Magic Edge (7 page)

“Does that mean you’re not competing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shame.” She pushed out her thick, pouty lips. “I do like watching you…work.”

“I’ll try to make an appearance.” Logan stood up. “Thanks for your help. And if any of them give you trouble…” He looked up at the dangling thieves. “…let me know.”

“You know I will.” From the look in her eyes, she was already thinking up an excuse to call Logan here.

Whatever. None of your business,
she told herself.

That’s right
, she agreed…uh, with herself.

Trying not to think about how crazy that was, Alex turned and followed Logan outside.

CHAPTER NINE

House of Chocolate

THEY WALKED BACK to the Rote Fabrik. Logan had parked his car around the back, close to the lake. And, yeah, it was a glossy black Maserati. The assassin business must have been booming.

“So, what kind of, um, assignments do you take?” Alex asked him as she got into his car.

He started the engine. “You mean, what sort of people do I kill?”

“Yes.”

“Only bad people, sweetheart.”

“Really?”

“No.” He slid the car smoothly into traffic—‘traffic’ being the three cars driving on the street at this time of day. “I won’t kill complete innocents. They aren’t worth much money anyway.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be. My targets are all high-profile: warlords, monsters, corrupt businessman. They wouldn’t have such a high price on their heads if they hadn’t done something to earn it. They’ve all done a lot of bad things, though I’d be lying if I said they’d done only bad. No one is one hundred percent evil. Not even the monsters you kill.”

“We are not the same.”

“Yes. We are very much the same, Alex. Did you ask the last vampire you killed what his life was like before magic stripped away his humanity? Or chat with the last dark pony about her children?”

“They’re monsters,” she said.

“We’re
all
monsters,” he countered. “The only difference is that some of us have already admitted that to ourselves.”

“You’re awfully philosophical for an assassin.”

“Yes.” He looked at her. “I suppose I am.”

She turned her eyes away from him. The world had labeled her kind abominations, which was just a fancy word for monster. If the Magic Council offered him a contract to kill the last Dragon Born, would he accept? Probably. He didn’t seem to have a problem killing monsters for profit.

Neither did she. He was right. If the situation were different—if she hadn’t been Dragon Born herself—she’d have believed the propaganda too. She’d have hunted down innocent mages whose only crime was to be born a bit different. And she’d have profited from it too.

“I thought we were going to the tournament,” she said as he continued to follow the street down the lake.

“It doesn’t start until this afternoon. I thought we’d have something to eat first.”

“Good idea.” Her stomach growled, letting its wishes be heard. “Some crazy person locked me up in chains, so I didn’t get breakfast.”

“I was going to offer you something, but then you attacked me.”

“You had that coming,” she told him. “So what sort of something were you going to offer me?”

“Granola.”

“Yuck. Try my sister. She loves granola. I hate it.”

“I also had a chocolate croissant.”

“Better.”

“And a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Mmm. I’ll consider forgiving you. Someday. Where are these delicious treats?”

“Some vagrant must have stolen them while you were busy attacking me. When I went back to the room I’d left them in, they were gone. I have security cameras set up all around that hall. As soon as all this is over, I’m going to look through the footage and find out who it was.”

The dark look in his eyes sent goosebumps prickling across her skin.

“Or you could just leave it be,” she said. “The loss of a breakfast tray is hardly going to send you to the poorhouse.”

“It’s not about the money. It’s that someone stole something
from me
.”

She snorted. “Proud much?”

“I have a reputation to uphold. No client will be interested in hiring the great Slayer when word gets out that some miscreant stole his croissant.”

“Did anyone ever tell you how weird it is to talk about yourself in the third person?”

“No.” A wicked smile slid up his lips. “Paranormal Vigilante. Or was that Black Plague?”

“The name ‘Black Plague’ is tons scarier than ‘Slayer’. Admit it.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Come on. The Black Plague would totally slay the Slayer.”

“You realize you’re now speaking about yourself in the third person.”

“And?” she said. “I never said I wasn’t weird.”

His low chuckle blended with the hum of the engine as he turned into the lot and parked. Alex jumped out of the car, practically drooling from the olfactory overload of cakes, cookies, chocolates, and other tasty sweets. He’d brought them to Madam Meringue’s House of Chocolate.

Madam Meringue was a mage with an almost divine ability to mix potions—or in this case, chocolate. She was the undisputed champion of Magical Sciences. Every magic company wanted to hire her. Every magic university had tried to recruit her. Even the Magic Council had made her a prestigious offer. She’d turned them all down.

When the supernaturals had started flocking to Zurich, Madam Meringue had found herself a nice lakeside chocolate factory to buy. They hadn’t wanted to sell, but she’d made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. She was convinced that, with a little touch of magic, she could make the world’s best chocolate. It hadn’t taken long for the world to agree.

Now, Madam Meringue’s House of Chocolate was the name for top-of-the-line chocolate. She had magic-kissed chocolate for the human masses, but it was her specialty line that attracted the supernaturals in droves.

“This is so amazing,” Alex said, pulling out her phone. “Epic even.” She snapped a photo of the huge dragon-shaped balloon bobbing beside the entrance.

Logan watched her with perplexed amusement. “I had no idea you were such a fan.”

“I’m always a fan of chocolate. Especially good chocolate.” She spotted a life-sized unicorn balloon with ‘Madam Meringue’s House of Chocolate’ printed on the side. “And most especially chocolate for breakfast. Or lunch.” Click. “But these photos aren’t for me. They’re for my brother. He’s the Madam Meringue fan.” She took a shot of the enormous chocolate ball balloon. “He’s studying Magical Sciences at SFUMAS.”

“Snafu?”

“Funny.”

She snapped a shot of him standing under the goofy chocolate ball. If he annoyed her too much, she might decide to post it on the internet later. Maybe even as a comment to his profile on the Assassins List website. ‘Death by chocolate. Deadly assassin Slayer will kill you with a taste.’ Yeah, that should send the right kind of traffic his way.

“SFUMAS,” Alex repeated. “San Francisco University of Magical Arts and Sciences. Riley is a whizz at the Magical Sciences, and Madam Meringue is his hero. He will be positively stoked when I show him these photos. Wait, a second.” She handed Logan her phone. “Here, get a photo of me next to the dragon. Otherwise, he’ll never believe I was actually here.”

Logan shook his head in disbelief but snapped the shot anyway. “This proves nothing. You could have just photoshopped yourself in.”

“That requires a subtlety Riley knows I do not possess. Why do you think I carry around a sword? I’m blunt, and I like fast results.”

“You said it, not I.”

Alex took the phone back and tucked it into her leather jacket. She was really starting to question if the all-leather ensemble was such a great idea after all. Sure, she looked badass, but she was starting to sweat. The sun was nearly overhead, so it would only get worse from here on out. Of course, she usually didn’t wear such things during the day. When she’d put it on and gone out last night, she hadn’t done so with the intention of getting drugged and abducted.

“Has anyone ever looked into why a Magical Sciences ‘whizz’ has two sisters who claim to be magic duds?” Logan asked.

“What’s your point?”

“It doesn’t add up is my point. Magic runs in families.”

“But not everyone in a magic family is equally powerful. And sometimes there’s a member or two without any magic whatsoever. In fact, if we are to believe the Magic Council, there are members of non-magic families who suddenly sprout magic.”

“You don’t believe that nonsense, and neither do I,” he told her. “Most of what the Magic Council says is complete drivel, nothing but sugar-coated lies to placate the masses.”

“Sera and I don’t have any magic,” Alex said, keeping her breathing normal and her heartbeat steady. A change in either was a telltale sign every assassin would know to look for when trying to sniff out a lie. And she was lying through her teeth right now. “When we were in school, we were tested like everyone else. I’m not pretending to be a magic dud; that was their assessment.”

“You dissolved iron chains.” He counted out one finger. “You shattered a magic barrier back in the fairy bar.” He paused on the second finger, frowning. “I’m still not sure how you did that. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“There was a hole in the barrier.”

“I’m sure. There’s always a hole, isn’t there? How convenient.” He flipped open the third finger. “And lastly, you don’t fight like a human. You can make up whatever wild stories about chemical agents and holes about the other two, but this one you cannot explain. I’ve fought a lot of people—human and supernatural. And you are not human, sweetheart. Not by a long shot.”

“You don’t fight like a human either, Mr. Super Soldier.”

“I told you what I am.”

“Genetically engineered? Sounds like a ‘wild story’ to me.”

“You can believe whatever you want. It’s the truth.”

“Right back at you.”

He sighed. “You are an impossible woman. There’s no point in arguing with you.”

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a triumphant grin. “Precisely.”

“Let’s just grab something to eat while we have the chance. The tournament will be starting soon,” he said, opening the door for her.

“What a fantastic idea,” she replied and walked through it—even though it probably wasn’t a good idea to turn her back to an assassin.

Whatever. If he’d wanted to kill her, he would have done it already. Like back when she’d been unconscious and in chains. But he hadn’t. They were working together now, and she’d just have to trust him. For now. Besides, the perfume of a million magical flavors of chocolate was drawing her forward.

Inside, chocolate filled the shelves of the shop—bars, balls, bunnies and a few other animals—but that’s not what caught Alex’s attention. She headed straight for the cafe. With a dozen chairs around a smattering of tables and only half as many stools at the bar, it wasn’t big. It didn’t matter. The assortment of cakes and cookies behind the glass display counter spoke for itself. This place was heaven on earth.
 

Alex ordered a cake sampler plate, a cookie sandwich with cream filling, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Then she took a seat at one of the tables and spread out her treasure. Logan joined her, carrying nothing.

“Afraid someone will try to poison your food?” she asked, smirking.

“In my profession, that is a distinct possibility,” he replied. “But no, I’m simply not hungry. I ate already.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Because I knew you were hungry. And you seemed like someone who would appreciate chocolate for breakfast,” he said, watching her as she assaulted the cookie.

Her mouth busy appreciating the delightful marriage of cookie and magic, Alex grunted her approval.

“It appears I was right. Considering your obvious love of chocolate, I’m surprised you haven’t come here yet.”

“I’ve only been here two months.” Alex skewered a cheesecake cube with her fork. “And I’ve been busy making the city safe from monsters. Did you know that the number of monsters in Zurich has more than tripled in the last two months?”

“Yes. I’ve been here a bit longer than you. It used to be warlords and corrupt mage bankers seeking haven, but the monsters have run most of them out of the area. Business has been bad.”

She took a sip of the juice. It was almost as good as a magic smoothie. “How could business possibly be bad? You are an assassin. There’s no shortage of things to kill in the city. What difference does it make to you whether your target is a warlord or a monster?”

“The payment makes a hell of a difference to me. A dead warlord is worth several million. A dead monster isn’t worth more than a few hundred.”

“Sure. That’s where sheer numbers work in your favor.” She pointed her fork at him. “A hundred dead monsters isn’t a bad payout. Good luck rounding up a hundred warlords.”

“And how long does it take you to kill those hundred monsters? A few hours?”

“Depends.”

“Why spend a few hours mucking around in monster guts when I can make a single clean kill in a fraction of that time?”

“And what about all the kills you have to make on your way to your mark?”

“Most of them can be avoided. Including the monsters,” he said. “But you, Alex, can’t avoid the messy kills on the way to the job. Those messy kills
are
the job.”

“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” she replied. Served her right for trying to argue logistics with an assassin. Sampling the piece of fudge on her plate was far more productive. “So, did you know that while the number of monsters in Zurich has tripled in the last two months, the number of supernatural hybrids has increased tenfold during the same timeframe?”

“I do remember reading that in Supernatural Times.”

“I wonder where they’re all coming from. Hybrids don’t just pop up out of nowhere.”

“Someone is making them,” he said.

“Really?”

“Of course. It’s only logical.”

“I wonder who it is.”

He gave her a hard look. “Someone you should not try to find.”

“I wasn’t—”