Magic Thief (The New York Shade Book 1)

by D. N. Hoxa

  His eyes roamed over my face as he searched for something—I don’t know what. When he met my eyes again, I thought I saw curiosity flash in his for a fraction of a second.

  Then he spoke.

  “Ms. Montero, my name is Damian Reed. You’ve already met my team.” He nodded his head toward the elf and the werewolf.

  His team. The Bane. Ice cold shivers danced on my back.

  Oh, yes. I knew exactly who this man was.

  Just last night, one of my best friends who worked the bar in the hottest club in the Shade, told me that Damian Reed was in town, and everybody was talking about it. I’d been a bit curious to know why myself. They called him the Typhon, and you don’t get such a nickname for being a good guy and saying your preyers every night before bed. It literally meant the father of all monsters.

  But seeing him here now, I wasn’t curious anymore. I was terrified. And he knew it.

  “We’re looking for your brother, Sonny Montero, and I was told you’re refusing to share his whereabouts,” the vampire continued, his voice strangely warm, despite him being technically dead.

  I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. He walked around the table, slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. He walked—I could see it—but I couldn’t hear a single thing. It was like he was gliding over the floor, his feet never touching the linoleum.

  I cleared my throat. “Why are you looking for my brother? He’s done nothing wrong.” My voice still came out completely hoarse. I was afraid and they could see it.

  Looking down at the desk in front of me, I chided myself. Get a grip, Sin. I needed to control myself. We were in a Guild building, for God’s sake. It didn’t matter if Typhon Reed was here questioning me—he had no right to even lay a hand on me.

  Yet all my instincts were telling me to leave, to find a way to get out of here now. I was used to hunting and killing monsters, but he was a different kind of monster altogether. In here, I wasn’t the hunter. I was the prey.

  But when he spoke again, and I realized he was standing right behind me, it was impossible not to drown in panic.

  “As a matter of fact, we have evidence that suggests otherwise. Your brother’s magic signature was recorded in a recent slaughter here in the City. Four people were maimed and something was stolen from them. Something very valuable. We believe your brother has knowledge of where it is.”

  Goose bumps raised on my flesh. Slaughter. Maimed. That’s when I knew that it was a mistake. Just a stupid mistake.

  The werewolf moved, grabbed the chair from the other side of desk, and brought it to the corner, next to me. Damian sat down, soundless as a ghost, staring at me.

  I gritted my teeth to keep from jumping back. He was far too close. I could see every line of his face, every inch of flawless skin that looked so soft, it almost blurred out of focus. Every detail about him was beautiful, but his eyes were something else. They were slightly swollen and tilted upward, giving me the impression that he’d just woken up, rolled out of bed, and entered the office within the same minute. The colors of his eyes were vibrant—too vibrant for someone who was supposed to be dead. They were blue around the outer edges, merging into a warm brown that became darker as it melted into the pupils.

  “Ms. Montero?”

  His lips moved, and only after a second did I realize what he said. Shit. I’d been staring at him for too long.

  Casually, I leaned away to the side. “I heard you, Mr. Reed. But you’re mistaken. My brother was nowhere near this slaughter you’re talking about. He’d a good kid. He’s barely eighteen. He’s not a murderer.”

  Damian pressed his lips together in what he thought was a smile. His swollen eyes squinted for a second while he watched my mouth, as if waiting for me to say something else. I said nothing.

  “I believe you, Ms. Montero. But we need to question him all the same. The sooner we can do that, the sooner he’ll be free. Now, if you can tell us where we can find him…” His voice trailed off as his eyes moved down to my neck. I resisted the urge to wrap my hands around it. He could probably hear the blood rushing in my veins.

  “I already told them—I don’t know where he is.” Kit squeaked, pulling at my earlobe. “Stop it!” I waved a hand his way, but he didn’t.

  The vampire leaned back, pulling his upper lip under his bottom one for a second. “Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”

  “Wha—”

  He moved so fast, I didn’t see him at all until coldness slipped into my wrist. A blink, and I found him with my hand in his, his mouth closed around my wrist tightly. I could feel my blood rushing to my arm as if eager to feed him. His fangs were in my flesh, and his warm tongue on my skin, but I couldn’t even pull my hand away. The office disappeared in an instant, and I was pulled into a tunnel full of lights, flying so fast I couldn’t make myself breathe.

  The movement stopped abruptly, and I was looking at the top of a four-story building in the western part of Manhattan—the same building I’d been looking at less than an hour ago when I was searching for the hellbeast.

  Business is booming this month. What are the odds that this is the fifth hellbeast in this part of the City in the past week?

  I turned my head to look at Sonny. He was standing right next to me, his dark brown hair falling over his right eye, his soft skin dotted with pimples here and there. He even wore the same blue shirt he’d had on when he was with me.

  I felt my own mouth opening to reply, when the image moved and I was thrown into the tunnel of lights again. When I stopped spinning, I was no longer looking at my brother, but at the hellbeast.

  My God, it was exactly the same as it had been when I was there. I was reliving that moment with perfect clarity. The hellbeast stood on the roof of the apartment building, munching on the plants lining the far right edge, ruining the pretty red planters someone had put there.

  As strange as it sounds, I even remembered what I was thinking—the exact same thing, word for word.

  Imagine a hedgehog, except make it really, really big—at least four feet tall. Take away all the cuteness. All of it. Now, add red eyes, very long, black claws, and instead of the thin quills, imagine this one has thick spikes all over its back and tail, and they’re made of…well, take your pick. All I know is they’re brownish, leaning toward black.

  The words popped into my head now, as they had then.

  Show time, Sonny said.

  Mind the claws. They look like they hurt, I heard my own voice say. I still worried about him when we fought hellbeasts. I was trying to groom him to become a mercenary like me, until I saved enough money to take him to Nova Terra—the best supernatural academy in the States. The truth was, it wasn’t gonna happen. Violence was just not his thing.

  The tunnel of lights pulled me in again. Image after image of our fight with the hellbeast flashed in front of my eyes. Then it stopped, and I was back in the street, Sonny by my side, the hellbeast head in my tote bag.

  I’m gonna go out with my human friends tonight. I’m spending the night with them, and we’re going fishing tomorrow. Cool?

  Sure. Just be home by dinner tomorrow. And you better bring back some fish, I said to my brother.

  A flash and I was looking at him walking away from me, while I turned to the other side of the street.

  Something pulled me and pushed me, then it spit me out on the chair at the office, my heart ready to leap right out of my chest.

  Instinct took over. One of my daggers was in my hand, and I grabbed the vampire by the shirt with the other. I slammed him with on the table and climbed on top of him, bringing the tip of my dagger right under his jaw. Steel didn’t really hurt vampires, only silver could do long-lasting damage to them, but a blade as long as mine through his jaw was going to be a bitch to heal from, vampire or not.

  I looked into his eyes that had turned pitch black as he watched me, completely stunned, his parted lips coated with my blood.

  “You dare take my blood without my permission?”
I hissed and pressed my dagger against his skin. Kit climbed on top of me, squeaking, trying to scratch the vampire’s cheek with his claws, but his arms were too short.

  I risked a glance at the elf and the werewolf, fearing they’d be on me any second now, but they hadn’t moved from their place. The werewolf had his hands in his pockets and was looking at me, a bored look on his face, and the elf was staring at her fucking fingernails.

  Why?

  I found out soon. The second of distraction cost me. One second I was on top of the vampire, my dagger on his throat, and the next, I was on the table on my back, and he was on top of me. He held both my hands by the wrists and pressed himself onto my legs to keep me from moving. His grip was made of steel. I couldn’t move a single inch and not for lack of trying.

  He leaned closer and closer, until the tips of our noses almost touched. I could see his eyes again, a mess of colors pouring onto me, as if they could see to my very soul. I tried to move and he held tighter, pressed onto me harder.

  Jolts of electricity shot through my body gathering in my gut, making it tie into a thousand knots.

  “What are you?” the vampire whispered against my lips.

  In that moment, I didn’t care that he’d drunk my blood. Fuck it, I had plenty. But what terrified me was that he’d looked inside my mind—right into my thoughts. He’d seen inside my head, had heard me, and I had no idea how much he knew.

  “A sorceress,” I said, my voice a weak whisper. He was cold, yet my body was reacting to him like he was the fucking sun.

  Kit was standing over my head, screaming at the vampire, scratching him on the forehead, but he didn’t even notice.

  “What kind of a sorceress?” the vampire asked.

  “Sacri.” My voice came out stronger this time.

  All supernaturals were classified into two groups—the Sacri supernaturals, and the darkling. The Sacri were considered to be angel-born, and the darkling were demon-touched. The difference between one or the other were Talents—special kinds of magic most of us possessed. Or the very nature of a supernatural. Vampires and ghouls were darkling by default, while werewolves were considered Sacri. Just a load of bullshit, if you ask me, but right now, none of that mattered except the vampire holding me against the table.

  I gritted my teeth and racked my brain to find out if I’d thought about my Talent when hunting that hellbeast tonight. If I did, I would be in a lot of trouble.

  Because…well, I am a sorceress, but I’m not really a Sacri, not like a hundred percent.

  More like zero percent.

  And Kit isn’t really my familiar. Or a squirrel.

  The vampire raised a thick dark brow. His tongue came out slowly, and he licked my blood off his lips, which should have disgusted me. It should have repulsed me. Instead, it made me wonder what he’d taste like if I kissed him right now. Stupid brain.

  The next second he pulled away from me, and I sat up, able to breathe again. He wiped a bit of blood off his forehead from where Kit had scratched him, but his skin had already healed. No sign of the wounds anywhere on him. Damn it.

  “She doesn’t know where he is,” he said and turned for the door. I held my breath.

  “Great. Thanks for your time, Ms. Montero,” the elf said sarcastically.

  I had almost forgotten that she was even there. She and the werewolf walked to the door as the vampire held it open. He gave me one last look—so full of burning curiosity. The temptation to look away was strong, but I resisted.

  A heartbeat later, he disappeared, and the door slammed shut.

  “By the gods,” the woman sitting at the desk said, making me jump one last time. I’d forgotten she was there, too.

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. My wrist was still burning, but the fang wounds were no longer bleeding. I wiped it against my jeans as Kit climbed on my shoulder, and stood up, eager to get the hell out of there. It had been a long night, and if somebody tried to stop me from leaving, I was going to flip the fuck out.

  Luckily, nobody did. What I wanted to do was go look for Sonny, but I needed to deliver the hellbeast head in the bag before it disappeared. Damn it, I needed the money. It wasn’t going to be long, and then I would be free to go see my friend Jamie at Cavalieros. If anybody could tell me what the hell was going on here, it would be her. It was amazing how many secrets people gave away when they were drunk. So I got my shit together and walked out the door.

  Chapter Three

  Hellbeast Affairs was a big place. It employed a lot of people, possibly over a hundred in the City, and that’s not counting mercenaries like me. The crisp white walls and the grey tiles of the floor took away whatever life this place might have had in the past. It even smelled sterile in there, and the nasty smell coming off the content in my bag quickly spread over the entire lobby as I entered.

  “Hey, Sin,” said the guard standing to the side of the information desk.

  “What’s up, Doug?” I said with a wave, trying to force a smile. He looked down at my bag and wrinkled his nose.

  “Got another one already?”

  “You know it.”

  “Hooh, it smells nasty!” He waved his hand in front of his nose.

  “The good ones always do,” I mumbled and continued to the right. I didn’t need the information desk. I’d been here a lot of times before.

  Poor Doug probably felt the smell more than most. He might have looked like a normal guy, with dark hair that covered half his forehead, so thin you could count the individual strands if you focused hard enough. He was of average height, with a round belly that would make most think he had one too many beers after work. The truth was, Doug was a ghoul, a technically dead man who fed on raw flesh to stay alive, and his sense of smell was superior to half the supernatural species out there. He was also darkling by birth, just like vampires were.

  There were two sets of double doors in front of me. Maneaters—which were a completely different story from the hellbeasts I killed, though they were the same species— and Delivery, my destination.

  Delivery was a square room separated in the middle with three reception desks, complete with unbreakable glass that reached all the way to the ceiling. My destination was Hellbeast Delivery. Next to me were Sighting Reports and Delivery of Demonized Items. Both were empty.

  When I saw the woman on the other side of the glass, I flinched. It wasn’t Hester.

  I looked at the time on my old leather watch. A quarter to midnight. Hester worked second shift, four to twelve, Monday to Saturday, and today was Friday. So where was she?

  “Hello,” I said to the new receptionist, who didn’t look up from her computer as she typed away on her white keyboard. Her dark hair was pulled tightly behind her head in a long, straight ponytail. Half moon glasses hung on her long nose. She wore a white shirt and black pants or skirt. Hester had told me that was the Guild’s dress code.

  “Anything to declare?” she said, not once looking up at me.

  So that’s how we were going to do this. Fine.

  I lifted my bag and put it on the desk. “This.”

  The glass still separated us, but there was a small opening for exchanging documents—and for the smell to go through to the other side. I pulled the tote bag down to reveal the source of the smell: the ugly head of the hellbeast that I’d killed.

  Finally, the receptionist looked up, her brown eyes wide with horror. She looked at me, mouth agape, like she couldn’t believe what I’d done. I smiled.

  The hellbeast head was about ten inches long; a couple of spikes still remained at the top of its head. The blood coming off it was black and thick, but that wasn’t the source of the horrid smell. It was the green goo stuck on its teeth, its saliva, which could still burn a hole through you if you touched it.

  “Ew! Get that thing off my desk!” the receptionist said in a high-pitched voice. She finally forgot about the keyboard and got to work, bagging, tagging and delivering the hellbeast head to be burned.

&
nbsp; A minute later, she came back, still refusing to look at me, and asked for my ID. Impatience was killing me. I got my phone out of my pocket to see if Sonny had replied to my text. I’d sent it before entering the building, which was just a few minutes ago. He hadn’t. I sent him another.

  “Where’s Hester?” I asked the receptionist to distract myself.

  “Preparing documentation for tomorrow’s audit,” she said under her breath. Ugh. Just my luck. “Species?”

  I raised a brow. “Sorceress.” She typed it on her computer.

  “Classification?”

  What the hell? She had my ID right in front of her! I rolled my eyes. “Sacri.”

  “Level?”

  You’ve got to be shitting me. “It’s right there on the ID,” I said, trying but failing to keep the frustration out of my voice. She could drag this on for hours if she wanted to, and I couldn’t afford that. “Level Two.”

  There were four levels of magic in total that were measured by the Guild’s fancy equipment. They did it first when we were only kids, but most went on to get stronger. That’s what had happened to me. I suspected I was a Level Three, but I’d never gone to get retested. I’d barely gotten out with my life from the first test as a kid. I wasn’t eager to have to fool the most powerful people in the world a second time.

  “Please fill this form and sign it, Ms. Montero,” the receptionist said, slipping a document through the opening. I wanted to cry.

  Forms? Who had time for filling forms? I went out and killed hellbeast monsters. I didn’t need to fill in the stupid form.

  I did, in fact, but Hester had always done it for me. She said she loved to hear my stories, that she lived vicariously through me, and she typed everything while I spoke. We were both happy.