Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  I seized the moment and ran for the open door. I forgot all about my sore feet. My only concern was getting as far away from the Protector as possible.

  "Stop," he ordered.

  A wall of flames appeared in front of me and I skidded to a halt. What a crappy way to find out he was one of the talented ones.

  There were no accessible windows. No way around the flames. I was trapped in a deserted warehouse with a dead Naphil and his angry friend. Every fiber of my being cried out, begging to shift. It was a painful reminder of my impotence.

  "I don't want to hurt you," I said. The fact that I already shot him probably didn't escape his notice.

  "Good, because it doesn't seem likely," he replied, edging closer to me.

  A smart-ass Naphil. That was about as common as a pink unicorn.

  The smart-ass Naphil rushed me, his expression hard and fierce, and my human body reacted. For a split second, terror paralyzed me and I thought he might just kill me after all.

  With one precise blow, he knocked the gun out of my hand before I had time to fire it again. I watched it slide across the floor as if in slow motion, straight through the flames.

  "Did you hear the part where I said I wouldn't hurt you if you put your hands in the air?" he asked. "I even swore it."

  The Naphil backed away slowly and I took the opportunity to get a good look at my opponent. Six feet three inches of pure physical perfection. Wavy blond hair and deep brown eyes. Chiseled features. Damn his angel DNA. He didn't even have the decency to bear a scar.

  "Yes, yes. In the name of the Protectorate," I finished. "Sorry, I was blinded by your angelic beauty." Not to mention the terrifying look on his face.

  "That would enhance your hearing, not make it worse."

  Right.

  "Anyway, your hands are empty now," Captain Obvious said. "So if you just put them up..."

  Protector or not, in my experience, if your opponent had you cornered, you fought your way out by any means necessary. Or you died.

  I unsheathed my daggers.

  His eyebrow lifted. It wanted to know if I was serious.

  Oh, I was serious.

  I struck, slicing his shoulder. He twisted aside. Congratulations, Alyse. You bought yourself an extra breath. Interesting that his own sword remained sheathed. Either he didn't think I could hurt him or he truly didn't want to hurt me. I didn't have the luxury of taking a man at his word.

  I spun my daggers to keep him at bay until I could advance again. Maybe all the flashing of metal would hypnotize him into submission. I'd seen it happen before. Granted, there'd been magic involved. No such luck now.

  He dodged my blades, moving with admirable grace. Well, it would have been admirable if he weren't my opponent. After that first slice to his shoulder, he seemed to anticipate each move before it happened.

  "Give up yet?" he asked.

  "Not really in my vocabulary."

  Before I could strike again, he lunged at me. His fist hammered the side of my head. Pain exploded -- it was like he'd driven a hot poker into my brain.

  My body slumped to the floor in a heap.

  One hand snatched the back of my top and yanked me off my feet. I noticed that the daggers were no longer in my hands.

  "You promised not to hurt me," I said. My voice sounded weak to my own ears and I hated it. My blood surged with strength it could no longer display. The harsh reality sickened me.

  "There was an 'if' involved," he said.

  If I had my powers, we would have been pretty evenly matched. Who am I kidding? I would've trounced him.

  "Trounced me?" he echoed. His deep voice rumbled beneath my skin. "From where I'm standing, it hardly seems possible."

  My feet dangled in the air and I craned my neck to look my captor in the eye.

  "Do you mind?" I asked. "I haven't paid for this top yet."

  "Not much of a top." He let go and I dropped to the floor. He loomed over me, ready to pounce if I so much as breathed wrong.

  I dusted off my tank top. "It's ninety degrees and I have a perspiration problem."

  "You shot me." He didn't sound happy about it.

  "In my defense, I knew it wouldn't hurt you."

  He moved a hand back and forth like a conductor, and I watched the flames die down. Fire commander, indeed.

  Once the fire was safely out, he turned his attention back to me.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "I was looking for O'Leary," I said, hauling myself to my feet, "but I found that guy instead." I nodded toward the corpse. "Is he a Protector, too?"

  The Naphil didn't answer me. His eyes were fixed on my shiny copper wrists. "I asked you a question."

  "Alyse Winters," I replied.

  "What are you doing here, Miss Winters?"

  "I told you. I was looking for O'Leary and was told I could find him here." I cast a sidelong glance at the corpse. "Obviously, my source was mistaken."

  I needed to put a stop to the inquiry. His questions would only lead to more questions. Where was Farah? Her boobs could have provided a useful distraction. That was the last time I counted on her for backup. I should have let Flynn come after all.

  "Why were you looking for O'Leary here? A casino head would never operate out of the Badlands."

  So he knew who O'Leary was. "I'm looking for information and my friend thought he could help. I was told to meet him here."

  His dark eyes flickered back to my cuffs. I braced myself for the inevitable question, but it didn't come.

  Instead, he asked, "Who's your friend?"

  Shit. I wasn't about to associate myself with Flynn. Not publicly anyway. "Did I say friend? I meant acquaintance. A shadowy figure. Only heard the voice." I shrugged.

  To his credit, he seemed mildly amused, which was unusual for a Naphil. In my experience, most of them were uptight do-gooders hellbent on truth, justice and the American way.

  "You seem to have me confused with Superman," he said. "My name is Captain Reed."

  I didn't care who he was. He had no business rummaging around in my mind. I fixed him with my deadliest look. "Out. Of. My. Head."

  "If you answer my questions truthfully, I won't need to pry. I came here looking for one of my men. Lieutenant Adams. He missed patrol and his partner came to me with concerns."

  My heart sank. "And I'm guessing you found him."

  His jaw clenched and he gave a crisp nod. "I tracked his phone. It must be here somewhere."

  "Well, it's certainly not on him," I said.

  "I noticed." His expression was grim. "We need more light. You should stand back."

  We? What did he expect me to do -- play Nancy Drew to his Hardy Boy?

  He held out his hand and coaxed a tiny flame into existence.

  "Your flashlight can do better than that," I said, but I took a step back anyway. It occurred to me that a Protector might be a useful resource, something that was in short supply for me at the moment. If I helped him, maybe he'd help me. Just because I disliked owing favors didn't mean I disliked collecting them.

  Sparks flew as the flame grew brighter. He held his hand aloft, using it as a spotlight.

  "Over there," I said, pointing to the opposite wall to where I'd been hiding.

  On the floor sat a neatly folded pile of clothes. A Protectorate uniform.

  "I bet his phone is in the pocket," I said. Take that, Nancy Drew.

  Captain Reed continued to serve as a human light bulb. "No sign of the sword. Why didn't he use it to defend himself?"

  "Maybe he did. You'll know when your people check for blood spatter."

  I walked along the floor, checking for blood or other signs of a struggle.

  "Neatly folded clothes. Minimal blood. He sure cleaned up after himself," I said.

  Captain Reed raised that judgmental eyebrow again. "He? Rather sexist of you."

  "Statistically, the killer is most likely male."

  "What if she were defending herself against him?"

  I
placed a hand on my hip. He was baiting me, trying to find out how much I knew and how much I was willing to tell him. Well, I had nothing to hide.

  "Firstly, those wounds were not made in self-defense. Secondly, he's one of yours. Are you seriously suggesting that a Protector went off the rails and attacked a woman?"

  The light in his eyes dimmed. "No."

  I glanced back at the body. "It looks like he used an inwardly curved blade."

  "That's rather astute." He seemed impressed.

  "Not really."

  "Show me," he said.

  Give an inch and they take a mile. Then again, if I wanted to show my useful and cooperative side in the hope of currying favor, here was my big chance.

  I walked back to the corpse with Captain Reed behind me.

  "See the wounds on his chest," I said, pointing.

  His hand gripped my shoulder. "Don't touch him," he barked. "We need to leave the crime scene undisturbed."

  I fought the urge to break his fingers. "Relax, I'm pointing. I don't intend to touch anything."

  "Sorry," he mumbled. "It was a knee-jerk reaction."

  Or just a jerk reaction. "The damage is severe," I continued, fixating on the corpse. "You don't get that with a straight blade like yours or even with a machine-made curved blade." I gestured to the sword hanging from the captain's waist. The Nephilim were excellent with swords, every member of the Protectorate had one.

  "Can you aim your flame over here?" I asked.

  I crouched down and studied the wounds on the mangled body more closely. Nope, they definitely weren't clean enough to suggest a machine-made blade. "Could be something like a traditional kukri."

  He peered over me. "Nepalese?"

  I nodded and stood.

  "It seems that his sword isn't the only thing missing," Captain Reed said, kneeling over the body. "So is his heart."

  I swallowed hard. Someone ripped out a Naphil's heart?

  He dimmed the flame. I wondered if his hand started to hurt after a bit.

  "What cases was he working on?" I asked. "You should start there."

  Slowly and deliberately, Captain Reed turned his head to stare at me. "What makes you think I'd share confidential information with you? You're lucky I haven't arrested you yet."

  "For what? Helping you? I didn't realize that was a crime. I'll stop now."

  So much for my useful and cooperative side. I'd have to work on that.

  "Do you have a phone number, Miss Winters?" His gaze narrowed. "A real one."

  "Why?"

  "In case I need any more help, obviously." He didn't smile.

  "I'll trade my number for my daggers," I said, holding out my hand. I didn't push my luck asking for the Glock. It was likely too hot to handle right now anyway.

  Reluctantly, he removed the daggers from his belt of blades and gave them to me. "Promise me next time you'll surrender so we can avoid a fight."

  "What's the big deal? Your shoulder's already healed," I told him. My head, on the other hand, still felt like it had been shaken and stirred. I never had to live with the aftereffects of a fight before and I wasn't happy about it.

  I gave him my number and hoped he didn't decide to use it. I didn't need any trouble right now. My plate of woes was full.

  "You'll need to ice the side of your head when you get home," he said. "Your eye's going to be a mess tomorrow."

  A bruised eye. That would be a new, unwelcome experience for me.

  At that moment, my partner in crime finally decided to make her useless appearance. The fox came bursting into the warehouse, teeth bared, and headed straight for us. She barreled past me and nipped mercilessly at Captain Reed's ankles.

  "Stand down," I said, through gritted teeth.

  "Friend of yours?" he asked, lifting the fox by the scruff of her neck.

  "She's harmless," I said, as her teeth clamped down on his hand. "Unless you haven't had your rabies shot."

  Farah growled and he smiled at her. "She's cute when she's angry."

  "You've never seen her lose a companion in Fallout. Trust me, it isn't pretty."

  "I don't understand the appeal of video games." He released his grip on her and she skittered across the floor. "Real life is harrowing enough."

  He looked back at the corpse and I took it as my cue to leave.

  "Good luck, Captain," I said. I tucked the dazed fox under my arm and hurried away before he could ask any more questions. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was already on his phone, reporting the murder.

  Chapter Six

  I sat cross-legged in Farah's apartment, trying to order clothes online. A first for me. Even though my bank account was gone, I held out a glimmer of hope that one of my credit cards was still in play. Although the Shadow Elite were less bureaucratic than PAN, it was still a bureaucratic agency where little things like credit card numbers could slip through the cracks. I figured I'd do some Internet shopping and find out.

  After yet another rejection, Farah lost patience with me.

  "Let me try with mine," she said and bumped my butt to the side. She settled in front of the laptop and replaced my numbers with her own. The purchase went through without a hitch.

  I sighed as a little more reality seeped into my system. "I owe you for that." The words left a bad taste in my mouth. My tab was increasing by the day. I had to find a way to support myself until I could get my name cleared. If I didn't die from the cuffs, I'd die from shame.

  Farah peered at the screen. "Two hundred and fifty dollars. What'd I buy for you?"

  "Shorts, T-shirts, underpants, a bra and a pair of stylish sandals. A few items to tide me over until I get myself out of this mess."

  "Good thing it's summer," Farah said. "Winter clothes are more expensive."

  "Hey, this isn't even my usual style," I said. "I'm trying to keep the amounts low now that I'm flat broke."

  Farah gave me a sympathetic look. "You'll bounce back quickly."

  I shook my head. "Bounce back how? My accounts have been shut down. I can't access money or credit." I covered my face with my hands. I'd never felt so helpless. "This is a nightmare."

  "You have a place to stay for as long as you need," Farah said, sliding an arm across my shoulders. "Rent free, I might add."

  I peeked through my hands and smiled. "Thanks, Farah. You're awesome."

  "You could always ask Prince Simdan for a loan, though."

  I shot off the floor, my entire body rejecting the suggestion. I was not going to bend the knee to the ultimate jackass and beg for loose change.

  "Absolutely not. I just need a job. Something to tide me over until I find the bastard that cuffed me and break these chains."

  "You can work in my store," Farah said. "Some of my customers would love to see you model." She wiggled her eyebrows.

  "And that would be the last thing they'd ever see." Exhibitionism was Farah's thing, not mine.

  "You're right," Farah said. "You're too violent for my store."

  "Says the djinni with the weapons cache in her dressing room."

  She shrugged. "Speaking of that, I need to get downstairs. I'm meeting a client soon who's looking for a specialty item."

  "Sex or death?"

  "Maybe both. Who knows?"

  "Don't you want to know what he plans to do with it?"

  "You've been out of the country too long. This is America, Alyse. We don't ask questions like that." Surprise must have shown on my face because she grinned. "I'm teasing. I vet all my clients. I don't take any crazies."

  I straightened my Mets T-shirt and smoothed my khaki pants. "I need to get a move on anyway. I have a yoga class to attend."

  Farah's mouth quirked. "You? Yoga?"

  "Flynn suggested it." I didn't intend to make a habit of heeding Flynn's advice, but given my current condition, it seemed like a reasonable idea.

  "Flynn suggested that you attend his girlfriend's yoga class?" She didn't seem overly fond of the idea. "Well, if you intend to meet his girlfr
iend for the first time, you need to cover that black eye. There's concealer in the bathroom under the sink."

  "Thanks. Would it also be possible to get another gun?" I cringed, hating to ask. "Captain Angel Face engulfed mine in flames."

  "These aren't weapons that you conjure out of nothing, you know. I have to pay for them."

  I shifted uncomfortably. "Is that the equivalent of telling me that money doesn't grow on trees?"

  Farah huffed. "How about I give you one after yoga class? I'm pretty sure yogis frown upon guns in class."

  "What do you think I'm going to do?" I asked. "I have no interest in hurting Tessa. She has Flynn cooking sauce and shopping at Pottery Barn. She's clearly a secret mage."

  "If you have no interest in hurting anyone, then why don't you leave your daggers here?" she asked.

  "Because of these." I held up my wrists. "Once word gets out that I'm cuffed and in Philadelphia, I'll have everyone I've ever annoyed flying in for a visit. I don't intend to use the toilet without a weapon."

  Farah inclined her head. "Maybe you shouldn't piss off so many people. Ever consider that?"

  I shrugged. "Comes with the territory."

  Her hands flew to her ample hips. "Well, if you're going to do yoga in Rittenhouse Square, you can't possibly wear that. You need pricier gear."

  Never one to object to pricier gear, I nodded obediently. "Where do you propose I get some?"

  "One block over is a boutique. Get lululemon and you'll blend. Tell Misty I sent you. She owes me one."

  For the sex shop or the weapons cache, I didn't bother to ask. Some details were better left unknown.

  Rittenhouse Square is the fancy pants part of Center City. In Victorian times, it rose to prominence as the fashionable neighborhood and its desirability stuck. These days the square is lined with expensive restaurants, shops and hotels.

  The yoga studio was located down a quiet side street. I strutted down the sidewalk with my new raspberry-colored yoga mat and matching attire. I practiced swinging my ponytail from side to side. It was fun. This was definitely a cover I hadn't tried before. If I had my shapeshifting powers, I'd make myself more petite, lighten my hair and call myself Britney. I heaved a deep sigh. Ah well, a girl can dream.

  The class was nearly full by the time I arrived. I hadn't been in the presence of this many soccer moms since -- well, ever.