Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) (8 page)

"If the X-caliber didn't come from you, then I guess someone's encroaching on your turf," Thompson said. "And you're 'cool' with that?"

I looked at Thompson. "I can't imagine the Dragon would be cool with that."

"Me neither," she replied. "The Dragon disemboweled a guy and left him on the Rocky statue because a delivery of amphetamines ended up in a squad car." She eyed Luciano. "That was probably before your time, son."

He appeared unfazed by the possibility of being disemboweled, most likely because the X-caliber was his. "You worry about your business and I'll worry about mine. It's the American way."

I leaned on the ping-pong table with both hands. "Our
business
is figuring out if there's a new drug in town causing mage meltdowns and mass casualties, so as far as I'm concerned, our businesses are inextricably linked."

"Ooh," Luciano said, his blond eyebrows lifting. "I like a woman with a big vocabulary." He bent forward so that his face was inches from mine. "I have a few big qualities of my own, you know. We could compare."

I groaned and pushed his face away.

He chuckled and bounced a ping-pong ball on the table. "Vito said you were a meddling bitch. I only agree with half of it."

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Vito Nocita was discussing me with other gangsters? That didn't bode well for me.

"Can't say I'm much of a Vito fan," I said. As the head of organ trafficking, Vito was dark and dangerous and not in the sexy way. The mere thought of him made my blood run cold.

"Don't worry," Luciano said. "O'Leary has your back. The argument was pretty heated and entertaining as hell, by the way, but ultimately the Dragon dropped the hammer and said you were not to be touched right now."

Right now.

My throat tightened. "Because I returned O'Leary's scian?" I'd tracked down O'Leary's stolen heirloom, a scian forged from copper and iron that was designed to kill any and all djinn. At least the weapon was tucked away in a secure vault.

Luciano shrugged and tossed the ping-pong ball through the basketball hoop. "I stopped paying attention once the food arrived. I fucking love hot wings."

"So you're not going to talk to us about X-caliber," Thompson said.

"I would if I knew anything," Luciano said with a disarming smile. "I'd love an excuse to talk to you two all day. The ladies out there don't offer much in the way of conversation."

I turned toward Simon, who looked ridiculous perched on a space hopper. Did the old man have no dignity?

"Did you know Kieran?" I asked.

Simon's eyes flickered briefly to Luciano and back to me. "Yes, he was my nephew on my human side."

Wow. I was not ready for that truth bomb. "Were you close?"

"Reasonably."

Thompson folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at Luciano. "Kieran Morrow was your mage's nephew and you'd never heard of him?"

"Simon and I have a strictly professional relationship," Luciano replied with a little less charm. "Do you know the names of your PTF's colleagues' nephews, Detective Thompson?" He stuck a finger in the air. "Oh wait. You don't have any colleagues, do you? Hence the odd couple routine."

"Did you know your nephew was taking drugs?" I asked Simon.

The old man dropped his gaze to the floor. "I don't know anything about it. Kieran was an excellent mage and was looking forward to competing in the games. I was very proud of him. I'd never been chosen, you see. When I told him I placed a bet on his team to win, you should have seen his face light up." Simon squeezed his eyes closed, fighting the pain. "My sister is devastated. The whole family is."

"Ladies, I'm sorry we can't help you more," Luciano said, "but if you ever want to party, you know where to find me." He winked at me. "And I don't care what Vito says. You'd definitely be more fun in bed alive than dead."

Charming.

"Let's go, Detective," I said.

"Before you go," Luciano said, rising from the net chair, "could you just say a line for me? Miss Winters, just tell the detective, 'this is the cleanest and nicest police car I've ever been in.' Please?"

"We took the SEPTA train," Thompson replied.

He slapped his hand on the table and laughed. "You girls are hilarious."

We had a dead mage, human casualties, and a dangerous drug in circulation. Despite Luciano's cheerful demeanor, nothing about the situation was funny to me.

F
arah insisted
that an evening at The Night Owl would help ease my grief about Jamie. I didn't believe her, but I went along all the same. I couldn't keep calling Flynn every time I wanted to blow off steam. He'd start to read too much into it.

Khalil, the bar's owner and a fellow Marid, was behind the bar and sent us a round of free drinks. Since my reemergence in the city, Khalil had decided the first round would be free whenever I came by. My recently impoverished self took full advantage of his generosity.

"So Luciano was hot, huh?" Farah asked. She could always be trusted to zero in on the important details.

"What makes you say that?" I asked. I hadn't mentioned his looks.

"You haven't mentioned his looks," Farah said. "You always make fun of how people look, especially the mobsters. That means he's super hot."

Well played, best friend.

"He's young," I said vaguely.

Farah smacked her hand on the table. "Told you! So is he hotter than Captain Hot Pants?"

Mix swore under his breath. "Do you need to have these riveting conversations in my presence?"

Farah nudged him playfully. "You're hot too, Mix. You never hear Alyse talk about your looks, do you?"

Her comment was a double-edged sword. Mix was perfectly attractive in a quiet, floppy-haired sort of way, but we all knew he wasn't my type. A fact that came to light several years ago when it became apparent he was interested in me. Thankfully, it was old news now. I needed Mix more as a friend than a fleeting relationship.

"So did Luciano admit to supplying the drug?" Mix asked, trying to steer the conversation back to the case.

"No," I said, but I explained that, despite the lack of admissions, the meeting at Luciano's frat house had yielded vital information. I now had no doubt that X-caliber had come from Luciano's group and that the drug had been given to Kieran because of his relationship with Simon.

"But what does X-caliber do?" Farah asked. We sat in a back booth with Mix, trying to piece together the few clues we had.

"We haven't figured that out yet, but I have someone taking a closer look at the drug's composition and properties to see if he can figure it out."

"Who do we know with that kind of skill?" Mix asked, his index finger gliding around the rim of his glass.

I inhaled deeply. "No one."

Farah's brown eyes widened. "Alyse, you didn't. You contacted someone at the Shadow Elite?"

I knew they wouldn't like the answer. "Ziggy is highly skilled. He'll be able to provide valuable information about X-caliber so we can figure out its purpose."

"And how are you communicating with him?" Mix asked. "Does he know where you are?"

"You're supposed to be keeping a low profile," Farah scolded me. "Now you've gone and sent something to the agency that burned you. Your handler was just killed, Alyse. Did you put our apartment in the return address corner of the envelope?"

"Relax, I was careful," I insisted. "Besides, Ziggy's retired and happy. He's maintaining his own low profile to keep it that way. Even the lab geeks don't leave the agency without racking up a few enemies."

An argument broke out by the pinball machine, drawing everyone's attention to the corner of the room. Two Ifrits bumped chests, eyeing each other angrily. Khalil whistled, not a loud, piercing whistle but a melodic, soothing one. His trademark power was calming the crap out of everyone. The hostile djinn relaxed and returned to their drinks.

"There are some new faces here tonight," Mix remarked, swiping back his unruly mop of hair. "It's a weird combo."

"Must be the Colony Games," Farah said. "Teams are starting to trickle into the city from the other districts."

I wondered if that was the reason for the influx of Ghuls. It explained their presence, but not their organization.

I took a sip of my vodka tonic. "These games are the bane of my existence. Why can't they be in New York or Baltimore?"

"Because Philadelphia is the official seat of the Mid-Atlantic Colony," Mix said. "It wouldn't be right to host it somewhere else."

"You're just upset about your adoptee," Farah said, eyeing a cluster of Shaitans near the bar.

"Pinky's not my adoptee," I said. "She has a mother, a woman much older than me, thank you very much."

"Then let her worry about Pinky," Farah said. I noticed her gaze never left the Shaitans.

"Which one are you flirting with?" I asked.

She licked her lips and smiled. "All of them."

"It wouldn't hurt to be selective," I said.

Her eyes flickered to me. "Like you? Not interested in a dry spell, Alyse."

"I thought Rocco was keeping you busy," I said. Rocco Paretti was her crime syndicate paramour. They'd bonded over their love of weapons.

She opened her mouth to argue when the wooden door flew open and a gust of wind blew through the rustic establishment. Napkins drifted to the hardwood floors. The hairs on my arms tingled.

A petite woman sauntered through the door and immediately turned heads with her shocking white hair, worn in a buzz cut. As she approached the bar, I noticed the delicate curve of her wide set eyes. Her skin wasn't simply pale, it lacked pigment. Her full lips were painted a bright red, in stark contrast to the rest of her. The short, black leather jacket accentuated her tiny waist. Despite her small stature, she had a dominating presence. Fierce was the word that came to mind.

Red sparks danced around her fingers as Khalil laughed uncomfortably at something she said.

She was a mage.

Now it's not that I have anything against albino Chinese mages, I really don't, but the vibe of this woman screamed I-am-here-to-eat-babies-and-generally-wreak-havoc. Gods knew I had enough experience to recognize the signs.

Khalil handed the woman a shot glass. The liquid was clear. Maybe vodka. She tossed it back and slammed the glass onto the bar top. Fragments flew in all directions.

The sound of crashing glass silenced the crowd.

Khalil took a cautious step backward. I noticed his right hand clench into a fist and knew he was resisting the urge to engage. He was a powerful djinni in his own right, but he'd embraced a more human existence when he chose to center his life around The Night Owl. His calming whistles were the extent of his showmanship. He didn't want to throw away everything he'd built for the sake of one testy patron.

"I'm sure that was an accident," he said quietly. "Shall I get you another shot?"

She threw back her head and laughed. "An accident? As if I don't know my own strength? Trust me, djinni, I know every inch of my power."

One of the Ifrits from the pinball machine stepped closer to her. He was a decent size, with snake tattoos encircling his arms. "How about I show you every inch of
my
power?" he asked. "All fifteen of them." He grabbed his crotch and grunted with laughter.

Okay, not the approach I would have taken.

The fierce little mage was undaunted. She closed the gap between them. "Fifteen inches?" she repeated. "Then why do you look like such a pussy?"

He snarled and his body tensed. I watched as the snake tattoos rose from his arms and hissed at the mage.

She lifted her hand and gently flicked her fingers. Red sparks scattered to the floor.

"Looks like you're having technical difficulties," the Ifrit said.

"Not really," she said. "I'm just getting warmed up."

A small fireball appeared in her hand. The Ifrit eyed it with interest. "That's a neat little trick, but, you know, the owner doesn't like when the patrons use magic inside the bar. This is supposed to be a nice place for us to hang out. If we trash it, we have nowhere that's ours."

So he redeemed himself after his little, excuse me,
big
crotch-grabbing moment.

She cocked her head in a way that reminded me of an exotic bird. "What makes you think I give a shit whether you have a nice place to hang out? I'm not one of you."

The mage struck first. She was quick and the Ifrit wasn't ready for her. His attention was still on the fireball in her palm, but she clocked him with her free hand. The ultimate fakeout. He staggered backward, stunned. The snakes twisted around his arms, their forked tongues darting in and out as they strained to be released. Like Khalil, the Ifrit was struggling to keep the fight from escalating. He truly didn't want to trash his watering hole.

The mage, however, seemed determined to cause trouble.

She raised the fireball and hurled it at the Ifrit's feet, burning a hole through the hardwood floor.

"That floor is hundreds of years old," Khalil said. "Please show some respect."

The mage turned her pale face toward him. "Hundreds of years? You're a djinni. Why should mere hundreds of years seem significant to you?"

"You're a human," he shot back. "Why wouldn't hundreds of years be significant to you?"

She spit and it sizzled when it hit the floor. Then she turned to the rest of us. "You all look insignificant to me," she said. Her accent was almost non-existent, but it was there. "Who here thinks they can best me during the games? Let's find out right now, shall we?"

My world tilted. This crazy mage was competing in the games? Poor Pinky didn't have a chance against a mage like this. Maybe in a few years, but certainly not at this stage in her development.

A bulky man strode across the room to where she was standing and gave her a menacing glare.

"I'm on the team for my district," he said. He was at least a foot taller than the petite mage and his head was twice the size of hers. His thigh muscle alone was thicker than her waist.

"He's one of ours," Farah whispered. She meant a Hinn, Farah's caste.

"What's your name?" the mage asked.

"Sigmund."

"I'll bet you think you're very brave, Sigmund, coming over here to face off with me."

Sigmund smiled. "Hardly. Not much to be worried about, given the size of you."

She didn't seem to like that answer. She opened her mouth and—gods and stars—reddish orange flames streaked straight out of her mouth and spread over Sigmund's body. He tried to shift, but it was too late. The intense pain seemed to paralyze him. His body began to disintegrate as his cells separated and the body fat dissolved. I nearly vomited up the vodka tonic in my stomach in response to the sight of his blubbery remains.

The fierce, fire-breathing mage surveyed the room, her arms raised in a dare. "Anyone else feeling brave tonight?"

No one moved.

With a triumphant smile, she turned and waltzed out the door.

"Holy Plasma Plane," Farah breathed. "He
melted
."

"What in the hell was that?" Mix added.

"A display of power," I said. "Intimidation. She chose this place on purpose because she knew it would be full of supernaturals." I didn't like it one bit. The games were brutal, deadly even, but this mage was on a whole other level. If the rules were bendy, she was ready to be flexible.

"What kind of mage breathes fire?" Mix asked, still reeling from the scene. "There's no dragon mage."

"No, there isn't." Although Dragon Mage was exactly the right name for her. "I've never seen a mage with that kind of ability."

"It's a shame she was such a bitch. I really liked her shade of lipstick," Farah said.

Mix and I looked at her with equal amounts of horror.

"Not that I'd wear it," she added weakly. "Redheads don't look that good in red lipstick."

"I'm glad we're focused on the critical aspect of her appearance here tonight," I said.

"I guess she's on one of the mage teams," Mix said. "Lucky them."

"It's not Pinky's team," I said. "She must be from a different district." The thought of young Pinky squaring off against Dragon Mage sent shivers down my spine. She wouldn't last five minutes.

Farah gripped my arm. "We need to help Pinky. Will the Enclave let us train with her? Whatever they're doing, it won't be enough."

She read my mind like only a best friend could. "Oscar's going to think I'm nuts. First, I begged to have her kicked off the team. Now I want more training for her."

"We can offer her inside information," Farah said. "The Enclave's training will be based on their understanding of other supernaturals. We can offer more insight based on our experiences."

I wasn't sure how helpful I could be in my human state. Hell, I was getting beaten by Flynn most of the time. "I want to help her, but I'm not sure how."

Mix stared at me like I'd announced my engagement to Prince Simdan. "Alyse, you have more experience fighting with supernaturals than everyone in this room combined. Even if you can't exercise your own powers, you can help Pinky hone hers. Tell her which spells to use for certain types of competitors."

"How would you handle our new friend?" Farah asked with a nod toward the door. "You've come up against fire before, even if it wasn't a fire-breathing mage. How did you beat it?"

I remembered a string of missions that escalated into fights, all involving fire-wielding opponents. There was a Shaitan in Kenya, a couple of stubborn mages in Dubrovnik, and a particularly talented Jann in Rome. I'd need to sit and think about how I won those skirmishes. A lot of my fighting was instinctual, which concerned me. How could I explain the right reactions to Pinky if it was more from my gut than my head?

But then an idea occurred to me. There was someone even more equipped than me to help Pinky understand the nuances of battling fire.

I whipped out my phone.

"Are you texting Pinky?" Farah asked.

"No," I said. "I'm texting someone more qualified than me."

Mix blinked. "Wow, somebody write this down. I think that's the most modest statement I've ever heard you utter."

"Who would be better than you?" Farah asked.

"Your favorite pyromantically-inclined Naphil, of course," I replied. "Captain Hot Pants."