Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1) (14 page)

I
left
Spring Garden Street and was about to cross over the Ben Franklin Parkway when I sensed a presence. I looked behind me but nothing suspicious jumped out at me. The lunchtime crowd hustled to and fro.

My assailants were smart. They started at my ankles, swirling and winding around me in mist form until my feet failed me completely. Their forms hardened as they wrapped around me like a warm cocoon, rendering the rest of my body immobile.

"This is so rude," I said. "Would a pleasant hello be too much to ask for?"

Apparently, it was. They ignored me. I recognized the telltale blue auras of my caste. That wasn't necessarily a plus. At least I knew they weren't here to hurt me or I'd be dead already. The Marida didn't view violence as entertainment like some djinn (or humans and mages, for that matter). When they attacked, it was swift and calculated.

They used their powers to veil me. Unless any nearby humans had a Third Eye, no one on the busy streets would be the wiser. They could kill me now and mount my corpse on top of the William Penn statue and no one would know how it got there.

"Would you mind shifting into a form I can communicate with?" I asked. I heard the note of irritation in my voice.

They must have had strict instructions not to engage. My vision blurred as they carried me at lightspeed. I didn't need to see where we were going, though, to know the destination.

When my vision cleared, I was in a private room, laden with gem-colored cushions and modern art on the walls. It seemed more like a serene, contemplative space than a Marida holding cell. Tessa would like it in here. I stretched out across the cushions and stared at the ceiling, which was adorned with a fresco depicting a scene from
The Merchant and the Djinni
. In the fresco, a djinni with a glowing sword and fire in his eyes towered over the merchant and three sheiks, ready to strike them down. Hmm. Maybe not so serene after all.

"Alyse Winters." The familiar rumbling voice jolted me to my feet.

Prince Simdan strolled into the room, trailed by a young Marid holding a tray of refreshments. He was immaculately dressed in a classic navy suit. The structure of the jacket was tailored for his slim build.

"Nice suit," I said. "Bespoke?" Suits off the rack never fit that well.

He seemed pleased that I noticed. "My tailor is in London. His work is exquisite. Martin is a true artist."

Prince Simdan easily could have conjured up his own perfectly tailored clothing, but Martin was his way of showing off his power and privilege. If he ever decided to shift into an animal, which I'd never seen him do, my money was on a peacock.

"You're very fortunate to have found someone so talented."

I had to admit, I was a little jealous. I'd been dressing like a deranged soccer mom since my arrival. I missed my beautiful designer clothes.

"Mint tea?" he asked, bowing toward the tray.

"No, thank you."

"I assure you it's perfectly safe." He smiled, baring his teeth. "After all, you're already where I want you. Are you not?"

I was, not that I had a choice in the matter. If it were up to me, I'd never set foot on royal soil again. Although I often called the prince a variety of colorful names, in truth, he frightened the shit out of me. I couldn't afford to show any weakness though, or he'd pounce. Others were often fooled by his cool demeanor, but I knew better. He was a ruthless bastard. That was how he maintained his control over the colony.

I accepted the ornate cup and saucer. It helped that I liked mint tea.

Prince Simdan raised the other cup to his thin lips and sipped. Then he nodded to the young Marid and she left the room. Great, a private audience with His Royal Jackass. Just how I hoped to spend my day.

"It is customary to pay your respects to the court when you are in my territory, yet you did not." His dark eyes remained pinned on me. "I have given you ample time to comply. What makes you think you are exempt from our rules?"

"I didn't arrive here of my own volition," I explained. "And I have no intention of staying."

A look of surprise passed across his features, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by his usual penetrating gaze. He took another dainty sip of tea.

"You should have informed us of your situation, Alyse," he said with a nod toward my copper bracelets. It seemed a mild rebuke, but something about his expression made me uneasy.

"It's temporary," I said with a dismissive wave. "Some kind of misunderstanding. As soon as I get to the bottom of it, these cuffs will be off and I will be too." From my lips to the gods' ears.

"I see." He set down his cup and saucer on a nearby cushion. I hoped it didn't tip over. I knew for a fact the prince didn't handle stained silk with restraint.

"You should consider adding a few tables in this room," I said. "The cushions are pretty, but the room isn't practical."

"That depends on what you think the purpose of this room is," he said.

My gaze swept around the room again. I'd never been in here before. Sumptuous cushions and a violent fresco. A place to repent? I had no idea and I had the sense that Prince Simdan wasn't about to tell me. It would spoil his fun. He liked being the smartest djinni in the room and I'd get no marks for proving otherwise.

"Your decision to join the Shadow Elite was rather a shock for us," he said, his hands clasped behind his back. "We had such high hopes for you after the Academy. More than a few of us expected you to run PAN one day, a position that would benefit the entire caste."

My gut told me this was more than a stern lecture.

"That's the funny thing about free will," I said with an impertinent shrug. Show no weakness.

His focus moved to the ceiling and remained there for more than a minute. I wondered if he was checking for mistakes. I wouldn't want to be the artist if he found one.

"Do you know the story of
The Merchant and the Djinni
?"

"I think it's a Marida requirement. We don't get our blue auras without it," I said.

Prince Simdan didn't smile. Then again, it was probably for the best. When he showed his teeth, it usually meant he was about to rip your head off.

"Then you know it is a story of a man who escapes his fate."

"I do." The merchant in the story accidentally killed the djinni's son and the djinni vowed revenge. With the help of three old men and their captivating stories, however, they convinced the angry djinni to spare the merchant's life.

"I must confess to having a certain admiration for such resourceful creatures."

"Hence the artwork," I said, lifting my chin toward the ceiling.

"Do you know how I discovered your presence here?" the prince asked.

"I've had a lot on my plate," I replied. "Not too much time for quiet contemplation." I spread my arms wide. "I could use a room like this one to help me out."

"You are welcome to use this room whenever it pleases you. You are one of us, after all."

"I'll keep it in mind." A very far, very dark corner of my mind.

"It might interest you to know we received an inquiry. I disregarded it at first. I thought that if you were here and in trouble, surely you would come to us." He sniffed. "Naturally, we set out to determine the truth of the matter." He made a show of looking me up and down. "As I can now attest, you are undeniably present and accounted for."

"Who made the inquiry?" I asked. I already knew it was Captain Halo, but I wanted to see if he'd tell me the truth. I also wanted to poke the hornet's nest and see if anything nasty came out. If I was in deep shit, I needed to know sooner rather than later.

"I am not at liberty to say."

"Did you consider that the source of the inquiry may be the very party responsible for slapping these cuffs on me and sending me back here?"

The prince eyed me coolly.

"I will tell you this, Alyse Winters. I strongly suggest that you maintain a low profile for as long as possible. Do not give your enemies any reason to come here, not when your current state is so vulnerable."

"I've been trying to lay low, but I have a bad habit of turning up at murder scenes at inopportune moments. You don't happen to know anything about that, do you?"

"I do not. The murders of non-djinn are not my concern."

"So you've heard about them."

"Philadelphia is the seat of my colony. Of course I have heard." It was the closest he came to snapping at me. So I could be a snarky bitch about everything except his power. His control. Typical monarch.

"I am willing to offer you protection, Alyse, should you require it."

"I'm waiting for the other Prada shoe to drop." Prince Simdan didn't do anything without a tactical reason.

He smiled. "Naturally, you would need to return to court."

We both knew he could force me if he wanted to. Instead, he was leaving the decision to me. Interesting. Well, I'd rather be dead than return to court, not that I'd say that to him. The prince would clear his schedule for the rest of the day to arrange it.

"I assure you that your quarters here would be far superior to the cramped rooms above the..." He cleared his throat. "The sex shop."

"It doesn't sell actual sex, you know," I said. "Just the clothes and toys. You should drop in one of these days. I'm sure Farah would offer you a discount."

His smile faded. I wasn't going to play his game and he knew it.

"Should you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

"Click my heels three times and wish myself here?"

His dark eyes narrowed and I caught a flash of anger. He really disliked it when things didn't go his way. As it happened, I never went his way.

"My guards will return you to your hovel. Heed my advice, Alyse. Do not venture far from our borders. If someone powerful is on the hunt for you, trust me, you do not wish to be found."

He clapped his hands and two guards appeared to escort me back to South Street. The prince left the room without a backward glance. I'd pissed him off. Nothing new there.

I glanced at the guards as they shifted into mist and worked their magic on me again. The scared part of me felt like a fool for rejecting the court's help. The Marida were my caste, after all, and I was not in a strong bargaining position. The smart part of me recognized, though, that the prince could not be trusted. If he wanted me to volunteer to be placed under his royal thumb, there was a reason. It sure as hell wasn't because he cared.

Even if the scared part of me won out, I wouldn't last long in the prince's retinue. I much preferred kicking ass to kissing it and that didn't go down well at court. I learned that nugget at an early age.

Shadow and light returned me to Farah's quickly and in one piece. I trudged up the steps to the apartment in a funk. I had hoped to duck in and out of town without alerting the Marida court to my presence. Grab some cash, make a few calls and sort out the nightmare that had become my life. Of course, I never expected to be stuck here like a T-Rex in a tar pit. And now the prince knew I was here, which pretty much guaranteed he would keep tabs on me. Well, he'd have to fight Niko and Mickey for the honor.

Things were not going well for me.

I pushed open the door and let loose a string of curses. The more I pulled, the stickier the tar got. If there was a low-lying branch around, I needed to find it. Soon.

I
expected
to meet Rocco Paretti somewhere seedy with semi-clad women straddling poles. Instead, he suggested a pizza place on Chestnut Street.

Farah insisted on accompanying me so that she could meet her competition in person. Only Farah would find fun in flaunting her competitive weapons business in the face of a greedy mobster.

We were greeted at the entrance by a tall, olive-skinned man in an apron dusted with flour.

"There's a private room in the back," the tall man said.

We maneuvered past the empty tables and the restroom to a closed door at the back. I knocked politely.

"Come on in," a gruff voice said.

Farah and I squeezed through the doorway together like two professional idiots, nearly knocking each other over in the process. Rocco sat behind a desk, in the middle of enjoying a meatball sub. He even wore a white linen napkin as a bib.

"Alyse Winters?" he asked, his brown eyes shifting from me to Farah.

I raised my hand. "I'm Alyse. This is my colleague, Farah."

"Farah?" He inclined his head. "Farah, the Hinn?"

Farah clapped her hands together. "You've heard of me?"

He wiped a spot of tomato sauce from his chin. "Of course I've heard of you. Do I look like an amateur? I should blow your brains out right now for running weapons on my turf."

Despite his words, he didn't seem eager to reach for a gun. He was more interested in reaching for another bite of meatball.

"There's enough business for both of us in the colony," she said diplomatically.

Rocco set down his sub and sucked soda through a straw. "How about we put a pin in that conversation, okay?" He returned his attention to me. "I understand you need some information from me."

I decided to start with O'Leary's missing heirloom.

He removed his napkin bib, wiping his mouth before tossing it down on the desk. "Let me get this straight. Jimmy has you investigating our own guys, like some kind of internal affairs nincompoop?"

"Not exactly. It's just that I spoke to Hugo Munson and he said that O'Leary had shown the weapon to a bunch of you recently. He's not sure exactly when it went missing, so it could've been at that meeting."

"And since I'm the weapons guy, I'm the natural suspect?" His expression hardened. "That's extremely disrespectful. I think the Dragon would be interested in hearing about this."

"I told her it wasn't you," Farah said. "Your reputation is too pristine. But she has this crazy notion she has to chase down every lead like a professional." She rolled her eyes to underscore the absurdity of my actions.

Today, the role of good cop will be played by Farah, ladies and gentlemen.

"Thank you," Rocco said with renewed interest in Farah. "I appreciate your support. That shade of red is lovely, by the way."

"Thank you." Farah flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled.

"Did you handle the weapon?" I asked.

"We all did," Rocco said. "Jimmy shoved it in our faces like it was the friggin' Hope Diamond. It was just another hunk of metal. I've seen better haul coming in from Nigeria and that stuff is crap."

"What's so special about it then?" I asked. "It's cold iron and copper, but there are plenty of weapons like that if you know where to look."

"It seems to hold some sentimental value," Rocco said. "He said it came from Ireland with some old timer in his family."

I nodded. "He said they used it to fight djinn there."

Rocco's brow lifted. "I was under the impression it was more ceremonial."

Farah snapped her fingers. "Sometimes weapons become more powerful when they've slain enough djinn. The blade retains some of each djinni's magic."

"Kill enough djinn, get an incredibly powerful weapon in return," I added.

"So someone's planning to kill more djinn?" Farah asked. I heard the note of fear in her voice.

"Do you think it's connected to the murders?" Rocco asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "They're not killing djinn. In fact, they're pretty much killing everyone but djinn."

His gaze fixed on me. "They?"

"We think it's two killers. Or at least one killer and an accomplice."

He took another sip of soda. "From what I've heard, the marks on the vics haven't all been the same. Have any matched Jimmy's heirloom?"

I shook my head. "Not to my knowledge. Then again, I'm only unofficially on the case."

"Unofficially?" he queried.

"The PTF and Protectorate think I'm involved and I need to prove I'm not."

He grunted.

"I showed Alyse the kilij in my armory because she thinks the Naphil in the warehouse was killed with a weapon like a kukri," Farah offered.

His brown eyes sparkled. "You have a kilij?" His excitement drove him out from behind the desk. "How did you manage that?"

She smiled proudly. "I know, right? This one's a real treasure. Came in from a collector in Egypt. You don't want to know what I had to do to get it."

A slow grin spread across his face. "I think I do."

Farah clasped her hands together, her expression now dreamy. "I don't even want to sell it. To be totally honest, I've fallen a little in love with it."

"Better than a man, isn't it?" he asked.

"Depends on the man." She gave him a look that would melt the polar caps.

"I'd love to see it one day," Rocco said. "If you'd be willing."

Farah was more than willing. I could tell by the way her chest was pushed out and the unsubtle way she licked her lips. Like she was a fox and Rocco was the trashcan she wanted to dive into.

"I guess that would be okay," she said, "as long as you can agree our competition is healthy and very American."

He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Unofficially, I agree with you. Officially, though, we muscle competitors out of our territory. That's what we do."

"If you try to use any muscle on me," she warned, "it better be the good one." Her gaze dropped to his crotch and I nearly choked on my own saliva.

I needed to wrap up this meeting now before they boned each other right in front of me.

"So is the pizza here any good?" I asked, trying desperately to break the sexual tension.

"It's excellent. That's my nephew out there, Nick."

"So this is your legit business," I said.

"One of many." Rocco flashed his gold Rolex at us. "The Parettis are very smart businessmen." He looked at Farah. "If it pleases you, could I have your number before you go? I would love to make plans to see your -- special weapon."

I turned to go. "Nice to meet you, Rocco. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again soon."

My stomach lurched and I couldn't decide if it was hunger or nausea. I decided to grab a pepperoni slice on the way out the door and find out.