Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) Read online

  "If this person cared so much about me, why cuff me at all?" I asked. It was such a productive conversation, I didn't even yell at him for invading my thoughts.

  "Maybe the one who cuffed you isn't the one who brought you here," he said.

  "Maybe the one who cuffed me doesn't know where I am," I whispered. Prince Simdan, the royal head of the Marida caste in the Mid-Atlantic Colony, was the one who warned me to keep a low profile while I was in the city. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew more than he was telling me. We weren't exactly simpatico.

  My mind was racing. If my takedown involved multiple agency higher-ups, we were heading into conspiracy territory.

  Reed must have sensed my blown mind because he laid a firm hand on my shoulder in an effort to anchor me. "You either know something or you got in someone's way. Do you have any thoughts as to which it is?"

  I shrugged off his hand and resumed pacing. "Believe me, I've been through this a thousand times in my mind. I don't know anything that other members of the Shadow Elite don't know."

  "What about a botched assignment? Maybe an assignment someone didn't want you to have?"

  "If there was a disagreement over assignments, I'd never know about it. I wasn't privy to that kind of information."

  "Is Jamie the only handler you ever worked with?"

  As I nodded, a surge of emotions threatened to overtake me. An image of Jamie flashed in my mind. He was smiling at me over a cup of Earl Grey tea. He liked plain tea. No milk or sugar. I thought he was dull. Once, when his back was turned, I summoned a bottle of bourbon and tried to spike his drink. He was too smart for me. Caught me before I could get the lid off the bottle.

  "What if he was killed because of me?" I managed to squeak.

  "You don't know that," Reed said. "And even if he was, he worked for the Shadow Elite. He knew the risks."

  That much was true. He did. He reminded me of the risks every time I accepted an assignment from him. It was part of our little ritual.

  "Thanks for meeting me, Reed. I'm sorry I dragged you out here for nothing. I know this place isn't a happy one for you."

  His gaze remained fixed on me, like he wanted to say something.

  "Do you want a lift back?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "I'll give my brother a call and see if he's heard anything about your handler."

  "Thanks."

  I watched in silence as he left the warehouse. Then I pulled out my phone. I didn't feel like going home and doing nothing. I needed an outlet.

  A groggy voice answered my call. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

  "Bring your scariest game face," I told Flynn. "I'm in the mood to kick someone's ass. It might as well be yours."

  4

  Flynn was the psychotic ex-boyfriend I never expected to see again. He was booted out of the Academy before I graduated and I hadn't spoken to him since I broke up with him soon after. Until my unceremonious return to Philadelphia, that is.

  Flynn was good for a few things, some of which I tried desperately to block from my memory. As a Jann and former Academy trainee, however, he was ideal for strengthening the weaknesses in my human body. Despite our tumultuous history, I'd chosen him as my go-to sparring partner. It was, I readily admitted, partially due to the fact that I was really motivated to beat the crap out of him.

  "Any progress on your cuffs?" he asked. "I might have a new lead for you."

  I delivered the news about Jamie, along with a swift kick to the groin. Flynn didn't even have the decency to flinch.

  "So that's what this unscheduled practice session is about. You need to let off steam."

  He blocked my punch with an uppercut that made me bite my tongue. I tasted blood and spat it out.

  "You know what else is good for letting off steam?" he asked with a sly grin.

  "Kicking your ass." I transferred my weight and rammed my fist into his stomach. He doubled over, scarcely able to breathe. By the gods, I loved a good solar plexus strike.

  I took advantage of his moment of extreme pain and unsheathed one of my jade daggers, a gift from Farah. I jerked up his chin and held the blade against his throat.

  His human form dissolved before I could draw blood. I whirled around in time to watch his body reform on the other side of the warehouse.

  "Temper, temper," he said, wagging his finger at me. "You know, it was always obvious which one of us was Beauty and which one was the Beast."

  "I don't think anyone would compare a relationship with you to a fairy tale," I said and attempted to gauge his next move. "I'm sure even sweet Tessa would agree."

  Tessa was Teresa Louise Montgomery, a yoga instructor and Flynn's current girlfriend. Tessa was wholly, inexplicably human. Thanks to my own misguided beliefs, she discovered Flynn's true nature, yet somehow, they were still together. They lived in their picture-perfect brownstone in the most suburban part of Philadelphia. I knew it was only a matter of time before Flynn grew bored of her, though. Stability simply wasn't in the cards for a djinni like Flynn.

  Flynn ignored my jibe. He sauntered toward me in his tight jeans and black T-shirt, his sinewy muscles lurking enticingly underneath.

  I pulled myself together. "Could you please stop preening and fight?"

  "But it's way more fun to irritate you." He summoned a sledgehammer and twirled it in his hand like it weighed next to nothing. "Aren't you going to ask about my lead?"

  "The last time you had a so-called lead, I nearly ended up dead, so...not really."

  "I ran into Shilo at Viper Club the other night. Do you remember him from the Academy?"

  It was hard to forget Shilo. He was the Jann who knew every recruit's name by the end of the first week. He memorized, not just our names, but information about every single one of us. It was both impressive and incredibly annoying.

  "What's he doing in Philadelphia? I thought he rarely strayed south of the Hudson River since graduation."

  "He's here for the Colony Games," Flynn said.

  Every four years, each colony hosts its own fighting matches where teams compete using their supernatural abilities. The teams were comprised mostly of djinn and magicians, with a smattering of the Nephilim. It was a huge honor to be chosen to represent your district within the colony. Historically, the winning teams from each colony would compete in a final round a few weeks later, but these days no one could ever agree on a neutral location for the final round and too many participants ended up dead. Colonies didn't like losing their most powerful supernaturals. So now each colony declared its own winning team and that was the end of it. Their bragging rights were secure for the next four years.

  "I guess Prince Simdan will be giving his usual lecture to the Marida." My court didn't partake in the games in any way, shape or form. My caste considered it barbaric to use magic and power purely for the sake of beating others. We were too refined for such behavior. I wasn't as prissy about it, but I disliked the games as well. The rules seemed to change on a dime and if the Colony Games Council believed a participant overstepped, they were immediately eliminated. Not simply eliminated from the games. Killed. Right there in front of thousands of spectators. The Council was the Nero to the participants' supernatural Gladiators.

  "Ah, yes," Flynn said. "Your fearless leader." He swung the sledgehammer and attempted to drop it on my foot. I hopped back just in time.

  "He's not my leader." I unsheathed my other dagger so that I had one in each hand.

  "Our leaders wholly support the games," Flynn said.

  I launched a dagger at his throat. With an agile swing, he used the sledgehammer to knock it out of range. It was a good throw, but his reflexes were too fast for me.

  "There's no snobbery in my caste," he continued. "In fact, I already have my ticket for the games."

  "Of course you do," I said. "It could be good for you. Maybe you can learn a few moves to help you beat me."

  He flashed me a good-natured grin and rightfully so. The truth was, he nearly always beat
me now that I was stuck in human form. Didn't stop me from trying, though.

  "I considered sneaking in Tessa so she could see real magic in action."

  Humans were banned from the games. It was a paternalistic attitude, but, basically, the supernatural world thought it was for their own good. Humans were notorious for ruining a Good Thing and, in most supernatural minds, the Colony Games were a Good Thing. It was one of the main reasons we kept our existence a secret from all humans except those with a Third Eye. We couldn't hide from those humans even if we wanted to.

  "Why would you endanger her like that? The games attract all sorts of overexcited supernaturals. She'd be at risk just using the restroom."

  "Relax, she's not interested. She said she already has all the magic in her life she needs."

  He moved his hips suggestively and I made a choking sound.

  "Can I get back to killing you now?" I asked, one hand on my hip.

  "You're welcome to get back to trying," he replied, slinging the sledgehammer over his shoulder.

  I hurled a dagger at his head, but he was already gone.

  5

  "How's the dog?" I asked.

  Pinky and I were holed up in Farah's secret armory, checking out some of the newly acquired weapons. The armory was hidden behind a dressing room mirror in Tops and Bottoms. A protective spell courtesy of Pinky kept the dangerous contents safe from intruders.

  Over the past few weeks, we found ourselves gravitating to the armory to conduct business, probably because it was the safest place we could possibly be in this city of supernatural and human lunatics.

  "Pacino's been pretty good, actually," she replied. "My mom's taken a shine to him. He chases the rabbits that attack her vegetable garden."

  "Your mom has a vegetable garden?" For some reason, I pictured vegetable gardens as part of stately homes in England, not average human homes in the Philadelphia suburbs.

  "She grows all kinds of stuff," Pinky said. "She started with herbs when I was born so she could teach me about them for casting spells."

  I shook my head in amazement. "Your mom sounds like the most prepared human mother of a mage I've ever met."

  The closest thing I had to a mother was my youth guardian, Esme. She was murdered by Ghuls during a class trip to Baltimore. Unfortunately, it happened after my time with her. I liked to think the outcome would have been different if I'd been there. Still, her senseless death only served to reaffirm my hatred of Ghuls.

  Pinky shrugged. "She was really excited about having a mage for a child. She wanted me to have the best start in life."

  Did I have the best start in life? I wasn't sure. There were people who came along later in life who certainly made it better. I thought of Jamie and my heart seized.

  "My handler's dead," I said. I hadn't told Pinky about it. She was so young and part of me wanted to protect her from the horrors of life. It was stupid, really. The horrors were everywhere we looked.

  "Your Shadow Elite handler?" she asked and I nodded. "How did you find out?"

  "I received an anonymous call. I'm having a friend look into it."

  "I'm sorry," Pinky said and gave me a cautious look. "I guess you don't want a hug."

  "I appreciate the thought, but no." Hugs weren't really my thing.

  The wall parted and Farah came into the armory. Her red hair was styled in a long braid down her back, a departure from her usual loose locks. She wore a tight T-shirt with a picture of two voting ballots under the sea. The words 'Race to the Bottom' were written underneath.

  "Business is suddenly picking up," she said with an air of exhaustion. "I don't know whether it's the Colony Games or the upcoming election."

  "Which business?" I asked. Farah owned both Tops and Bottoms and the armory. A career built around sex and violence suited her perfectly.

  "Both," she said. "I just had a Shaitan in the shop looking for different lingerie for each night of the games." She rolled her eyes. "Her boyfriend is competing and she wants to be supportive."

  "Isn't that good for you?" Pinky asked.

  "Oh, it's good," Farah replied. "It's just difficult. Do you have any experience with Shaitans?"

  Pinky shook her head. "I've heard about their animal parts, though."

  In human form, Shaitans were generally the most attractive people in the room. The only telltale sign of their djinn nature was the animal part they chose to display. Sometimes it was obvious, like horns on an extremely good-looking head. Sometimes it was hidden, like a lion's tail.

  "Well, this one had porcupine quills where her pubic hair should be and she insisted on lace underpants. Do you know how hard it is to keep the lace from getting sliced to pieces?"

  "Forget the lace," I said. "What about her boyfriend's crown jewels?" I cringed at the thought.

  "So have you girls checked out the new inventory?" Farah asked.

  "Alyse has been teaching me about guns," Pinky said. She didn't sound too excited about it.

  "You should carry a weapon," Farah urged. "It doesn't need to be a gun. Pick something you like."

  Pinky's lip curled. "I don't want a weapon. My magic is enough."

  Farah and I exchanged bemused looks.

  "She's so young," Farah remarked. "Alyse, tell her she needs a weapon."

  "I'm living proof," I said. "What if an opponent disarms your magic? You'd have no way to defend yourself."

  Pinky stared uncomfortably at the wall of weapons. "They all seem so dangerous."

  "That's the point." I unsheathed one of my jade daggers. "I bet you could handle something like this." I flicked the dagger and it zoomed past Pinky's ear, grazing the side of her head.

  "How do you move so fast?" Pinky asked. "Aren't you supposed to be, like, stunted?"

  "Maybe, but I'm still pretty sharp."

  The pointy end of the dagger became lodged in the exposed brick behind her.

  "Those little daggers are pretty," Pinky said. "But how are you going to defend yourself against something big?"

  I jutted out a hip. "Like Flynn's ego?"

  "You keep saying his name like I know him," Pinky said with mild disinterest. She touched a set of batons adhered to the wall. "What about these? I was a baton twirler in middle school. I kinda miss it."

  I nodded toward the baton. "They're called yantoks."

  "Or Escrima sticks," Farah added. "Go on. Give them a whirl."

  Pinky scrunched up her perfect button nose. "Dunno. These aren't the kind of batons I twirled. They're much bigger." She removed one from the wall and held it in her hand. It was a slender black stick, about twenty-six inches in length.

  "You could use a spell on them," I said. "Give them a boost when your magic is flowing."

  "But if someone shuts down your magic, you still have protection," Farah finished.

  Pinky studied the stick. "Put a spell on this?"

  "Sure. Why not?" I'd seen everything under the sun imbued with magic at some point. A tube of lipstick, sunscreen, a dog's water bowl. Okay, maybe the dog's water bowl was more about a lazy owner than offensive and defensive weapons, but still. Magic.

  She pulled out her phone. "I'll see if I can find a spell that would work..."

  "Online?" Farah queried and peered over her shoulder.

  Pinky tapped the screen. "It's the Enclave's website. There's a section for spells."

  I wrenched the phone from her fingers. "The official Enclave website? Are you kidding me? No, no, no."

  "That's how I learn lots of my spells," Pinky argued.

  "None of the good ones," I replied. "Those need to come from the brow chakra." I poked her forehead with my index finger.

  Pinky slid her phone into her pocket. "Mage magic isn't like djinn magic."

  "That's true," I said. A mage's magic came from harnessing external forces. They needed spells or runes in order for their talent to manifest, whereas djinn magic came from within. A djinni's magic was in every fiber of her being.

  "Tap into that Marid DNA," Far
ah told her. "Your unique Pinky energy is going to develop way better spells than anything you'd find online."

  Pinky chewed her lip. "But Oscar doesn't like us to deviate from the official spells." Oscar Martinez was the head of the Enclave in the Mid-Atlantic Colony.

  "Is it against regulations?" I asked.

  She stared at the yantok, deliberating. "Not exactly. It's just not done very often."

  "So what's stopping you?" I asked. Pinky was the teen mage who thumbed her nose at the establishment by taking up with shady mobsters. When did her rebellious streak come to a screeching halt?

  Pinky's gaze drifted to the floor. "Oscar's in charge of the training program."

  I rested my hands on Pinky's shoulders. "I guarantee that you could come up with spells ten times more powerful than anything in the Enclave's Official Book of Magic."

  "Actually, it's called a grimoire." She placed the yantok back on the wall. "I'll think about it."

  She wouldn't. Oscar had his members well trained. If he didn't want them to deviate from the Enclave script, then Pinky wouldn't deviate. I didn't understand it, but I could tell by the stubborn lift of her chin that her baton twirling days were officially over.

  6

  The 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.