The Elementals Collection

by L. B. Gilbert

  Daniel screwed his nose up, replaying the exchange between the woman he knew as Eileen and the male bartender. Eileen Knight was actually named Serin. He was sure of it.

  “Se-rin,” he repeated, testing the syllables. It could have been another alias, but somewhere deep in his brain, a switch flipped. Instinct told him he was on the right track. As if on cue, his memories of the night sharpened. He remembered heavy drum and bass music, the weird clompy shoes the blonde barkeep wore, and a few gigantic and smelly customers.

  Ray was really confused now. “Are you talking about a gas attack now?”

  “No. I’m telling you… I think I know Eileen Knight’s real name.”

  “Wait.” His partner flushed, his hands fisting. “That bitch was here? Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  “Do me a favor. Don’t raise your voice like that.” Daniel winced, the pounding in his head resuming. “And yes, she was here. I told you that earlier.”

  “No, you didn’t. I would remember if you’d mentioned her.”

  Daniel ignored his partner’s scowl. He almost certainly had a mild concussion, so Ray could just deal with his less-than-perfect memory.

  “Well, I meant to,” he grumbled. He turned back to the wall, picturing the club on the other side. “What’s more, I was totally right about her fighting ability. I saw her land a mean roundhouse kick that took down this monster three times her size.”

  That image was burned into his brain. It could have been a snippet from the video of the fight in the alley, only this had been live and in living color.

  His stomach clenched suddenly. He couldn’t remember what happened to her afterward. Daniel forced himself to take a slow breath. Serin-slash-Eileen was all right. In fact, he’d bet a week’s paycheck she was in better shape than him at the moment. And whatever else was true, he now had proof the woman could take care of herself.

  Unless one of those guys got the drop on her. She could be lying somewhere hurt, needing help…

  “At least we know who hit you now,” Ray groused.

  “No,” Daniel dismissed. “I’m pretty sure it was the bartender. Or it could have been the blonde with the horse shoes, I guess. But Eileen, I mean Serin, was in front of me holding off that trio of assholes.”

  He scratched his head carefully, skirting the edge of the massive bump. “Now that I think about it, I’m sure those guys were coming for me. I might actually owe her one.”

  Ray snorted. “Now I know you have brain damage. If that woman was involved, then it wasn’t to do you any favors. In fact, we should test your blood for traces of Rohypnol. For all we know she slipped you a mickey and that’s why you can’t remember anything.”

  “The bottle broken over my head is the reason my memories are fuzzy,” he said, rubbing his wrist before touching the wall again. “I don’t know how they managed to disappear a whole club, but they did it. This is some next-level Houdini shit. I just hope Serin made it out unharmed.”

  His partner shook his head in pity. “I think that’s enough for today, lover boy. No more stalling. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  Head aching, Daniel let himself be loaded into the rental car. Maybe a trip to the doctor wasn’t a bad idea. His wrist was itching like crazy now.

  13

  Daniel picked his way through a waist-high bracket of shrubs with a silent swear. Ray was busy hunting down a promising confidential informant from his old ATF days so he’d run out here on his own over his partner’s protests. He’d assured Ray it wasn’t a big deal—the doctor had given him the all clear and this lead was almost definitely a dead-end.

  Instead, it appeared he’d stumbled on a major buy. What for, he wasn’t sure…

  Cars and motorcycles surrounded a derelict building that used to be a country mansion. The sprawling three-story structure belonged to a timber baron. After that industry waned and the city had grown enough to encroach on the extensive property, the land was sold and the house was abandoned by the family. The bank owned it now.

  Some of the trees had grown back, but the bulk of the plant life was thick spots of scrubby brush. Many a bum had slept in the home over the years, but occasionally, a criminal enterprise would set up shop on the grounds. Every couple of years, the local authorities would clear them out. According to their records, this place remained empty after the shooting of a low-level drug dealer late the previous year. Ballistics had matched the bullet dug out of the body to one of the guns used to take a shot at him and that bystander he’d never identified in Midtown.

  Despite what the television shows would have people believe, unregistered guns changed hands all the time. The lax regulations around firearms made it a bitch to track them. Daniel didn’t hold out much hope he’d be able to tie the death of the dealer to the attempt on his own life. Unfortunately, he was fresh out of other leads, so he’d made time to drive to the old crime scene, never expecting to find anything.

  He’d been over a mile out when he saw the reflections bouncing off the windshields of all the cars surrounding the building. Hoping the shine of his own vehicle was missed by the occupants, he pulled his car off the road near a particularly dense patch of sun-bleached shrubbery. Then he continued on foot to get a closer look.

  The slim chance this was a group of kids getting ready to party at an abandoned house was nixed the moment he spied the first man holding an AR-15. A second man joined him moments later, similarly armed. They scanned their surroundings, rounding the corner in a regular circuit. Inside, multiple men passed behind the windows. It appeared to be a full house.

  Fuck. Daniel ducked, texting an alert to Ray and the local police. He snapped a quick pic of the house, taking care to fit the guard and a few other men in the shots before turning to head back to his car to wait for backup.

  He hadn’t gotten far when he spotted her. Serin was there, on foot, climbing out of a culvert. She was dressed head to toe in black leather, like the club, but unlike the armed guards patrolling the grounds, she had a sheath strapped to her back.

  It held a freaking sword. There was also a small hand-held trident strapped to her hip.

  Overhead, a sudden unexpected rumble of thunder sounded. Daniel scowled at the sky. The previously cloudless day darkened, a huge bank of black clouds racing toward them.

  The first fat drop of rain hit him as Serin slid past him on silent feet.

  Daniel had seen former Navy seals turned agents move like that. He could almost always hear them when others couldn’t. It was a party trick, one he could do blindfolded. Serin was less than ten feet away, and it was as if she weren’t there. He strained his ears to hear something of her movement, but there was nothing except the drops pelting the ground.

  He half expected some action movie soundtrack to start playing—her approach was that badass. She didn’t even appear to notice the sudden cloudburst at all, keeping her attention fixed on the house ahead. She never turned her head in his direction.

  Daniel had to press his lips shut hard as a sudden hot flash heated his wrist, the same circle of skin that had itched like mad right after the club incident. It had stopped a few days ago, only to flare up now at the worst possible time.

  His first instinct was to go after the crazy sword-wielding woman, but Ray’s loud voice in his head held him back. If Serin was here, there was a good chance she was involved with whatever was going on inside the house.

  His long years on the job told him that was the case, but his instincts were screaming otherwise. And why the hell was his fucking wrist hot to the touch now? It didn’t hurt at all, but it was throbbing as if he were wearing vibrating handcuffs.

  Ignoring the sensation, he refocused on Serin as she approached the building. It didn’t appear as if she was trying to avoid the patrols, but they didn’t see her as they altered their circuit. They hugged the walls of the house, taking advantage of the roof’s overhangs to stay drier.

  His shirt was sticking to his chest now. Daniel wiped his eyes, struggli
ng against the rain obscuring his vision, but he was transfixed with Serin’s every move.

  Any second, the guards were going to come back around.

  Ray’s right. They’re going to recognize her and wave her in.

  At least that was what he told himself. Doubt tightened his gut, but he forced himself not to move as he tracked his suspect’s progress.

  Serin bypassed the back door, heading to the side of the house. What happened next was surreal. One second, she was on the ground… and the next, she was hanging from a third-story attic windowsill.

  What the ever-loving fuck? Before his mind had finished processing the sight, the window sash lifted and she twisted, slipping inside in a move Jean Claude van Damme would envy. Ninjas had nothing on her.

  For a moment, elation coursed through him. Ray had been wrong about her! But Daniel’s smug satisfaction melted faster than the rain. The chances she was here to do business was out the window, pun intended. But now he had a bigger problem.

  She took out an entire motorcycle gang, he reminded himself. If anyone could take care of themselves, it was her. Except there were at least eight cars here. There could be two dozen men in there for all she knew.

  You are not moving. You are waiting for backup.

  The woman he’d been tracking was some sort of specialist slash mastermind. No doubt she had a carefully laid plan. If he went in there, he might mess things up for her.

  And if you don’t stop her, you’ll have her dead to rights.

  Vigilante or cutthroat competitor, Serin wouldn’t be able to avoid jail time if she got rounded up in this bust. Then there was the fact the woman was carrying a sword. There might be literal throats cut if he didn’t intervene…

  Daniel clenched his jaw, fighting a losing battle. He waited for the guards to duck around the corner before sprinting toward the house.

  Taking a page out of Serin’s book, he headed for the same side of the house she had. He glanced up at the third story window, but there were no real handholds under it. How the hell had she gotten up there?

  He didn’t have time to think about it. Instead, he went for the first-floor window, craning his neck to make sure there was no one on the other side.

  In comparison, his break-in was less than graceful. His hamstring was screaming, dangerously close to snapping like an old rubber band as he clambered over the sill. Daniel landed with a grunt, surpassing a cough as he dislodged several decades worth of dust.

  The walls were bare save for some torn wallpaper. Next to him was a dilapidated couch and a few beat-up armchairs. Discarded plastic cups littered the floor. Milk crates were positioned strategically next to the furniture, makeshift coffee and end tables for the stoners who came here to party.

  Fortunately, the room was empty. He picked himself up, debating leaving his sidearm hidden under a stained couch cushion. In these clothes, there was a chance he could bluff the people into thinking he was a part of the group. It depended on how well the parties involved knew each other.

  The cop in him knew he couldn’t leave his service piece behind, so he pulled it out, keeping it close to his side as he followed the faint noise of conversation. He crept along a dingy hallway, but he couldn’t make out the words. The door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. A body was blocking his view but then it moved, revealing a large rolling suitcase full of money on a pitted table.

  It was a fuck-ton of cash. If the suitcase was as full as it appeared, then it was somewhere in the ballpark of five million dollars—far more than would usually be seen in a standard drug deal.

  What the hell was going on here? Figuring it out wasn’t his priority. Making sure Serin didn’t get herself killed was.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced his legs to get in gear, backing away from the open doors so the kitchen’s occupants wouldn’t see him pass.

  He continued his search for Serin, creeping from room to room, narrowly missing getting caught more than once.

  It was his text alert that did him in—the little buzz it made even on silent sounded, echoing in his head much louder than it was in real life. Swearing, he fished it out of his pocket to turn off the vibrate function, but it was too late.

  The actual volume of the buzz had been muted. The gun cocking a few feet away, however, was deafening.

  He turned around, scowling at the wet man pointing a massive Magnum at him.

  “What?” he snapped, deciding to bluff his way out. “I’m texting my girl.”

  The moron was dripping water on the floor. Daniel assessed him in a blink—low enough on the totem pole to be relegated to outdoor patrol and stupid enough to carry a cannon that no doubt bucked like a mule instead of something light and utilitarian.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the goon snarled.

  Daniel put his phone in his pocket with a casualness that belied his racing heart. “I’m Joe, smartass. Who the hell are you?”

  The guard blinked, lowering the gun a fraction. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here Joe,” he said, elongating the name into two syllables.

  “My boss told me to check this whole floor out,” Daniel said dismissively, taking his phone out again.

  Be there in fifteen, the text from Ray said.

  The mouth breather was confused. “Then why didn’t I see you earlier?”

  “So you always meet every employee of the men your boss does business with?” Daniel waved at the windows. “My car got stuck in the mud. This fucking rain, huh?”

  His expression clearing, the guard lowered his cannon. He shrugged. “Yeah. It came out of nowhere. Even my boxers are wet.”

  “I’ll take your word on that,” Daniel added, trying not to cast worried glances at the door.

  With luck, the rest of the criminals would assume muscle-man with the cannon was talking to another guard, but he couldn’t bet on it.

  He opened his mouth, about to make an excuse about taking a leak, when a crash upstairs rained dust all over them. It was swiftly followed by another before shouting began.

  “Serin,” he breathed, taking off at a run. The goon followed at his heels.

  14

  Serin hadn’t planned on fighting all the way down to the lower level. This whole floor should have been empty, but two of the men had made their way upstairs to plot a bloody betrayal in the next room.

  “I’m telling you, we can do it if we act fast,” the first man said, loud enough for her supernatural hearing to catch it through the thin plaster.

  “Or we get our heads blown off trying,” the second one replied.

  “All we have to do is take them by surprise. Do you know how much money is in that briefcase?”

  “And do you know how many other guys are downstairs?” The second man broke off, saying something she couldn’t make out.

  “With this, we won’t need to worry about them.”

  Serin edged around the corner, peeking into the room to see one of the would-be mutineers holding a massive machine gun. The weapon was straight out of a sci-fi movie, like the firearms in Fifth Element, Logan’s favorite movie.

  She swore under her breath when the man held the gun up like a showroom model.

  “This baby is all we need,” he insisted, waving it around. “One can take out a fucking army.”

  “And that Puck guy is buying two dozen. What makes you think he and his men won’t grab them and take us out?”

  The first man pointed the barrel at the floor, holding the heavy weapon with one hand.

  “Because the clips on these are custom made… and they’re locked up in my trunk.” His tone self-congratulatory, he smirked. “Too bad I didn’t fork over the real key to Sal. The boss won’t know what hit ‘em. Neither will the buyer.”

  He nudged the other guy hard. “Puck deserves to get fucked over, the way he talks down to everybody.”

  The second man passed a hand over his face. “All right, but we split the cash and the rest of the guns fifty-fifty.”

  Well, crap. If s
he didn’t intervene now, these two idiots were going to start shooting up the place. They could very well kill Puck before she got a chance to question him.

  Serin moved into the center of the doorway, blowing air through her lips to puff her hair out of the way. The men in the room froze with hands-in-the-cookie-jar expression. Their faces darkened first with confusion and then suspicion.

  “No, I’m not with any of you. I’m here to kick your ass and take those guns.” Irritated, she rolled her eyes when they continued to stare at her like idiots.

  Affecting boredom, she yawned, then held out her hand, signaling them to come at her. Being naturally stupid, they obeyed, completely forgetting they were holding what might qualify as a weapon of mass destruction.

  The gun was the first thing she broke, snagging it in a blink and twisting the barrel so they couldn’t fire it.

  Disbelief was barely dawning in their eyes when she followed up with a punch, one she had to pull back on to avoid killing the first. The man went flying through the dilapidated wall of the bedroom before she landed a kick to head of the second man.

  The sounds of their skirmish attracted attention. Men flooded in like rats escaping a flood.

  Grinning, Serin pulled out her sword. It sang, cutting the air—and some body parts—with a hum that guaranteed death if anyone got too close.

  Her muscles warmed rapidly as she fell into the rhythm of battle. Instinct and training took over, acting and reacting to block punches. She used the sword only when someone was about to raise their gun—and even then, it only took a strategic cut to certain fingers to get them to drop them the weapons.

  She would never admit it to her sisters, and especially not to her family, but Serin was enjoying herself.

  The Water Elementals of T’Kaieri were fierce warriors, but they had been trained from birth that using violence was a last resort. They were supposed to use their talent to take out their enemies. Relying on brute force was beneath them.

  But it was so much more satisfying, she thought as a goon twice her size crashed at her feet with a thud that rattled the floor. She couldn’t help her smile at the sight.