Death Match (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 2) (13 page)

A low moan escaped him and I watched in horror as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. It wasn't simply the whiteness of the eyes that bothered me.

It was the fact that they were glowing.

Before I could react, red light shot out from his eyes and blew two holes through the ceiling.

People screamed and ducked for cover. A room full of supernaturals and nobody tried to be a hero. Some competition this was going to be.

The mage's head jerked toward the stage and two beams of light erupted once more, incinerating the drum set, but thankfully, not the drummer.

I didn't wait for him to redirect his laser gaze a third time. I hiked up my dress and tackled him to the ground, holding him tightly between my legs. I raised my yantoks above my head, one in each hand, and simultaneously thrust the ends into his eye sockets before his laser eyes could inflict further damage. His crushed eyeballs began to hemorrhage. As the sticks hit the occipital bone, his body convulsed. Bright red blood splattered across the front of my dress. Against the green fabric, I looked like a Christmas ornament.

"Alyse, what the hell?" Farah came skidding to a halt beside me. She took one look at the mage's head and turned away. "That's vile."

I glanced down at my handiwork. It was pretty disgusting, but it wasn't like I had a lot of choice in the matter. The guy was about to level an entire ballroom full of supernaturals, including me.

Oscar knelt by my side. "It's Javier." He touched the younger man's shoulder. "What was he thinking?"

I kept my voice low and neutral. "Oscar, I doubt he was alone. I think we have a potential shitshow on our hands. We need to find out who else took X-caliber and make sure they don't leave this room."

I wasn't fast enough.

Another sound erupted from the far side of the room. I jumped to my feet and ran, still clutching my yantoks. I wiped the remnants of Javier's eye sockets onto my hips. The dress was ruined anyway. That would teach me to spend my hard-earned money on frivolous fashion. I was still getting used to this consumer business.

I recognized this mage. Like Javier, his body was shaking uncontrollably. Onlookers pushed back to put distance between them and the explosive mage.

"Sam!" Pinky cried and rushed forward before I could stop her. She shouted an unfamiliar Etruscan phrase and threw her hands toward him. Sam's body froze, his face contorted in pain and what appeared to be rage.

"What did you do?" Oscar asked, hurrying over.

"A stasis spell," Pinky replied, shaking with fear. "As soon as the spell breaks, he'll go back to whatever he was doing."

"Getting himself and everyone around him killed," I said and stepped forward to examine him more closely. "Pinky said you have doctors in the Enclave."

Oscar nodded, his worried gaze pinned on Sam's frozen body. "I'll have him brought to Quarantine." He turned to Pinky. "How long can you keep him like this?"

"Long enough," she said. "You can knock him out safely in Quarantine, right?"

"Of course. We can leave him unconscious until the drug leaves his system." Oscar whistled and several large men appeared. They were all bald with bulging muscles, white T-shirts, and two of them sported a lone earring. They were like four different versions of Mr. Clean.

Carefully, the men lifted Sam and carried him out of the ballroom.

"I've already ordered Javier's body be brought to the coroner at the Enclave," he said grimly.

They wouldn't find traces of X-caliber. They needed Ziggy for that.

"Will you tell us what you find out?" Reed asked. "The Protectorate gladly offers its services."

Oscar looked unsettled. "Thank you."

The music began anew and Oscar shuffled away from the dance floor in a daze. I didn't try to stop Pinky when she chased after him. Comforting him wouldn't do her any harm.

I walked toward a side door and slipped into the empty corridor. I needed to process what just happened. Javier was dead. Sam was on ice. That left Pinky and Cyrus as the remaining members of their team. I knew Pinky hadn't taken X-caliber. I wondered how Javier and Sam had acquired it and if Cyrus had been approached about taking it, too.

"You didn't kill him." Reed appeared in the corridor beside me, his features etched with concern.

"Technically, I shoved magical yantoks into his eyes and flattened his brain in the process, so I kinda did."

Reed clapped me on the shoulder. "His magic was out of control. He was already dead."

"That's me, always the helper."

"Why are you hiding out here?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the way his enviable frame filled out the tuxedo jacket. Either way, I opted for the truth. "I'm worried about Pinky. The games start in two days. Without Javier and Sam, her team is doomed. No one else will be ready."

"I'm sure Oscar has replacements," he said.

I looked up at him. "Pinky was a replacement for Kieran, remember? Apparently, Oscar doesn't believe in a B-team."

He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, thinking. "There are several mage teams competing from the Mid-Atlantic Colony. Maybe he could pull a mage from somewhere else."

I shook my head. "No mage is going to be good enough, not when there are djinn and the Nephilim on the roster." I straightened my shoulders. "Someone on the field has to look out for Pinky. It may as well be me."

Reed's dark eyes widened. "Alyse, that's insane. Your caste never competes in the games." He raked a hand through his wavy, blond hair. "It might be different if you had your djinn magic, but..."

I pushed past him and headed toward the ballroom. "I'm not planning to win. I'm only planning to keep Pinky alive."

Reed grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "And who's going to keep you alive? You'll be the most human competitor in the games. It's suicide."

His face hovered only inches from mine, his eyes blazing. I'd never seen him angry before, not like this.

"I'm highly trained, Reed. I graduated top of my class from the Academy, remember?"

"With your powers fully intact," he said through gritted teeth.

I yanked my arm from his firm grip. "We trained for every eventuality, Captain Negative. I've been working with Pinky."

"So have I."

I patted my sides. "I even have magical yantoks."

"Hard to miss them."

The heat rushed to my cheeks. "I just took down an out-of-control mage in a ballroom full of supernaturals."

He paced the floor, probably pissed that he couldn't disagree.

"Okay, then what about us?" he asked, exasperated.

Us? I narrowed my eyes. "Reed, there is no
us
. Gods above, you're starting to sound like Flynn."

His body relaxed and a slow burn of a smile emerged. "I meant what about we both join the team, but hey, it's interesting the direction in which your mind wanders."

I
t took
a fair amount of persuasion and pressure from Reed's boss at the Protectorate, but desperate times called for desperate measures and Oscar eventually relented and allowed us to join the team. Pinky wasn't thrilled with my decision and went into full teen mode to demonstrate her displeasure. There was foot stomping, name calling, and general threats of magical violence. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. It was for her own good. Good gods, I sounded like her mother.

Reed and I spent the remaining hours before the games in an intensive training session at the warehouse. I wasn't so arrogant that I thought I could wing it without practice. Cyrus and Pinky planned to join us after a pre-game ritual at the Enclave. The ritual was for mages only.

"What's to stop a djinni from just wishing himself on the champion team?" Reed asked as we sparred on the bare concrete floor.

Wind rushed through the broken glass of the window and he took his eyes off me for a split second. I disarmed him and quickly backed away, holding up his Protectorate sword like a trophy.

"Wouldn't work," I said. "I didn't say there are no rules. I just said the rules are flexible and sometimes hard to guess. Stay inside the white chalk lines. That's a simple one."

"So how will I know if I've broken a rule?" Reed asked. The potential for breaking rules clearly plagued him. That explained why there were fewer of his kind in the games.

"Easy," I replied. "If it's a minor infraction, they'll zap you and eliminate you from the competition."

He looked uneasy. "And if it's a serious infraction?"

"Simple. They'll kill you on the spot."

Reed's eye twitched. "That doesn't sound entirely fair if they don't spell out the rules."

I shrugged and handed him his sword. "The games are not designed to be fair. They're designed for survival."

He sheathed his sword. "And beating an opponent with violence is deemed entertainment?"

"For some, not for me." I paused. "I only use it as the means to an end. There's no emotional component."

"Are all Shadow Elite agents as dispassionate as you?" he asked.

"Passion gets you killed," I said and spun away from him. "A level head keeps you alive. I would think that's rule number one in the Protectorate Handbook."

"Rule number one is to serve and protect humans," he said. "The Protectorate doesn't care whether we achieve that with a level head or an avalanche of emotions."

I smiled. "An avalanche of emotions, huh? Reed, that's practically poetry coming from you."

"I happen to love poetry," he said. "Byron, Shelley, Keats. The Romantics are my favorite."

"You're bluffing," I said.

"I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination," he quoted.

Keats. That angelic bastard never ceased to amaze me.

"We need to find me an outfit with long sleeves that cover my cuffs," I said, changing the subject before he started reciting poems in their entirety. I didn't want to experience his even softer side now, not when he was putting his life at risk because of my stubbornness and arrogance.

"Makes sense," he said. "You don't want our opponents to figure out your limitations."

"It's not just that," I said. "I'm competing in a game viewed by thousands of supernaturals. You think word won't get out to my enemies that I've been burned?"

Reed nodded, understanding. "Won't they be able to tell from the way you fight? That you're not summoning weapons of mass destruction?"

I blew out an anxious breath. "I'm hoping we're so good as a team that no one notices."

He studied me. "So even if you survive the games, your involvement exposes you to potential danger."

I didn't respond. What could I say? My life was on the line in more ways than one.

"We'll find you a suitable outfit," he said finally.

"Nothing too tight across the back. I need to be able to move."

"So not your dress from the gala then?" He resisted the urge to smile.

"Obviously not."

"Are you sure? The slit was pretty high. You could manage some solid kicks..."

"Now you're really starting to sound like Flynn," I said. That was enough to silence him.

The sound of a throat clearing made us both jump. I breathed a sigh of relief when I recognized the visitor.

"Simon," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he replied. "I used a tracking spell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy."

He still looked nervous and I quickly realized why. Reed and I were still holding our weapons in threatening positions.

"Reed," I said. "Let's make Simon feel welcome." I lowered my yantoks and Reed tucked his sword away. "How can we help you?"

Simon came further into the room. "I heard about the chaos at the gala."

"You weren't there?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I wasn't welcome. Besides, Luciano doesn't like me to go where he can't follow. He thinks I'm at Whole Foods now, doing the grocery shopping."

"And?" I tried not to sound impatient. As usual, I was failing miserably.

His eyes were wet with tears. "I never expected things to get so out of hand. Mages are dead because of me."

So he knew about X-caliber. I thought so.

"Who else has Luciano sold the drug to?" I asked.

"No one." He paused. "I mean, he hasn't sold it at all. I gave it to my nephew."

"Selling it or giving it," I said. "It's all the same."

Simon waved a hand. "You misunderstand me. Luciano was telling you the truth. He doesn't know anything about X-caliber."

I glanced at Reed, who seemed as confused as I felt. "Then where did you get it?" I asked.

He lowered his voice. "It came directly from the Dragon."

Well, knock me over with a feather. The Dragon was bypassing his own head of drug trafficking. Interesting.

"Did he tell you to give it to Kieran or was that your idea?" I asked.

Simon scratched his white beard. "Not in so many words. The note only said that the drug was experimental but would improve performance. It warned me not to tell Luciano."

The note didn't need to say 'don't tell Luciano or else.' With the Dragon, 'or else' was implied.

"And Kieran shared the drug with his team," Reed surmised.

"Why would they use it after what happened to Kieran?" I asked.

"They assumed he overdosed," Simon explained. "When I last spoke with Javier, he said they only planned to ingest a small amount. They started a few days before the gala, though. They wanted to see what they'd be able to do."

"Why did they leave out Pinky?" As relieved as I was by their decision, I needed to know.

Simon looked hesitant to speak. "Her relationship with Oscar..."

Of course.

"And Cyrus?" I prodded.

"He refused to partake," Simon said. "Insisted he was talented enough without help."

That sounded like the Cyrus I met. If only he'd reported it, though, his fellow mages might still be alive.

"Why you?" Reed asked Simon.

I already knew the answer to that one. "Because the Dragon knew about his relationship with Kieran and that Simon is on the outs with the Enclave and wouldn't narc on him." I cocked my head at Simon. "And because he knows Simon has a gambling problem."

Simon lowered his gaze to the floor.

"What does gambling have to do with it?" Reed asked.

"After he gave the drug to his nephew, Simon bet heavily on the Enclave's local team."

Understanding flashed across Reed's face. "As did a few of the Dragon's closest friends, I imagine. The Dragon knew exactly what would happen if he gave you the drug."

A tear slid down Simon's wrinkled cheek. "The Dragon bet on my weaknesses and he won."

"Why cut out Luciano?" Reed asked.

"Because the Dragon doesn't want it in wide distribution," I said. "He has a very specific plan for this drug." And I needed to know what the plan was, whether it had failed with the dead mages or whether there was a bigger plan in play. Knowing the Dragon, this was more than a simple gambling fix.

"Hey Simon," I said, a note of hesitation in my voice. "What did you use for the tracking spell?" If Simon could find me with a spell, then presumably others could too. The prospect was unsettling.

"A piece of hair you left behind at the condo."

The knot in my stomach loosened. "I see." Crisis averted. As far as I knew, my enemies hadn't retained any pieces of me. Yet.

T
he stadium was
enormous with nearly forty-five thousand seats, most of them taken. Spectators came from throughout the Mid-Atlantic Colony to check out the games and cheer on their favorite teams.

We sat in the section reserved for participants. Now that I was officially registered, I figured I should put my Shadow Elite skills to good use and study the potential competition. Our team wasn't on deck for its first match until later in the afternoon. That meant an entire morning of checking out the other matches.

The first match of the day was between Shaitans and the Nephilim. They weren't Protectors so Reed didn't know any of them.

"You don't keep tabs on the Nephilim the way the Enclave keeps tabs on their magicians?" Farah asked, when he said he didn't recognize anyone.

He shook his head. "We can usually spot one of our own without an official manifest."

"I can usually spot your folks, too," I said. "Ramrod straight backs, earnest expressions." I rolled my eyes. "Usually it's the bout of nausea I suffer that tips me off."

Reed fought the urge to smile.

"Why would the Nephilim choose to participate in this?" I asked. "It seems too unnecessarily violent for you."

"Well, you won't see any Protectors competing, that's for sure."

"Apart from you," I reminded him.

His eyes darkened. "Apart from me. The rest of the Nephilim are free to choose their own paths."

Shaitans were an interesting caste to watch in a match. If they had a mascot, it would be Loki. They're the tricksters of the djinn world and with good reason. They can shape reality, create illusions, shift perception—you name it. It didn't matter that they were standing in a field in front of thousands of spectators. If they wanted to, they could alter the fabric of reality for everyone here. Thankfully for us, their particular talents were focused solely on their opponents—the Nephilim red team.

"Both teams are hot," Farah said, her breath blowing on my neck.

Not that I was assessing the teams based on their appearance, but she was right. Between the angelic beauty of the Nephilim and the ridiculously attractive Shaitans with their well-placed animal parts, we could have been spectators at a Chippendales event in bizarro world.

I expected the djinn on the field to shift immediately, maybe even drift onto the field already in their djinn forms, but the Horn of Karkadann blew and they remained in their human bodies.

Then it hit me.

This was a deliberate ploy. Shaitans were fully aware of the Nephilim's duty toward humans. It was psychological. Even though the Nephilim knew that their opponents were djinn, fighting them in human form would prove more difficult. The master deceivers would save their party tricks for the next match, assuming they were successful now.

"How would you fight them?" I asked Reed, who sat on my right.

"I'd picture them all naked," Farah said enthusiastically.

Mix pressed his lips together. "You're doing it now, aren't you?"

Farah's lips formed a dreamy smile.

Reed leaned forward, studying the positions of those on the field. "The longer they stay human, the more willpower the Nephilim will need to attack. I would close my eyes and rely on my senses to guide me."

That wasn't the answer I was expecting. "Your senses are that good? Even with the noise of the crowd?"

Who was I kidding? I was talking to a Naphil who absorbed emotional imprints of a crime scene and filtered out the pain and agony of the deceased. The noise of a crowd was child's play.

"Mine are," he replied. "But I doubt very much the training of these Nephilim is that extensive. They're not Protectors."

I tried to focus on the match, to pay close attention to the strengths and weaknesses of the team members, in the event that we faced off against either team at a later point.

Two Shaitans had finally abandoned their human forms and shifted to smoke as the Nephilim moved around the field with speed and precision. They'd clearly practiced their offensive and defensive moves together. They looked more like a sports team than participants in a deadly match.

"They have a telepath," I said. It was the one in the point of their vee formation. His face was scrunched up in deep concentration.

Reed nodded. "He needs to be less obvious. If any Shaitan figures it out, he'll become the primary target."

"If we can see it all the way from the cheap seats, I'm sure they'll figure it out soon."

Sure enough, a cloud of smoke drifted over the field and wrapped around the telepath. At the same time, the other Nephilim dropped to their knees, their hands over their ears.

"What's happening?" Mix asked.

"Shaitans are literally blowing their minds," I said. It had nearly happened to me once. I was on a mission in Sri Lanka where I encountered a nasty piece of work called Lagos. He twisted the hell out of my head until I lost all sense of reality. I thought a python was slithering up my throat and out of my mouth and that I was about to give birth to a full-sized gorilla. The only way I survived the psychic attack was by mustering the strength to shift to mist, an option the Nephilim didn't have. Once I was in mist form, the illusion was broken. I bent the light and escaped with a blistering headache but no permanent damage.

Watching the Nephilim on their knees, screaming in agony, I doubted they'd be so fortunate.

Thankfully, the first match ended with no loss of life. The Nephilim had the good sense to surrender before their heads exploded.

"I'm glad they're out," Reed said.

I understood. He didn't want to face off against his brethren. Like me, he was here to protect Pinky, not to win. There was no way I'd find myself competing with another Marid, not that it would have given me pause. I didn't owe them my loyalty simply because we shared the same caste. As far as I was concerned, loyalty was earned. It was a departure from traditional Marida thinking and Prince Simdan had never forgiven me for voicing it to the entire royal court. For a brief moment, I wondered if he knew where I was right now. The thought made me smile.