Undercover Magic

by

Judy Teel

This book is dedicated to my mom. Thank you for the pen name inspiration, taking me
to the library every week when I was a kid, never telling me my wild imagination was
weird, and for encouraging me to pursue my love of writing. I know you're looking
out for me from heaven, Mom. Thanks for that, too.

Acknowledgments

As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to Joyce and Zoe for being beta readers and
to my editor,
Christie Stratos
. I couldn't do it without you, ladies!

Published by Golden Angel Press LLC

Copyright © December 2013 by Judy P. Mills

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization
of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other
means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording,
or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written
permission of the author, Judy P. Mills

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are
products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual business establishments, inventions, items, locales or persons, living or dead
is entirely coincidental.

Find Judy Teel on the web!

Webpage:
http://judyteel.com/

Twitter: 
http://www.twitter.com/judyteelbooks

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Cover by
For the Love of Reading Cover Design

Shifty Magic Series:

Shifty Magic

Undercover Magic

CHAPTER ONE

Charlotte, NC ~ 2033

It was mid-day on a Monday and I'd just kicked back with my feet up and my chair tipped
to the perfect angle for relaxing when it happened. The message from my boyfriend
was blunt and to the point: "Run!"

I stared at the command on my state-of-the-art iC. The device continued to buzz across
the scarred surface of my desk—a door set across two filing cabinets. Since I wasn't
inclined to follow orders, even from Agent Cooper Daine, one of the FBI's top werewolf
agents in the States, I ignored it.

With temperatures still pushing the upper eighties, despite being September, I was
extra motivated to not pay attention. Sweat dampened my neck, my bra and the back
of my tank top. I should have invested in an air conditioner instead of listening
to Cooper and buying a used security system. I was dying in this heat and I didn't
need my bossy sweetie pie giving me orders.

I picked up the iC and started to thumb in "why?" plus a few other choice words when
someone banged vigorously on the silver reinforced steel door of my office.

"Addison Kittner, open up! FBI!" an unpleasantly familiar voice shouted from the other
side.

Alarm punched me in the stomach and I slung my feet off my desk. My heavy black boots
hit the floor with a thud and I pulled my laptop closer. I jabbed at the keys and
brought up the view from the security camera outside my door—a distorted black and
white image of the gang of beefy government types clustered up in the hall looking
pissed.

My nervous, frizzy-haired landlord stood behind them wringing his hands as the female
Were in the front stood back and glared at the door. Agent Stillman. A mean-as-hell
chick I'd worked with on a murder case a few months before and not someone you'd want
for an enemy.

She was five-six with a medium, compact build, short hair and a thin scar running
from under her left ear to within an inch of her windpipe. Instinctively, my right
hand went to the modified Browning BuckMark strapped to my thigh.

She looked directly into the camera and the absurd feeling that she could see me sent
a chill buzzing down my back.

On my computer screen her mouth moved as her muffled voice came through the door.
"We just want to talk." 

As far as I knew, I hadn't broken any laws worthy of FBI interference. Even secretly
dating Cooper didn't warrant the kind of manpower I saw outside my humble basement
office.

A collision that sounded like a truck had slammed into the wall shook through my office
and a roughly shoe-shaped bulge appeared on my side of the barrier. The door wouldn't
hold out long under that kind of beating.

I shut my computer, pocketed the backup clip, and dropped my government issue iC on
the floor. When someone's smashing into your office without permission, you don't
ask questions, you bolt.

"Sorry, baby," I muttered to my iC and I slammed the heel of my logger boot down on
it. I allowed myself a millisecond of mourning at the crunching loss of the sleek,
awesome technology and then headed for the escape hatch behind my desk.

Pushing the framed poster of the classic movie,
Pirates of the Caribbean,
to the side, I pressed the pad of my thumb against the lower corner of one of the
cinder blocks usually hidden by the poster. There was a series of muffled mechanical
chattering sounds as the complex locks disengaged, and then a section of the wall
slowly swung away from me.

From the two by three foot opening I'd labored to create after I'd leased the space,
the musty darkness of the building's basement storage area beckoned. I ignored the
scrape of fear scouring between my shoulder blades and slipped through the opening
in the wall.

As my office door shuddered under another blow and gave an ominous creak of distress,
I reached back into my office, straightened the poster, and pressed the button that
reset the cinderblocks.

I turned away as the locking mechanism engaged with a solid
click
. Then the screech of my office door tearing free and the crash of it hitting the
floor drowned out any other sounds, even my heart pounding in my ears.

As I crept away from the wall, I held my breath, not trusting the thickness of the
cinderblocks to shield me from the hypersensitivity of the Were team's hearing. I
wondered again if the government's interest in me had anything to do with my relationship
with Cooper. Neither humans nor the three paranormal groups now roaming the planet
encouraged intermixing, but I'd never heard of them going to this much trouble to
enforce their prejudice.

Whatever the FBI was after, I had no intention of finding myself stuck in the bowels
of their headquarters in an interrogation room. So not on my to-do list for this century.

Tucking my computer more securely under my arm, I inched along the edge of the wall
toward the half window on the street side of the basement. As silently as I could,
I wove in and out of stacked boxes, sacks of powdered cement, and other basement flotsam
that cluttered the fifteen by twenty foot space.

Just short of the window, I crouched behind an ancient storm door propped against
the outside wall and listened. Low murmurs from the unwanted guests came from the
direction of my office and I imagined the team combing the room for escape routes.

At street level on the adjoining wall, I studied what I could see through the half
window. A thin glow of sunlight struggled through the dirty glass, flickering like
an old-fashioned movie projector as sporadic groups of pedestrian feet hurried past.
No FBI goon faces peered suspiciously in, so I allowed myself a quiet sigh of relief.

From my office came the muffled thump of someone kicking the wall. "There's a mechanism
here somewhere," I heard Stillman say. "Her scent's all over this end of the office.
What's on the other side? Where's that landlord?"

Uh, oh. They'd realized Ol' Frizzy had the keys to the basement.

Turning my attention to the wall beside me, I counted off six cinderblocks from the
window and eight down. Never make an escape route that ends in a dead end unless you
want to get killed or captured, I always say.

I pressed the pads of my forefinger and middle finger to the mechanism in the bottom
right corner of the correct block. Locks clicked and chattered then went quiet, but
nothing happened. My heart skipped a beat.

Stillman's voice cut through the silence of the storage room, as sharp as a knife
despite the insulation of the walls. I jumped, startled. "Don't make this harder than
it needs to be, Addison," she shouted through the wall.

A jolt of fear shot like lightning through my nerves. With a shaking hand, I pressed
my fingers to the spot again. Nothing.

Crap. The temptation to dramatically shout, "You'll never take me alive!" rolled through
me, but instead I clamped my teeth together. She was only shooting in the dark, hoping
to bait me into revealing where I was.

The clank of a bundle of keys bouncing against the door as a nervous hand tried to
insert the right one into rusty lock number one shot my alarm into overdrive.

That, or Stillman was trying to distract me while they made a counter attack.

I jumped to my feet and slammed the heel of my boot against the cinderblock. "Work,
damn you," I hissed between clenched teeth as I again pressed the pads of my forefinger
and middle finger into the slight indention. 

Finally, the locks clicked and rotated. I held my breath. The last lock in the mechanism
gave a hollow clunk. The section of wall that I'd rigged swung in, its hinges grinding
against collected grime and soot.

I plunged through the opening and into the alley next to my building.

*  *  *

All doors to the building would be watched. The alley only opened onto the street
at the front, so that was no good either. Generally, nobody ever looked up, making
a roof the perfect way out.

With only my left hand to grip the bars, I awkwardly scrambled up the rusty fire escape
of the building next to mine and tried not to smell the stench of garbage all over
me. Gripping my computer tighter, I chastised myself for not being more diligent in
maintaining the cover for my emergency exit. The old trash bags piled up against the
wall had split like rotten fruit when I'd pushed my way through them, showering me
in yuck.

I smelled like a nightmare combination of rotting food, pee and puke. I only hoped
the stink would throw the Weres off when they started tracking me.

The ladder shuddered as the intermittent brackets that held it to the side of the
building groaned and creaked under my weight. I ducked as another bolt popped off
and clattered down into the alley now nearly twenty feet below me.

Breathing hard, I pushed myself faster, clumsily wrapping a leg around the fire escape's
outer rail and hooking my foot underneath each rung before I felt confident enough
to release my grip and stretch for the next rung.

The top was in sight and triumph swelled in my chest. The metal supports screeched
and groaned in a repeat chorus of my office door's death song. I picked up speed,
fearing the worst. As quickly as I dared, I half crawled, half climbed the last five
feet to the top. As I scrambled on my belly up onto the tar paper and gravel roof,
the ladder gave a jolt and tore away from the building.

Rolling up onto the roof the rest of the way, I scooted back and watched as the dilapidated
structure fell in slow motion and dove into the alley with a loud crash. The noise
would bring the FBI running.

I got to my feet and bolted across the hot roof for the other side of the building.

There were reasons Cooper thought I was an un-bonded Were. A few months ago we'd tracked
down a serial killer and discovered that a bigger, badder menace was pulling the strings.
To escape from a confinement spell, I'd jumped about five feet straight up. In case
you hadn't heard, a human coming in just shy of five-eight and one hundred and thirty-five
pounds can't do that. A Were that height would manage it easily.

I blamed it on the adrenaline, but Cooper stuck to his guns and refused to look at
the big picture. I'd lived a hard life and my body had adapted to match it. The instinct
to survive gave people strength and abilities they could never manage at any other
time. No supernatural powers necessary.

As I sprinted for the edge of the building, I prayed those abilities pumped into me
now. I was going to need them.

About six inches from the edge of the building, I jumped and hoped no one was looking.

I sailed through the air like I was flying.

*  *  *

For now, Addison had gotten away. Thank the goddess.

Agent Margaret Stillman paced back and forth under the grimy half window of the cluttered
basement, a small black, non-FBI issue iC to her ear. Around her, her team scoured
every nook and cranny of the area taking readings with their strictly regulated and
monitored iC devices.

Whenever they came too close to the wall where Addison's scent was the strongest,
she directed them somewhere else. Whatever method the human had used to get out of
her office, Margaret suspected that she'd pulled the same trick in here. Eventually
she'd pretend to make the discovery, but for now she had orders to give Addison as
much of a head start as she dared.

"They're searching the building now," she said quietly into the phone. "I minimized
the fallout, but it's risky." Margaret paused, frowning. "She's unpredictable, but
I'll continue doing what I can until my position is compromised."

She disconnected and pocketed the phone, worry pinching her face. One of her team
leads, Agent Fuller, a young but competent Were on his first tour of duty among the
humans, entered the basement. He spotted her and made a beeline in her direction. 

His brown eyes gleamed with excitement. "We tracked Ms. Kittner. She's trapped on
the roof of the adjoining building. We're procuring access from inside."

Margaret hid her alarm. Her last assignment would end in failure if the girl was captured.
She couldn't let that happen. "No action until I get there. She's not officially a
suspect."

The word "yet" hung silently in the air between them as she pointed to several of
the other agents to accompany them as she and Agent Fuller headed out of the basement.

She hoped that she never fell in love. The damage to Cooper's common sense where Addison
was concerned was astronomical.

*  *  *

Eighty feet down and twenty-five feet across, but I landed on the roof of the next
building, caught myself, and kept running. Euphoria pumped into me, bringing my environment
into sharp focus as I raced for the next building. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing.