Born in Fire (Demon Days, Vampire Nights World Book 1)(7)

“I was more commanded than invited.”

“People don’t boss you around. That’s an invite if anything is.”

He knew me well.

“The elves don’t have jurisdiction within that lair.” I bit my lip.

“Anything could go on in there.”

The captain tapped his fingers against his desk, something he did when he was working out a problem. “Does he need your help, or is he curious about you? Maybe he’s testing you. There is no way to guess what a vampire that old is really up to.”

“You’re sure it was the elder?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes surveying me. “He probably wants to know if you’re magical, and if so, what breed you are.”

I’d come to the same conclusion. “I should’ve showered to get rid of the weird stench,” I joked.

The captain’s gaze turned piercing. He’d said it once and never repeated himself: I looked human but didn’t smell it, I was chock-full of powerful magic, and most people would guess, correctly, that I was a hybrid of some sort, but I wasn’t a type that had ever been catalogued before. He’d ended his analysis with, “Reagan, that doesn’t add up. People notice.”

No, it did not add up. Yes, people did notice. Luckily, as long as I kept to myself, meaning no magical BFFs or drunken gabfests about my ancestry, I would be in the clear.

After a moment, he huffed and glanced beside me. “I’m going to have to dock you for that door.”

“It wasn’t me. It was the one-armed man.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Actually, I bet it was the vampire. They are damned clumsy, aren’t they? Surely he knocked it off the hinges when he was putting up that note.” He nodded decisively. “I’ll write that up.”

I couldn’t help a smile. “You’re an asshole, but you’re my asshole.”

His grumpy expression turned quizzical. “Is that from a movie?”

“I feel like it is, but…I’m not really sure, to be honest. Fits, though, no?”

“Too touchy-feely for my taste. Now get out of here. And leave Garret alone when you walk past. Every time you break one of his body parts, we get behind.”

“Hire better people.”

“Buy some papers.”

I glanced back at the note one last time as I walked from the room, the folder tucked under my arm. I needed to think on that. I also needed to plan a course of action for bringing in the idiot terrorizing one of the few solely magical neighborhoods within the city. So much to do…

Fifteen minutes later, I sat down on a barstool.

“Hurricane, please.” I rapped my knuckles on the bar as the bartender walked away to make me a drink mostly consisting of turpentine and artificial flavoring. Other bars made a fruity drink high in alcohol that the tourists loved. Not this bar. They tried to peel the eyebrows off your face.

Just what I needed to take the edge off.

I shifted, trying to get comfortable. The stool clunked to the right, uneven.

“Do you live around here?”

I glanced over to find a twenty-something guy slumped in the stool next to mine. Glazed-over eyes and a strange lean said he didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into with the hurricanes.

“Yeah,” I answered. “You?”

He shrugged and visibly tried to play it cool. The result was a dangerous sway in the other direction. “I’m in town for a few days. Just taking it in, you know?” He leaned over the bar. His tongue wandered out of his mouth until it bumped off the straw in his drink. He corralled the straw between his open lips before taking a sip like a giraffe eats leaves, grossly floppy.

“Is that tasty?” I asked sarcastically, nodding toward the drink.

He released the straw and licked his lips. A cock-eyed, drunken smile slid up half his face. The other half was probably numb from the alcohol. “Yeah.

Killer.”

I figured there was about a ninety percent chance he’d end up half-naked and facedown in the gutter with beads littering his back. Grimacing, I pulled out the file. My drink arrived as I was perusing the magical misdeeds of my new mark, which all seemed like high-powered hexes gone slightly wrong.

“Power-drunk mage,” I muttered to myself, looking at his handiwork.

“Mage. Is that, like, Warcraft or…” The man swiveled in his chair until his knees bumped off mine, clearly attempting to face me.

I pushed his leg, turning his body back toward the bar. “There you go.

That’s better. Just ride that stool, cowboy. Keep straight and hold on. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Ha ha ha!” He wiped his mouth. “But, like, a mage. That’s cool, right?”

He might have attempted a thumbs-up, but only succeeded in pointing at himself with his thumb.

I sucked down a quarter of my drink.

“Whoa. Careful. I don’t know if anyone told you”—his burp turned into a small groan—“but these drinks are strong.” A finger wobbled into my peripheral vision.

I batted his hand away. “I’m a local. I know how this shit works.”

“I know. How this shit. Works.” He nodded dramatically and slumped toward the bar. “Ha!”

I looked for the bartender, who was perched in the corner looking out at the bright day through the distant door. A little wave brought his eyes toward me.