Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1) (7 page)

"I do," I said and we shook on it.

F
arah
and I wandered through the armory, first to be sure that she hadn't inadvertently acquired O'Leary's scian. Once we satisfied ourselves that it wasn't here, we examined the weapons with Lieutenant Adams in mind. Despite my failure to win over Captain Reed in the warehouse, I still thought it was a good idea to garner favors whenever possible. If I could make a meaningful contribution to the investigation, it could get me one step closer to clearing my name.

Farah didn't have a kukri in stock, so I focused on the other curved blades that she did have. I stood in front of a kilij, admiring the slight curve of the shining metal blade. "This isn't it. The length is wrong and so is the curve."

"Ha, I think I've used that line before," Farah said. She wore a yellow T-shirt with the words
Beaver Fever
in furry letters. We were, and always had been, fashion opposites. Even in my desperate state, I strived to keep myself presentable. For Farah, as long as it drew attention to her boobs, she added it to her wardrobe.

Farah pointed to another possibility further down the wall. A wakizashi. "I've sold a number of those earlier this year, mostly to a dealer in another colony."

I gave the weapon a passing glance. "Too long."

My phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket. A text from Mix.

"He wants us to meet him at The Night Owl tonight," I told Farah.

"So you can meet his girlfriend?"

"Seems so. I did offer."

"It'll be fun," Farah assured me. "We haven't been out together in years."

She was right. I owed her a night of debauchery. "I'll text him back."

"You might need to send it from the store," Farah said. "I don't get the best reception back here. The walls are too thick."

"You should really hire a mage to put a protection spell on the armory," I said as we stepped through the hole in the dressing room. "Your secret door is nice, but it's not going to keep out the supernaturals."

"It hasn't been a problem so far," she replied.

"I'm sure that's what Todd thought right before he died."

"Fair point. I'll consider it."

We reentered the front of the store and I replied to Mix with a yes. He responded with a smiley emoji. Oh boy.

"So who else might deal in curved blades?" I asked, putting the phone away. "You mentioned a Shaitan and one of the guys in O'Leary's gang."

"Why are you interested in which weapon killed the Protector?" Farah asked. "Last time I checked, you thought Protectors were overachieving Boy Scouts with great abs, patrolling the wasteland you hate. You call it Filthadelphia, remember? Had to run off and become a supernatural spy to get away from the grime."

"It's the means to an end," I replied, picking up a jar of caramel body paint. "Now I would actually consider this. Have you tried it?"

Farah shook her head. "Too sticky. I prefer the milk chocolate."

I set down the jar. "Anyway, if I help with the investigation, then the Boy Scout might feel obligated to help me. A win-win."

"And here I thought I was special," a deep voice said.

I recognized that low rumble.

Farah froze, her attention fixed on the person behind me.

I whipped around to face Captain Reed.

"Your eye healed nicely," he said.

"Not really. It's under two coats of concealer."

"I tried not to hit you too hard."

"Next time try harder," I shot back. "How did you find me here?"
And why are you looking?

"I didn't," he said. "Well, I did, but I'm not looking for you. I'm looking for Farah."

"I'm Farah," she said and fluttered her long eyelashes at him. I was glad she'd been in fox form at the warehouse. As far as I knew, she'd never banged a Naphil. One human look at Captain Manly and I thought she decided it was an oversight she'd like to remedy.

His brow lifted. "Sorry, I didn't recognize you without the fur." He displayed the hand that she'd bitten in the warehouse. "You'll be glad to know I'm rabies free."

Farah smiled. "Still think I'm cute? I can shift, if you'd prefer my fox form. You wouldn't be the only one." She winked.

Captain Reed cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"I understand you might be able to locate a certain type of weapon." He looked around the store, only now appearing to notice exactly what kind of store he'd wandered into. "Or maybe not."

"I don't know what would give you that impression," Farah said. She was no fool. Potential customers needed a password and Reed didn't have it, as long as Farah didn't think about the password in Reed's presence.

I stared at him, the realization settling in. "You got her name from me, when you were in my head." In the warehouse, I remembered thinking that I would ask Farah about the kukri. Stupid telepathy.

He shrugged. "Does it really matter?"

"And what's in it for me? Why would I help Johnny B. Law?" Farah asked. I couldn't tell if she was angling for a date or protecting her business.

"The name is Grayson, actually," he said with a slight smirk. "Captain Grayson Reed."

"Nice to meet you, Captain Reed," she said.

"So if you answer my questions about the weapon, maybe I can help your friend with her problem." His gaze shifted to me.

As much as I wanted his help, I didn't want Farah to compromise her business for my benefit. She'd already done more than enough for me.

"The only weapons around here are of the female variety," I said, nodding toward Farah.

"I don't think feminine wiles are responsible for the death of my Protector, do you?" He narrowed his gaze.

"Well, he was naked and missing a heart," I said.

His jaw clenched and I could tell he was deciding his next move. I tried to keep my mind clear so that he couldn't ransack my thoughts.

"It's fortuitous that you're here," he said, his dark eyes glinting.

"Fortuitous?" I repeated.

"Yes, it means happening by a lucky chance."

I glowered at him. "I know what it means."

He withdrew an object from his inside pocket. "I believe this belongs to you. No fire damage. Must be the magical kind."

It was. He handed me the Glock that he'd knocked out of my hand at the warehouse.

"Have you been carrying this around, hoping to run into me?" I asked.

"Relax," he said. "It's not a glass slipper. I'm a Boy Scout, not Prince Charming, remember?"

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a business card. "If you change your mind, give me a call." He handed the card to Farah and she promptly tucked it down the front of her T-shirt.

"What? None for me?" I pretended to be insulted.

"I already have your number," he said. One hard look at me told me he meant it.

"Since you're here," Farah said, "you might as well look around the store. See if anything strikes your fancy. I could even model a few things for you."

Captain Reed smiled politely. "Perhaps another time." He glanced back at me. "Say, did you ever manage to find O'Leary?"

I stiffened. "I did, actually."

"And was it a fruitful meeting?"

"Possibly." I folded my arms across my chest, unwilling to elaborate.

"Fair enough," he said casually. He picked up the jar of caramel body paint I'd been admiring. "How much?"

"Fifteen," Farah replied, her voice suddenly reduced to a breathy whisper. I nearly had to wipe the drool from her chin.

He took out his wallet and handed her a ten and a five. "I'll let you know how it is," he said, giving me a final glance before he strode out the door.

Farah looked at me, her brown eyes wide. "I think you might be wrong about the Nephilim."

"What do you mean?"

Her gaze moved to the door where Reed had just exited. "I don't think Boy Scouts use edible body paint."

T
he Night Owl
is a bar in the Old City neighborhood, tucked away in an alley that looked straight out of the Colonial period. Red brick buildings lined a cobblestone street and sported a variety of tasteful shutters -- clay red, French gray, mustard and black. Old-fashioned lampposts dotted the street. Some homes still had metal boot scrapers and iron hitching posts out front. One of the ballsier residents flew a Union Jack flag. Loyalists to the end.

The bar was owned by a member of my caste, a Marid named Khalil. I'd been deliberately avoiding places like this so that the royal court didn't get wind of my return. The last thing I felt like doing was explaining to Prince Simdan and his cronies what happened to me. Khalil was an old friend, though, and he generally knew how to keep information quiet. That was one reason his bar was popular among the supernatural in the city. That and the excellent food.

Farah and I entered the bar together. In honor of the occasion, she'd traded her usual T-shirt for a strapless yellow dress that accentuated her hourglass figure. Farah didn't typically wear dresses. She found them too restrictive when she had the itch to fight. Hinns could be passionate creatures. Their closeness to their animal forms often resulted in flaring tempers and overturned tables.

I spotted Mix and his girlfriend in a booth at the back of the room and waved.

"I want to say hello to Khalil first," I told Farah. "What do you want to drink?"

"Whatever's on tap," she said and sashayed through the room to the booth. I heard a few admiring whistles as I turned to greet Khalil behind the bar.

"Surely, this is a mirage," he said, breaking into a huge smile. "Alyse, my love. You're back."

"Only temporarily," I said and reached across the counter to embrace him. He smelled like saffron and stale ale. "How's business?"

"No complaints," he said. "What dragged you back to our little pit of despair?" He dropped his voice. "Have you shown your face in court yet?"

I shook my head. "Not part of my travel plans."

"Well, I'm pleased you came to see me. I see you're keeping the same mixed company as before." He nodded toward the back booth where Mix and Farah were engaged in conversation.

"They're good djinn," I said.

"I know. They're here often enough."

"Are all these customers as loyal?" I asked. The place was packed.

He dropped his voice. "It's been busier than usual lately. I think they're on edge with the recent murders."

My brow wrinkled. "Murders? Plural?"

"Yes, several in recent weeks."

So Lieutenant Adams wasn't a solo victim.

"Have any of the victims been djinn?"

"No, but my sources tell me there've been two Nephilim, a magician, and several humans."

I rested my elbows on the counter. "Why would human deaths make these guys nervous? People die here every day."

He leaned closer. "It's the manner of the deaths. Some of them have been in pieces. So much so that the detectives haven't located all the missing parts."

Thankfully, Adams' body had been intact. Mostly.

"Maybe an animal shifter?" I proposed. While all djinn were shifters, not all djinn opted to shift into animals. I rarely chose an animal form unless it served a specific purpose.

"Possibly," he replied. "Although my money's on a Ghul."

Ghuls are the most depraved of djinn. They prey on the living as well as the dead. Many of us believe that the idea of vampires originated from Ghuls. They're driven by their lust to feed. Corpses ripped apart could easily be Ghuls.

"What about the missing parts?" I asked. "What are we talking about? Arms and legs? A heart?"

"There have been missing organs, among other parts," Khalil said. "One of the humans was missing a liver. With another, they found all of him except the lungs."

And Adams had been minus a heart. I shivered. "That doesn't sound like the work of Ghuls. They wouldn't eat one small part and leave the rest of the bodies."

"Unless we've got a few in town with refined taste." He smiled. "Perhaps a European Ghul."

"Any consistency with the weapon used?" I thought of the curved blade.

He shook his head. "Not from what I hear."

"Speaking of weapons," I began, "I'm trying to track down an heirloom that was stolen from a client."

"The Elite has you tracking heirlooms?" he queried. "Talk about a waste of talent."

I didn't bother to correct him. As much as I liked Khalil, the fewer djinn who knew my situation, the better.

"Tell me about it," I said. "Have you heard of anyone trying to sell a scian? It's special, made from copper and cold iron."

One eyebrow lifted. "Both, huh? Somebody dislikes our kind."

I smiled. "I try not to take it personally." I reminded myself that it was the means to an end.

"I haven't heard anything," he said. "But I'll keep an ear out. What's your number?"

I gave him my cell number. "And one more thing," I said.

He grinned. "Let me guess. Whatever's on tap for Farah and a vodka tonic with a twist of lime for you."

"You remember?" I was touched.

"How can I forget?" he asked. "You're the only badass in the city that ever favored cocktails over hard liquor." He moved behind the bar, pulling Farah's pint first before preparing mine.

"I nearly ordered a blackberry martini, but I didn't want to embarrass myself."

He pushed the drinks across the counter. "On the house for your visit home."

"Thanks, Khalil." It helps when you're dead broke to have a bartender as a friend so you can drown your sorrows for free.

I took the drinks and threaded my way through the crowd toward my friends in the back booth. Before I could reach them, I spotted two men I neither wanted nor expected to see.

Niko gave a small wave from a nearby table. Mickey merely scowled.

I took a sharp turn in their direction, still clutching the drinks.

"What are you two doing here?" I demanded. "This is a supernatural bar and you know it."

"We like the atmosphere," Mickey said, polishing off his bottle of beer.

"How long have you been tailing me?" I asked.

"Long enough to lead us here," Niko said diplomatically. "The boss wants to make sure that you're working on his case. It's important to him."