Spellbinding Starters

by Annabel Chase

  Things were not going well for me.

  I pushed open the door and let loose a string of curses. The more I pulled, the stickier the tar got. If there was a low-lying branch around, I needed to find it. Soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I expected to meet Rocco Paretti somewhere seedy with semi-clad women straddling poles. Instead, he suggested a pizza place on Chestnut Street.

  Farah insisted on accompanying me so that she could meet her competition in person. Only Farah would find fun in flaunting her competitive weapons business in the face of a greedy mobster.

  We were greeted at the entrance by a tall, olive-skinned man in an apron dusted with flour.

  "There's a private room in the back," the tall man said.

  We maneuvered past the empty tables and the restroom to a closed door at the back. I knocked politely.

  "Come on in," a gruff voice said.

  Farah and I squeezed through the doorway together like two professional idiots, nearly knocking each other over in the process. Rocco sat behind a desk, in the middle of enjoying a meatball sub. He even wore a white linen napkin as a bib.

  "Alyse Winters?" he asked, his brown eyes shifting from me to Farah.

  I raised my hand. "I'm Alyse. This is my colleague, Farah."

  "Farah?" He inclined his head. "Farah, the Hinn?"

  Farah clapped her hands together. "You've heard of me?"

  He wiped a spot of tomato sauce from his chin. "Of course I've heard of you. Do I look like an amateur? I should blow your brains out right now for running weapons on my turf."

  Despite his words, he didn't seem eager to reach for a gun. He was more interested in reaching for another bite of meatball.

  "There's enough business for both of us in the colony," she said diplomatically.

  Rocco set down his sub and sucked soda through a straw. "How about we put a pin in that conversation, okay?" He returned his attention to me. "I understand you need some information from me."

  I decided to start with O'Leary's missing heirloom.

  He removed his napkin bib, wiping his mouth before tossing it down on the desk. "Let me get this straight. Jimmy has you investigating our own guys, like some kind of internal affairs nincompoop?"

  "Not exactly. It's just that I spoke to Hugo Munson and he said that O'Leary had shown the weapon to a bunch of you recently. He's not sure exactly when it went missing, so it could've been at that meeting."

  "And since I'm the weapons guy, I'm the natural suspect?" His expression hardened. "That's extremely disrespectful. I think the Dragon would be interested in hearing about this."

  "I told her it wasn't you," Farah said. "Your reputation is too pristine. But she has this crazy notion she has to chase down every lead like a professional." She rolled her eyes to underscore the absurdity of my actions.

  Today, the role of good cop will be played by Farah, ladies and gentlemen.

  "Thank you," Rocco said with renewed interest in Farah. "I appreciate your support. That shade of red is lovely, by the way."

  "Thank you." Farah flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled.

  "Did you handle the weapon?" I asked.

  "We all did," Rocco said. "Jimmy shoved it in our faces like it was the friggin' Hope Diamond. It was just another hunk of metal. I've seen better haul coming in from Nigeria and that stuff is crap."

  "What's so special about it then?" I asked. "It's cold iron and copper, but there are plenty of weapons like that if you know where to look."

  "It seems to hold some sentimental value," Rocco said. "He said it came from Ireland with some old timer in his family."

  I nodded. "He said they used it to fight djinn there."

  Rocco's brow lifted. "I was under the impression it was more ceremonial."

  Farah snapped her fingers. "Sometimes weapons become more powerful when they've slain enough djinn. The blade retains some of each djinni's magic."

  "Kill enough djinn, get an incredibly powerful weapon in return," I added.

  "So someone's planning to kill more djinn?" Farah asked. I heard the note of fear in her voice.

  "Do you think it's connected to the murders?" Rocco asked.

  "I don't know," I replied. "They're not killing djinn. In fact, they're pretty much killing everyone but djinn."

  His gaze fixed on me. "They?"

  "We think it's two killers. Or at least one killer and an accomplice."

  He took another sip of soda. "From what I've heard, the marks on the vics haven't all been the same. Have any matched Jimmy's heirloom?"

  I shook my head. "Not to my knowledge. Then again, I'm only unofficially on the case."

  "Unofficially?" he queried.

  "The PTF and Protectorate think I'm involved and I need to prove I'm not."

  He grunted.

  "I showed Alyse the kilij in my armory because she thinks the Naphil in the warehouse was killed with a weapon like a kukri," Farah offered.

  His brown eyes sparkled. "You have a kilij?" His excitement drove him out from behind the desk. "How did you manage that?"

  She smiled proudly. "I know, right? This one's a real treasure. Came in from a collector in Egypt. You don't want to know what I had to do to get it."

  A slow grin spread across his face. "I think I do."

  Farah clasped her hands together, her expression now dreamy. "I don't even want to sell it. To be totally honest, I've fallen a little in love with it."

  "Better than a man, isn't it?" he asked.

  "Depends on the man." She gave him a look that would melt the polar caps.

  "I'd love to see it one day," Rocco said. "If you'd be willing."

  Farah was more than willing. I could tell by the way her chest was pushed out and the unsubtle way she licked her lips. Like she was a fox and Rocco was the trashcan she wanted to dive into.

  "I guess that would be okay," she said, "as long as you can agree our competition is healthy and very American."

  He made a vague gesture with his hand. "Unofficially, I agree with you. Officially, though, we muscle competitors out of our territory. That's what we do."

  "If you try to use any muscle on me," she warned, "it better be the good one." Her gaze dropped to his crotch and I nearly choked on my own saliva.

  I needed to wrap up this meeting now before they boned each other right in front of me.

  "So is the pizza here any good?" I asked, trying desperately to break the sexual tension.

  "It's excellent. That's my nephew out there, Nick."

  "So this is your legit business," I said.

  "One of many." Rocco flashed his gold Rolex at us. "The Parettis are very smart businessmen." He looked at Farah. "If it pleases you, could I have your number before you go? I would love to make plans to see your -- special weapon."

  I turned to go. "Nice to meet you, Rocco. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again soon."

  My stomach lurched and I couldn't decide if it was hunger or nausea. I decided to grab a pepperoni slice on the way out the door and find out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My mini-mart meeting with Tom Watt finally yielded a much-needed invitation to visit Oscar Martinez, an official with the Enclave. Because the location of the magicians' headquarters was secret, I received a text from Oscar's assistant, telling me to wait in LOVE Park for further instructions.

  Officially, the park is called John F. Kennedy Plaza, but everyone refers to it as LOVE Park because of a sculpture that consists of large red letters that spell out the word 'love.' I was mildly surprised they wanted to meet me in such a public location until I arrived there.

  The park was closed for major renovations. The construction crew was nowhere to be seen, probably on the first of many breaks -- not that I blamed them, the heat was already brutal and it was only early morning.

  I slipped past the sign warning people like me not to enter and looked around. Pigeons were still milling around the plaza waiting for food. Clearly, they hadn't received the memo abo
ut the closure.

  "I'm here," I said. "Anyone coming to throw a bag over my head? Maybe a tasteful blindfold?"

  A fat pigeon waddled over to me. I was about to shoo it away when I noticed a note strapped to its skinny leg. A carrier pigeon. The Enclave was kicking it old school.

  I removed the note. It instructed me to drink the vial located under the pigeon's wing.

  Gently, I lifted the wing and, sure enough, there was a small vial of pink liquid there. I wasn't too excited about drinking an unknown liquid in the middle of LOVE Park without any backup, but I didn't see much choice. If I wanted answers, then I needed to drink. So I did.

  Immediately, my head began to swim and I plopped down on the ground beside the pigeon.

  "This better be safe," I said to the pigeon. The words came out garbled, not that the pigeon would have understood me anyway. The last thing I remembered before I fell unconscious was staring into the pigeon's beady eyes.

  I woke up in a reception area made of clear glass. Everything around me appeared to be glass, from the receptionist's desk to the walls between rooms. It was a giant fishbowl and carnival funhouse rolled into one.

  The young man at the reception desk noticed me sitting up.

  "Terrific, you're up," he said, with an upbeat energy that I generally reserved for -- well, never. "My name's Justin if you need anything. I'll let Mr. Martinez know you're ready."

  I wiped the drool from my chin and studied my surroundings. Possible exits. Number of magicians. The glass was disorienting. I could see magicians all the way down the row of rooms. A couple of the rooms were full of people. It seemed to be a class of some sort.

  "Justin, any chance I could get a drink of water or is it vials of drugs only here?" My throat was dry and hoarse.

  "On the table beside you, Miss Winters," he chirped.

  I glanced beside me and, voilà, there it was. I gulped it down eagerly, not caring that I was dribbling half of it down my top.

  "Miss Winters, I presume."

  A pair of men's sandals appeared in front of me. I followed them up past the hairy legs to the red board shorts and black T-shirt until I reached the deeply tanned face of Oscar Martinez. His wavy black hair was slicked back. I noticed that the ends curled up at the nape of his neck.

  "You must be Oscar Martinez." I stood and wobbled slightly.

  He held my elbow until I regained my balance. "Don't worry. It'll be out of your system in another minute."

  "Good, because I'd prefer to be coherent for this conversation. Otherwise, I would've met you at a bar."

  He smiled. "Come this way. I've reserved a room where we can talk privately."

  I followed him down a corridor and we passed by the fishbowls that I could see from the reception area.

  "This is an interesting layout," I remarked, motioning to the glass walls.

  "It has a certain aesthetic appeal," he said.

  "And you can keep an eye on your mages," I said. "I guess there's not a lot of trust in the Enclave."

  I saw his shoulders tense. "I assure you, Miss Winters, unlike your castes, trust is not an issue within the Enclave."

  Ooh, snap.

  "Hey, I know her." I pointed to one of the rooms where Pinky stood at the head of the group. I recognized her by her gum. A huge bubble emerged from her mouth and she sucked it back in, like a frog catches a fly.

  "Pinky is one of our more capable mages," he said. "She teaches some of the basic classes."

  "But she's so young," I said.

  "Age is not necessarily indicative of skill level. You of all djinn should know that." He paused in front of their room. "Observe."

  In a flash, the inhabitants of the room disappeared. All except Pinky. She spotted me in the corridor and I saw her nose scrunch up in confusion. She lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave.

  "She's teaching them how to do cloaking spells," Oscar said.

  Before I could wave back, the students were visible again. Oscar continued walking so I followed him. I wondered whether he knew about her involvement with O'Leary. Too many mages were linked up with mobsters these days for the Enclave to remain in the dark. Maybe there was an alliance the djinn and the Nephilim didn't know about. I decided to test the boundaries.

  "Why does the Enclave allow its mages to work for criminals?" I asked. Very subtle.

  He gestured to an open doorway and I stepped inside. There was no door. Just an area cut out where a door would be. There were two chairs inside the room. Thankfully, they were not made of glass. My bony human butt needed a cushion.

  "Why does the Marida court allow its djinn to stray from the flock?" He smiled again. His teeth were unnaturally white and I found myself squinting from the glare. "Why does PAN allow its best agents to be poached by the Shadow Elite?"

  Touché. "Is this your way of infiltrating the crime families?" I asked. "Send a few pretty mages in to help them out, keep their eyes and ears open?"

  His smile faded and my eyes relaxed. "Pinky is young, powerful and stubborn," he said. "As I'm sure you know, it's a difficult combination. She's a teenager with teenaged tendencies." He sighed gently. "We hope it's a phase."

  I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but it probably wasn't a phase. I was a prime example.

  "So where is this secret location?" I asked, looking around. There were no windows in any of the rooms. "We're underground."

  "Underneath a few of the city's greatest treasures," he said.

  Instinctively, I glanced up, trying to picture what was above us. The Liberty Bell? Independence Hall?

  "Our mutual friend says that you are investigating the recent spate of murders, among other things," Oscar said. His eyes zeroed in on a scuffmark on the floor. He retrieved a red and white-checkered handkerchief from his pocket and attacked the mark with vigor.

  Interesting to note that even magic couldn't cure OCD.

  "I keep turning up in the wrong place at the wrong time," I said. "So unless I can figure out who's behind the murders, I'm going to be the one serving time for them." I held up my cuffs. "These are punishment enough. I'm not interested in a life behind bars, too."

  "Yes, an unfortunate situation," he said. "Any news on the who or why?"

  I pressed my lips together. "Not yet. I've been a little distracted with trying to track down a stolen heirloom and two murderers."

  "Two?" he echoed. He refolded his handkerchief and returned it neatly to the pocket of his shorts.

  "I think there are two people involved," I explained. "A mage and someone else."

  His dark eyebrows shot up. "You're accusing one of ours? Do you realize that some of the victims have been magicians? Patrick Sells was a devastating loss. I trained him myself."

  Patrick was Day-Glo sneakers guy.

  "I'm not accusing anyone in particular yet." I explained my theory based on the murder at Viper Pit. He looked thoughtful.

  "But as you witnessed here," Oscar said, "even our beginners learn cloaking spells. That hardly narrows it down."

  "What about glamours?" I asked. "I'm not certain, but the killers might be trying to frame me. I think the mage even glamoured herself to look like me."

  "Glamours are also for early learners, I'm afraid."

  I suspected as much.

  "Watt says that you have a problem with unregistered mages," I said. "Is it possible it could be one of them?"

  Oscar bristled. "It's not so much a problem as a concern."

  Okay, he wanted to play semantics. That was fine with me, as long as I got my answers.

  "The Enclave is concerned enough to engage outside help," I said. "What happened to make it a priority?"

  He stared at me and I knew he was deciding what to say, if anything at all. He drummed his fingers on his thigh and seemed to make up his mind.

  "Unregistered mages have always been an issue for us," he began. "It's not new. We can't possibly keep track of all the illegitimate children that might possess magic. For that, we'd need to keep far close
r tabs on the colony's djinn than we are capable of."

  "Or comfortable with," I added. A djinni didn't need some pervert magician recording each and every dalliance with a human in case it resulted in an offspring. If that were the case, Farah would need dedicated mage support.

  "Indeed." He stretched his neck from side to side. "There have been a few incidents in other colonies recently where an unregistered magician used magic to harm humans. Our colleagues were, thankfully, able to clean up the mess quietly."

  "So you're being proactive," I said.

  "The Mid-Atlantic Colony is viewed as one of the stronger, more organized groups," he explained. "We cannot afford to have rogue magicians wreaking havoc within our bounds. It weakens us all." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "If this murderous team includes a mage, it is our duty to stop them by whatever means necessary."

  My thoughts turned to Pinky teaching others the cloaking spell. What if Pinky were so desperate to prove herself to her new crime family that she agreed to participate in these hideous murders? If there was a crime syndicate connection, that could mean Pinky, or any one of the mobster mages, was involved.

  "And what if one of your own is responsible?" I asked. "What if the mage is a registered member of the Enclave?"

  Oscar's expression grew somber. "Then we will do what we must. The penalty for murder among magicians is the same as for djinn."

  "Death," I said and he nodded.

  After our meeting, the kind magicians at the Enclave left me on the lawn in front of Independence Hall, lending credence to my theory that the Enclave's headquarters was underground there. Enough tourists took pictures of me with their phones that I was pretty sure my unconscious body was trending on at least one social media site.

  I decided to seek refuge in the nearest safe place to process what I learned. That happened to be Mix's apartment.