by A. Blythe
"What's a montage?" Pinky asked.
I grimaced. "Just light a candle or something, would you?"
It was interesting to watch them together. Reed's power was similar to mine—it was internal, a part of him. Any power he used, he pulled from within himself. Pinky's power was external. She used the energy around her. I already knew this, of course. We covered the key differences in the Academy. The class was called, in all seriousness, Magicians 101. Our instructor had been a mage. Wentworth Balsac. The name was ridiculous, but the man was not. His lectures were engaging and informative. I was fortunate to learn from him. The other instructor for that class had been a Marid and it was my understanding she wasn't as good. Not that I was supposed to acknowledge that a Marid wasn't the best at something. Caste loyalty and all that.
"Which language do you use for spells?" Reed asked.
"Etruscan, mainly," she said.
"Why Etruscan?" he asked. "Why not Latin?"
"I can use anything, really," Pinky said. "I can use English if I want to, but the tutor my mother hired before I joined the Enclave used Etruscan."
Her mother had hired a tutor that early? "Your mother had to be the most prepared human in mage history."
"She's very organized," Pinky agreed. "You can't manage a house like ours without organization."
"Exactly how large is your house?"
"You know those manors they show in movies when English people are called, like, Lord and Lady Cavendish and stuff?"
"I can picture one."
"Double that."
Oh.
"I bet you've been in plenty of houses like ours on your missions," Pinky said.
I had. Most of them were owned by bad people. I hoped Pinky's mom didn't fit the bill. Knowing Pinky, I highly doubted it.
"So Alyse says you have a crush on an older guy," Reed said.
Pinky shot me a death glare. I was glad she didn't have Dragon Mage's power or I'd have melted by now.
"Alyse has a big mouth," Pinky said.
A smile tugged at Reed's lips. "Nobody will argue with that." He opened his hand and a tiny flame appeared on his palm. He opened his other hand and the flame jumped to it. "Nothing wrong with an age gap. My father was much older than my mother."
"Your father was an angel," I pointed out.
Pinky opened her palm and tried to replicate Reed's obedient flame. She managed a small fireball but couldn't control it precisely enough to move it from one hand to another.
"Destroy it and start again," Reed ordered.
Pinky blinked. "I don't know how."
"Make a fist," he explained.
"Won't that burn my hand?"
Reed gave a firm shake of his head. "This is your fire, Pinky. You created it. You control it."
His voice was strong and confident. Although I'd never admit it, I was a little turned on by his commanding display.
They practiced for hours. I could see the exhaustion on Pinky's face. At one point, I borrowed Pinky's car and brought them back food to keep them going. Reed was as patient and skillful as ever. He never failed to impress me. Deep down, I was mildly jealous. I missed my powers. I missed showing off my abilities when the situation called for it, and sometimes even when it didn't.
I was proud of Pinky's perseverance. She was already training hours with the Enclave and she was still willing to put in the work with Reed and me. Without complaint. Mrs. Edwards did a lot of things right. Pinky was not like any eighteen-year-old I'd ever met. For the first time since that stupid pigeon dropped the Colony Games bombshell, I felt a sliver of hope. I thought Pinky had potential from the day we met. Now I was sure of it.
13
I'd hit a brick wall with X-caliber, but I realized there was an avenue I hadn't explored yet. Simon had mentioned betting on Kieran's team to win the Colony Games and the suspicious part of me believed it was due to more than familial pride. If Simon knew that Kieran had been taking X-caliber, then he might have used that information in placing his bet. I knocked on the door of the friendly brownstone, inwardly cursing myself. Why did all roads lead here?
Shock registered on my face when the door opened to reveal Tessa in a robe and pale pink slippers. Her curly auburn hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. I'd expected her to be teaching yoga right now.
She grimaced when she saw me. "What do you want?" She rifled through her pocket for a tissue and wiped the tip of her pink nose.
"Nice to see you again, Tessa," I said with forced pleasantness. She had every reason to hate me. I'd mistakenly thought she was a threat to society and treated her accordingly. And I'd told her the truth about Flynn—that he was a djinni. Not my proudest moment.
"Flynn isn't interested in you. If you keep stalking him, I'm going to call the police and file a restraining order." Tessa placed a hand on her hip in an effort to look serious. I couldn't take anyone seriously with a runny nose.
"Tessa." Flynn appeared behind her and his arm snaked around her small waist. "You should be resting. I'll take care of this."
Tessa hesitated. "Don't let her get you into her car. If she takes you to another location, you're as good as dead."
Someone was busy reading thrillers while riding out her cold symptoms.
"I took the bus," I told her. Farah had offered her Prius since she was attending a youth fundraiser with Rocco. He had his own car and driver, a lovely mage called Rose.
The information about the bus didn't seem to satisfy her. She produced a phone from her other pocket and waved it at me. "One word from Flynn and I make the call."
"You do what you feel is necessary," I said. "I totally get that."
Flynn summoned a cup of hot peppermint tea and steered his girlfriend back inside. "Sorry," he mouthed to me.
He returned in the blink of an eye. I guess he didn't pretend to be human for her benefit anymore. If I were a certain kind of person, I could argue that I did him a favor by pulling back the Crate and Barrel curtains.
"Missing me again?" he asked.
I skipped over the pleasantries. "Who's your bookie?"
"Joey Eagle. He's one of O'Leary's guys."
That made sense. O'Leary's casino and gambling moniker covered a lot of activities, only some of them legal.
"These guys kinda run their own show, though," he continued. "They don't run their business out of the casinos. They're right here in the city."
"I guess the Colony Games are big business for them." I hadn't really considered the betting activity surrounding the games until Simon mentioned it.
"Definitely."
"Where can I find Joey Eagle?"
Flynn rolled his eyes. "No, Alyse. Don't get involved, please. You don't want to give the crime syndicate any more reason to target you."
"But O'Leary and I are old friends now. And Farah's involved with Rocco."
He gave me a hard stare. "That doesn't make you bulletproof."
Certainly not in my human body.
"Tell me where I can find him, Flynn," I insisted.
"Fine, but only if I can come with you."
Ugh. The last thing I needed was Flynn tagging along. He muddied the waters more than he moved them under the bridge. Plus, Tessa might make good on her threat to call the police.
"If you have a relationship with these people, then don't associate yourself with me," I said. "I may piss them off and I can't promise that I won't."
Flynn shook his head and grinned. "Doesn't matter that you're trapped in human form. You're still the same old Alyse."
I straightened my shoulders. "Who else would I be?"
Joey Eagle operated out of a hair salon in Fishtown called Roots.
I'd managed to convince Flynn to stay behind with the promise that I would call him if things got ugly. I was only making inquiries, though. How ugly could they get?
The place was nondescript from the outside. Inside the salon, I was greeted by a young woman behind the counter with long, acrylic nails.
"Do you have an
appointment?" she asked, snapping her gum as she scrutinized me.
"No, I'm here to see Joey Eagle."
She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, I was sure you were here to do something about your hair. Have you ever considered using conditioner?"
"I use conditioner," I said through gritted teeth.
She waved her orange fingernails toward the back of the salon. "He's in the office."
I opened the door without knocking. No sense giving him a warning. "I'm looking for Joey Eagle," I said.
The man behind the desk squinted at me. He was bald with a goatee and his arms were covered in tattoos. "Who's asking?"
"Alyse Winters. I'm a friend of Jimmy O'Leary's."
"Is that so?"
"I did a job for him over the summer."
"Sure you did. Jimmy always hires hot girls to do his bidding."
Well, at least he thought I was hot.
"Actually, he does. Did you ever meet Pinky?"
His eyes glazed over. "Oh yeah, you're right. Say, what happened to her?"
"She works with me now."
He laughed. "What? You're like Charlie's Angels or something?"
I unsheathed my lone dagger and reached across the desk to hold it at his throat. "Don't ever call me an angel."
The man held up his hands. "Okay, sorry. Jeez, it was a compliment."
"Not to me." I placed the dagger on the desk to remind him it was there. "So Joey, I have a few questions for you."
"What makes you think I'm Joey?" he asked.
Dumbass. "Maybe because your arms are covered in eagle tattoos. If it's meant to be a secret identity, you're doing a piss poor job of hiding it."
Joey glanced down at his tattoos and pursed his lips. "Sure, I'm Joey Eagle. What kind of questions do you have for me? I'd be happy to tell you my favorite position."
I pulled him forward by his goatee. "And I'd be happy to tell you mine."
Joey's eyes bugged out. "Your eyes glow a little. It's freaky."
I smiled. "And here I thought you liked freaky."
I released my hold on his facial hair. Joey leaned back but didn't take his eyes off me. "How can I help you?"
"I understand you're taking bets on the Colony Games."
"What if I am?" he snapped. "I'm not breaking any rules."
"I'm not accusing you of breaking any rules, but use that tone with me again and I'll break your collarbone."
Joey seemed convinced. "Okay. Fine."
"How do people know which teams to bet on?"
"I have a list of competitors. I got it from a guy inside the games. He works in the administration office."
"Show me."
Joey opened a drawer behind the counter and produced a handwritten list of names and affiliations.
"Pen and paper? Rather old-fashioned of you," I said.
"I was told not to use technology," Joey said. "Nothing that could, you know, go viral."
I studied the names on the list. I recognized a few from the Enclave. Each team had odds scribbled in next to the four names.
I tapped the crappy odds next to Pinky's team. "How are you making that determination?"
Joey hesitated. He knew something.
"Joey?" I prodded.
"I can't say."
I reached for my hip. "Do I need to show off my skills with a dagger, Joseph?"
He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. "I'm being given certain information. About the skill levels of the contestants."
"By whom?"
He swallowed hard. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters. How can I interrogate them if I don't know their names?"
"Listen, we got a nice thing going on here," Joey said. "Everybody's making money. The boss is happy. We're generating interest in the games. Even humans who can't attend are placing bets."
"You're a regular marketing machine." I leaned across the counter and lowered my voice. "Now give me a name."
"So which name did he give you?" Farah asked, once I relayed my visit to Roots.
"No name. Just a lackluster description of a woman in a hooded robe."
I twirled two new retractable yantoks in my hands, courtesy of Farah. They had a rich tiger's eye design and still had that new car smell.
"I'm glad you like them," Farah said, observing me.
I slashed and chopped at two of her headless, naked mannequins. "I don't like them. I love them."
The mannequins crashed to the floor and I shot Farah an apologetic look.
"Have you asked Pinky about giving them a little boost?" she asked, lifting the mannequins back to a standing position.
"She's working on a spell," I confirmed. I felt guilty about taking time away from her competition practice, but she begged me to do it. She said it would be a welcome distraction from the intense drills her team was putting her through.
The door of the shop swung open and Mix walked in. "Lunch break," he called.
I glanced at Farah. "Are we making lunch?"
She shook her head.
Mix held up a brown bag and shook it at us. "Don't panic. I brought my own."
I held up my yantoks for inspection. "How do you like my new toys?"
He set down his lunch and took the sticks from me. "Nice. They're a good weight."
"Perfect for tanning Flynn's bear hide," I said.
"You're still training with him?" Mix asked, clearly displeased.
"He was a horrible boyfriend," I said, "but he's an excellent sparring partner."
"I don't know if sparring is the right word," Farah said. "Their chemistry is off the charts. Half the time I'm afraid they're going to end up doing it on the warehouse floor."
Mix squeezed his eyes closed, willing away the image.
"If by 'doing it,' you mean killing each other, then you're right," I said.
"He's still with Tessa, right?" Mix asked.
"Flynn would never let a little thing like a live-in girlfriend get in the way of a good bone," Farah said.
Mix pretended to push the yantoks into his ears. "Should I leave until all mention of Flynn ceases?"
I removed the sticks from his hands. "Eat your lunch, Mix. We know you're on the clock."
He pulled a hoagie from the brown bag. "Can we go upstairs to eat?" he asked. "I feel like the mannequins are watching me."
"They don't have any heads," I pointed out.
"That makes it even creepier."
Farah's shoulders sagged. "You two go. I need to mind the store."
"Do you want me to bring you something?" I asked.
"No thanks. I had a big breakfast."
"You had a bagel and a banana," I said.
"For a petite girl like me, that's the equivalent of eating an ox."
I rolled my eyes and walked upstairs to the apartment with Mix.
"How's everything with you?" I asked, once we were settled in the kitchen.
Mix sat at the bistro table while I rooted around the refrigerator for anything resembling lunch.
"Not too bad. People in the office were talking about the electric generator meltdown. A relative of one of the secretaries was killed. A nephew."
My gut twisted. I wondered which body on the ground had been his. Maybe if I had acted faster...
"So they really think it was an electrical malfunction that killed all those people?"
"That's the official word."
After what I heard at the precinct, I wasn't really surprised. Between PTF, PAN, and the Protectorate, most supernatural crimes were either reported as human crimes or not reported at all.
"Do they ever ask about Paulette?" I hated to raise the topic, but I didn't want to pretend it hadn't happened.
He shrugged. "I just tell them she moved out of state for a new job."
The news hadn't reported Paulette's connection to the murders in connection with Frankensoldier. The PTF had kept her involvement under wraps because they'd handed her over to the Enclave, so the articles only named Hugo Munson as the person resp
onsible for multiple homicides in the greater Philadelphia area. Since he was dead, there would be no trial. I knew what the Enclave would do to Paulette. There'd be no trial there, either.
"Do you think you might be ready to meet someone else?" I didn't want him to return to his pre-Paulette state, where he spent most of his free time in front of a game console.
He took another bite of his hoagie and glared at me. Guess not.
"I'm not trying to rush you," I said, "but I think it's important to get back out there. What do you think of Pinky?"
He finished chewing and swallowed, washing it down with a gulp from his bottled water. He set down the bottle and looked at me.
"I don't need your pity and I definitely don't need you and Farah to play matchmaker."
"It's not pity, Mix," I insisted. "I want you to be happy. You deserve to meet a nice girl and settle down."
"And you think Pinky is at the settling down stage?" he asked. "She's an eighteen-year-old mage just discovering her true potential." He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Besides, I'm all done with the mage crowd, unregistered or otherwise."
"What about a human?" I asked. "If Flynn can attract one, surely you can, too."
"Flynn also attracted you," he said. "Something I didn't quite manage, if you recall."
I fell silent. He had a point.
"Flynn has that stupid bad boy thing going on," I said. A weak defense, I knew. "You're the kind of guy a girl wants to marry."
"Paulette talked about getting married," he said quietly.
Okay, so he wasn't over her. I guess it was foolish of me to think he would be. Not so soon. I'd give it more time.
I heard footsteps outside the apartment door and stopped to listen.
"Alyse?" a voice called.
Pinky.
I dropped the bag of salad onto the counter and went to open the door.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be training?"
"They gave us an hour for lunch," she said. "It's weird. It feels like a job."
"A damn deadly one," I said. "Come on in. Mix is here."
"Hey Pinky." He polished off the last of his hoagie and tossed the bag and napkin in the trash.