Marked: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Thrice Cursed Mage Book 2)

by J. A. Cipriano

  Chapter 7

  “We’ll meet again, lover!” Maya called from behind me as Ricky and I raced away from her. The voice in my head had told me to shoot her, but instead, I’d listened to the stupid compassionate voice. Why? Because it had insisted on one crucial bit of information I couldn’t sensibly ignore. What was that bit of information, you ask?

  That there was a huge difference between being spotted from far away with what might or might not be a submachinegun and shooting someone in plain view of the police. So I hadn’t shot Maya in the face, even though I’d really wanted to do it.

  Even still, I didn’t feel like it was the smart play, more the less bad play. If dealing with supernatural bad guys had taught me anything, it was that second chances to put them down cost a whole heck of a lot more than first chances did and were twice as dicey. At least that’s what I told myself because if I dwelt on the urge to kill raging inside me, I might realize I had wanted to shoot her for other, darker reasons. That wasn’t something I could deal with right now. No, right now I needed to get the hell out of dodge.

  “Ignore her. She was just trying to get in your head, and we can’t have that right now,” Ricky huffed as she rounded the corner just ahead of me. “We need to find somewhere to lie low. If we do, I can get us out of here, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said between gulps of air. I really needed to get on that whole cardio thing. This gig was starting to have quite a bit more running than I was used to doing. I mean, I wasn’t out of shape exactly, but here’s the thing about running. Running is what other sports do as punishment.

  As I rounded the corner, I shoved the Uzi under my trench coat and wedged the weapon into the waistband of my slacks so it wouldn’t be immediately visible to the old guy staring at me from behind his walker. Which was also pretty much when I heard the helicopter.

  It was still too far away for me to be one hundred percent positive from the sound alone, but I was giving it better than fifty, fifty odds, especially given my luck as of late. If the police had called in a chopper, we were going to be in even more trouble real fast. Ricky must have heard the sound of a helicopter too because her ears perked up a split second before she surged ahead, pausing only momentarily to snag a blue and gold sweatshirt and matching baseball cap off the display outside one of those kiosks that sold souvenirs. By the time I passed the kiosk a second later, she had them on, and oddly enough, looked like a completely different person, which was probably the goal.

  I had half a mind to do the same thing, but unfortunately, I only made it about two more steps before the angry clerk, a bald-headed man in his late fifties with a cigarette in his mouth and skin the color of bad tea, came roaring off his stool, hollering in a language I didn’t understand. I took one look at him and decided I didn’t want to find out if the thing he was reaching for inside his kiosk was actually a shotgun.

  Ricky didn’t even look back at him because she was too busy darting into the traffic-filled street. I followed behind her, hoping she had some kind of plan. Apparently, she did because a second later, she straight up clotheslined a dude right off his crotch rocket motorcycle. The guy wasn’t going fast enough to get seriously hurt because traffic was at a near standstill.

  The rider crashed to the ground flat on his back, his black and white helmet smacking into the asphalt with a sickening thwack. Ricky didn’t even pause as she lifted the green Yamaha FZ-09 off the street and spun it around so it was facing oncoming traffic before jumping on. The whole thing had taken less than half a second.

  “Get on, Mac!” she called, gesturing at me with one hand.

  I did as I was told even though it meant I was riding bitch behind a tiny girl with braces who had just manhandled a motorcycle like it was a toy. My butt had barely hit the seat when she took off, gunning the throttle for all it was worth. I grabbed hold of her, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist as she weaved through the stopped traffic at a billion miles an hour. Part of me was glad she was driving because she had superhuman reflexes and we were on the run, but most of me was praying to any and all deities to not let me end up as a skid mark on the road.

  Even with the Yamaha racing through the streets at breakneck speed, the sound of the helicopter getting closer filled my ears. I hazarded a glance over my shoulder and saw it coming across the horizon like a bird of prey. As it zoomed closer, a gut punch of fear and horror smashed into me.

  “Um, Ricky, I have good news and bad news,” I cried even though I was only a couple inches from her ear. “That’s not a police helicopter. That’s one of those black helicopters you see in documentaries about the NWO. It even has a couple of guys hanging out of it armed with what look like belt fed Browning M2 machineguns. Those things can spit out over four hundred fifty rounds of .50 BMG a minute.”

  “Talk about overkill,” Ricky replied, bearing down on the bike, causing the engine to roar like it was fueled by concentrated hellfire. It wasn’t enough. The NWO guys were gaining on us. Fast. Whoever their pilot was, definitely knew what the hell he was doing.

  As I calculated the absolute limit on the effective range of my submachinegun, I grunted in anger. The helicopter’s guns would have us in range long before I’d even come close to being able to make my Uzi count, assuming it could even penetrate the helicopter’s skin. Under normal circumstances a bullet might be a bullet, but I was willing to bet that helicopter was all sorts of armored.

  “Um, Ricky, you need to step on it,” I said. “If you don’t get us out of here in the next few seconds, those guns are going to tear us to shreds.”

  “I’m giving it all she’s got, Captain!” Ricky yelled in a pretty good imitation of Scotty from Star Trek. It made me smile even though this was supposed to be a serious situation with serious consequences which was probably her goal.

  “I’m serious—” The rest of my words were cut off as gunfire erupted all around us. Hundreds of rounds tore up the surrounding vehicles as we bobbed and weaved through the cars because collateral damage apparently wasn’t a thing that bothered them. What dicks.

  I had half a mind to see how they fared against a handful of hellfire, but I wasn’t exactly confident I could effectively fling fireballs while on the back of a motorcycle weaving through traffic. If I missed and hit a building or even an electrical pole, who knows what would have happened. Then again, they were shooting at us through a crowded street. Still, even though they were tearing the cars around us to shreds, they hadn’t put a single bullet through a windshield, or really any place where someone might get hurt. It was sort of incredible if you thought about it.

  Ricky twisted the bike sideways, bringing us toward a parking garage that would provide us cover, and you know, leave us trapped like rats. Bullets chased us the whole way, ripping into the cement pillars supporting the building as we zoomed inside, straight toward those car spikes designed to give jerks going the wrong way a bad day. Before they could do the same to us, Ricky jerked the bike up into the air in a massive display of strength. The motorcycle lifted off the ground, and we shot over the spikes and landed hard on the other side unscathed just as the barricade barring unauthorized entry slammed down behind us. Our tires spun, caught the cement in a screech of burning rubber, and sent us rocketing into the depths of the garage.

  “Well, this is fun. I can’t wait for our second date,” Ricky said, a touch of humor in her voice as she twisted the bike and headed upward into the depths of the building while I struggled to process what had just happened. It seemed totally insane. Had we seriously just been chased through downtown by the NWO?

  More likely, those had been Pierce’s goons, but the guy had to be pretty ballsy to send a helicopter to shoot up civilians in the hopes of getting me. Even for him, there had to be some consequences for something like that. Well, maybe not him, but definitely someone who worked for him. I sighed. No, this would definitely fall upon the head of some poor schmuck just trying to do what his idiot boss had told him.

  “So what’s the plan?
” I asked, ignoring her comment about the date as I looked around to see if anyone had followed inside. No one had, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. If these guys were insane enough to shoot up traffic in the middle of the day just to get us, I put their compunction about blowing the hell out of this parking garage at right around zero.

  “We find another vehicle and cruise out of here before more dweebs come inside and kill us,” she said totally using the word dweeb. I mean who says that? What the hell is a dweeb anyway?

  “And if they just shoot every car that leaves?” I asked because I would totally do that if I was willing to shoot random bystanders to get my target.

  “That, um, is an excellent point.” Ricky swallowed hard as we rounded another corner in search of a vehicle that would meet her needs. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure this place was fresh out of Abrams tanks. “I don’t know what to do then, but I’m open to suggestions.”

  “We go with the best defense. Offense,” I said, a smile crossing my lips as I stared at all the shiny cars. “But we might need a distraction.”

  “Okay, what do you want me to do specifically?” Ricky asked, slowing to a stop in the middle of the parking garage and looking at me.

  “Take me to the roof,” I said only half paying attention to her because I was suddenly too busy wondering which car would be more likely to cause the bigger explosion, the Frontier or the Jetta. The correct answer was, of course, why choose?

  “Isn’t the roof where they will have a clear shot at us?” Ricky said as she turned back around and gunned the motorcycle.

  “Only if they expect us to be up there, and they won’t because that shit is suicide.” I smiled again and unloaded my Uzi into both cars until flames started pouring out. “Unless, of course, they are expecting the unexpected.” I shrugged, but I don’t think she saw it.

  “Great. Now the Animaniacs’ theme song is going to be stuck in my head all damned day,” Ricky growled, not even bothering to ask why I’d just wasted all of my bullets on cars with no bad guys in them. Evidently, she trusted my judgment. Well, there was no way we could still be friends then. People who trust me can’t be trusted to make good decisions.

  “They’re zany to the max,” I replied, squeezing her shoulder. “So just sit back and relax.”

  “Have I told you how much I hate you?” Ricky asked as we neared the roof. The two cars below us in the garage exploded, causing the whole parking garage to shudder and sway. Good, anyone worth their salt would be trying to figure out what had just happened instead of watching the roof for insane people on motorcycles.

  “See, I hear you saying hate, but what I think you really mean is love,” I replied while getting slowly to my feet on the back of the Yamaha.

  Ahead, I could just make out the body of the helicopter hovering in front of the building. The gunners were below my line of sight, no doubt getting ready to fill us full of lead the moment we appeared. Well, they were in for a rude awakening. Mac Brennan style.

  “What are you doing?” Ricky shrieked, sparing me a glance as we moved steadily out into the open.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked, holding onto her shoulder for balance.

  She nodded. Yup, definitely couldn’t be friends.

  “Gun it!”

  Bless her heart, she did as I asked. I was somewhat surprised because I was pretty sure most people would be wondering what I was planning. Ricky didn’t. She just hit the throttle on the bike and sent us surging toward the helicopter. It must have caught sight of us as we zoomed out from cover because it began to rise, presumably to get into position to blow us to Kingdome Come.

  “Brake!” I called when the concrete embankment was only a few feet away. In front of us, I could see a bald man in a suit already starting to bring the Browning M2 up.

  Ricky braked. I went flying through the air like a goddamned missile, which was the whole idea. I curled my right hand into fist and a lance of agony exploded down my side. Blood began to pour from my wounded arm, but I ignored it as I reared back and called upon all my rage and desperation.

  “Ignis!” I cried with everything inside me. My tattoos came to life in an explosion of scarlet star fire, spilling crimson light all around me as flame the color of Hell itself filled my hand. I slammed my hellfire wreathed fist into the side of the helicopter’s cockpit, which was pretty much when I realized punching a helicopter in the face six stories in the air was probably not my smartest move, and I should have just blasted it from the roof with my demon fire.

  My world was suddenly enveloped in a burning fireball of doom that flung me backward in a flurry of busted glass and sheared off metal. The smell of burning flesh and hair filled my nose as I threw my other arm up in a vain attempt to shield myself with my trench coat from the chunks of flaming debris raining down all around me. Something struck my lower abdomen hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs, and everything went white with pain.

  I slammed backward onto the roof of the parking garage so hard everything inside me seemed to break. My vision went dark and hazy around the edge. As I laid there struggling to breathe or even roll myself into a fetal position, a hunk of flaming metal the size of a chest freezer fell on top of me.

  Chapter 8

  My eyes snapped open, and I surged upward, instinctively throwing my arms up to defend against an attack that wasn’t there. I found myself naked in a bathtub full of ice and in more pain than I could have imagined. The bottom of the tub, along with the surrounding bathroom was splattered with blood, and not just a little blood, but a whole lot of blood.

  I reached down, intending to shove my hands through the ice and feel for my kidneys to make sure they, along with all my other important organs, were still there, but pain so acute I could barely breathe past it exploded along the length of my right arm.

  A scream of agony I couldn’t contain tore from my throat, and the handle on the door of the pay-by-the-hour motel jiggled with way too much feeling. I wasn’t sure who was out there or how I’d gotten into my current predicament, but there was no way I was going to lay here and let someone come carve out my organs or slice off my arm.

  I ground my teeth together and used up pretty much all my manliness points to pull myself out of the ice-filled tub. I landed hard on the cheap, stained linoleum and tried to make my body move. My abdomen screamed at me to stop torturing it, but I ignored it as best I could. I stifled a cry, pushing down the fire roiling in my guts, and grabbed onto the toilet with my left hand. My muscles corded as I pushed myself into a semi-sitting position. Pale light spilled from my right arm, causing me to suck in a sharp breath. My arm was on fire. Figuratively, not literally.

  In fact, my demonic arm throbbed so badly, I was pretty sure I was dead, only that’d likely hurt less. That’s when I remembered it had been carved like a Thanksgiving turkey. I hazarded a glance at my arm as the smell of burning flesh filled my nose. It looked like someone had used an honest to God office stapler to staple the cut in my arm closed before wrapping it in duct tape. Blood oozed out from the wound anyway, dripping down my wrist and spattering the floor with thin, steaming droplets.

  “I need to stop winding up in situations like this,” I muttered, trying to figure out what had happened because the last thing I remembered was trying to Mike Tyson a helicopter and getting my dumbass blown up. How had I wound up here? Had Pierce’s men managed to capture me afterward? What about Ricky? Where was she? Was she okay? I had to find out.

  As the door began to swing inward toward me, I somehow got my naked legs under me and flung myself at the door, intending to hit it with my shoulder and knock it closed, but my feet slipped on the blood-slick linoleum. I wound up pitching forward, flailing my arms like an idiot.

  I careened forward as the door swung fully open and crashed into a brunette wearing pink scrubs and carrying a black medical bag with the weird snake symbol on it. Our collision drove her backward into the hallway, and we collapsed into a heap atop the frayed green carpet. Ricky sat
bolt upright on the frumpy queen bed to the right and stared at me like I was absolutely insane.

  “What the hell are you doing, Mac?” Sera cried, shock filling her “girl next door” features, which was totally reasonable given that I was lying naked and bleeding on top of her.

  “Trying to keep you from stealing my organs!” I hollered. While the words hadn’t sounded insane in my head, they sure did once they were out in the open. I tried to crawl off of her but only succeeded in putting weight on my torn up right arm. The world went spotty and shrapnel filled. I fell back on top of her, my forehead smacking against her chest.

  “Mac, I put you in the ice so you wouldn’t overheat,” Ricky called, leaping from the bed and coming toward us. “You used so much power, your body was about to combust. Your skin started flaking away like ash.” She grabbed hold of my left arm and forcibly pulled me off Sera who was still on her butt in the hallway of the cheap motel room. She hadn’t so much as moved since I’d tackled her.

  “What are you talking about?” I cried, whirling toward Ricky and jerking my arm out of her grip. It hadn’t been my brightest play because it caused me to lose my balance, and I wound up flopping into her. Ricky grunted, catching me and keeping me from braining myself on the tiny television stand.

  “You need to calm down, Mac. No one is going to steal your stupid organs.” Ricky made a disgusted face at me. “I own buildings, plural, as in more than one. I don’t need to sell your kidneys for cash.” Ricky began dragging me back toward the bathroom with so little effort it made me wonder just how strong she was. “Unless you think I was going to eat them?” She gave me a withering look. “Have you ever eaten liver? It’s disgusting. Whenever it gets served, I just pick at the onions.”

  “Well, maybe you just wanted my skin cool to the touch before you had your way with me,” I said in a display of complete and total ridiculousness.

  “Trust me, Mac. If you ever get lucky enough to find out what that’s like, you’ll be conscious,” she said, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she spoke. Was she imagining such a scenario?