Southwest Days (Semiautomatic Sorceress Book 2)

by Kal Aaron

  Tricia looked disappointed. “And that’s biased you to look for conspiracy and duplicity where there may be none.” She held up a hand. “I believe you about the picture, and I don’t know what to make of it, but that one picture from three years ago doesn’t justify everything else you’ve said.”

  “There was no reason for Allard to have those pictures,” Lyssa said. “He was dying, and I think he wanted to take down some other people with him.” She shrugged. “He was a piece of garbage, so I have to think the people he’s trying to take down with him are worse.”

  “It’s not impossible.” Tricia looked down. “But there’s one thing I question in all of this.”

  “I refuse to believe Chris is dead now,” Lyssa snapped. “Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

  Tricia said, “I won’t try to persuade you, other than to note that even if everything else you’ve said is true, three years is a long time.”

  Lyssa looked away. “I need to look anyway. On the off-chance I’m wrong, I at least need to find out what happened.”

  “Okay.” Tricia nodded. “That makes sense, but there’s something else bothering me that relates to Chris.”

  “What?”

  Tricia took a deep breath and looked up at Lyssa. “Theodora could be scheming. She probably is. I’ve rarely met an Elder who isn’t scheming on some level. And yes, Tristan St. James might be hunting someone or involved himself in a conspiracy. None of that is impossible or difficult to imagine, but your brother adored you.”

  “Huh?” Lyssa’s face scrunched in confusion. “Sure, but what’s that have to do with anything? If he was an asshole, I probably wouldn’t have spent so much time looking for him.”

  “It goes back to the same thing, honey. Why wouldn’t he contact you? Why wouldn’t he let you know he was still alive all those years? I know I’ve said this before, but it’s more important than ever with what you’re saying about his regalia.”

  Lyssa licked her lips. Tricia was right. That dangerous thought had tormented her for fifteen years, but the recent evidence had intensified her pain. Stubbornness wasn’t a substitute for evidence.

  “He has to have a good reason,” she insisted. “I know he has a good reason.”

  Lyssa told herself that her experience pointed that way, but she knew Tricia was right. She was jumping to the conclusion she wanted and ignoring the other possibilities. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “What reason could be so important that he’d leave you in such pain?” Tricia asked. “Half the Society knows you’re still looking for him, which means he would know. It might not have been him in the picture. It could have been an illusion or someone who changed their face. Have you ever considered that possibility?”

  “Why would they change their face to match Chris’?” Lyssa asked, rather than acknowledging she’d barely considered it. “And say you’re right. Say there’s some Sorcerer out there trying to look like my brother. If that’s true, I need to look into that and find out why. They’re idiots if they think they can hide by pretending to be him. And if they’ve got my hopes up after all these years, I’m going to show them why they shouldn’t have dared do that.”

  “But you don’t believe it was a spell.” Tricia shook her head. “You’re convinced it’s him.”

  “That makes more sense than someone pretending to be a dead man twelve years after his death,” Lyssa said. “And if it is him, he might have been trying to protect me from the conspiracy. I was too young to take care of myself then, and by the time I trained up and became a Torch, he might have thought it was better to keep his distance. I’m angry, but I’m not going to say I don’t understand.”

  “Do you believe that?” Tricia asked. “It all sounds farfetched.”

  “We’re Sorceresses, Tricia.” Lyssa scoffed. “Our very existence is farfetched.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore. There are too many questions that need to be answered before I have closure.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  Lyssa narrowed her eyes. “They made it possible, whoever’s behind all this. If Chris was killed years ago and somehow they stopped his regalia from returning, that was a mistake. Faking his regalia’s return or lying about it is also stupid. But if it’s the worst-case scenario—if he was alive and they killed him—there’s not anywhere they can hide from me.”

  Tricia folded her arms and stared at Lyssa, pain in her eyes. “You think they’d somehow lie or fake the return of his regalia?”

  “I think it’s possible,” Lyssa said. “And I’m not going to believe he’s dead until I go to Last Remnant and run my hands over his regalia, or I see his body with my own eyes. If I can’t have my brother back, then I’ll move on to finding out what happened.”

  It all sounded so easy when she said it aloud, but it had taken her fifteen years to make any progress. Fifteen more years might pass before she got any further.

  Tricia’s face softened with wide-eyed concern. “Are you sure going to Last Remnant is wise? A conspiracy involving an Elder and a dangerous Eclipse is too much for you to handle alone. Going to Last Remnant would mean risking your life.”

  Lyssa shook her head. “This doesn’t end with Adrien Allard and that smuggling ring. I’ll admit I’m not one hundred percent sure. I believe someone suspects I have those pictures and wants me to give up on looking for my brother, but they don’t know me and what a stubborn bitch I can be.”

  Tricia stared at Lyssa before sighing. “Then what’s your plan? They won’t let you go to Last Remnant without a good reason. If there is someone powerful plotting against you, it’ll be even harder to convince them.”

  “I downed a rogue and cleaned up a mess that affected two countries.” Lyssa offered a hungry grin to her foster mother. “I clear another big contract or two like that, and they’re going to run out of excuses. They’ll have no choice without raising suspicion. At least if I’m on Last Remnant, it’ll be harder for them, and it might force something. I might think someone’s involved in pulling strings, but that doesn’t mean everyone there is a son of a bitch who’s out to get me.”

  That was her version of being moderate. In any other conversation, it might have made her smile.

  Tricia looked relieved. She put a hand on her chest. “Don’t hate me, but I hope it takes a long time before you go. The truth might not be there, but danger will be.”

  Lyssa walked over to the couch to hug Tricia. “Don’t worry. When the time comes, I’m not going to be an idiot. I’ll know what I’m walking into, and I’ll be ready. It’s easier to dodge a trap when you know it’s there.”

  “I hope so.” Tricia hugged her back. “It’s okay not to solve all this by yourself. I’m not agreeing with all your theories, but a conspiracy like you describe might already be under attack by Elders who worry that admitting its existence to the rest of us would weaken their positions.”

  “I don’t care,” Lyssa said. “Chris is my brother, and he might need my help. If I’m wrong, then I’ll have to move on.”

  Chapter Four

  Pushing a cart through the grocery store on her way to the dairy aisle, Lyssa stared at her reflection in an overhead mirror. Yes, her strategic strawberry ice cream reserve needed to be replenished, but she would have preferred to be gunning down terrorists or rogues. She needed to clear more contracts.

  The direct and simplistic nature of her plan to force a visit to Last Remnant was also its main weakness. Both aspects were dependent on her normal job, which was completing jobs as a Torch in a way that brought positive PR to the Society. She, in turn, would earn the only currency that meant anything in the Society: respect.

  This was one time being a loner hurt her. Her plan also required Elder Samuel or Damien from the Extraordinary Affairs Agency to contract her for jobs. An incidental side job might be tolerated and retroactively approved, but it wouldn’t get her what she needed.

  Lyssa slowed her c
art, her gaze darting around the grocery store. No one paid her much attention. She was just another woman buying food in Scottsdale. The banality of the errand juxtaposed with her bitter obsession about an alleged conspiracy caused her to chuckle darkly.

  Despite what Tricia thought, Lyssa wasn’t deluded. She could accept that she might be wrong, but the only way she could maintain her focus was by clinging to the dark conspiracy angle to fuel her anger. Without proper closure, a pit of despair waited.

  She understood that Damien and Samuel both wanted to give her time off after the intense Houston incident. From their perspective, they were doing her a favor, but every day that ticked by was another day a potential conspiracy could dig deeper to hide their lies. Allard had given her what might be her one opportunity to solve everything.

  There was another problem. Lyssa wanted to keep active. The last time she’d had a long break, it’d been easy. She’d had the move to distract her, but this time she had nothing but TV. That left her mind to wander back to her obsession.

  “I need some real hobbies,” she mumbled.

  Tricia had it easy. Her hobby overlapped with her essence and interests. A lifetime of Torch training had left Lyssa less primed for something casual. Most of her free time as a child and an adult had been focused on becoming faster, better, and more lethal to take down threats of similar magnitude.

  There was only so much she could do with that when she was not on a job. She couldn’t compete in sport martial arts. Her techniques were designed to cripple and kill with maximum efficiency. MMA competitions had rules and limits.

  Using her enchanted ammo for amusement was a waste of money and Serafina’s time. She couldn’t risk using a showstopper for anything less than saving her own or other people’s lives.

  Shaking her head, Lyssa stopped to take in a Halloween costume display. Contrary to what a lot of Shadows believed, the average Illuminated didn’t love the holiday. Rumors and legends about the barrier between worlds being thinner on Halloween held a kernel of truth, which meant potential trouble with spirits.

  The Illuminated Society didn’t control the human world, but they had significant influence. In contrast, they barely understood or influenced the spirit world.

  Lyssa didn’t mind Halloween. She didn’t worry much about spirits coming for her with Jofi on her side, so she welcomed the chance to ingratiate herself with the neighborhood. Maintaining loose and friendly connections with her neighbors would help her later.

  There were less than two weeks until the big day. She’d already loaded up on candy, unsure of how many kids might come to her door. Next year when she didn’t have so much distracting her, she’d have to consider an elaborate yard display.

  “I wonder what the HOA allows?” Lyssa looked around the display. “At least some things never change.”

  She snickered at a sample of the adult costumes hanging from a rack: a sexy angel, a sexy princess, and a sexy Grim Reaper. A woman who wore a regalia daily didn’t need or want a costume, and Hecate didn’t need to be sexy. Intimidating was better in her line of work.

  “Hey,” Lyssa muttered, narrowing her eyes at the Grim Reaper costume. “Wait a second.”

  The costume included a long coat over a black shirt and pants and a rather familiar-looking mask. The package depicted the Grim Reaper holding two pistols, though it did note in small print “prop pistols not included.” A black and gray chopper was in the background.

  The costume’s shirt presented new advances in the realm of absolute cleavage display, and the pleather pants were super-tight in the picture. The busty model also wore heels instead of boots.

  Even so, the resemblance to Lyssa’s Night Goddess regalia was unmistakable. It was also hard to ignore that Grim Reapers weren’t typically depicted with dual pistols rather than scythes.

  Sexy Hecate. It was inevitable.

  I wonder if I can sue somebody for unlicensed use of an image? She needs to take some weight off the front if she wants more mobility in a fight. Her back would be killing her after too many jumps and flips with those puppies.

  She’d come to the store because she needed ice cream and a couple of other things, but she’d also wanted time to process what she’d heard about her brother without Jofi butting in and trying to reason everything away in that painfully calm tone of his.

  Insisting to Caroline and Tricia that the message was a lie or a trick didn’t make that reality. Lyssa suspected a conspiracy but didn’t know for certain, or even worse, she might have been too late, and the message wasn’t a lie.

  Lyssa wandered past the sexy illegal use of her image and continued her quest for ice cream. She couldn’t worry about what might happen. Not doing anything now when she’d made progress after so many years wasn’t an option. The only way to find out the truth was to pursue it.

  The truth might set her on another path, one of vengeance. She was prepared for that. Someone would pay for taking what was left of her family from her. She’d force the truth into the light if she had to swim to Last Remnant and throttle every Sorcerer there.

  She smiled as she arrived at the ice cream. Jackpot. There was a buttload of different strawberry varieties. At least some things in life weren’t complicated.

  Lyssa hummed quietly as she walked back to her bike, feeling more at peace with what she needed to do. She swung her bag of ice cream, butter, and bread back and forth.

  She was ready to go home and send a message to Samuel to demand he send her assignments. It wasn’t like he didn’t need the help. There’d been at least two incidents close to her area of responsibility in the last month that he’d assigned to other Torches. And there were a couple of others she’d heard rumors about that she suspected should have been assigned to her.

  Lyssa slowed with a frown. A large man in a grimy white t-shirt crouched near her bike. He pulled a small screwdriver from his back pocket, whistling a merry tune.

  She’d spent all that time calming herself, and some idiot had to come and ruin her night. At least she had a convenient target for her frustration. No one could complain about a woman protecting her bike.

  Lyssa cleared her throat loudly and set her bag down. There was no reason to get her ice cream and bread involved in the incident. They hadn’t done anything to anyone.

  The man looked her way with a smirk. “Keep walking. You don’t want any part of this.”

  “I can’t do that,” Lyssa replied, gesturing at the Ducati. “That’s my bike, asshole.”

  He held out his hand. “Then give me the keys. I don’t want to damage anything. Let’s make this easy for both of us.”

  “Are you serious?” Lyssa laughed. “We’re in the parking lot of a grocery store, and that’s an expensive bike. Even if I gave you my keys, I’d be on the phone with the cops in fifteen seconds. Bright yellow Ducatis kind of stand out, even in Scottsdale. The cops would love the chance to arrest someone stealing something that flashy.”

  “You’re not calling anyone.” The man tossed his screwdriver to the ground. “Because you didn’t already. You know what I think?”

  “I imagine you don’t think a lot,” Lyssa said. “That’s why you’re a petty thief instead of being a mechanic.”

  “Funny. I think you don’t have your phone.”

  Lyssa hated it when thugs were observant. Secret identities were inconvenient. No normal criminal would have dared touch Hecate’s bike.

  She furrowed her brow. Maybe the opposite was true. It didn’t matter for the moment. She needed to protect her bike.

  “Walk away,” she said, almost growling. “It’s like you said. This can be easy for both of us.”

  “Give me your keys before I slap your pretty little face.” The thief patted her seat. “I’m sure you’ve got insurance, rich girl. Go cry to them, fill out some forms, and you’ll have a new bike in a couple of weeks. Or cry to whatever sugar daddy bought it for you.”

  She hadn’t brought her gun or regalia along for the ice cream run. No regalia
meant less power, and half-assed sorcery wasn’t worth the risk of exposing her secret identity. She relied on her sorcerous abilities for dangerous assignments, but guns and sorcery were pointless without years of support, training, and practice.

  “Don’t do this.” Lyssa shook her head. “I’ve had a crappy day, and I only came here to get some ice cream and bread. I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to. It leads to paperwork for me and a long trip to the hospital for you.”

  The man walked over to her. His white t-shirt reminded Lyssa of Caroline’s furniture.

  Dust and grime weren’t the only things that were hard to get off white fabric. Blood was annoying to clean. At least her regalia cleaned itself given enough time, but that didn’t help her with her immediate problem.

  “I also don’t want to get my shirt dirty,” Lyssa said with a shrug. “It’s limited edition. I had to special-order this from Tokyo.”

  The thief chuckled at her Kawatsu-chan shirt. There were far more intimidating displays than pink unicorns, but Lyssa hadn’t planned on dealing with a thief.

  “Maybe I should take that, too,” he said, scratching his cheek. “It sounds valuable, and it’ll teach you a lesson about thinking you can open your mouth and get a man to listen to you.”

  Lyssa’s jaw tightened. Threatening her bike was bad enough. Threatening her favorite pink unicorn was asking for pain and death. It was what Kawatsu-chan would have wanted.

  She thought about screaming for help in the hope of driving him away and not risking exposing her skills, but her pride wouldn’t allow that. Beating down the fool in front of her wouldn’t risk anything but a dry-cleaning bill.

  She zipped up her jacket. No reason to risk the shirt after everything she’d said. She widened her stance and brought up her fists. “This is your last chance before I break something important. Nose and ribs are my best bets.”

  The man laughed. “Look, this ain’t no special episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. I don’t care what self-defense training you took in your fancy-ass gym, and I don’t care that your man bought you a bike, thinking it made you anything, but some rich bitch shopping at some fancy grocery store thinking she—”