Whiskey Ginger_Phantom Queen_Book 1

by Shayne Silvers

  Real criminals are all about shooting first and asking questions later.

  So that was that. I was going in, without backup, to trade a briefcase owned by a billion-dollar company for my aunt, hoping we made it out alive long enough for me to tell her how sorry I was that what I did for a living had gotten her held against her will for days.

  And praying she didn’t murder me on the spot.

  I stepped off the train and headed for the escalators. The chill from earlier had only gotten worse, and I could see my breath in front of my face. Fortunately, with fewer people out and about, the likelihood of running into any shady characters—something you had to be prepared for in this part of town—was slim. That didn’t mean I was safe, but—compared to the shit I’d put up with over the last few days—I almost welcomed a mugger.

  I wouldn’t mind letting off some steam.

  I left the station and located the street the address was on before I felt a tug at my jacket. I started, my heart in my throat. “Jesus Christ, Dobby,” I said, my hand pinned to my chest, “don’t scare me like that.” I held out my other hand, felt the weight of the briefcase settle as he slid the handle over my palm, and watched as the case magically appeared the moment Dobby—still invisible—stepped away.

  “Sorry, my lady,” Dobby said, voice hovering a couple feet away.

  “It’s alright,” I said, feeling silly for freaking out considering I was the one who asked him to accompany me with the briefcase in the first place. “Not your fault. Are ye sure ye know the way back?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Good. No detours, d’ye hear me? I don’t need ye gettin’ into trouble tonight. I’ve got enough on me plate already.”

  “Yes, my lady. Are you certain you don’t want my help?”

  I had to admit, the offer was tempting. I had no idea what the Englishman had in store for me, but having an invisible shadow monster on my side couldn’t hurt. Sadly, I didn’t know enough about how magic worked to risk it; what if the Englishman could sense I’d brought a friend along? Dobby was invisible, not undetectable. I sighed. “I’m sure. I’ll see ye back at the warehouse tomorrow, alright?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  And with that, he was gone, streetlights flickering conspicuously as he went, like a scene from a horror movie. I shuddered and—not for the first time—thanked God he was on my side.

  Because the night is dark and full of terrors.

  Chapter 39

  The house stood between an empty lot and an apartment building with no windows on that side, completely isolated from the neighborhood itself. To be honest, I was shocked we were meeting at an actual house. Typically these sorts of deals went down in more appropriate locales: alleyways, abandoned warehouses, strip clubs. The last one was my go-to, if you’re wondering; I preferred places with decent security, a strict no-cameras policy, and plenty of distractions.

  I approached from the other side of the street, unsure whether I should knock or ring the doorbell. Luckily, the door opened as soon as I reached the welcome mat. My eyes widened in recognition as Jacob—the stalker from the Kenpo class—stepped out onto the porch. He’d gotten a haircut since I’d seen him last, the sides so short all I could see was skin. He was easily more imposing in street clothes—between the tight black t-shirt and the fuck-with-me-and-I’ll-cut-you expression, he would have made an excellent bouncer.

  “Evening, Sensei,” Jacob said, his tone cool, seemingly unfazed to see me. “Mr. Gladstone, she’s here!”

  “Well invite her in,” the kidnapper, Mr. Gladstone apparently, replied from somewhere inside the house, his accent even more pronounced in person. “Wait, does she have the briefcase?”

  I held it up for Jacob to see, too surprised to do anything else but stare. Then, realizing it really didn’t matter one way or the other, I turned it over and held it out for him to touch. “See for yourself,” I said.

  Jacob scowled at me and ignored my offer. “Yeah, she’s got it!”

  “Is it a fake?” Gladstone asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he called, “she tried to get me to touch it!”

  “Alright,” Gladstone replied. “Then, invite her in. I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  Jacob cracked open a screen door with jagged holes in it, waving me through. I considered taking a swing with the briefcase; if it worked anything like how it had with Jimmy, Gladstone’s errand boy would be down for the count in a matter of seconds. But, since I still didn’t know where Dez was, it didn’t seem worth the risk. Besides, I had questions for the bastard.

  Questions I couldn’t ask if he was unconscious.

  “That’s quite the security system ye got there,” I mentioned, jerking my chin towards the battered screen door.

  Jacob shut both the screen and main door as I slid past, leaving both unlocked. “I am the security system.”

  He escorted me to the living room, which was larger than I’d expected, given the size of the house. Of course, most living rooms were cluttered with furniture, whereas this one had been completely gutted; there were two folding chairs on either wall and nothing but hardwood floor between them.

  “Cozy,” I said.

  Jacob indicated I should take a seat on one of the folding chairs, then crossed to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall. Mr. Gladstone seemed to be in one of the back bedrooms; I could hear him shuffling about, muttering to himself.

  “So,” I began, “care to tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ here?” I asked, refusing to sit.

  Jacob flicked his eyes at me. “You didn’t think we’d come after you without doing a little reconnaissance, did you?”

  I frowned. “Ye were followin’ me?”

  Jacob nodded. “All day. Caught your little brunch date. Spied on you at the dojo, asked that girl a few probing questions. And, then, of course, I tracked you back to your aunt’s place.”

  “You bastard!” I hissed, finally realizing how they’d found her, and cursing myself for being such an idiot.

  I’d led them right to her.

  “Well, that’s done, innit!” Gladstone called from the other room. I heard his footsteps as he came down the corridor, my eyes still locked on Jacob, desperately wishing looks could kill. When Gladstone finally sauntered into the room, it took everything I had to turn away, my trigger finger itching.

  Not for the first time, I offered up a silent prayer that Maria Machado would fall down a flight of stairs.

  Gun withdrawals are a thing, people.

  Gladstone—it turned out—was a short, squat man with several features too large for his bulldoggish face: a blockish nose, drooping ears, and a wide, cavernous mouth. He also seemed to be liberally coated in flecks of blood.

  “You’ll have to forgive me, dearie. Doing a bit of housecleaning in the back, nuffin to worry about.” He rubbed his hands clean on a moist towel that was becoming pinker by the second. “Just a little lamb’s blood. So, you have the briefcase, then?”

  “I want to see my aunt,” I said, eyeing his towel in disgust.

  “Quite right you are. But first I need to see the briefcase. Now, I know we could do this dance all day, so I’ll make it easy on us both, alright? I swear on my power that your aunt is safe and sound.” Gladstone paused for effect. “See how easy that was? Now let us see that case.”

  I started to raise the case.

  “Oh no, none of that. Just set it down and give it a good kick. My man here will take it from there.”

  I did what he asked, kicking the briefcase towards Jacob as hard as I could manage. Jacob started to reach for it, but Gladstone clucked his tongue as a reminder not to touch it—which sucked, because I was really hoping to see someone I didn’t like get cursed for once.

  Instead, Jacob kicked the briefcase like a soccer ball, sliding it across the floor a little at a time until it was in Gladstone’s vicinity. The wizard bent down and began probing the case with his hand, testing the magic the way you might test to see i
f your air vent is putting off heat.

  That’s when my phone rang.

  It was Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”

  Dez.

  Chapter 40

  I stared at the caller ID for a moment before swiping to accept the call, holding up my finger. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Is she fucking serious?” Gladstone asked, turning to Jacob, who shrugged.

  Dez started speaking the moment I answered, her voice winded and pained, but defiant. I fiddled with the volume so Gladstone and Jacob wouldn’t be able to hear her. “Quinn is that ye?” Dez asked. “Quinn, I escaped. Where are ye?! I’m not too far from home, thank the Lord. It’s cold as Judas’ miserable heart outside,” she cursed, and I could hear her teeth chattering. “Almost makes me want to double back to that warehouse they were holdin’ me in.”

  See. There was always a warehouse.

  “This is she,” I said, calmly, glancing at Gladstone and his companion, doing my best to keep my expression neutral. So long as they were here, it meant Dez stood a chance of making it home safe. I couldn’t risk exposing the fact that she’d gotten out on her own.

  “She?” Dez sputtered. “Did ye not hear me?”

  “Aye, that sounds good.”

  “Oh, Quinn, are ye with ‘em now?” Dez asked, mournfully.

  “I am, aye.”

  “Where are ye? I’m comin’ right now.”

  “No, I don’t t’ink that’s for the best.”

  “Well at least—”

  “Aye, I really t’ink ye should give Jimmy Collins a call, instead,” I said. “He’ll know what’s best. Alright? Bye now.” I hung up and turned my phone on silent. My guess is I’d have thirty or so missed calls from Dez by the time I checked it again, but that was alright; if she took my advice and called Jimmy, he’d make sure she was safe.

  And that meant Gladstone had lost his leverage.

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “Lawyer. Tryin’ to keep me out of prison. Says I need to start a twelve-step program, make it look good for the judge. Problem is, I don’t even drink that much, except on weekends and the occasional weekday and whenever I get home and before I go to bed, so what am I goin’ to talk about? I can’t stand up and say, ‘Hi, me name’s Quinn MacKenna and there’s not a damn t’ing wrong with me,’ can I?”

  “She’s stalling,” Jacob said. “The old Irish broad with the foul mouth escaped.”

  “She what?” Gladstone whirled to face Jacob.

  “That was her on the phone,” Jacob said, tapping his ear. “She must have gotten loose after we left. I told you she was more resourceful than she let on.”

  “I bound her with a spell!” Gladstone insisted.

  Jacob shrugged.

  Gladstone cursed. “We’ll just have to tie that loose end up later. Take this one and get her ready. I’ll get the briefcase open.”

  “Why don’t you bind her with a spell?” Jacob asked, sardonically.

  “Because I’m busy. Do your job.”

  Jacob shrugged, removed his jacket, and slid it over the back of the chair on his side of the room. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “Sorry about what, ye bastard?” I asked as I slid out of my own coat, still wondering how Jacob had heard my conversation with Dez from across the room. I shook my head, deciding it wasn’t worth thinking about. A fight was coming, and I had no intention of losing because I was distracted.

  Jacob began shadowboxing, throwing out jabs and crosses, loosening up his shoulders while Gladstone fiddled with the briefcase. The wizard glanced up, appraising me for a moment. “Make sure you don’t kill her. I need her alive,” he said, then headed for the back room with the suitcase in hand, muttering under his breath.

  Jacob rolled his neck. “Whatever you say.”

  Chapter 41

  Jacob adopted a familiar stance as he stalked towards me.

  Objectively, he had me at a disadvantage. He had a longer reach, which meant it would be harder for me to keep my distance, but he was also stronger—striated muscle like his came from hard labor, not from hours in the gym—which meant I’d have trouble going inside on him. If he grappled well, that difference in strength could cause problems. On the other hand, I had two things I could use to my advantage: the first was that I’d seen Jacob fight before, and the second was that he’d never seen me.

  I dropped back into Kenpo’s standard, staggered stance, guard up. Ordinarily I’d have maneuvered back and forth the way Jenny had until I got a good feel for my opponent, but I knew better than to play the positioning game with Jacob. He’d obviously studied several different styles of martial arts, which meant he could strike from multiple places using a variety of techniques. If I let him adapt on the fly—the way he had by charging Jenny—I would have a harder time anticipating what his next move was.

  Instead, I waited for him to come to me.

  Jacob didn’t seem to mind. He closed the distance quickly and feinted a kick with his left leg. I ignored it, then slapped away the punch that followed.

  He was testing me, gauging my response times.

  I let him.

  His next kick was real, a solid blow to the thigh that would have left bruises on an ordinary person. I barely felt it. See, what Jacob didn’t know was that I’d trained in Muay Thai myself, and had spent many a warm-up session building up calcifications on my thighs and shins from rounds and rounds of kicking and being kicked. Which is why, when his kick landed, he found me smiling, his eyes wide in surprise.

  Admittedly, the right cross I landed might have had something to do with that, too; I’d thrown all my power behind it, swiveling my hips, delivering the blow with my back and not my arm the way I’d been trained. Jacob winced and took a step back, rubbing his ribs where I’d caught him.

  “That wasn’t Kenpo,” Jacob accused.

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  I went on the offensive, firing off front kicks to push Jacob back towards the middle of the room. I wasn’t expecting any of them to land, but I didn’t like the idea of getting caught with my back against a wall against someone his size.

  Jacob skittered back without much effort. “What happened to your ‘don’t put your hands on me’ philosophy?” he asked, derisively.

  I shrugged, refusing to be baited. The truth was, while Kenpo was great in situations that required decisive action against an assailant or assailants, it had its limitations when going up against someone who knew what they were doing. You can practice reacting to a haymaker all day, but if a heavyweight boxer ever tried to knock you out, you’d be hard pressed to stop him by simply redirecting his punches. Kung Fu movies made it look easy, but if you think about it, even Bruce Lee’s famous one-inch punch would only knock someone down for a few seconds.

  And I needed Jacob down for good.

  Which is why, when he went in for a clinch—his hands locking behind my head, making it easier for him to thrust his knees into my side—I didn’t dodge it. Instead, I clutched his shoulder with one hand, his forearm with another, and threw myself in the air, scissoring my hips until I had both legs wound around his shoulder. I let my momentum and the weight of our bodies drag us both down.

  The move, commonly referred to as a flying armbar, isn’t easy to execute. Remember Dirty Dancing? When Jennifer Grey goes leaping into Patrick Swayze’s arms at the very end? It’s like that, but a lot less sexy. You have to commit, or you’ll just fall flat on your ass.

  Well, technically you’ll fall on your ass either way, but in this case, I ended up with Jacob’s arm trapped between my legs. Jacob tried to yank his arm out of my grip with sheer force, but my two hands were stronger than his one, and I’d locked him in tight. In a sanctioned fight, this would be the point where you’d apply a little pressure—a little thrust of the hips to bend his elbow backwards—and wait for the tap-out. But this asshole had kidnapped my aunt.

  I wasn’t going for the submission.

  I jerked my hips upwards and listened with s
atisfaction as Jacob’s elbow popped. He screamed in agony. I released him, rolled away, and rose. Jacob clutched at his arm, but did the same, his breath coming in short gasps.

  Gladstone called from the back, “Keep it down out there!”

  “I’m going to kill you,” Jacob threatened.

  “I thought ye were supposed to keep me alive?” I taunted. “Ye could leave now, ye know. There’s a hospital not too far from here. I won’t stop ye,” I lied. The truth was, the minute he turned his back, I planned to pick up a chair and break it across his back.

  Because no one fucks with me and mine.

  Jacob hissed between his teeth and let his wounded arm fall. He straightened and took a few calming breaths. “No, you’re right. Gladstone wants you alive. I’ll just have to try not to rip out your throat and hope for the best.”

  I glanced down pointedly at his injured arm.

  “Oh, this,” Jacob said, “it definitely hurt. I really had planned on taking you down straight up. I might have, too, if I hadn’t gotten careless.”

  “It happens,” I noted, still glaring at him.

  “How long have you been taking martial arts?”

  “Since I was six,” I replied. “I got picked on for me red hair when I was a wee thing, and me aunt—the woman ye attacked and took hostage? She decided I should learn how to take care of meself.”

  Jacob nodded to himself. “Sounds about right. I’d say…Kenpo, obviously. Boxing. Muay Thai. And…Judo?”

  “Brazilian Jui Jitsu.”

  “Quite the variety.”

  “I get bored easy.”

  I suppose I could have told Jacob the real reason—that I’d never had many friends and eventually found it easier to fight people than talk to them. That even before I found out I was a Freak, I’d felt like one. Tall, with bright red-hair and an Irish accent I couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard I’d tried to drop my R’s like everyone else in school. That the only type of guy I went for was one who knew how to throw a punch, and that—more often than I cared to admit—learning how to throw one back had become a priority.