by A. Blythe
Demon Hunt
A Magic Bullet Novel, Book 3
A. Blythe
Red Palm Press LLC
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Also by A. Blythe
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Copyright © 2016 Red Palm Press LLC
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Rebecca Frank
Created with Vellum
1
The bank teller scowled at me as I passed by. He’d just spent the past fifteen minutes scrutinizing us while Pinky and I spoke with Mr. Moyes, the bank manager. The teller clearly thought a woman with a fresh cut across her cheek and a bruised lip had no business going into the safety deposit vault. The cut was the price I had to pay for reuniting Mr. Herman with his missing sapphire ring. The ring had belonged to his late wife, and once we’d recovered it, he requested that we added the ring to the contents of his safety deposit box. The cruel irony was, of course, that the safety deposit box was housed in my old bank—the one I used before my accounts were closed by my former employer, the Shadow Elite.
At least my pale blue silk blouse and black trousers were presentable. If I'd had my magic, I would've healed my cut and conjured up a Chanel suit and a pair of tasteful heels. I had something almost as good, though—access to Pinky’s American Express Centurion Card. As much as I longed to splurge, I only used it for professional expenses, like this bank-appropriate outfit.
After showing the necessary ID and presenting the key courtesy of Mr. Herman, Mr. Moyes ushered us into the vault. Despite our credentials, he still seemed uncertain about us. It didn’t help that I was fixated on his wisp of a mustache. It was distracting. I fought the urge to stick a piece of tape to his upper lip, just to see the results when I ripped it away.
“What time are you supposed to meet Farah?” Pinky asked.
“Not until five. We have plenty of time.” Farah claimed to be in dire need of retail therapy, so I agreed to join her. It was hard to appreciate retail therapy when you lacked disposable income, though. A reality I was still facing. Sadly, retail therapy with my best friend did not qualify as a professional expense.
Mr. Moyes took his key and gestured for me to come forward with Mr. Herman’s key. The bank used a dual-key system, which required both the bank and the customer to have their respective keys. Together, we opened box number 351.
“It is a beautiful ring," he said. “Such an interesting shade of blue.” He seemed comforted by the fact that we were placing an item in the box, rather than taking one out.
“Three carats," Pinky said. “It’s a Burma sapphire. They’re darker than other sapphires with very little color zoning.” I had to hand it to her—the girl knew her gemstones. You’d never know it to look at her in a blond ponytail, leggings, and a pink tunic top adorned with a sparkly unicorn, but Pinky was a wealthy teen who also happened to be an up-and-coming mage. Some girls had all the luck.
Mr. Moyes’ lips formed a thin line. “I’ll take your word for it, young lady.”
The shrill sound of an alarm blasted my eardrum.
“What is that?" I asked.
The bank manager's eyes widened. "It seems that a robbery is in progress."
“I thought you guys used silent alarms." My ears would've appreciated that.
“It depends.” Quickly, he closed the vault door and bolted it. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. “I don’t think it’s a drill.”
This is not a test. Fabulous.
“What can we do?" Pinky asked.
The bank manager gestured to the open box. “If I were you, I’d pop the ring in there and lock it. Hopefully, they won’t come to the vault, not if it’s cash they’re after.”
Pinky chewed on her lower lip and I could see the gears turning. “We moonlight in security, Mr. Moyes. If we catch your robbers, will the bank pay us?”
The bank manager gave us an appraising look. “Is that so? How do I know you haven’t orchestrated this whole thing in order to drum up business?”
A shot rang out and the bank manager’s tongue swept across the thin hairs of his upper lip.
“Oh, forget it, Pinky,” I huffed and unbolted the door. “We’ll go out there whether the bank compensates us or not. It’s the right thing to do.” Good gods, when did I become the voice of justice?
“But you don’t have any weapons,” Pinky said, her nose crinkling. “Do you?”
“I have something better,” I said, and hip checked her. “I have you.” Okay, that was a white lie. Of course I’d brought a weapon. When you were a magnet for trouble like me, weapons were a given.
Pinky smiled and swung her blond ponytail over her shoulder. “You might want to stay in here, Mr. Moyes. Things are about to get ugly.”
The scene in the lobby was already pretty ugly. Customers were sprawled across the floor with their hands behind their heads. An armed guard was slumped against the wall, clutching his shoulder. A splotch of crimson leaked through the cotton of his faded blue shirt.
Three armed men, presumably the robbers, fanned out in front of the tellers. They certainly weren’t dressed for the occasion. No masks to hide their identities. Two wore jeans with puffy vests like they were ready to tailgate before the Eagles game and the third wore a gray cashmere turtleneck with neatly pressed trousers.
“We want the vault,” the men said. In unison. Not creepy at all.
“Come on, fellas,” I said gamely. “Why would you want the vault when there’s so much money in the drawers right here?”
My favorite bank teller grimaced but stayed quiet. Smarter than he looked.
The robbers pointed their guns in my direction. “We want the vault,” they said again.
Alrighty then. These guys had a plan and they were sticking to it.
“As it happens, I’ve just come from there,” I said. “Allow me to escort you.”
I stood in the corridor and gestured them forward. They came toward me in a single file line, their expressions glazed. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that something was off.
“I must stay in the lobby,” one of the puffy jacket men said in his robotic tone. Rats on a stick. I didn’t want them separated. Oh well, I’d have to roll with it.
“Pinky,” I said slowly. “I’m going to let Mr. Moyes out of the vault before I let these fine gentlemen inside to conduct their business. Do you think you can escort him to safety and stay with him in the lobby until I get there?” I gave the zombie duo a backward glance. “You’ll let Mr. Moyes pass safely. Right, fellas?”
No response. They continued to march behind me, though, just to the beat of their own drum. Or drummer.
We arrived back at the vault and I rapped loudly on the door. “Mr. Moyes, if you wouldn’t mind opening this door, it might save mo
re people from getting shot.”
“I knew you were involved.” The bank manager’s triumphant voice was muffled by the thickness of the bulletproof door.
I pressed my forehead against the door. “I am not involved,” I insisted. “Some people might consider me a wrong place, wrong time kinda gal.”
“I am not opening this door,” he shouted.
“Would it help if I huffed and I puffed?” I asked. Something told me it wouldn’t.
Pinky joined me by the door. “Mr. Moyes, if you don’t open this door, I will. Trust me, you don’t want to have to explain how an eighteen-year-old girl overpowered you. The last guy who had to do that was pretty embarrassed.”
The robbers were oddly silent during this exchange. Weren’t they curious about Pinky’s claims?
“Mr. Moyes, please,” Pinky continued. “I don’t want to be responsible for property damage.”
“I’d like to see you try,” came the arrogant voice on the other side of the door.
I took a step back, leaving Pinky enough room to work her magic. She began a low chant and sparks spouted from the outline of the door.
“What’s your plan?” I asked quietly, wondering if she intended to rip the door off the hinges.
“Ouch,” Mr. Moyes cried from inside the vault.
Pinky folded her arms. “That’s my plan.”
I heard the bolt slide and the door opened. Mr. Moyes stepped into the corridor, his skin pale and glistening with sweat. The dark smudge on his sleeve was still smoking.
“You’re fine,” I told him. “Nothing a new shirt won’t cure.”
I waited until Pinky steered Mr. Moyes away before summoning the robbers. “Age before beauty, big guys.” I followed them into the vault and turned around. “Pinky, try to keep Hootie out there from shooting anyone. I’ll take care of the Blowfish.”
She saluted me and I closed the door. The men were already hard at work, trying to yank open the drawers with their bare hands. Seriously?
“Let me guess,” I said, hands on hips. “You don’t have the keys.”
They both stopped and stared at me with matching vacant expressions. “Keys,” they said.
I splayed my hands. “Sorry, don’t have ‘em. What are you—millennial robbers? You should’ve done your homework. This is a dual-key system. You need the owners’ keys as well as the bank’s.”
Without warning, they raised their guns and began to shoot at the boxes. They weren’t even aiming at a particular box. Their mandate seemed to be to empty whatever was in the vault.
“Hey, wait!” At this rate, they were going to get themselves killed and I was pretty sure that wasn’t their intention.
I reached for one of my retractable yantoks. They were concealed and easy to get past any security detectors because they weren’t made of metal.
“Listen to me,” I said, extending a yantok so it was in full view of the robbers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” But I did want to disarm them. “Azul,” I whispered, and the yantok began to glow with a blue light. Pinky thought it would be fun for me to color coordinate my weapons.
They stopped shooting long enough to stare.
“Lightsaber,” one of them said, his mouth forming a tiny ‘o’.
“She’s a Jedi,” the other one whispered.
It was the most coherent thing I’d heard them say yet.
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m a Jedi. You can’t shoot a Jedi now, can you?”
Apparently they could. Turtleneck shot first and my yantok fried the bullet on contact. Thank the gods they weren’t armed with machine guns. I don’t think I could’ve defended myself against a rapid-fire delivery.
We were enclosed in a small space with deadly weapons. Never a good combination. I needed to strike them hard and fast if I wanted to avoid killing them.
“No magic,” I said, and the glow dissipated. Before Puffy Vest could fire a shot, I clubbed his wrist with the edge of the yantok.
He grunted and the gun clattered to the floor. Turtleneck barely had time to shift his weight before I whacked him in the head with the opposite end of the stick. There was a loud crack and I worried that I’d been too rough. He blinked but, surprisingly, remained standing.
The vault door flew open and Pinky acted with lightning speed. She used a magnetic spell to pull the guns to her awaiting hands.
“Nice one,” I said.
“Thanks. Been practicing that one with Oscar.” Oscar Martinez was the head of the Mid-Atlantic Colony Enclave, the official mage-only organization. Magicians were the offspring of djinn and humans. Pinky harbored a massive crush on the older mage, and I knew that the feeling was mutual. Oscar would never act on it, though. No matter how difficult it was for him, he understood that a line existed and it was his duty as her mentor not to cross it.
“Where’s Hootie?” I asked.
“I disarmed him and now he’s being guarded by a mob of angry bank customers.” She twirled her finger while muttering in Etruscan and the two remaining robbers were bound together by invisible rope.
I smiled. “Aw, you remembered my Wonder Woman maneuver.” During our training sessions, I’d given her the rundown on the most common magical maneuvers I’d used as an agent and she’d attempted to replicate them using her own brand of mage magic.
Her cheeks grew flushed. “I had to figure out a comparable spell, but it seems to work pretty well.”
“You call 911 for the guard,” I instructed. “I’ll call Thompson and tell her we have three stooges waiting at the bank for her.”
Mr. Moyes appeared in the doorway, visibly shaking. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“Trust me,” I told him. “Detective Thompson is the one you want for a case like this.” I declined to go into further detail. The less the regular humans knew about the supernatural world around them, the better. They were prone to hysteria at the best of times. Thompson would know how to handle things here.
“How will I explain what happened?” Mr. Moyes asked and I heard the rising panic in his voice.
“Pinky, have you learned any tabula rasa spells yet?” I asked. Whatever magic Pinky performed in the lobby, a bank full of people witnessed it. As much as I disliked messing with human minds, we didn’t have a choice.
“Not yet, but we should add it to the list,” Pinky said.
“Okay, I’ll let Thompson know to bring a friend.” As a Paranormal Task Force officer, Detective Thompson had a roster of supernaturals to choose from—healers, trackers, memory wipers. She did her job and she did it well.
“Um, just so you know, it’s four o’clock,” Pinky said.
I groaned. I couldn’t leave until Thompson arrived and this mess was cleaned up. By the time we left the bank, it would be pushing five.
“Never a dull moment,” I said, and tapped my phone to call Farah.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said for the tenth time. We were in Liberty Place, browsing through a rack of clothes.
“I said it’s fine,” she replied, in a tone that suggested it was not fine at all. Farah was the best friend you could ever have, as long as you didn’t make her wait. She wanted her fun and she wanted it now. “It’s just that I’ve been looking forward to hanging out. You know, just you and me.”
“Farah, we’re roommates,” I reminded her. “We hang out all the time.” When she wasn’t with Rocco, her current paramour.
“Should we have Mexican for dinner?” she asked, thumbing through the hangers.
“I assumed you’d want to go to Rocco’s.” The Paretti family’s legitimate business was a string of pizza places throughout the city.
“Not tonight,” she said. “I’m not in the mood for pizza.”
“Well, I think I’m more in the mood for Asian fusion than Mexican.” We both liked dim sum.
Farah held up a knee-length black dress with a draped cowl neckline. “Thoughts?”
“Very tasteful.”
She placed it back on the rack. “You�
�re right. It isn’t me at all.”
I paused and listened. “Something isn’t right.”
She continued flipping through the inventory. “I know. I’ve been meaning to tell you…”
The muscles in my neck tensed. “I feel like we’re being watched.”
Farah turned around. "I don't see anyone."
The store was empty except for the two of us and a disinterested sales associate behind the counter who was busy tapping away on her phone.
“Then I guess that narrows down the suspects,” I said. “Must be a djinni.” Djinn possess the power of invisibility. It's one of the ways we've managed to stay hidden from humans for so long. We’re only seen if we want to be seen. Or if we’re cuffed. Then we don’t have a say in the matter.
“Or maybe no one is following us,” Farah said with a judgmental eyebrow. "There's always that option." She thrust a hanger into my hands. "Here, try this on. The weather is turning colder. You're going to need more than a tank top to walk around in."
I glanced at the long-sleeved top on the hanger. It was pretty and I did miss having nice clothes. I’d already changed out of the bank outfit so that I didn’t ruin the silk shirt at dinner. Right now that outfit constituted my Sunday best.
“I don't feel like I should be spending money on fun clothes when I haven't paid you back yet,” I said.
"You've almost finished paying me back. That's good enough for me."
"Yes, but since when is almost good enough for me?"
Farah sighed. "Good point." She eyed the top. "Will you at least try it on? I love this shade of purple, but it clashes with my hair. It will look awesome on you, though.”
Reluctantly, I glanced at the dressing room doorway. "Fine, I'll let you live out your dreams of the color purple vicariously through me."
I took the hanger and went into an empty dressing room. I pulled the flimsy curtain across and stripped off my tank top. Farah was right. It was autumn and the weather had turned chilly. I needed new clothes, but I had to keep it simple. My fashionista days were behind me for the foreseeable future.