Burned (A Magic Bullet Novel Book 1)

by A. Blythe

  "So I'm gonna ease on over now," he said and I felt the truck slow down. "Don't dawdle because I'm gonna hit the gas and get straight back on the road before you can reach my driver's side door."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "Let me guess. Those are your instructions?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Have a nice day now."

  The door creaked and rose about a foot. More than enough room for me to slide out without disturbing the expensive merchandise. Although I was tempted to dig my nail into the wood before I left, I couldn't bring myself to do it. These were exceptional antiques.

  I dropped to the floor of the truck and rolled underneath the door. As soon as my feet touched the ground, the truck roared to life and rejoined the steady stream of traffic.

  The air outside was thick with humidity and the temperature had to be pushing ninety. Dusting off my sweatpants, I stood on the side of the busy road and surveyed my surroundings.

  Then I saw the sign and my heartbeat skidded to a halt.

  Philadelphia, City of Brotherly Love. Home sweet home.

  Somebody had a sick sense of humor.

  2

  Ah, the stench of I-95. How I'd missed it. Not.

  I was in Philadelphia, the place I'd left behind when I entered the Academy and never looked back.

  I was raised here as a member of the Marida court. Every djinni is a member of one of six groups, or castes as we call them -- Marida, Janns, Shaitans, Hinns, Ifrits and Ghuls. The Marida caste is more formal than the others so we still have a royal court with all the trimmings. Prince Simdan rules over all the Marida in the Mid-Atlantic Colony, which includes Philadelphia.

  I checked the pockets of the sweatpants for my wallet or any form of identification. Nothing. Nor could I summon them, courtesy of my shiny new accessories. I needed access to a phone as soon as possible so I could get myself out of this mess. I had one place I knew I could go. An old friend that I should've kept in better touch with. Knowing Farah, she'd tell me exactly how delinquent I'd been.

  Farah and I had been friends since we were young djinn. Neither of us fit in particularly well within our own castes, so we bonded over our 'otherness.' We used to shift into black sheep on occasion, just to make each other laugh. She's a Hinn, a type of djinn considered closest to animals, probably because they're excellent shapeshifters. They're also fast and heal quickly. Other djinn view the Hinn as weak, but I'd seen Farah in enough supernatural bar fights to call bullshit on that theory.

  Farah favored her fox shape when she chose to shift at all. Mostly, she stayed in human form because she liked the attention her red hair, big boobs and tiny waist got her. It also helped her business -- she ran an adult entertainment store on South Street called Tops and Bottoms. The store was where I found her now, after navigating my way on foot from the highway. By the time I arrived, my clothes were damp with sweat and my dark hair appeared to have channeled the Seventies with its disco sex bomb frizz.

  I pushed open the front door and welcomed the blast of cold air.

  Farah was in the process of dressing a mannequin in BDSM attire -- a sexy seamless dress, matching blindfold and satin restraints. I could see her tastes hadn't changed.

  When she saw me, the restraints fell to the floor.

  "Holy Plasma Plane," she exclaimed. "Alyse, is it really you?"

  Alyse. It was nice to be called by my real name for a change.

  She ran to the front of the store and embraced me, her arms encircling my chest because she wasn't tall enough to reach my shoulders. Her white, formfitting T-shirt had 'Foxy' emblazoned on it in bright orange letters, and her denim shorts barely covered her ass cheeks. I had no doubt that the poor fit was intentional.

  "It's good to see you, Farah," I said. "How's business?"

  "Who cares? How are you?" She released me and gave me the once-over. "Not very good by the state of you. Are you on assignment as a homeless woman?"

  Farah ushered me to the back of the store where two red velvet chairs sat by the dressing room area.

  "Don't worry," I told her. "My taste hasn't devolved. I was in the middle of a mission and I got knocked out. When I woke up, I was headed here and sporting these fine accessories." I held up my copper cuffs and she gasped.

  "Alyse, no!" She grabbed my arms to examine the cuffs more closely without actually touching them. "They're actual copper cuffs?"

  "Seem to be."

  "You can't shift?"

  "I can't do anything. No summoning. No fireballs. No powers. Nada."

  "Who did this to you?"

  "Kinda why I'm here. Can I use your phone?"

  She pulled it from her back pocket and handed it to me. "Who are you calling? Your court?"

  I blew out a breath. "Good God, no. I'm not that desperate." I dialed Jamie's number. "I'm calling my handler." Every Shadow Elite agent has a handler and Jamie is mine. I think of him as my concerned uncle. We'd met in person a few times over the years, and he always seemed interested in my well-being. I didn't have any male role models in my life, so I secretly appreciated Jamie's mild concern for me.

  "Will he be able to get the cuffs removed?" she asked.

  "Not personally, but someone at the agency will. I don't know how Aladdin's security team got their hands on premium copper cuffs, though. They're a rare commodity."

  Farah frowned. "Who's Aladdin?"

  "Never mind." I didn't want to drag Farah into Shadow Elite business. I just needed to get these cuffs off and get back to Europe. I had a mission to complete.

  A robo-operator answered the call. "The number you've tried to reach is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again."

  I tried again.

  "What's wrong?" Farah asked.

  I dropped the phone into my lap, stunned. "Everything," I told her, my head swimming. "I don't know what's happening."

  Farah's gaze was riveted to my cuffs. "So you're stuck like this? For how long?"

  "Until I can find a way to get them off." We both knew it was next to impossible to get cuffs removed. Whoever did this to me either wanted me out of the way or wanted me to suffer. Or both. I had to figure out the who and why of it.

  With one finger, Farah touched the cool copper band and recoiled. "Ouch," she cried. "Doesn't it hurt?"

  "It's more like a dull ache now," I said. "A Kryptonite effect without the crippling pain."

  All djinn are vulnerable either to copper or cold iron. Marida, Hinns and Ghuls are vulnerable to copper. At best, it makes us cranky and weakens our powers. At worst, it kills us. There are plenty of copper weapons that fall somewhere in between -- weapons like the copper net that stifle our magic and cause us excruciating pain. Although items like copper pipes in the building wouldn't be the end of the world, they're best avoided. Cold iron is toxic to the other three castes -- Ifrits, Janns and Shaitans. Its effects were roughly the same.

  "I can't imagine you without your powers," Farah said quietly. "You've always been so strong."

  "I have no plans to get used to the idea," I said, fear still twisting my gut. "I've got to get to the bottom of this."

  "Do you have any friends still in PAN?" she asked. "Maybe someone local?"

  There was someone, although I hated the thought of seeing him, especially in my present condition. I didn't dare mention his name to Farah or she'd bar the doors and windows before I could escape.

  "I have someone in mind, if I can find him."

  "How are you going to sniff him out without drawing attention to your cuffs?"

  She was right. My human body made everything more difficult. "It's not going to be easy," I agreed.

  "At least you got trapped in your young, hot bod," Farah said. "Could've been worse."

  I thought of the older look I sported as Evelyn Markham less than twenty-four hours ago. "Good point."

  "You should call Mix," Farah suggested. Jeremy Mix was a friend of ours, a Jann. He, Farah and I were inseparable when I lived here. "He's so deep into tech now, he could probably
find your guy in a few key strokes."

  "I don't think Mix's skills could have developed that much."

  "See for yourself. He's working over on Eighteenth and Market."

  My eyes bugged. "Working? Mix has a job?" The Mix I knew preferred his basement lair with five screens and every game console known to man.

  Farah pursed her red lips. "He was encouraged to get out in the world. His caste mentor said it was time to fly the basement coop."

  "What's he doing?" I couldn't imagine Mix in a suit, interacting with humans on a daily basis. Too weird.

  "IT for a law firm."

  I laughed. At least he didn't have to wear a suit. "So I guess a lot has changed since I've been gone."

  Farah's brown eyes sparkled. "You have no idea. He even has a girlfriend. A human one."

  Now that was a genuine miracle. Mix was too shy to look at his own reflection in the mirror. "Does she know what he is?"

  Most humans don't have a clue about our existence. They aren't in tune enough to their environment to sense our presence. We're generally invisible to humans unless we choose to be seen or the human has a Third Eye, otherwise known as the Sight. Those humans who do know tend to keep quiet about it. No human wants to look crazy or risk pissing off a djinni. Even the lowest of our kind have more power and ability than a human could dream of.

  "Paulette knows. She has a Third Eye." Farah inclined her head, thinking. "Reminds me of Mix, actually. They're like bookends."

  I made a gagging sound. "Sounds adorable. Do they work together?"

  "No, she's a secretary somewhere else. They met at Starbucks. He accidentally picked up her caramel macchiato."

  "That's incredibly..." I searched for the right word. "Normal."

  "I know, right? Do you need a place to crash? You know I have plenty of space upstairs." Farah lived in the apartment above her store.

  "If you don't mind." The apartment was spacious enough that I knew we wouldn't be on top of each other. "It's only temporary." I wasn't interested in a new role as the resident charity case.

  "You know I don't mind, but you're nuts. If I were a member of the ruling caste, I'd make sure they had me living in luxury."

  "No, you wouldn't. You'd hate feeling beholden to them as much as I did." I tapped one of my cuffs. "Besides, I can't possibly go to court like this. They'll disown me."

  My caste prided itself on its high achievers. They didn't like to be associated with those deemed undesirable or unworthy.

  "Perfect. Isn't that what you always wanted?" Farah stood and stretched her legs. "None of my clothes will fit you, but you're welcome to grab something from here." She gestured toward the store.

  Unfortunately, Farah couldn't summon clothes for me. A Hinn's summoning skills weren't as developed as a Marid's.

  My eyes took in the variety of leather and lace and exposed nipples. "That's okay. I'm good for now. What I really need is a weapon." I felt more naked than the mannequins without my powers.

  Farah gave me a sympathetic look. "Wow. When's the last time you had to physically carry a weapon?"

  "Academy, I guess." Hopefully my years of training would kick in, like muscle memory. "Know any local dealers?"

  Farah broke into a broad smile. "Did I mention that Mix isn't the only one who's made professional changes? Follow me."

  She strode into the dressing room area and opened the second door on the left. "Come on, girl. Prepare your oh face because you're about to erupt."

  I followed her through the looking glass. Okay, technically she hit a button and the mirror slid inside the wall.

  I stepped inside the secret room and gasped. I was so not prepared for this.

  "Gods and stars, Farah," I breathed.

  Two walls stretched away from us, crammed with rows and rows of weapons. Swords, daggers, guns, chains -- you name it, it was probably somewhere in this room.

  "Isn't it great? I call it the armory." She hopped up onto the counter and admired her wares.

  "I can't imagine why." My mind was officially blown. Farah, my best friend who spent most of her free time ogling men's chests and watching sappy movies, was a gunrunner. "What made you choose weapons?"

  She wiggled her eyebrows. "What else? A guy, of course."

  "Anyone I know?"

  Farah shook her head. "He was human. I met him when you were at the Academy. At the gym."

  Of course she did. "What happened?" Nothing good, I suspected.

  "Ghuls. They broke into his warehouse in Northern Liberties and he foolishly tried to stop them."

  I surveyed the impressive inventory. "He certainly had the means to stop them. What went wrong?"

  "These weren't all his," Farah explained. "I've since expanded his little sideshow to the mighty display you see now." She spread her arms wide. "Anyway, he used the wrong bullets."

  "Cold iron?"

  She pressed her lips together and nodded crisply. "Todd tossed the gun and tried to fight them by himself. He thought that gym buff was equivalent to djinn buff. He learned the hard way how wrong he was."

  Her muscled weapons-dealing boyfriend was called Todd? Given the sad outcome, I opted to let that one slide.

  "Mix and I moved whatever inventory was left to my place before anyone else could get to it." A regretful sigh escaped her lips. "Todd would've wanted it that way."

  "I'm sorry about your friend," I said, mostly because I knew some words of consolation were expected. I'd been operating in a friendless vacuum for so long, the response didn't come naturally.

  "Thanks," she replied.

  "So you've expanded your essence of life empire. Sex and death all in one space." I gave her a nod of approval. "At least your interests are complementary."

  "See anything you like?" she asked. "It's not every day I get a Marid in here."

  Even though all djinn can summon, they can't all summon whatever they want like a pump-action shotgun or designer duds. My skill set is way above the normal djinni, hence my usefulness to the Shadow Elite. A garden variety Ghul is lucky if he can summon a cab. My caste tends to churn out the more skilled summoners.

  I studied the weapons on the wall to my left. I didn't need to touch them to know what they were made of.

  "Are these all made from cold iron?" I asked, admiring a long sword. I stroked the attractive handle. Walrus ivory.

  "Yep. That's the hypoallergenic section."

  "I take it someone else in the city deals in copper-laced weapons." Someone I'd want to steer clear of.

  "Georgio," she replied. "He's a Shaitan over by Graduate Hospital. He also headlines at the casinos as a master illusionist."

  A Shaitan. It figured. Shaitans are known as the deceivers. Although they can shift like the rest of us, they prefer to toy with reality, creating illusions and generally messing with people's minds. They aren't inherently evil or anything. Like most groups, there are as many good Shaitans as bad ones.

  "That sword is a particularly heavy bastard," she said with a smile, "but very handy in a dark alley with an Ifrit."

  "I can imagine." I knew from experience that Ifrits were not easy to kill. A blade like this would help a lot with slicing and dicing. I filed its image away in my memory so I could summon it when I got my powers back.

  I turned my attention to the wall on my right and Farah followed my gaze.

  "Those are the boring weapons," she told me. "Mainly for humans without a supernatural clue."

  My gaze was drawn to a Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter revolver. I wouldn't call that boring if it were pointed at my chest. "And you sell all of them?"

  "Everything you see, sure, but I don't carry every brand. I'm choosy about my stock. Whatever I don't have, Rocco Paretti probably does or he can get it."

  "Who's that?"

  "A member of the local crime syndicate. He's their weapons dealer."

  "Human?"

  She nodded. "I haven't met him, but I hear he's a decent guy."

  "For a mobster," I added.


  I stared at the wide array of weapons. It was almost as intoxicating as the Neiman Marcus Christmas sales.

  "I'm spoiled for choice and woefully out of practice. What do you recommend?"

  Farah pointed to a set of small daggers with jade handles. "I always think of you when I see those. They remind me of happier times before you left for the Academy." She blew out a regretful sigh.

  Happier times seemed like an overstatement. We spent most of our time getting in and out of trouble. Not much had changed for me.

  I walked over to the daggers and fondled them. The faded green handles were designed to resemble dragon skin. They looked old and expensive. I smiled.

  "They are me, aren't they?"

  "Beautiful and deadly?" she replied. "Yep. That pretty much sums them up."

  I took them down and handled them. They were lightweight and easy to conceal. Perfect for me.

  "I've got sheaths so you can strap them to your calves. You should take a gun too," Farah urged. "If one of your enemies comes looking for you in your current state, you're going to need more than pretty daggers to protect yourself."

  She had a point. I moved to the section of the wall adorned with firearms.

  Farah tapped a Glock 43. "This is the one for you, Alyse. I have special cold iron bullets for it, and I know how much you like rapid fire."

  She handed me the gun. It fit perfectly in my hand, comfortable and balanced. "I'm not used to carrying around a gun, though. Where am I supposed to put it?"

  Farah clapped her hands excitedly. "I so rarely get to show off my holsters for women. This way, my dear."

  In the corner of the room was a display of pouches, bands and other holsters.

  "Check out this belly band," she said, holding up the black lace holster. "I can picture this on your narrow hips."

  I waved it away. "Not a fan of black lace."

  "How about these compression shorts?" She pointed to a pair in nude. "Gives your ass a little shaping, too. Not that yours needs it."

  I gravitated to a simple black tank top with a built-in holster just under the armpit. "I like this one." I could wear it on its own or as a base layer.