Phoenix Team One: Selected (Mythical Alliance: Phoenix Team Book 1)

by Claire Luana

  I slumped on the counter, dropping my forehead to my arms. This night was a disaster. Why had I thought I could do some sort of 007 shit and find out who’d killed Dad? Like I’d ever actually successfully break into the UN and steal their classified report on the events surrounding his death. I’d fucked up every other part of my life; why had I thought this would be any different?

  “Honey, you can’t just stand there. I have other people to help.”

  I raised my heavy head. How was I supposed to get home? I didn’t even have money for the subway. “Do you have a phone I can borrow?”

  With a long-suffering sigh, the front desk lady showed me into an empty patient room. I thanked her and stared at the phone on the wall. I knew exactly three numbers by heart. One was my dad’s. The second was my Auntie Temsula’s, but she lived in New Jersey. Plus, I seriously didn’t want to drag her into this. So I dialed the third number.

  It went to voicemail, as I’d expected. No one picked up an unknown number these days.

  A cheerful message answered. “Hi. You’ve reached Kiki’s phone. Leave a message. If you’re a telemarketer, take me off your list or I’ll make sure your personal data is blasted across the dark web like Halley’s Comet. Have a great day!”

  A smile ghosted its way across my lips. Oh, Keeks.

  Beep.

  “Hey. It’s Zariya. It’s a long story, but I’m at New York Presbyterian Hospital and could use a ride home. I’m okay. Call me back at this number.”

  I hung up and waited about forty-five seconds. Long enough for her to listen to the message and call me back. Kiki was never far from her phone.

  I picked it up on the first ring.

  “Ohmygod, Zariya, are you okay?”

  Kiki had been my best friend since we were eleven, and we’d lived together with our other roommate, Alviya, in a cramped apartment in Murray Hill for the last two years. She was one of the most talented hackers, excuse me, computer prodigies, I knew.

  She could also read minds.

  Kiki had taught me how to protect my thoughts, and I dropped what was left of my ragged mental walls, letting it all tumble out. I knew my thoughts were loud, jumbled. I didn’t care. Kiki’s gift worked even over distances, so long as she had a strong personal connection to her target or was connected by technology. And I didn’t have the energy to explain right now.

  “Oh, Zar…” She made a little tsking sound with her tongue. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks.”

  I was sitting on the sidewalk, my back to the brick wall of the hospital, when Kiki’s Uber pulled up half an hour later.

  She was wearing cute checked pants, platform black combat boots, and a Pusheen T-shirt. Her short, dark hair was pulled into a spiked ponytail, revealing her side-shave. Kiki had always had way more cool than me.

  Her heart-shaped face was clearly worried as she settled down next to me on the ground. “What’s wrong with the bench?” She nodded to an empty bench a few yards away.

  “I don’t deserve a bench.” My words were flat.

  She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into a side hug, comforting me with her tiny body.

  “I fucked up so bad.”

  “I hacked into the dispatch on the way here. Your purse should be headed back to EMS Station 10. We’ll get it tomorrow.”

  Relief welled up in me. “What would I do without you?”

  “Run out of DiGiorno pizzas?” she said with a grin. “Frankly, I’m just glad to see you out of the house and dressed in… Are these real clothes? Even if it was to execute an ill-planned heist.”

  I snorted.

  “You just couldn’t let it go, could you?” Her words were soft. She knew everything thanks to her supe heritage. Kiki was a satori, a mind-reading supe of Japanese descent. She looked human, but that brain of hers…it was anything but.

  “You said you wouldn’t get the report for me, so I had to find a way to get it myself.”

  She leaned back. “And you thought nearly killing some MASC security guy was the way to do it?”

  “We’re not all super-hackers,” I shot back. “Some of us have to use the resources at our disposal.” The pitiful, sorry excuse for resources.

  “Was this guy with your dad when…” She trailed off. No need to finish the sentence. When he’d died.

  “No, he’s just some dude. He works out of Turtle Bay.” If I’d had access to any of the security guys who’d been on my dad’s protection detail, I wouldn’t have rolled up with anti-venom, that was for damn sure. But most of them were out of country, working out of the offices in Turkey, where Dad had died.

  Kiki pinched the bridge of her nose.

  I felt a lecture coming on.

  “Z, your dad wouldn’t want this for you. He’d want you moving on with your life. I understand it was too hard to finish your last semester and study for your boards after he died, but…you put so much time and energy into becoming a doctor. Haven’t you at least talked to Cornell about whether you could come back and graduate? This energy—you have to funnel it into something productive. It’s what he would have wanted.”

  “I can’t,” I choked out. “I can’t think of anything except him lying there, so…still. You knew Dad—he was tough as fucking nails. He was Special Forces for a decade. And I’m supposed to believe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time? That some unstable building just happened to tumble over and land directly on his SUV? It’s bullshit.” I jammed the heels of my hands into my eyes, as if I could hold the tears in. “I’ve tried to let it go, but I just…can’t.”

  Kiki was quiet for a long time while I cried.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll do it.”

  I looked up, sniffling. “What?” The MASC report detailing Dad’s death had been classified. I’d begged Kiki to get it for me, but she’d firmly refused.

  She let out a long breath through her button nose, flaring her nostrils. “I said I wouldn’t get you the report because I thought poring over it endlessly wouldn’t help you. But maybe I was wrong. You clearly aren’t letting it go. Maybe you need to see it. For closure.”

  “Yes,” I whispered. “For closure.” I was afraid to say anything else, for fear that she’d change her mind.

  “Okay then.” She tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Tomorrow we’ll get your purse and the report.”

  A fresh wave of tears flooded over my cheeks. This time, tears of gratitude. I might have lost Dad, but I still had people who loved me. My Auntie. Kiki. Alviya. Why was it so hard to remember that sometimes?

  Kiki stood, offering me her hands. “Let’s go home.”

  3

  I slept fitfully and woke with a tight headache squeezing at my temples.

  I dragged myself into the shower. Twice in two days—a new post-funeral record.

  The shower’s hot water ran over me until the snake in me cried out for cool. It was a sonofabitch to rely on external temperature regulation. Being a warm-blooded human would be so much easier.

  I wrapped the towel around myself and stood on the cool tile. My reflection was blurry in the foggy mirror, but my scales were visible, glittering in the fluorescent bathroom light. I’d always been perched in the middle—not truly human, not truly supe. The only place I’d ever really fit had been with Dad. He’d had a way of filtering out the rest of the world; it hadn’t mattered what anyone thought so long as he was proud of me. He’d always been a shelter to me. And now I was alone. Exposed.

  “Zariya, you better slither your ass down here or your bagel is mine!” Alviya hollered up at me. She was remarkably peppy for a valkyrie, and I’d been avoiding her sunny presence since Dad had died. Two weeks in, she’d announced that she knew what I was doing and it would only make her try twice as hard to bring me back to the land of the living. She’d shown remarkable perseverance.

  Today, for the first time, I found I didn’t mind. Perhaps it was actually going outside yesterday, or maybe it was the prospect of finally getti
ng the report… but I thought I’d be able to face her relentless enthusiasm.

  I threw on a pair of old jeans and an oversized White Snake T-shirt—a gag gift from Alviya’s boyfriend, Basirou, and headed downstairs, threading my thick dark curls into a braid.

  A toasted bagel smeared in cream cheese and lox was poised between Alviya’s perfect white teeth. Upon seeing me, she set it down on a plate and held it out to me. “You want?” After a year of rooming with her, I was used to Alviya’s cavernous appetite. And her feathered wings—downy white as a snowy owl’s, strong as an eagle’s. The black caverns of her eyes, deep as the pit of Naraka… I wasn’t sure I would ever truly get used to those. Even though I loved her like a sister, they were eerie as hell.

  I eyed the bagel as a knock sounded on our door.

  “That must be Bas. Come in!” she hollered.

  The door opened to reveal a dark shadow filling the space. Wings, muscle, towering bulk. “I brought Starbucks!” Basirou stepped inside and flicked the door shut with his tail.

  “You darling beast.” Alviya retrieved the tray from him and gave him a ravishing kiss. Seeing the two of them side by side used to give me pause. Basirou was a seven-foot-tall gargoyle—ebony skin like dark marble, his wings membranous like a bat. Twisting horns protruded above an unfairly handsome face. Where he was dark, Alviya was fair, with her white wings, creamy pale skin, and bright copper hair. Where his muscles were roped like a Greek statue, she was as lean and long-legged as a ballet dancer. But they were actually good together. I supposed there had been stranger pairs.

  “Chai latte for Zariya, Americano for you, some ridiculously sweet unicorn Frappuccino for Kiki that I nearly lost my man card ordering, and a flat white for me.” Bas passed out his bounty, then cocked his head at me. He was always too discerning for his own good. “Good to see you up and around, Zar.”

  “Thanks.” I took a sip of the latte, letting the warm liquid soothe me. He’d even gotten it with coconut milk, how I liked.

  “What are you up to today?” Alviya asked me.

  I shrugged, taking another sip. “The world is my unemployed oyster.” A thought struck me. “Maybe I’ll go see Dad.”

  Bas’s dark brows knit together. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  Kiki breezed into the kitchen, grabbing her Frappuccino off the counter. “Anything that gets my girl out of the house in real pants counts as a good idea.”

  “Har har.”

  Bas chuckled. “Suppose that’s true.”

  “What about you guys? Anything wild and crazy at work today?” Alviya and Bas had met working at a PR company that focused on supe-run businesses and products.

  Alviya hoisted her Americano in a faux salute. “You know us, saving the world one selkie sunscreen at a time.”

  I managed a smile.

  “All right, we’re out,” Bas said with a little wave. “Have a good day.”

  Alviya and Bas angled themselves out the door, folding their wings to get through the opening. I loved them dearly, but those wings took up a lot of space. The apartment felt three times bigger with them gone.

  Kiki turned to me. “I talked to the EMS guys. You can pick up your purse anytime after noon today.”

  “Thanks, Keeks,” I said, waiting.

  We looked at each other for a moment before she sighed. “I got the report.”

  My eyes fluttered closed. Finally.

  When I opened them, she was gone, but she returned quickly with a manila envelope. I reached for it eagerly, but she tucked it behind her back. “Before I give this to you, you need to promise me something.”

  “Anything.” I would promise her my firstborn in exchange for that report. Not that there’d ever be a firstborn, at the rate my life was turning into a dumpster fire.

  “If you read this, and there’s nothing there to find…you gotta let it go. Your dad was the most bad-ass supe I’ve ever known too, but even he was mortal. Accidents happen. Shitty things happen to good people. I need to know that you’ll be objective about this. If there’s nothing…just lay it to rest.”

  I pursed my lips together. I didn’t want to let it go. I didn’t want to believe a stray pile of bricks could take out my dad where terrorists and armed insurgents had failed.

  But Kiki was right. I needed to read what was really there, not what I wished was. “I promise.”

  She handed it over and I cradled the envelope to my chest. “Thanks.” I turned to go back up the stairs to get my shoes.

  “You’re not going to read it? After all of that?”

  “I’m going to read it with Mom and Dad.”

  My father had been full naga, born in the remote eastern corner of India, in Nagaland. I’d never been there. Auntie always told me it was a backwards and boring place, which was why she’d followed Dad when he’d left.

  My mother had been human. A grad student accompanying her professor on an anthropological expedition. According to Auntie, the chemistry between my parents had been instant. According to Dad…well, he’d never spoken of Mom at all.

  But there must have been some connection, because before they knew it, Mom was pregnant, and he’d accompanied her to America. Interspecies relationships weren’t forbidden under the terms of the International Treaty on the Recognition and Protection of Supernatural Creatures (or just the Treaty, as we all called it), but they were frowned upon for all number of reasons. Religious intolerance, xenophobia… practicality. The human body wasn’t designed to bear a naga child. As my parents well found out. Auntie said it was a miracle I’d survived. Mom wasn’t so lucky.

  Her gravestone had been here at Calvary Cemetery in Queens for as long as I could remember. Auntie would take me here on my birthday each year, which had felt like a morbid tradition, but she’d said it was important to honor Mom’s sacrifice. As I’d grown older, I’d come to see there was a certain sweetness in that. Dad had never come with us; Auntie had said it was too hard for him.

  Now, I wished I’d asked him why. Asked him about her. There were so many things I wished I’d asked him, but I’d been too chicken-shit. And now he was gone.

  I stopped before two ebony headstones, hers weathered with age, his new and polished to a sheen. Vizol Chanji, it read. Father. Warrior. Friend. He was so much more than that, too, but everything my father was couldn’t fit in this little space.

  The flowers laid on his grave were shriveled and dry, and so I gathered them up, tossing them in a nearby trashcan. When I returned, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Hi, Mom. Dad. I hope you guys are doing good. Getting reacquainted.” My parents had only had a year together—I liked to imagine they were hanging out in the afterlife. Hopefully, they still had something in common. Me, at least.

  I sat down, leaning my back against Dad’s headstone. It was weird, thinking he was beneath me. Naga tradition dictated that a warrior be cremated after he or she died, but Dad’s will had said he’d wanted to be buried beside my mom. I’d often wondered if his stony silence on the subject of Mom meant he’d forgotten her, but with that one action, I knew he hadn’t.

  I tilted my head back against the hard stone and closed my eyes. “I really fucked up since you left, Dad. It’s just too hard…” The words tangled on my tongue. “It’s too hard without you here. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.” He was supposed to be at my med school graduation, supposed to harp on me for working too much during residency, supposed to celebrate with me when I got that cardiac fellowship I’d been eyeing.

  A choked laugh escaped me.

  “The truth is, everything I did was to make you proud of me. To live up to your legacy. And now that you’re gone, it just seems pointless.”

  Dad had always been larger than life. When he’d come to the U.S., even as an immigrant who hadn’t spoken a lick of English, he’d charmed everyone. Nagas were warriors, and so he’d joined the Marines special supe division, rising up the ranks quickly. He’d been recruited for the Force Recon division, where he’d stood out even
more, eventually leading his own team. He’d retired almost ten years ago to go work for MASC as a diplomat and consultant. Another distinguished career. Whatever Dad had touched had seemed to turn to gold. Except me, apparently.

  I looked at the envelope. I didn’t know why I was delaying after I’d been dying to get my hands on the report for the past six weeks.

  I tore the envelope open.

  I sped through the seven-page report once before turning back to the front page to read it again, slowly. I needed to take it apart piece by piece. Because there was something here that MASC leadership had missed. I knew it. There was something here that proved that Dad had been murdered. And it was up to me to find it.

  4

  I pulled the report out and read it again on the subway. As if a fifth readthrough would magically help me find what I was looking for. According to the writeup, Dad had been visiting Syrian refugee camps on the Turkish border, checking on the treatment of supes and ensuring UN and MASC supplies were being appropriately distributed. He was traveling in an armored SUV with a Humvee military escort. The three-mile trip from town had been uneventful. The visit to the camp had been uneventful. But on the way back, just two blocks from his hotel, a condemned building three stories high had collapsed into the street. Directly onto my father’s caravan. He’d been killed instantly.

  MASC had conducted a full investigation. They hadn’t uncovered any unusual activity, any sign of explosives or tampering. The building had been bombed in a terrorist attack the year prior and had become structurally unsound. Just an unfortunate accident. Wrong place, wrong time.

  Bullshit.

  I shoved the papers back in the envelope, drumming my fingers on the subway pole. They must have missed something. There must be something on the scene, something that no one found.

  I was pondering the Turkish visa requirements when I remembered my promise to Kiki. After you read this, if there’s nothing to find there, you let it go…