cell, I'd never make it to trial.

  I threw up my hands. "Fine, I will. I'll bring the killers' heads on a spike and then we'll see who's guilty," I said.

  "We'd prefer them alive, if possible," Detective Thompson. "It's not medieval times, Miss Winters. We do like them to have a fair trial."

  I disappeared into the crowd in an angry rush. I had to get to the bottom of these murders. If I didn't find the real killers soon, these cuffs would be the least of my concerns.

  16

  Hugo Munson's office was over on Spring Garden Street, north of Center City. The building was older, but unlike the ones in Flynn's neighborhood, it didn't look well maintained. I spotted a broken downspout and a cracked step in the first ten seconds. I pushed open the door and was greeted by a small desk in the reception area with no one manning the station.

  "Hello?" I called.

  No one answered. I walked down the short corridor that dumped me into a single room. The door was ajar so I used the tip of my foot to nudge it open wider.
A pale man with thinning strawberry blond hair sat behind a cheap-looking MDF desk. His nose was buried in a book. Dracula.

  "You like the classics?" I asked, startling him.

  He reached for the top drawer and I held up both hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. There was no one at the front desk."

  "She's at lunch," he replied uneasily. I noticed he hadn't moved his hand away from the drawer.

  I remained calm, but I was damn glad I was armed. Checking out his flabby biceps and jowls, I figured I had the advantage.

  "I'm doing a job for Jimmy O'Leary, and I thought you might be able to help me."

  Slowly, he moved his hand back to the desk. He set down the book with his other hand and gestured to a metal folding chair in front of the desk. Not exactly luxurious. I thought mob accountants made a decent living. The only items of any value were the rows of books on the shelves behind him. This guy sure liked to read. An eclectic collection, too. The top row included How to Win Friends and Influence People, The Art of War, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Twilight.

  I sat down in the uncomfortable chair. "My name is Alyse Winters."

  "How can I help you, Miss Winters?"

  I assumed he would relax when I sat down, but he still seemed unsure of me. For a split second, I thought maybe he had the Third Eye, but then I remembered my aura wasn't visible anyway. Maybe he was simply one of those guys who was nervous around women.

  "I understand you used to work in the organ trade," I said.

  His finger flew to his lips. "Shh." Spittle sprayed his finger. "This is not something openly discussed."

  I glanced around the office. The hum of the wall-mounted air conditioner was loud enough to drown out our voices, should anyone be within earshot. Which they weren't.

  "And now you work for O'Leary, right?"

  He tapped his fingers on Dracula. "I like to think I'm beholden to no man."