Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) (10 page)

"They gave us an hour for lunch," she said. "It's weird. It feels like a job."

"A damn deadly one," I said. "Come on in. Mix is here."

"Hey Pinky." He polished off the last of his hoagie and tossed the bag and napkin in the trash.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked, glancing from Mix to me.

"Not at all. Mix is on his lunch break, too."

"Are you training?" she asked him.

"No, I work in IT for a law firm."

She appeared slightly confused by that. "Oh."

"Say, do you know a mage called Simon?" I asked. "Kieran Morrow's uncle?"

Pinky tapped her pink nails on the counter. "The Santa guy?"

"If by 'Santa guy,' you mean he has a white beard, then that's the one."

Pinky took a long sip of vitamin water. "He was put on probation a while back. I remember that much."

Probation? "For what?"

"Gambling. He had a problem." She snapped her fingers. "I heard something about him when I worked for O'Leary. Simon was working off his debts to the crime syndicate as someone's mage."

"That would be Luciano Bendetti."

"Oh, wow."

So Uncle Simon had a gambling addiction and was in debt to deadly criminals. Yikes. "So what does probation mean for the Enclave?"

"He's not welcome at headquarters or official Enclave events."

"For how long?"

Pinky shrugged. "Don't know the deets." She opened a container of yogurt and pulled a spoon from the cutlery drawer. "So my mom really wants to meet you. Now she won't stop pestering me. Can you have dinner with us tonight?"

A free meal? I'd work it into my busy schedule. "Sure. Where?"

"Villa Noir. Eight o'clock."

I knew the place. It was expensive. All the better. "I'll meet you there."

She eyed the yantoks on the counter. "These aren't the ones from the armory."

"No." I held them up. "Farah ordered them for me. These are retractable, easier to hide and whip out in an emergency."

Mix swallowed the last of his water. "She wants you to put a spell on them."

Pinky frowned. "What kind of spell?"

"I was inspired by Laser Guy," I said and then thought better of it. "Okay, that came out wrong. Since I can't access my powers, I want to infuse my sticks with magic. I figured you might be able to do that."

Pinky took the sticks and studied them. "I bet I could have them do some pretty cool stuff." I could hear the confidence in her voice. The intensive training schedule was having an effect.

"Take them," I said. "Have at it. It'll be good practice for you."

She gave me a crooked smile. "So this is for my benefit?"

"Of course. I'm all about taking one for the team."

"But you're not on the team. Instead, I'm stuck with stupid mages who think their little curses and shield spells are going to be enough to beat off the competition."

"So they're stupid and delusional." And their odds of winning reflected that.

"Completely." She glanced at Mix. "If you're not busy tonight, you're welcome to come to dinner."

Mix looked taken aback. "Uh, no. That's okay. Don't feel like you have to invite me because I'm here."

"I invited Farah, too," she said. "Before I came upstairs. My mom wants to meet the people I've been hanging out with, especially because you're djinn."

Mix's brow shot up. "She knows about us?"

"Pinky's dad was honest with her early on," I explained. "They were married for many years before he died."

"That's...unusual," he said.

Pinky nodded. "I'm starting to see that."

"So did she meet O'Leary?" I asked. Gods knew I'd want to meet the mobsters my daughter was working for.

Pinky nodded. "She invited him to lunch. He thought she was charming. She thought his breath smelled like garlic and he didn't clip his nails short enough."

I laughed. "I like your mom already."

"Don't be too hasty. She can be tough on people." She cocked her head, staring at my hair with a concerned expression. "You might want to wear your hair pulled up or something. The humidity isn't doing you any favors."

No shit.

Pinky tucked the sticks into the waistband of her denim shorts. "I'll work on these for you as soon as I get a chance. See you guys tonight."

"See you, Pinky."

When the door clicked closed, I turned to Mix. "Wear your best trousers and a nice shirt."

Mix blinked. "Why?"

"Because we want to make a good impression on Pinky's mom."

"Again, why? Since when do you care about good impressions?"

"Because she's tough on people and I don't want to have to deck her in front of her own child if she crosses the line."

Mix wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Fair enough."

V
illa Noir was
an upscale French restaurant on Locust Street. I already knew Pinky had money, so the choice of venue didn't surprise me. I just hoped she didn't want to split the bill because a place like this was currently out of my price range. I looked forward to a quality meal, though. I hadn't enjoyed French cuisine since I was in Monaco.

Pinky and her mother were already seated at a table when we arrived. I'd chosen a tasteful shift dress for Farah, who'd tried to sneak out in a bustier and leather skirt. I wore a knee-length, midnight blue dress with a pair of cheap heels. Without my summoning skills or my flush bank account, my Jimmy Choo days were on hiatus.

Mix wore neatly pressed khakis with a pastel pink polo shirt. It wouldn't have been my choice, but Mix was a big boy and I had to let him make his own fashion mistakes.

Pinky and her mom rose as we approached the table. She looked younger than I expected. Her blond hair was identical to Pinky's, except she wore hers in a long, thick braid down her back. She wore an elegant black pantsuit that screamed Yves Saint Laurent Couture. As hard as I tried to check out the shoes, I couldn't see them under the table. Probably for the best. I was pretty sure I would suffer a mad case of shoe envy.

"Serena Edwards," she said and extended her hand. "Seraphina talks about you all the time."

I shot Pinky a quizzical glance. Seraphina? Seriously? No wonder she went by Pinky.

"Seraphina Edwards, huh?" I said, trying out the name on my tongue. It didn't sound right to me.

Pinky's gaze was glued to the table. "I didn't choose it. Blame my parents."

"I accept full responsibility," Serena said.

Seraphina was an interesting choice for the offspring of a djinni and his human wife. The name came from the Hebrew word for the order of angels called 'seraphim,' which meant 'fiery ones.' I was surprised that a Marid would choose a name derived from the angels for his daughter. We weren't exactly fans of the Nephilim.

"I'm Alyse Winters and these are my friends, Farah Brahim and Jeremy Mix."

She shook their hands politely before we all sat down.

"This is a nice place," Farah said, admiring the decor. Her gaze rested on a couple a few tables over. "Oh, I even recognize a few faces." She waved and the couple pretended not to notice.

"Tops and Bottoms?" I asked.

Farah leaned forward, her ample chest resting on the table, and whispered, "They're regular customers in my adult entertainment store."

"I see," Serena said without a trace of judgment. "It must be nice to be in charge of your own business. I have a healthy respect for entrepreneurs. And what do you do, Jeremy?"

"I work with computers," he said.

"Computers," she repeated. "How twenty-first century of you. I thought djinn preferred more antiquated occupations."

"I've always been interested in computers," Mix said. "How they work. How we can best use the technology. My skills as a Jann aren't really incompatible with that."

Serena gave him an approving nod. "Quite right."

"And what did your husband do?" I asked boldly. A question about the dead husband right from the start. Alyse Tact Winters. That's me.

To her credit, she didn't flinch. "Ansel was an investment banker."

Ansel Edwards could have had fifty careers before she married him. Investment banker was simply the final one.

"Pinky says he was from Switzerland," I said. "Did he choose the name Edwards?" The name was neither Marid nor Swiss.

Before she could answer, the waiter approached the table. "Good evening, Mrs. Edwards." He nodded toward Pinky. "Miss Edwards. I see you're dining with friends tonight."

"That remains to be seen," Serena said.

The waiter smiled indulgently. "Your usual drinks?"

"Yes, of course. And a bottle of champagne for the table."

"As you wish." He scuttled off to fetch our libations.

Serena fixed her gaze on me. "He chose the name Edwards because he admired King Edward III. Now can we stop the inquisition and just get to know each other like normal people?"

"But we're not normal people," I reminded her.

"True." Although she smiled, her light blue eyes were flat and cold. "Seraphina says you're helping her train for this big competition."

"I'm doing my best," I replied. "The Colony Games are serious. I want her to be able to hold her own."

"Well, the Enclave wouldn't have chosen her if they didn't think she was up for the challenge."

Unless someone was using the games as an excuse to get rid of her
.

"Are you really cool with all this?" Mix asked out of the blue. He was studying Serena with grim fascination. "I mean, your daughter is a mage with raw, untapped power who's about to be dropped into a fighting pit with supernaturals with double her experience. Aren't you afraid of what could happen?"

Serena paused as the waiter set the bucket of champagne beside the table.

"Never show fear, Jeremy," she replied smoothly and the popping sound of the cork punctuated her statement. "It serves no purpose."

Finally, something we agreed on.

"Mommy thinks I'll make the cut," Pinky said, holding out her flute for the waiter to fill. Drinking laws in Villa Noir seemed to lean more toward France than America.

"These are not softball tryouts," I said. "There's no making the cut. If you don't succeed, there's a good chance you die."

I tasted the champagne and relished the subtle fizz tickling my throat. Gods and stars I missed the good life.

"The whole thing is pretty barbaric, isn't it?" Serena said. "Then again, the supernaturals are always looking for opportunities to show off their strengths. This world wasn't really designed for their powers."

"What do you mean?" Farah asked. I could tell she was trying to decide whether there was an insult buried in Serena's statement.

"This world," she began. "The human world revolves around humans. There's no real place for djinn or the Nephilim."

"Humans only see us if they have the Third Eye or we want them to see us," I said.

"I'm not talking about human exposure to the supernatural world," Serena said. "I'm talking about your place in the human world. Where do you fit in?"

"Mix works in a law firm," I said. "He's found a place to fit in. Farah runs a shop on South Street that caters to both humans and supernaturals."

"And what about you?" Serena asked, giving me a hard look. "How do you fit in? Pinky says you're recovering lost property or something like that. Is that really what you want your place in this world to be? A powerful Marid like you?"

She sipped her champagne and continued to stare at me, waiting for a response.

"I'm not exactly myself these days," I said. "So my place in the world is in limbo."

Her eyes shifted to my cuffs. "Seraphina told me about your unfortunate situation. My husband knew someone like you once. He stayed with us for a month when he was in hiding."

"He went into hiding?" I queried.

"Had to," Serena said. "Too many enemies were beating a path to his doorstep. He was too vulnerable to face them."

This story sounded uncomfortably familiar.

"And what happened to him?"

Serena shrugged. "I don't know. He left in the middle of the night. Said he didn't want to put the baby in any danger." She nodded toward Pinky. "He was a good djinni. I hope he made it."

"What was his name?" I asked.

She tapped her flute thoughtfully. "Sergei. He and my husband knew each other from some group in Europe, before Ansel moved here."

A group in Europe? Were we talking fan club or an intelligence agency?

"I'll have to see if he's still out there," I said. "It would be nice to speak to someone who survived a burn notice."

"I don't know that he was an agent," Serena said. "I think he may have been an escaped criminal. My husband had a wide range of friends."

Oh.

"Will you be attending the gala?" Mix asked.

Two nights before the event, there would be a huge gala in honor of the participants. They purposely avoided throwing it the night before because they didn't want any of the participants at a disadvantage the next morning. Of course, a djinni could weather a night of drinking and debauchery much better than a mage. Alcohol didn't impact us as easily. Well, except for someone like me, locked up in copper cuffs. These days I could get drunk on a sip of vanilla extract. I discovered that the hard way.

"No," Serena said, with a quick glance at her daughter. "That's Seraphina's night to shine. I already have a dress picked out for her."

"It's vintage," Pinky said with a note of pride. "Mommy wore it on her first date with my dad."

Serena sighed. "It brings back such happy memories."

I wondered if Serena was aware of her daughter's feelings for Oscar. Would her mother approve?

"Are we ready to order?" Serena asked. "If anyone's uncertain, I can offer suggestions."

I had no doubt she could. Serena Edwards seemed collected, in control, and completely confident in her daughter's abilities. In other words, she was the exact opposite of me.

Music erupted from the phone in my handbag.
Turn the Beat Around
.

Mix gave me a curious look. "Since when are you a fan of Gloria Estefan?"

"It's Detective Thompson," I said and stood abruptly. "Excuse me. I need to take this."

I hurried to the lobby and my stomach rumbled as a waiter delivered a plate of mussels and pommes frites to a nearby table.

"Thompson?"

"Winters, you need to see this," Thompson said. Her voice was low and rushed.

"Where are you?"

"The Woodlands. Meet me at the Hamilton Mansion. Hurry."

The Woodlands was a historic cemetery in West Philadelphia. Although I knew I could take SEPTA to 40th Street, it didn't sound like I had time to take the scenic route.

I glanced at my cuffs and sighed. I really missed my djinn magic.

I rushed back to the table to offer my apologies and ask Farah for the keys to the Prius.

"Should I come with you?" Farah asked.

"I'll go, too," Pinky volunteered.

"No, it'll be fine. Thompson wants to show me something." Something that required her to whisper couldn't be good. "Someone should enjoy a good meal here."

I just wished that someone could be me.

T
raffic was
minimal and I made it to the Woodlands without delay. Thompson waved to me from behind a column on the portico of the eighteenth century house.

"You're wearing a dress," she hissed and stepped out of the shadows.

"I was having dinner at a nice restaurant," I said. Well, I almost had dinner. The few sips of champagne would have to tide me over.

"An emergency call came in from two Penn students who were in the cemetery after dusk. They saw a group of what they referred to as 'weird-looking gang members' digging up graves."

I peered into the darkened cemetery. "Where?"

"The section near the river."

"How many?"

"They counted six."

Six Ghuls. Probably from the group we saw gathered in the abandoned factory in North Philly.

"Why do you think they made themselves visible?" Thompson asked.

"They were digging up graves, so they probably weren't worried about being seen by the corpses."

"Can you run in that?" Thompson asked, eyeing my hemline.

"If I have to. I don't have my Glock on me, though."

Thompson handed me her modified SIG. "I brought a spare, just in case. Do you know how to use it?"

"I'm good." I'd conjured up every imaginable gun during my time as an agent. Every situation was different and I summoned my weapons accordingly. Now, of course, I took whatever protection I could get.

I slipped off my shoes and left them on the portico. I'd run faster barefoot.

"Why didn't you call Reed if there are six Ghuls on the loose? At least he has Naphil powers."

"Because I'd like to avoid killing them," Thompson said.

We crouched low and threaded our way through the headstones.

"I thought you wanted vengeance." Although I agreed with her, I wanted to see if we were on the same page.

"I do, but there are too many of them in my territory. We don't know why they're here or why they're hanging out in such large groups. If we kill six of them, word will get back to the rest. They may disappear."

And then we wouldn't know their plan.

Their plan
.

Just associating that phrase with Ghuls didn't make sense to me. Ghuls didn't plan. One or two Ghuls raiding a cemetery at night—that made sense to me. Six Ghuls hanging out in a historic cemetery adjacent to University City didn't make sense to me. Thirty Ghuls in an abandoned building like they were having a town hall meeting didn't make sense to me.

The snap of a twig stopped us in our tracks. We ducked behind the two nearest headstones. Then I cocked the hammer and listened.

The grunts were low and infrequent, but I heard them. There were two, judging from the different sounds. From behind the stone, I glimpsed them next to an open grave. A body lay between them, torn to pieces. Even the Ghuls enjoyed a good meal tonight. My stomach rumbled.

"Where are the rest?" Thompson asked.

I shrugged. There were plenty of corpses in the cemetery. The other four could be anywhere around us. It wasn't a comforting thought.

I aimed my gun. It would be an easy shot for both of us. We'd use the stones to shield us and pop them off with shiny copper ballistics.

But copper bullets would be a—yes, I'll say it—dead giveaway. These organized Ghuls would understand that someone with knowledge was following their trail. As much as I loathed Ghuls, I didn't want them to leave. Not yet.

I dropped the gun to my side and motioned to Thompson to head back toward the house. We could try to tail them once they finished, but it would be difficult to know which way they left the cemetery. It was essentially a circle and there were plenty of places they could make their escape. Thompson and I couldn't possibly cover all the exits.