BLACK MAGIC
& MOJITOS
A Zyan Star Novelette
A.A. Chamberlynn
Copyright © 2015 by A.A. Chamberlynn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information contact A.A. Chamberlynn at www.alexiachamberlynn.com
Cover design by Novak Illustration.
For my mother, Pamela,
for her never-failing belief in me,
and for being a wild woman,
and for teaching me to curse like a pirate
CHAPTER ONE
Rio de Janeiro in February is hotter than a demon’s lair. I would know — I’d visited more than my fair share of them. Stupid southern hemisphere. Even standing in the shade of a colorful awning, I felt I might incinerate from the inside out. My leather halter top clung to my skin, and I was way regretting my customary choice of jeans. Even my katana had lost its usual kiss of coolness. In its sheath across my back, it burned like a slice of meteoric rock.
“Jesus,” I moaned, glancing over at Riley and Quinn, my two best friends/business partners. Immortal or not, I didn’t know if I could survive this heat.
Riley pointed at the gargantuan stone Jesus in the hills above us, arms stretched wide over Party Central, South America. “I’m here Zyan, my child,” he intoned. “Staring from on high and laughing as you sweat.”
“Not funny,” Quinn panted, fanning herself with a palm frond.
I squinted up at the Jesus statue. “He’s mocking me.”
“You’re not going to start bitching about your eternal damnation again, are you?” Riley grinned. “Such a whiner.”
I punched him in the arm. “Seriously. I’ve got to change clothes. I’m disintegrating into a flow of molten lava.”
“Shopping!” Quinn clapped her hands together under a sweat-dewed face, and both she and Riley turned to me with hopeful looks.
I sighed. “Fine.”
Riley struck a pose, showing off his incredibly well-toned caramel muscles. “Fashionable werewolf takes Rio by storm!”
Quinn laughed, but I held up a finger. “Just this once! We don’t have to meet our local contact for an hour, so we can look really quick.”
“You’re extra cranky when you’re overheated,” Riley remarked.
“Don’t push it, wolf-boy.” I forced myself to step out of the shade and head towards a row of shops on the street ahead. Bright, prismatic and chaotic, the streets were a tangle of jungle snakes unfurling their temptations.
An hour later, we were decked out in new gear: Quinn and I in light cotton mini-dresses, mine black and hers lavender, and Riley looking swanky in chino shorts and a crisp short-sleeved oxford. I’d kept my boots (necessary) and my katana (no question). At least my legs were uncovered now, and I had breathable fabric. I fantasized for a moment about the cool, rainy Seattle weather back home.
We made our way to the Wicked Lizard to meet our potential client. It had a dingy, faded vibrancy that couldn’t decide if it was seedy or shabbily charming. Tucked away on one of the crooked back streets, it was shoved haphazardly between the other buildings. Music poured from within, and the second floor balcony sagged over the entrance, dripping with some sort of flowering vine that smelled of vanilla and childhood. Well, someone else’s childhood.
I walked through the splintered turquoise doorframe into the dim interior of the bar. For just a moment, I closed my eyes in bliss as cool air from the ceiling fans wafted over me and soaked into my skin. I sincerely hoped they had ice in this place. At this point, I would’ve traded a decade of my life for a cool drink.
The place was crawling with a variety of supernaturals, scattered about at mismatched tables. As we made our way to the back corner, we passed a group of shape shifters on the left, tigers by the smell of them. They stared at Riley, sensing his inner wolf, the frenetic tension between them palpable. Two witches up at the bar turned to give Quinn a friendly nod, and she waved, showing off by adding a bit of sparkle to her fingertips. I also identified a djinn, a faery or two, and even a ghoul, sitting by itself. Ghouls weren’t exactly the sociable type, so it was most likely planning to make a meal of one of the other customers. What I didn’t see, and would have almost zero chance of seeing outside of Ireland, was a supe like me. No, I was rare. And it was definitely better that way.
I slid into a booth, the wood worn smooth from decades of use, and sat my katana next to me. Quinn slid in beside me and Riley across. A waiter stopped by and we ordered a round, margaritas for Quinn and Ri, a mojito for me. Martinis are more my thing but, you know, when in Rome. Or Rio. A couple minutes later three giant fishbowls were plunked down in front of us. I put my hands around the frosty exterior and sighed. Quinn went right for a big sip, getting salt all over her lips. A moment later I followed suit. Rum, lime, mint and sweet relief from the heat.
“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the local beverages.”
I tensed, my hand instantly on my katana. A man was standing at the end of our booth, a man that hadn’t been standing there a moment before. Nor a man that had walked across the room towards us. It wasn’t super speed either, a vamp or something. Unfortunately, I had known plenty of those in my life. Intimately, and much to my ruination. No, this man had simply appeared.
“Mr. Cabrelle?” I asked. A fake name of course, but most of my clients provided fake names. It didn’t bother me; I could size them up when we met and decide if I should take the job.
“Yes, Ms. Star I presume? Welcome to Rio.” He said it as if he owned the place. Not the restaurant, but the whole freaking city.
“Please, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the empty spot beside Riley.
As he sat down, I started my assessment. Physically, he was unimposing. About five foot five, dark skin and hair. He had an interesting scar on his cheek, almost a spiral shape, and another on his forearm that looked similar. Either someone liked to play with their knife, or he’d run into an interesting supe. Maybe a spiteful pixie. It seemed their style.
His eyes were another matter.
I’d seen the whole spectrum. Some people said everything with their eyes, you could read them like open books. Anxious, dangerous, shifty, sadistic. Others had that blank echo. Either they had seen too much trauma in their life, or they were psychopaths, empty and remorseless. But Mr. Cabrelle had eyes you didn’t come across too often. Eyes with a perfectly practiced message on the surface, covering something seriously dark within. Like a cheerful goldfish pond, at the bottom of which hid a blade-mouthed monster.
I leaned back in the booth. “So, tell us about this job.”
My potential client leaned forward ever so slightly, his hands clasped together loosely on the table. The condensation from Riley’s margarita glass ran in a trickle towards his fingers, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “We’re having a bit of a Nightmare problem.”
“Nightmares?” Confusion furrowed my brow. I caught things and occasionally I killed things. I didn’t help people with bad dreams.
Mr. Cabrelle’s lips turned up into something that might have been a smile. “Not the kind that happen in your head when you are asleep. Actual Nightmares, wild horse spirits.”
Riley, Quinn and I exchanged a glance. Quinn took a long pull on her margarita.
“The Nig
htmares roam the mountains of Brazil, entrancing those who cross their path with visions of their worst fears. Then they trample them and eat their flesh.” He said this all quite pleasantly, as if describing a summer picnic. “Usually they stay far away from big towns and cities, preferring the wilderness to more populated areas. However, they’ve recently begun to migrate and invade larger towns. Last week ten of them were spotted a couple dozen miles from here. It seems they’re moving this way.”
“And why have local supes not been able to get this under control?” I was expensive, and it wasn’t exactly a short hop from Seattle to Rio. Plus, I couldn’t envision a lot of situations Mr. Cabrelle here couldn’t handle himself.
“We’ve sent several hunting expeditions into the mountains. I won’t lie to you. None have returned.” He returned my inquisitive gaze with a placid one. Friendly even.
He was hiding something.
“What makes you think they’re dead?” Riley interjected. “Maybe they chickened out and fled.”
A muscle twitched in Mr. Cabrelle’s cheek. “There were… remains. Just enough to identify our people.”
“I see.” I took a sip of my mojito, watching his expression. “And you think the three of us will succeed where dozens of your mercenaries have failed?”
“Your reputation as a supernatural bounty hunter is among the highest in the world,” Mr. Cabrelle said. “Or am I wrong?”
I smiled, honey and danger. But before I could open my mouth to respond, movement across the bar caught my eye. A tall, muscular shape shifter was bee-lining towards our table. All across the room, eyes turned to watch him. Power rolled off his skin, sending a faint vibration through the air. He didn’t slow until he was a breath from the table, as if he’d walk right through it, but at the last moment he came to a graceful stop.
“Sorry I’m late,” he drawled with a deep Irish lilt.
“Please, pull up a chair,” Mr. Cabrelle said.
The stranger grabbed a chair and turned it around backwards before folding himself into it, his arms crossed over the back. He ran a hand through thick, ale-colored hair. Riley shot him a flirty look, and Quinn started to twirl a piece of her long, blonde hair around her finger. The shifter smiled broadly around the table, and I could swear I heard their hearts flutter. Good grief.
“Would you care to introduce me to your associate, Mr. Cabrelle?” I wasn’t overly fond of surprises, and he hadn’t mentioned that anyone else was coming.
Mr. Cabrelle opened his mouth, but the shifter beat him to it. “I’m Donovan McGregor. You must be Zyan Star.” His accent caused a pang of homesickness. He extended a hand across the table, which I ignored.
I cast him a stare colder than the ice at the bottom of my glass. “And you are joining us because…?”
“I’m here to help you bag the Nightmares,” Donovan said. His jade-colored eyes bored into mine in a way that border-lined on indecent. Talk about eyes that were windows…his hid nothing, and what they spoke of was velvety and raw. “Not that you need help.”
“No, I don’t,” I snapped.
He grinned even more broadly.
“Let me explain,” Mr. Cabrelle said, raising a hand. “My employer wishes to handle this Nightmare problem with utmost haste. Carnival starts tomorrow, you see, and we can’t have innocent tourists at risk. Therefore, he has hired two bounty hunters with exceptional reputations to do the job.”
“Your employer?” I glanced over at Donovan, who seemed unsurprised. “When we spoke by phone, I mentioned that I always meet with potential clients in person before taking on a job. Meaning, not just a face to face with their assistant.”
“And you shall meet him, Ms. Star, rest assured.”
I tapped purple nails on the table. “It is also standard to inform a bounty hunter of any third parties involved in a job. It is highly unorthodox to bring in two hunters.”
“We meant no offense, Ms. Star…” Mr. Cabrelle began in a very unapologetic tone.
“What other meaning can I infer? Your employer doesn’t trust me to do my job without the assistance of some second-rate bounty hunter, and doesn’t care to mention any of this ahead of time?”
“Wait a second,” Donovan protested. “I’m the best bounty hunter in Europe, hands down. Maybe even the world.”
“Really? How come I’ve never heard of you?” I had heard of Donovan McGregor, but I wasn’t going to give either of them the satisfaction of knowing it.
Donovan smirked. “You’re lying.”
My stomach tightened. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to feed that inferno of an ego, go right ahead.”
“Oh, I have the big ego? That’s rich.”
“Ms. Star, I’m sure we can work this out…” Mr. Cabrelle began.
“No. We can’t.” I stared across the table at Mr. Cabrelle. “I don’t like surprises. I don’t like deception. And I work with my team, and no one else.” Picking up my glass, I drained the rest of my drink. “Let’s go,” I said to Riley and Quinn.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave,” Mr. Cabrelle said in a crackling calm voice, the still of gathering storm clouds before lightning strikes.
“And how exactly are you going to stop us?” I inquired casually, hand on my katana. Quinn’s magic prickled over us, and Riley’s eyes went the yellow of a harvest moon, his veins popping out along his skin.
Mr. Cabrelle smiled, the monster came to the surface of his eyes, and everything around us went black.
CHAPTER TWO
There was a rush and crush of darkness and something that sounded like wings beating. Not the feathery kind, but the heavy, leathery wings of a bat. My head spun as if I’d been thrown into a hurricane. Heat, ice and the smell of earth pressed in around me. Then everything stopped, and light returned.
I was standing in some sort of cave… no, a temple. Both, actually. Stalactites dripped from the ceiling, and carved stone pillars rose up from the floor. A set of rough stairs led up to an expansive dais. Flickering lanterns hung from the walls at intervals. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that Riley and Quinn stood beside me. Donovan, too. He looked as shocked as I felt. So, he wasn’t in on this.
Mr. Cabrelle stood before us, or rather the true form of the creature called Mr. Cabrelle. He still resembled something roughly humanoid. Huge chocolatey velvet wings hovered behind him, and patches of purplish scales dotted his skin. His eyes were the same though, only now I could see the monster on the outside. Was he some sort of demon spawn? I hadn’t sensed anything like that when we first met. But he clearly had magic at his command, deep and ancient magic. The feel of it still shivered over my skin as if I’d walked through dirty cobwebs.
He caught me watching him. “Ms. Star, Mr. McGregor, allow me to introduce my employer, Raoul Cabrera.” With his hand he swept my attention up the stairs, to the back of the dais, where a tall man sat on a chair. A throne really, of yellowed bones and sharp teeth. I almost snorted. Cliché much?
Unfortunately, clichés aside, we were in super deep shit.
Raoul Cabrera was basically the supernatural overlord of Brazil, and a good portion of the rest of South America. Rumor had it he was half demon and half faery, just about the nastiest combination of supes I could imagine. Both cruel, spiteful races, with crazy mad magical skills and an arsenal of other unpleasant talents. One major badass motherfucker, this guy. No wonder he’d used a front to hire me. Never in a million years would I have come otherwise.
“Welcome to my underground palace,” Raoul said. His voice sounded pleasant, oddly melodic and not at all like the voice of a sadistic supernatural mafia don. “I trust Belphegor had the opportunity to explain our dilemma?”
So, Belphegor was his real name. It sounded familiar… but no, it couldn’t be what I was thinking. At least I seriously hoped not. “Briefly,” I said, holding my katana tensely in one hand.
Beside me, Quinn bumped her hip lightly against mine, an attempt to get me to remind my manners. Especially since a dozen guar
ds flanked Raoul on each side of the dais. Too bad I had no manners. “That was before whisking us away without permission,” I said. “Otherwise known as abduction.”
Raoul’s dark eyes caught mine. Strange swirls of color moved within them, both pretty and frightening. Much like the rest of him. “You came down here to work a job for me, no?”
“I came down here under the mistaken impression that he — ” I jabbed a finger towards Belphegor — “was my client, but he’s not. I also wasn’t told another bounty hunter had been thrown into the mix. Color me insulted.” I smiled, showing all my pretty teeth. Like a jaguar.
“I can’t exactly let it be known that I’m hiring outside help, now can I?” Raoul leaned back in his throne and made a gesture with his hand. A moment later a small boy scurried up, carrying a golden dish filled with something that looked like green beetles. The boy wore nothing but a loincloth and scars covered him head to foot. Scars made by a knife, some old, some new. A bubble of fury formed in my stomach. Raoul lazily popped a few of the beetles in his mouth and crunched noisily before continuing. “Everyone knows me, and I have a reputation to uphold.”
“We’re still not clear on that point,” Donovan interjected before I could open my mouth. Quick on the draw, this one. He cast a look over at Belphegor. “Why exactly do you need our help when you have things like that in your employ?”
Belphegor made a small hissing sound, which his boss ignored. “Let’s just say I don’t want my name connected with this Nightmare situation. I needed to hire someone not from around here. Someone who can be discrete.”
“Discrete is not exactly my thing,” I said, tucking a strand of burgundy hair behind my ear.
“It will be if I pay you enough,” Raoul responded smoothly. “Or, I can hold one of your friends here until you get back.” His eyes wandered over to the servant boy with his multitude of cut marks, as if admiring his handiwork. “We’ll have so much fun while you’re gone.”
Black Magic and Mojitos Page 1