Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1) (4 page)

"It must be a glitch." My heart pounded in my chest.

All of my money. Gone. Nausea rolled over me in waves.

The teller looked ready to slump over the counter. "I'm sorry, Miss Winters, but the system is accurate."

"Are you sure?" I asked, tapping my fingers on the counter. My blood pressure soared. "There's no computer error? Those computers are only as capable as the humans controlling them, you know. My secretary is a prime example." I rolled my eyes at my fake secretary's fake incompetence. "Geraldine seems to be on the phone with IT every other hour. I mean, how many times can you reboot a computer in a day?"

The teller ignored my antics. Smart move. "If you would like to speak to our branch manager..."

"Forget it." I recognized a lost cause. "Consider my account closed then."

I grabbed a purple lollipop on my way out to ease the pain. It didn't help, but it tasted good.

B
y the time
I returned to Farah's apartment, my emotions were a blur of anger, shock and panic. These cuffs were official. No one at the Shadow Elite was going to take them off because, apparently, someone there was responsible for putting them on. Had the whole Aladdin mission been a setup or had a powerful higher-up at the agency simply been waiting for the right opportunity to get rid of me? Maybe the secret B team in the marina had been the ones tasked with cuffing me. It was a sobering thought.

"How'd it go?" Farah asked, when I appeared in the living room.

Wordlessly, I shook my head. She crossed the room and handed me the paper cup of Chianti that I'd been drinking earlier. No one ever accused us of being classy.

"At least you don't have to go see O'Leary now," Farah said. "You have your answer."

"Oh, I'm still going," I said. "I need to know who and why. I need to fix this. If O'Leary has the connections that Flynn thinks he does, then we need to talk."

"It's too dangerous," Farah said. "You have no idea what you're walking into."

The Badlands was no joke. That section of the city was known for high crime and violence.

I polished off the wine and looked at Farah. "You're right. I have no idea, but I don't care."

Farah finished her own paper cup of wine and set it down on the coffee table. "Well, I'm coming with you. You never know when you're gonna need a fox in your corner. Oh, and I have a car."

"You do?" She didn't have one the last time I lived here.

"It's parked in a garage around the corner. Keys are in the kitchen drawer."

In the blink of an eye, she shifted into a small red fox. She was just as adorable as I remembered.

"Fine then. Let's go, Foxy. But stay like that and keep to the shadows. If there's any trouble, I want you to do your best Lassie impression and run for help."

The fox nodded and jumped up to the table to grab one last nibble of penne.

I removed the floral blouse to reveal the black tank top. I had no choice but to leave on the khaki capris. Not very tough-looking. Right now, though, they were the only bottoms I had. Ironic, considering I was in a place called Tops and Bottoms.

I strapped my daggers to my calves, holstered my gun, and headed out into the balmy summer night.

B
y the time
we made it to the dingy warehouse, I was in a foul mood.

We left Farah's Prius in the adjoining neighborhood. It was a shiny sea glass pearl color and bound to draw attention here. Nobody in the Badlands drove a Prius.

After we had walked about twenty blocks, my feet started to complain. I forgot how annoying it was to walk everywhere. As a djinni, when I'm in a hurry, I usually shift to mist or use shadows and light. Being locked in my human body made this impossible and extremely irritating.

I was sure Farah resented having to walk, even on four legs. I silently vowed to buy more comfortable shoes as soon as I had money. I was still wearing the plain white sneakers from when I woke up in the back of the furniture truck. They had no arch support. It was one thing to wear designer heels and be uncomfortable -- at least they looked good. These shoes were both ugly and uncomfortable. A cardinal sin.

At first glance, the warehouse appeared empty. I motioned for Farah to stay outside. In part, I wanted her out of the danger zone. I also wanted her to keep an eye out for Flynn. Just because I told him not to turn up didn't mean he'd listen. Listening had never been one of his strong suits. Then again, it wasn't one of mine either.

"If I'm not out in twenty minutes, get yourself out of here," I told Farah.

The fox nodded.

I crept along the wall of the warehouse. A faint light was visible from a window, but it was too high to see inside. Without my cuffs, I could have floated up and taken a peek. I sighed. Not in this body.

As I approached the front of the warehouse, I removed my gun from its holster. Even though I wasn't a djinni or an agent anymore didn't mean I was incompetent. I had years of weapons training and martial arts training. PAN Academy and the Shadow Elite prepared me for all eventualities, including working within the confines of a human body. On the other hand, the lessons weren't recent and I never expected to need them. The high price of arrogance.

The oversized door was slightly open at ground level. The space was wide enough for me to crawl inside on my stomach. These poor khakis had seen better days.

I peered into the darkness of the warehouse as I slowly and quietly rose to my feet. There was a single lit bulb fixed to the ceiling, but it was so high up, it did nothing to illuminate the interior. Very atmospheric. Inside, there was no movement. No sound.
Great intel, Flynn
. I was pretty sure O'Leary wasn't here.

Then I spotted the body.

The victim was male, judging by the penis. Did I mention he was nude?

I tread quietly toward the body and wondered whether this was -- or had been -- O'Leary. There was no evidence of a struggle. No clothes ripped to shreds nearby. Maybe the man had been killed elsewhere and dumped here. But why?

As I got closer, I saw the probable cause of death. It was hard to miss. His entire chest had been ripped open like an alien parasite had buried itself inside and exploded into life when it had matured. A wave of revulsion hit me. I'd seen plenty of corpses in my years as an agent, but this one was truly horrifying. Whatever did this to him...

I sucked in a breath when I saw the funky-looking capital F on his thigh. I recognized that mark. This corpse didn't belong to O'Leary because it didn't belong to an ordinary man.

Whoever he was, he was the offspring of an angel and a human. A Naphil.

A
noise outside
jolted me out of my horrified state. I scattered into the shadows of the room as the door lifted higher and a tall figure stepped inside. Too tall to be Flynn. The beam of the flashlight prevented me from seeing more.

I knew when the figure caught sight of the body because the feet moved swiftly across the floor. Too swiftly. My new friend wasn't human.

I remained crouched in the corner, wishing like hell I could shift to mist or a puddle of water. Something that meant the intruder wouldn't notice me. I cursed the cuffs in my mind as loudly as my human head could stand.

"Who's there?" a male voice demanded.

Shit
.

The flashlight moved in my direction.

How did he hear me? I hadn't said a word. Then it dawned on me. He might be another Naphil. Some Nephilim had the power of telepathy. I'd met a few during my work in the field. Some could also command fire. I really hoped he wasn't one of the talented ones.

I debated stepping out politely, but I had no clue who this guy was. What if he was the killer? The Nephilim were notoriously difficult to kill.

I watched as the light moved closer to me and then, just as quickly, the light turned off and we were steeped in darkness together.

"Come out with your hands in the air and I won't hurt you," he said. "I swear in the name of the Protectorate."

Double shit
.

The Protectorate was a Naphil-only organization tasked with keeping order. Sort of like the human's Paranormal Task Force but this one was staffed with the Nephilim. No humans or djinn allowed. The Nephilim took their role as the self-appointed protectors of humans very seriously. Those guys were tough and humorless. They also had incredible strength and weren't too shabby in the reflexes and senses department either.

I didn't want to tangle with one now, certainly not in my human form. Although I could pretend to be human, a sharp Naphil would see through my ruse in a heartbeat.

I wondered where Farah was, if she'd noticed the Naphil open the door and come inside. If so, then where in the hell was she?

I opted for the only card I had to play. My weapons. Although weapons could kill a Naphil, a gun like the one in my hand would only stun him, which was exactly what I had in mind. I needed enough time to flee the warehouse. That was all. I had no beef with the Protectorate.

He took a step closer and I aimed the gun at what I hoped was his rock hard stomach and pulled the trigger.

He staggered back and I heard the flashlight clatter to the floor.

I seized the moment and ran for the open door. I forgot all about my sore feet. My only concern was getting as far away from the Protector as possible.

"Stop," he ordered.

A wall of flames appeared in front of me and I skidded to a halt. What a crappy way to find out he was one of the talented ones.

There were no accessible windows. No way around the flames. I was trapped in a deserted warehouse with a dead Naphil and his angry friend. Every fiber of my being cried out, begging to shift. It was a painful reminder of my impotence.

"I don't want to hurt you," I said. The fact that I already shot him probably didn't escape his notice.

"Good, because it doesn't seem likely," he replied, edging closer to me.

A smart-ass Naphil. That was about as common as a pink unicorn.

The smart-ass Naphil rushed me, his expression hard and fierce, and my human body reacted. For a split second, terror paralyzed me and I thought he might just kill me after all.

With one precise blow, he knocked the gun out of my hand before I had time to fire it again. I watched it slide across the floor as if in slow motion, straight through the flames.

"Did you hear the part where I said I wouldn't hurt you if you put your hands in the air?" he asked. "I even swore it."

The Naphil backed away slowly and I took the opportunity to get a good look at my opponent. Six feet three inches of pure physical perfection. Wavy blond hair and deep brown eyes. Chiseled features. Damn his angel DNA. He didn't even have the decency to bear a scar.

"Yes, yes. In the name of the Protectorate," I finished. "Sorry, I was blinded by your angelic beauty." Not to mention the terrifying look on his face.

"That would enhance your hearing, not make it worse."

Right.

"Anyway, your hands are empty now," Captain Obvious said. "So if you just put them up..."

Protector or not, in my experience, if your opponent had you cornered, you fought your way out by any means necessary. Or you died.

I unsheathed my daggers.

His eyebrow lifted. It wanted to know if I was serious.

Oh, I was serious.

I struck, slicing his shoulder. He twisted aside.
Congratulations, Alyse. You bought yourself an extra breath.
Interesting that his own sword remained sheathed. Either he didn't think I could hurt him or he truly didn't want to hurt me. I didn't have the luxury of taking a man at his word.

I spun my daggers to keep him at bay until I could advance again. Maybe all the flashing of metal would hypnotize him into submission. I'd seen it happen before. Granted, there'd been magic involved. No such luck now.

He dodged my blades, moving with admirable grace. Well, it would have been admirable if he weren't my opponent. After that first slice to his shoulder, he seemed to anticipate each move before it happened.

"Give up yet?" he asked.

"Not really in my vocabulary."

Before I could strike again, he lunged at me. His fist hammered the side of my head. Pain exploded -- it was like he'd driven a hot poker into my brain.

My body slumped to the floor in a heap.

One hand snatched the back of my top and yanked me off my feet. I noticed that the daggers were no longer in my hands.

"You promised not to hurt me," I said. My voice sounded weak to my own ears and I hated it. My blood surged with strength it could no longer display. The harsh reality sickened me.

"There was an 'if' involved," he said.

If
I had my powers, we would have been pretty evenly matched. Who am I kidding? I would've trounced him.

"Trounced me?" he echoed. His deep voice rumbled beneath my skin. "From where I'm standing, it hardly seems possible."

My feet dangled in the air and I craned my neck to look my captor in the eye.

"Do you mind?" I asked. "I haven't paid for this top yet."

"Not much of a top." He let go and I dropped to the floor. He loomed over me, ready to pounce if I so much as breathed wrong.

I dusted off my tank top. "It's ninety degrees and I have a perspiration problem."

"You shot me." He didn't sound happy about it.

"In my defense, I knew it wouldn't hurt you."

He moved a hand back and forth like a conductor, and I watched the flames die down. Fire commander, indeed.

Once the fire was safely out, he turned his attention back to me.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I was looking for O'Leary," I said, hauling myself to my feet, "but I found that guy instead." I nodded toward the corpse. "Is he a Protector, too?"

The Naphil didn't answer me. His eyes were fixed on my shiny copper wrists. "I asked you a question."

"Alyse Winters," I replied.

"What are you doing here, Miss Winters?"

"I told you. I was looking for O'Leary and was told I could find him here." I cast a sidelong glance at the corpse. "Obviously, my source was mistaken."

I needed to put a stop to the inquiry. His questions would only lead to more questions. Where was Farah? Her boobs could have provided a useful distraction. That was the last time I counted on her for backup. I should have let Flynn come after all.

"Why were you looking for O'Leary here? A casino head would never operate out of the Badlands."

So he knew who O'Leary was. "I'm looking for information and my friend thought he could help. I was told to meet him here."

His dark eyes flickered back to my cuffs. I braced myself for the inevitable question, but it didn't come.

Instead, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

Shit. I wasn't about to associate myself with Flynn. Not publicly anyway. "Did I say friend? I meant acquaintance. A shadowy figure. Only heard the voice." I shrugged.

To his credit, he seemed mildly amused, which was unusual for a Naphil. In my experience, most of them were uptight do-gooders hellbent on truth, justice and the American way.

"You seem to have me confused with Superman," he said. "My name is Captain Reed."

I didn't care who he was. He had no business rummaging around in my mind. I fixed him with my deadliest look. "Out. Of. My. Head."

"If you answer my questions truthfully, I won't need to pry. I came here looking for one of my men. Lieutenant Adams. He missed patrol and his partner came to me with concerns."

My heart sank. "And I'm guessing you found him."

His jaw clenched and he gave a crisp nod. "I tracked his phone. It must be here somewhere."

"Well, it's certainly not on him," I said.

"I noticed." His expression was grim. "We need more light. You should stand back."

We
? What did he expect me to do -- play Nancy Drew to his Hardy Boy?

He held out his hand and coaxed a tiny flame into existence.

"Your flashlight can do better than that," I said, but I took a step back anyway. It occurred to me that a Protector might be a useful resource, something that was in short supply for me at the moment. If I helped him, maybe he'd help me. Just because I disliked owing favors didn't mean I disliked collecting them.

Sparks flew as the flame grew brighter. He held his hand aloft, using it as a spotlight.

"Over there," I said, pointing to the opposite wall to where I'd been hiding.

On the floor sat a neatly folded pile of clothes. A Protectorate uniform.

"I bet his phone is in the pocket," I said. Take that, Nancy Drew.

Captain Reed continued to serve as a human light bulb. "No sign of the sword. Why didn't he use it to defend himself?"

"Maybe he did. You'll know when your people check for blood spatter."

I walked along the floor, checking for blood or other signs of a struggle.

"Neatly folded clothes. Minimal blood. He sure cleaned up after himself," I said.

Captain Reed raised that judgmental eyebrow again. "He? Rather sexist of you."

"Statistically, the killer is most likely male."

"What if she were defending herself against him?"

I placed a hand on my hip. He was baiting me, trying to find out how much I knew and how much I was willing to tell him. Well, I had nothing to hide.