Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) (4 page)

T
he sky was
an ominous gunmetal gray when I met Thompson in front of her office for another Ghul School session. We'd agreed to return to the scene of our previous narrow escape to see if the Ghuls were still in residence. Midday was the best option since they were unlikely to be active until dusk.

Her brow furrowed when she saw me. "Do you own any other clothes?"

I glanced down at my black tank top and dark jeans. "What's wrong with this?" I liked the built-in holster of the tank top and the jeans had a slightly stretchy quality that allowed me to run like hell when necessary.

"Nothing's wrong with it," she said. "It's just that you wear them so often, I think they're going to be able to walk on their own soon."

The woman who probably wore PTF pajamas to bed was criticizing my fashion choices. Before I could offer my own sartorial assessment, her phone buzzed.

"Thompson," she said. The longer she listened, the tighter her jaw became. "Got it. Thanks." She shot me a look of disappointment. "We need to reschedule."

"Better offer?"

"I wish. There's an active shooter near City Hall. I need to go."

"Why call you?" Detective Thompson was PTF. She didn't get involved with human crimes unless they involved a supernatural element.

"Apparently, he's not shooting bullets." She hustled down the steps to the sidewalk.

"Not a very active shooter then." Or very dangerous.

"He's shooting beams of light out of his fingertips."

Oh, that would explain it.

"I'll come with you," I said, hurrying to fall in step beside her.

She gave me a withering glance. "You're a civilian, Alyse. I can't have you following me to an active crime scene."

"I'm not a
civilian
civilian," I argued, not very effectively. "I have experience."

We sprinted to JFK Boulevard where several bodies littered the ground, partially disintegrated. The 'active shooter' sported a green Mohawk and wore an orange muscle shirt with tight, black pants. He was standing on the roof of an office building, aiming his laser hands at innocent bystanders and releasing a primal yell with every zap.

Thompson stopped dead and stared at the chaotic scene. "I don't think anybody has experience with this."

"He's grinning like he won the lottery," I said. I nearly said 'like a lunatic,' but I figured the lunatic part was pretty obvious.

"What's he saying?" Thompson asked.

"Pretty sure it's 'ka-ching'," I replied.

"One of yours?" Thompson asked. I knew she was deciding which weapon to use.

"Mage," I said with a shake of my head. He seemed drunk with power. It wasn't a common occurrence. Mages were trained from the time they registered with the Enclave. They even followed a code of responsibility.

Unless he was unregistered.

I'd already had one bad experience with an unregistered mage in this city. I wasn't interested in a second one.

"No selfies," Thompson snapped when she saw the phone in my hand. "This is serious."

"Do I look like the kind of person who takes selfies?" I asked. And where would I post it? Burnedagents.com? I was trying to lay low, not garner attention. "I don't have a direct line to the Enclave, but I have the next best thing."

"This is Pinky. Even if you don't leave a message, I'll know you called. I'm good like that." Beeeeep.

Voicemail. Great.

“Where are the Protectors?” she asked in an irritated tone.

Thompson was right. The Office of the Protectorate was within sight and this murderous rampage was right up their alley. I was pretty sure ‘protect humans from being slaughtered by magic’ was on page one of the handbook.

A beam of white light shot past me and melted the fire hydrant on the sidewalk. There was a joke somewhere in there about dogs being pissed, but I was too focused on not dying to make it.

Thompson took refuge behind an armored van and aimed her SIG Sauer pistol, specially modified for her PTF needs. Nothing happened.

“Why haven’t you fired?” I asked, joining her behind the van.

“There are people in the windows on the top floor,” she said. “I could end up shooting an innocent bystander.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring a gun to a laser fight?” I yanked up my jeans and unsheathed my jade daggers.

“You think your aim is better than mine?” Thompson queried.

“With a dagger? Unquestionably.” I tapped the blades together. “Besides, if these babies hit glass instead of the intended target, they’re far less likely to hurt anyone on the other side of it.”

Laser Guy laughed maniacally as he blasted the tires of a city bus. Then, I kid you not, he danced a jig right there on the rooftop. A jigging guy in a green Mohawk was enough of a sight, but during a killing spree? That took crazy to a whole new level.

“He seems like he’s in a good mood. Maybe I can talk to him,” I said. As an agent, I hadn’t been directly involved in negotiations, but I’d witnessed more than I cared to admit. They generally didn’t end well in the supernatural world.

Thompson held out her arm in an effort to stop me. "Don't be stupid. He'll laser your butt before you reach the street."

I didn't think the guy actually wanted anything. There was no list of demands. And he was clearly too nuts for a reasonable conversation. At the very least, I hoped to distract him from laying the whole damn city to waste.

I tucked the daggers into my back pockets and stepped out from behind the van.

"Hey, Laser Guy," I called, waving my arms to get his attention. "Nice haircut. I've been thinking about getting something similar. Who did yours?" It wasn't a total lie. September had not given my frizzy hair the break from humidity it desperately needed. Next time I got paid, I was buying a straightener.

He watched me closely, his hands still stretched away from him. He was probably wondering if I was crazier than he was. I wasn't entirely sure of the answer myself.

"How about we give the laser beams a rest before your arms get tired?" I asked. "You wouldn't want your aim to suffer." Not that he seemed to have specific targets in mind. This was a free-for-all, plain and simple.

"Who are you?" he asked, frowning. "You're not a cop."

He studied me intently. I figured he was looking for my aura. Tough break, buddy. Mine was a little misleading. Normally, my aura looked blue for those with the Third Eye. Thanks to the copper cuffs, though, I didn't appear to have one. For those who didn't know any better, I looked human.

"I'm not a cop," I said and raised my hands above my head to show him I was unarmed.

When his hands dropped to his sides, I moved. Fast didn't begin to describe it. I pulled one of the daggers from my back pocket and launched it skyward with deadly accuracy. Even without my magic, I had good aim. Of course, if I had access to my powers, I'd summon a rocket launcher and send him halfway to Florida.

I watched as the point of the dagger landed squarely in the palm of his right hand. He howled in pain.

I didn't waste the opportunity for an encore. I pulled out the other dagger and aimed for his eye. Despite his pain, he was faster this time. He melted my dagger before it reached his face.

My beautiful, expensive jade dagger.

Farah was going to kill me.

A blast of white-hot light landed at my feet.

Okay, not if Laser Guy killed me first.

I spun to the side before he adjusted his aim with the next laser.

"Get back here," Thompson called, gesturing wildly.

I blinked. "Reed?"

He stood beside Detective Thompson in all his Protectorate glory.

"What's his plan?" I asked, hustling behind the van. I knew from firsthand experience that Reed was a talented telepath, among other things.

Reed frowned. "His head is a mess. It's all quick flashes of images and incoherent thoughts."

"Sounds like he's hopped up on something," I said.

"That's unusual for a magician," Thompson said. "They're usually so rule-abiding."

"You seem to have them confused with the Nephilim," I said.

Captain Reed clucked his tongue. "Nothing wrong with abiding the rules, Miss Winters. You should try it sometime. It might keep you out of trouble for a change."

I pointed to Laser Guy. "This has nothing to do with me."

"And yet here you are," he said. He gestured to the carnage all around us.

Laser Guy aimed for the armored van as his family-friendly jig morphed into a crude dance number.

"Show's over," Reed muttered.

Right. Because the killing wasn't obscene enough.

Reed ran for the base of the building. He didn't have the benefit of bending the light the way djinn did, but still. He was remarkably fast.

Laser Guy was still shooting at us, unaware that one of our trio was now scaling the wall to reach him. Thompson set to work herding the remainder of the screaming civilians into the nearest building and out of harm's way.

I tried to keep my attention firmly fixed on Laser Guy, for the sake of self-preservation as well as Reed's safety. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed Reed's Spiderman performance. He climbed up the side of that building like he was scurrying across a floor on all fours. The laws of nature were a mere trifle. I wondered how the human witnesses would process what they'd seen. This wasn't the type of incident that was easily explained. Thankfully, it wasn't my job to keep the wall between the human and supernatural worlds from crumbling. I'd leave the spin control to the experts.

Laser Guy's pornographic dance moves told me he didn't expect company on the rooftop. Even so, I ran back out to the street and called to him in an effort to distract him.

"I like your style," I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Maybe we can grab a drink when you're finished slaughtering innocents."

He grabbed his crotch with one hand and flashed a delirious smile in my direction. If this was his idea of flirting, I was pretty sure he was still a virgin.

Reed made it to the rooftop. I had to keep the focus on me. Mix would tell me I was good at that.

"Ten bucks says you can't hit me from there," I called.

Laser Guy grinned in anticipation. As his palm lifted toward me, the white light sparking, Reed crept up behind him and raised his Protectorate sword. Laser Guy managed to release one more deadly beam before Reed struck. I leaped to the side and dodged the streak of light. In one practiced move, Reed severed Laser Guy's head from the rest of his body. It rolled to the edge of the rooftop and hovered precariously for a moment before gravity stepped in. The head plummeted to the earth and smashed on the concrete sidewalk like a pumpkin on Mischief Night.

My breakfast churned in my stomach and I looked away.

Needless to say, Laser Guy wasn't smiling anymore.

T
urned
out that Laser Guy was a registered mage after all. His name was Kieran Morrow and he was twenty-seven-years-old.

I cornered Pinky during one of her meditation sessions to get the dirt on the Enclave's runaway train. She sat cross-legged on a cushion in front of the coffee table in Farah's apartment, one of her new favorite hangouts. Her eyes were closed and a single candle burned in front of her.

"What did the coroner say about the insane mage?" I asked, bounding into the room with all the consideration of a kindergarten classroom. I'd just been for a run with Mix along the Schuylkill River Trail and I was feeling energized.

Pinky's blue eyes popped open as she was yanked out of whatever contemplative state she'd been in.

"His system was clean," she said.

"No amphetamines?" I asked. That had been my guess.

Pinky shrugged. "No, nothing. Not even a beer."

Mix wandered in from the kitchen with bottled water and handed it to me. "You keep forgetting to hydrate. The human body needs water."

I accepted the water begrudgingly. I didn't like being reminded of my condition. The cuffs were reminder enough.

"Are drugs an issue in the Enclave?" I asked.

I wasn't satisfied with Pinky's answer. There had to be drugs in his system. I'd met plenty of straight-up psychopaths, but they were usually calmer and cooler than Kieran Morrow's hyperactive performance.

"Dunno. They were a big problem in my high school," she said. Although Pinky dropped out of high school, she'd earned her GED. She was a powerful student of magic. Not such a powerful student in geometry.

"Oscar doesn't seem like the type of leader who would condone drug use," Mix said.

"Definitely not," Pinky agreed. "He doesn't like any mess. Drugs are messy."

No kidding. Just ask the PTF workers who cleaned up JFK Boulevard.

"Did Oscar have anything to say about Kieran?" Even though Detective Thompson would be speaking with him, I wanted the unofficial story, too.

"He's upset about the casualties, of course," Pinky said. "And the Colony Games. Kieran was a member of our local team."

"Laser Guy was competing?" I asked.

Pinky nodded. "Everyone's devastated. We all liked Kieran. He is...He was a really powerful magician."

He
was
powerful. Almost too powerful.

"I guess his Edward Laserhands impression secured his slot in the games. I've never seen a mage do that."

Pinky blew out the candle and looked at me. "Edward who?"

I waved her off. "Forget it." Although my human form appeared to be mid-twenties, my djinni form had been around a lot longer than that. For better or worse, I'd absorbed decades of American pop culture.

She uncrossed her legs and reached toward her ankles to stretch her back. "I've never seen Kieran shoot lasers. His specialty was curses."

Mix nudged me in the ribs. "You two had something in common."

Pinky rolled her eyes and stood. "Not those kinds of curses. He could make people itch all over, go blind for a few minutes. Stuff like that."

I plopped down on the sofa. "So how did he suddenly develop extraordinary laser powers?"

"Dr. Josie suggested we have Kieran's brain studied, but Oscar said no. He thinks the stress of training for the games triggered the psychotic break."

"The Enclave has neurologists on retainer?"

"There are more than a few doctors in the Enclave," Pinky said. "We're all humans, you know. We need to have jobs and, like, normal lives."

I gave her a pointed look. "Not all of you, apparently."

She stuck out her tongue in response.

Something about Kieran's story wasn't sitting right with me. I was pretty sure the trigger for his psychotic break wasn't due to stress, mainly because stress doesn't give you powers you didn't have the day before.

I
lingered
outside the PTF office, waiting for Detective Thompson to finish interviewing Oscar. I knew she wouldn't be invited to visit the Enclave Headquarters because its location was a secret and she wouldn't risk losing their cooperation by insisting on a visit. Diplomacy was a necessary skill for someone in Thompson's position.

I ducked behind a telephone pole when Oscar emerged from the building. Gods above, I missed my ability to veil myself.

He slid on his sunglasses and disappeared into a curbside sedan. His movement was sluggish and I wondered whether it was from a lengthy interrogation or lack of sleep. Things couldn't be rosy at Enclave HQ right now.

Once the car joined the line of traffic, I headed into the building. Security was fairly heavy with a metal detector and armed guards near the front entrance. I was smart enough to have left my weapons at home.

I approached the desk and gave the older man a smile, not so wide that I looked happy to be at the precinct. It may also have been because Flynn once told me my wide smile made me look deranged. So I aimed for just pleasant enough to suggest a decent human being had arrived for a visit.

"I'm here to see Detective Thompson," I said.

The older man grinned back at me. "Nice guy. He's in vice, right?"

Wrong. "Detective Kenya Thompson. About five feet four." I lined up my hand with my chest. "She always wears a black top." Her PTF uniform top. I couldn't say she was in PTF because it was doubtful Ye Olde Timer was clued in to its existence.

He scratched his chin, thinking. Oh, the invisibility of the middle-aged woman, even in her own workplace. If I didn't manage to get my cuffs off, that would be me in another twenty years or so. No thank you.

"Thompson, you say?"

"I do say."

"You sure it's not Thomas?"

"Why? Do you have a Detective Kenya Thomas in your system?"

The older man cleared his throat. "Not that I can see." He peered over the top of his glasses and checked his computer screen. "Hmm."

I gave an exasperated sigh and pulled out my phone. I tapped the screen and scrolled down to Detective Thompson's entry. "I have her number right here. Shall I give it to you or would you rather I do the honors?" I shook the phone next to my ear.

"I'll do it," he said, unamused. I showed him the screen and he dialed the number from his landline. "What's your name?"

"Alyse Winters."

"Ma'am, I have an Alyse Winters here to see you." He paused to listen, then glanced up at me. "She wants to know if you have an appointment."

I bit my tongue. I could practically hear Thompson snickering on the other end of the phone. She thought she was very funny. "No, I don't have an appointment, but I know the chair in front of her desk is free right now."

"Miss Winters says..." the older man began, but Thompson must have cut him off. He hung up the phone. "Go ahead in. She says she's in room fifteen. Go left after security and then all the way down the hall."

"On the main floor?" That was a surprise.

"No, then take the stairwell down to the lower level."

Ah, the dungeon. Now that made more sense.

I made it through security without incident and wandered down the hall until I reached the stairwell. The building was bustling with energy thanks to the mess left by Laser Guy.

“Can you believe it was some kind of generator meltdown?” one officer said to another.

"I heard the electric company's lawyers are meeting with the families tomorrow to discuss a settlement," the other officer replied.

The electric company was accepting the blame for a public relations nightmare? Interesting.

I found room fifteen downstairs, tucked away beneath the stairwell. The number five was crooked on the door.

I opened the door without knocking. "Are you the Harry Potter of the precinct or what?"

Thompson sat behind her desk, wiping crumbs into the wastebasket. "Sorry, I wolfed down a tuna sandwich. I hadn't eaten since breakfast and I was starting to feel sick."

"You didn't eat in front of Oscar, did you?" Oscar had OCD issues and I could only imagine what eating a tuna sandwich at a desk would do to his nerves.

She laughed and held up a tasteful plaid handkerchief. "Where do you think I got this from?"

I slid into the available wooden chair, careful to avoid splinters. It looked like it had been there for decades. "Care to share what he had to say?"

Her expression turned serious. "And why would I do that?"

"Because the mage killed people and he almost killed us."

"And that qualifies you to do what exactly? Act as a vigilante?" She shook her head. "Nope. Sorry, Alyse."

I folded my arms across my chest and glared. "So I guess this means Ghul School is closed for business."

Her head snapped to attention. "You wouldn't."

I pretended to examine my nails. "It's a shame, really. We were just getting to the good stuff."

She leaned back in her chair and took the measure of me. Was I bluffing? Maybe. Maybe not. "What do you want to know?"

"Just like Ghul School. I want to know whatever you know."

"Close the door."

"Why? Are you afraid the janitor might come in for his mop and overhear us?"

Now it was her turn to glare. I got up and closed the door.

"Okay," I said, settling into the wooden chair and leaning an elbow on her desk. "Let's hear it."

"There was no evidence of drugs in the mage's system."

Even though Pinky had told me as much, I was still surprised. I really expected drugs to be the cause of the magical meltdown.

"So what's the theory?" I asked.

"At this point, we don't know. Oscar Martinez claims it was the stress of preparing for the Colony Games." She threaded her fingers together on the desk. She didn't look convinced.

"But you disagree."

She tilted her head slightly, a subtle acknowledgement. "Before I got to PTF, I worked in narcotics. Saw plenty of what drugs can do to an otherwise sane person."

"So you have experience with Luciano Bendetti?" Luciano was the head of the Mid-Atlantic Colony crime syndicate's drug trafficking group. I hadn't met him yet, but I'd heard talk about him.

Her brow lifted. "You hanging out with all the mobsters now?"

"I don't know him," I said. "Just his name."

"Same here," she said, "He keeps a low profile. I hear he's not flashy like some of the other guys."

"So he takes after his boss." The Dragon was the head of the crime syndicate in the Mid-Atlantic Colony. No one knew the Dragon's real identity and Thompson had made it her mission in life to find out and take him down.

"More or less." Thompson unthreaded her fingers and reached for a pen. I thought she was going to write something down, but it seemed she just wanted to fiddle with it. She began tapping it on the desk. As annoying as it was, I was patient. The good detective had something on her mind.

"What is it, Detective?" I finally prodded.

"Do you know anyone who can do an autopsy?" she asked.

"But I thought they already performed an autopsy."

She pressed her lips together. "I'd like another one. More..." She groped for words.

"Magical?" I offered. She nodded. "An autopsy more magical than the one performed by the Enclave's coroner?"

"Their coroner is not a pathologist."

"Your precinct has a pathologist."

She gave me a pointed look. Okay, my comment was unfair. The regular human precinct had a regular human pathologist. PTF had almost no resources or training in the magical arts and sciences.

"I might know someone." Last I'd heard, Ziggy had settled in New Hope, Pennsylvania. He was a former Shadow Elite lab geek who managed to make it to retirement without biting the dust. No small feat.

"I'm keeping the body sequestered," Thompson said, "but it can't leave. I'll need your person to come here."

I retrieved my phone and thumbed a text. "I'll let you know when." I stood to go. "With the caveat that whatever the results are, you share them with me."

Thompson hesitated. Despite our recent collaborations, she was still on the fence about me. It was understandable. I didn't give anyone the warm fuzzies. It wasn't in my nature.

"Detective, you get no help from your department. You rely way too much on the Protectorate. I'm offering my services." I held up my wrists to remind her of my cuffs. "What harm can it do?"

"I don't have money in the budget to pay a consultant."

I tried not to give her my deranged smile. "You can owe me one."

She whistled. "Great Lakes of Shit-aqua. I know I'm gonna regret this."