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

T
racking Ghuls is
like trying to find gold at the end of the rainbow, if gold was a big, ugly creature that gave any reasonable person nightmares. Although Ghuls were djinn like me, their caste was known for depravity and violence and with good reason. They were driven by a lust to feed. In fact, many supernaturals believed that Ghuls were the origin of the vampire myth.

"What makes you think we'll find a Ghul here?" Detective Thompson asked.

It was past midnight and we were staking out a couple of abandoned factories in North Philly after fresh corpses were found mutilated in a nearby cemetery.

I put a finger to my lips. Ghuls were a lot of things, but hearing-impaired wasn't one of them.

Detective Thompson gave me a pointed look. "You're shushing me? We haven't seen a living thing in twenty minutes and that includes rats."

She was about to learn there was a big, ugly reason for that.

"Lesson number one," I said. "Try not to think of Ghuls as living things."

"If I don't think of them as living, then I can't dream about killing them, can I?"

I understood her thirst for vengeance when it came to Ghuls. Kenya Thompson was orphaned when two Ghuls broke into her parents' bedroom and slaughtered them in their sleep. Ten-year-old Kenya had witnessed the horrific event in its entirety from her hiding place in the closet. Recently, she'd asked me to teach her about Ghuls, thus Ghul School was born. So far, the depraved bloodsuckers had proven elusive, but I had a feeling our luck was about to turn.

I signaled with my left hand. When she reached for her weapon, I shook my head. This little excursion was observational only. I warned her in advance that we were not to engage with any Ghuls. Not while I was shackled with copper cuffs. I wouldn't be able to defend myself and she didn't have the necessary experience to take one down. She needed to graduate from Ghul School first.

Shadows shifted on the side of the red brick building and I halted. Pretty sure I even halted my breathing. Luckily, Detective Thompson was a smart woman. She stopped moving, too.

I peeked around the corner, into the dark alley between two brick monstrosities. Three Ghuls were huddled together, speaking in low tones. With their blue-tinged bodies covered in hair the equivalent of peach fuzz, they looked like the ugliest set of triplets in the history of multiples.

I pulled back and dragged Detective Thompson as far from the alley as we could get without making a ruckus.

Once we were a safe distance away, I released a breath.

"A Ghul?" she asked.

"Ghuls plural," I said. "Three of them."

"Three? Then why are we leaving?" Detective Thompson began to move back toward the buildings. "They're too dangerous to leave at large."

Quickly, I grabbed her arm and held her in place. "Number one, we can't take on three Ghuls. You have no experience and I have no powers. Number two, three Ghuls are a bad sign."

"Aren't any number of Ghuls a bad sign?" she asked.

"Three is odd."

"So you can only attack them in even numbers? Let's go."

I drew a patient breath. "Odd as in weird. They don't usually move in groups. Maybe two at the most."

"So three is really bad news."

I nodded.

"Well, we can't just leave. We need to find out what they're up to," Detective Thompson said.

"No, no. We need to get far away from here." My feet were already killing me from the tracking. Why had I never noticed the high arches on this body's feet? I could only imagine how they'd feel after a run for my life.

Thompson folded her arms and glared at me. "Alyse Winters, you're supposed to be a badass supernatural agent. A member of the Shadow Elite. You mean to tell me you're scared to tail a few thugs?"

"Ex-supernatural agent, remember?"

My copper cuffs effectively relieved me of my position in the agency. Some higher-up in the Shadow Elite cuffed me, or in CIA terms, issued a burn notice. They cut off access to my powers, my money, and my agency contacts. I was determined to root out the responsible party and get my life back. As far as I was concerned, my time in Philadelphia was temporary.

"Where's your sense of adventure?" she asked.

I couldn't believe my ears. Detective Thompson was taunting me. Baiting me. She may as well have told me all the cool kids were doing it.

I fell for it anyway. My powers were smothered, but my ego was still bursting at the seams.

"Fine," I agreed, "but follow my lead. If these guys spot us, firearms are not going to be enough."

"I came prepared. Mine is a firearm with copper bullets," she reminded me. Like my caste, Ghuls were vulnerable to copper. One of the few traits we shared in common.

"Two guns. Three Ghuls," I said. "The odds are terrible." It felt so weird to be the voice of reason. Before the cuffs, I was always the one diving headfirst into trouble because I carried the heavy artillery in my blood. I knew I could defend myself with a snap of my fingers. Now the only thing a snap could do was punctuate a witty comeback.

"We'll take it slowly," Detective Thompson agreed. She really wanted the skinny on these Ghuls. I understood. After all, we were in her precinct. As a detective in the Paranormal Task Force, or PTF as it was generally known, it was her job.

We crept along the side of the building, careful to keep our footsteps as ninja-like as possible. The problem was, neither one of us was built like a ninja. My feet were a size nine and my shoes weren't broken in yet. Detective Thompson was all bust and butt. I was surprised they couldn't hear the thumping of her ass cheeks with every step.

I took a quick look in the alley, but the Ghuls were gone. The door nearest to where they'd been standing was ajar. I pointed two fingers at my eyes and then gestured to the windows between us and the door. Detective Thompson nodded silently.

I crouched down and move forward. The roughness of the bricks grazed the bare skin of my arm. I made a mental note—no more wearing tank tops to Ghul School.

When I was directly below the window, I dared to raise my head until the glass was even with my line of sight.

What I saw inside made every hair on my body stand on end.

"What is it?" Detective Thompson asked, tugging on my arm.

I waved her down. We couldn't risk two heads in the window. My frizzy mane was dangerous enough.

I couldn't tear my gaze away. I'd never seen this many Ghuls in one place. There were at least thirty Ghuls gathered here. Thirty. Their human forms were barely passable. They tended to be bald with ears shaped like the chunky pieces of a toddler's plastic puzzle. Most of their exposed flesh was pulled taut over their muscles and bones and their eyes bulged. Even the larger, meatier ones managed to look strangely emaciated. In one of the many djinn tales I'd heard growing up, an insulted sorceress cursed Ghuls with ugliness and an insatiable appetite. I cringed, looking at their disgusting forms through the dirt-stained glass.

That was one highly insulted sorceress.

I'd never in my life heard of a gathering of Ghuls. Ghuls were the most solitary of djinn. They didn't socialize. They didn't rear and educate the members of their caste the way other djinn did. And I thought three Ghuls equaled bad news. This was an apocalyptic nightmare.

I dropped to my knees and looked at Detective Thompson. "We need to get out of here right now, but I promise we'll find out what they're up to."

The look on my face must have said it all. This time, she didn't argue.

"Are we running or creeping?" she asked.

At that moment, the door beside me swung open and a bare, thickly veined foot stepped outside, followed by another.

Double shit
.

I glanced back at Detective Thompson. "Definitely running," I said.

We bolted before the Ghul made it through the doorframe. I didn't bother to look back to see whether we'd been spotted. I easily passed Detective Thompson and flew around the corner. I was reminded of the old adage about lions.
You don't need to run faster than the lion; you just need to run faster than the person you're with.

I immediately slowed my pace, feeling guilty. Although guilt was still a foreign concept for me, I'd experienced it a couple of times since my return to Philadelphia. I blamed it on my human form. As an agent, I was accustomed to working alone. My missions were mainly solo and I preferred it that way. I generally didn't need to worry about the safety of a partner. Partners made you vulnerable. A partner you cared about was a target on your back.

Right now, Kenya Thompson was a target on my back. She was human, a good detective, and wanted revenge on the Ghuls that killed her parents. If I had heartstrings, she was managing to tug the hell out of them.

I craned my neck to see if any Ghuls were on our tail.

"I don't think they saw us," Thompson said, peering over her shoulder. I noticed she didn't slow her pace, though.

I brandished my Glock just in case and noticed that Detective Thompson's piece was already drawn.

A flash of movement caught my eye. "Kenya, nine o'clock."

She squinted. "I don't see anything."

Great. He'd opted for invisibility. That meant, as a djinni, I could see him but Detective Thompson couldn't. Djinn can choose whether to be invisible to humans, unless the human has the Third Eye. Unfortunately for both of us, Detective Thompson wasn't gifted with the Sight.

"Looks like it's just one," I said.

It was. He appeared in front of us, his eyes bulging and pink tongue undulating. I skidded to a halt and put my arm out to stop Thompson from running smack into him.

"Yum," he said, eyeing us. He wasn't particularly big, but size wasn't everything when it came to djinn.

"In front of us?" Thompson asked.

"Now he is."

"What's the lesson?" she asked, her gun poised and ready.

"The lesson is shoot him before his friends turn up and we'll talk about it later. Aim straight ahead, about five feet off the ground, and unload."

She aimed at his chest and squeezed off five rounds. He glanced down with a look of surprise. I guess this wasn't the outcome he was expecting.

"Hey," he said, indignant. His chest turned black and crispy, like a burnt potato chip, and his body crumbled to dust before our eyes. Well, my eyes. Thompson was still flying blind.

"Run," I said.

We sprinted the rest of the way to the car. Cramps threatened the high arches of my feet.

I was never more excited to see a Ford Focus.

We hopped into Thompson's blue sedan and she hit the gas. Neither one of us dared to speak until we saw the lights of Center City and knew we were out of the danger zone.

"I know I don't have a Third Eye," she said, "but you've been stripped of your powers. How come you could see him and I couldn't?"

"Being able to identify my kind isn't a power." It was the best explanation I could offer. Despite my human appearance, I was still a djinni. My powers were within me, just contained in this vessel of a human body, sort of in stasis.

"That was a close call," she said. Her gaze flickered nervously to the rearview mirror. "Was this really your job? Running away from monsters like that?"

"No, I was usually running toward them," I said. I did it for years as a Shadow Elite agent and, before that, at the PAN Academy where I graduated top of my class. PAN stood for Paranormal Agency Network, the official supernatural intelligence agency.

She cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seem as crazy as that."

"Wasn't really a choice."

There was nothing crazy about me facing off against Ghuls. Detective Thompson didn't know me as a djinni. She didn't seem to grasp how powerful I'd been before the copper cuffs muzzled me. One day soon, I hoped to get the chance to show her.

M
y cell phone
buzzed and I glanced down at the screen. Unknown caller. My old friend Jeremy Mix had given me this phone when I arrived in Philadelphia. Had Mix given this number out to telemarketers before he gave the phone to me? Knowing Mix, he was too polite to say no to requests for contact details.

I decided to roll the dice and answer the call. "Former phone of Jeremy Mix. How else can I disappoint you today?"

"Jamie Fenton is dead," the disembodied voice said.

"What? Who is this?"

I was wasting my breath. The call was already disconnected.

I sank onto the floor, my heart pounding in my chest. That explained why I couldn't get in touch with him since my unexpected and unwelcome burn notice. Jamie Fenton had been my Shadow Elite handler. Concerned, familial-like Jamie. He was the closest thing I would ever have to a father figure and now he was dead.

Also disturbing was the fact that someone on the inside knew how to get in touch with me. The number of people who had my current phone number would fit inside Thompson's Ford Focus.

I cursed the copper cuffs on my wrists. If I had my powers, I'd be hell-bent on finding Jamie's killer. Although the caller didn't say he was murdered, he didn't need to. Shadow Elite personnel generally didn't live to the ripe old age of eighty. Someone targeted Jamie and I needed to know who and why. Add that to the list of mysteries I needed to solve.

I inhaled deeply and called the one person who might be able to help. He already had a PAN contact quietly looking into my situation.

"I imagine this is serious if you're calling me," he said. Captain Grayson Reed was the offspring of an angel and a human, one of the Nephilim. He was also a member of the Protectorate, the Nephilim-only organization sworn to protect humans from supernatural harm. He was high up the Protectorate food chain and high on my list of Philadelphia irritants. He and I met over a dead body and our relationship devolved from there.

"Hi Captain America," I said. "We need to meet."

"How about a tall story in a single bound? You can take the elevator."

That was Naphil humor for you.

"That's Superman, not Captain America," I corrected him. "If you're going to talk the talk, at least know your superheroes."

He chuckled. "Okay, just tell me when and where."

If we were going to discuss Jamie, I wanted to meet somewhere empty and isolated. "Where we first met. Twenty minutes." Out of an abundance of caution, I didn't name the place.

He hesitated. I knew he wouldn't be excited at the prospect of voluntarily hanging out at the abandoned warehouse. He'd investigated the murder of one of his own Protectors there and it hadn't been pretty.

"So no coffee shop today?" he finally asked.

"Sorry. This conversation requires discretion."

"Clearly. See you there."

C
aptain Reed was waiting
for me in front of the warehouse when I arrived. All six feet three inches of chiseled masculinity. Even though the Nephilim didn't inherit the wings of their angel parent, I was convinced this Naphil had to have inherited some kind of anti-gravity gene. He was ridiculously fast, even for a supernatural.

I, on the other hand, was stuck driving Farah's sea glass pearl-colored Prius. No speed of light or shifting to mist for me while I was trapped in my human form.

"I didn't peg you as a Prius girl," Reed said, when I emerged from the car.

"It's Farah's."

"Ah. That makes more sense."

He pulled up the oversized door of the warehouse and we stepped inside. Although it was still empty and creepy, it was more like a second home to me now. Farah and I came here regularly so I could train with Flynn, my ex-boyfriend. He'd been a terrible boyfriend but made an excellent sparring partner. There was no one on earth I wanted to punch in the face more.

Reed's brow furrowed and he closed his eyes. "You've been here recently."

"I thought your spider-sense couldn't identify the individual," I said. One of Reed's skills was his ability to detect the emotional imprint of a room. If there was any emotional energy lingering in a space, Reed could sense it.

"You know, it's pretty flattering how you keep comparing me to superheroes. You might want to think about the subconscious meaning behind that."

He had a point. "So how do you know it's me?"

"I've absorbed your imprint enough times now to recognize it. It's pretty unique, you know. Almost like a fingerprint."

"Imagine what you could do with a database full of imprints," I said. "You'd be identifying witnesses left and right."

"I'm glad it doesn't exist," Reed said. "A thing like that would be catastrophic in the wrong hands."

"A pair of scissors can be catastrophic in the wrong hands," I pointed out. I knew that from personal experience. I'd taken down two Shaitans with a pair of scissors in an office in Munich. Shaitans were the tricksters of the djinn castes. Those two pranksters had made me believe my powers were gone and I'd shown them the damage I could still inflict. Oh, the cruel irony.

Reed folded his arms across his massive chest. "So why are we here? I doubt it's for a trip down memory lane. You don't strike me as the sentimental type."

As much as I wanted to be offended, he was right. I was about as sentimental as a guillotine operator.

"I received an anonymous call today, telling me my handler is dead."

Reed's dark eyes widened slightly. "I'm sorry, Alyse. Any idea who made the call?"

I shook my head. "I was hoping you could contact your insider at PAN and see whether the call came from them."

"Doubtful. I didn't give anyone your number."

That revelation made me uncomfortable.

"His name is Jamie Fenton. Can you see if they can find out any details about his death?" I asked. "As quietly as possible?"

He nodded. "Can you think of anyone from your agency who would want you to know? What do they have to gain from telling you?"

I paced the concrete floor. "I've been mulling it over. It's either someone who knows about my bond with Jamie or someone trying to flush me out."

His mouth twitched. "You had a bond with someone?"

I knew it seemed unlikely to Reed. As a Naphil, he had a human parent. As a Protector, he was sworn to aid humans. From his viewpoint, djinn were cold, dangerous creatures who preyed on humans.

"We had a bond," I said simply. I didn't need to explain our relationship to Reed. I wasn't even sure if I could. Jamie had been the one constant in my life for years. I changed locations, changed colleagues in the field, but I never changed handlers. If I needed information from the agency, Jamie got it for me. If I needed a new place to hang my hat, Jamie arranged it. I made him sound like a personal assistant, but it wasn't really like that.

Reed must have sensed my grief because he didn't push the issue.

"Okay. If they have your number, why flush you out?" he asked. "Doesn't that mean they already know where you are?"

"Maybe they don't want to come to me. Maybe they want me to raise my low profile." It seemed prudent to keep a low profile while I was trapped in human form in Philadelphia. As far as I knew, my enemies didn't know where I was or that I was cuffed. Once they got wind of the situation, though, it would be open season and I didn't want my friends caught in the crossfire.

Reed looked thoughtful for a moment. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I was hoping to find out it was your PAN contact who called." It had been a naive hope. I stopped pacing and eyed him. "Who is your contact anyway? You said it's a relative."

Reed raked a hand through his wavy, blond hair. He seemed hesitant to tell me. Finally, he said, "My brother, Greer."

"Your brother," I repeated. "Older or younger?" My money was on younger.

"Younger."

Ding ding ding. "And what's his role in PAN?" I tried to remember if I'd met any Greers during my time at the Academy. I didn't think so. You didn't forget a name like Greer.

"He's an analyst."

Boring but useful. "When did he graduate from the Academy?"

"Before your time," he replied.

"Does he ever visit?"

"Rarely. We both lead busy lives."

"Yes, it's quite time-consuming saving the human race all the time."

An amused smile tugged at his lips. "Quite."

"So is Greer as perfect as you or does he strive to step out from behind your rather long shadow?" I asked. Grayson probably snagged all the good genes and poor Greer was left with the defective ones.

"He does pretty well for himself."

"An overachiever then." Had to be. The younger brother, desperate to prove himself. It was textbook. "I'd be interested to meet him if he ever comes to town."

"And dig up dirt on me?" Reed asked. "No thank you. I'd be keeping you as far away from him as possible."

"Is that why you won't let me contact him directly?"

Reed paused to study me. "No," he said carefully. "That isn't why."

I held out my palm. "Then hand over his number. I need a discreet contact inside PAN. None of mine can be trusted."

Reed ignored my outstretched hand. "What if the call was a warning?" he asked.

"As in 'heads up, your handler's dead. You might be next'?"

"Something like that."

It was another possibility. But someone inside the agency would have to like me enough to warn me. I had no clue who that could be. Making friends hadn't been in the job description.

"You're cuffed, not dead," Reed said, following my train of thought. "You were dumped in your hometown. Where were you taken down?"

"Monaco."

"So someone took the trouble of bringing you all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and depositing you in the one place they knew you'd be safest."

I snorted. I hardly thought of Philadelphia as a safe haven. Then again, he had a point. I'd had similar thoughts myself over the past couple of months.

"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."