Soulfire

Book 4: A Magic Bullet Novel

by Annabel Chase

Genres: Urban Fantasy; Mystery

Synopsis

The final book in the Magic Bullet series is here...

Alyse Winters never thought she could hack life as a human. With her friends by her side, though, she feels more powerful than ever before.

When a PAN asset turns up dead on her doorstep, it sets off a chain of events no one expects, least of all Alyse. She quickly realizes that the future, as well as the past, are not at all what they seem...

Books in the Magic Bullet series include:
Burned, Book 1
Death Match, Book 2
Demon Hunt, Book 3
Soulfire, Book 4

Release date: April 4, 2017

Publisher: Red Palm Press LLC

Print pages: 242

Sample

CHAPTER 1 

 

 

It was bad enough that I was standing in a shop called Feminine Dreams. 

 

Even worse, I was wearing a dress. With crinoline.  

 

And lace. 

 

“Alyse, how’s it going in there?” Tessa Montgomery knocked impatiently on the dressing room door. “You’re welcome to come out anytime so we can see.” 

 

And judge me. 

 

I stared in the full-length mirror and wished with all my heart and soul that I possessed my powers right now. My djinni ass would transform this dress into a masterpiece. Of course, I didn’t need magic to wear an attractive dress. I just needed to not be catering to Tessa’s every whim. But I’d promised Flynn. 

 

And there was the additional fact that he was bribing me. 

 

“Just a sec.” I adjusted the bodice and stepped into the room where the bride, her mother, and the other three bridesmaids were waiting to ogle me—Britney, Harlow, and Tessa’s cousin, Maggie.  

 

“Now that’s pretty on you,” Harlow said. Tessa’s childhood best friend was a tall, willowy blonde with an expression that suggested the perpetual sucking of lemons.   

 

“I thought the whole point was that it shouldn’t be pretty on me,” I said. I looked like I’d lost all my sheep and had no clue where to find them. A staff would complete the picture. In fact, there were several weapons back in Farah’s armory that could do the job.  

 

“Nonsense,” Tessa said, with a dismissive flick of her delicate fingers. “I want all my bridesmaids to look beautiful. I wouldn’t want people to think I have unattractive friends. What kind of person would I be?” 

 

I wasn’t sure what the right answer was.     

 

“Now try on the peach-colored one,” Tessa said. 

 

I cringed. “The one with the full skirt that touches the floor?”  

 

“That’s the one.” She sighed. “Perfect for an outdoor wedding. It reminds me of the antebellum South.” 

 

“Not such a great time for women,” I grumbled, retreating into the dressing room. 

 

“I wonder what it would’ve been like to attend all those balls with handsome soldiers,” I heard Britney say. She sighed deeply. “Getting your hair done up every day.” 

 

By slaves. 

 

I shimmied out of the first ugly dress and proceeded to put on the second, even uglier dress. Peach was not my color at all. It was, however, the perfect color to match Tessa’s curly cinnamon hair and creamy complexion. Too bad she was the one wearing white. 

 

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the dressing room and put myself back on display.  

 

“Hmm,” Maggie said, and my inner voice rejoiced. Even cousin Maggie didn’t like it and she liked Wendy’s French fries. 

 

“You know what? Try the celery one,” Tessa said. “It might be a better match for your coloring.” 

 

This was pure torture for me and she knew it. Tessa was enjoying this. I had the sinking feeling that Flynn had managed to con me. Not that I should be surprised. He had years of experience lying to women. 

 

And then, like an angel from heaven, Detective Kenya Thompson appeared in the middle of the dress shop. Thompson was an officer for the Paranormal Task Force, or PTF as it was known, and we often collaborated on cases. 

 

She stopped mid-stride when she noticed me in the peach dress. “Um, Your Highness?” 

 

“I assume you’re looking for me and not for the Spring collection.” 

 

Thompson wiggled her phone. “I’ve been calling, but you didn’t answer my texts.” 

 

Tessa held up a finger. “Oh, that was my doing. I asked the girls to turn off their phones so we could focus on the task at hand. Bridesmaid dresses are one of the most important decisions a bride has to make.” 

 

I looked at Thompson and shrugged. “Priorities, Detective.” 

 

“Well, I’ve got a priority for you,” Thompson said. “There’s a situation and I could use your help.” 

 

I eyed her curiously. “What kind of situation?” 

 

“The dead kind.” 

 

I pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!”  

 

The other ladies looked appalled.  

 

“A dead body?” Harlow queried, literally clutching the pearls around her neck. 

 

“Afraid so.” I tried to sound sad, but I couldn’t muster it. I stripped off the dress right in the middle of the room. “So sorry, ladies. Duty calls.” 

 

I ran back to retrieve my normal clothes.  

 

“What is it she does again?” I heard Tessa’s mother ask.  

 

“She’s a police consultant,” Thompson said. The bridal party didn’t need to know I was a former covert agent for the Shadow Elite. Or a djinni for that matter. They only knew that I was Flynn’s annoying ex-girlfriend who inexplicably agreed to be one of Tessa’s bridesmaids. 

 

I launched myself out of the dressing room like a grenade.  

 

“But what about the dresses?” Tessa called. 

 

“Just choose one,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect.” 

 

For you. 

 

I glanced at Thompson and smiled. “Kindly show me to death’s door, Detective Thompson.” 

 

I rode with Thompson to Burholme Park, an eighty-five acre park in the Northeast section of Philadelphia. The crime scene was cordoned off with yellow tape and regular police officers milled around, talking and drinking coffee.  

 

“So what happened?” I asked.  

 

“Not sure yet,” Thompson said. “There are a couple of witnesses here. I thought it would be useful for you to listen in.” 

 

At this point, I would have been willing to listen to the sound of screeching cats for hours. Any excuse to escape Tessa’s bridal hell.  

 

Thompson greeted a tall, thin officer at the scene. “Thanks for calling me, Stokes.” 

 

“You were recommended for this one,” he said, looking uneasy. He fixed his gaze on me. “Who’s the civilian?” 

 

“My consultant,” Thompson replied. “She has experience with unusual cases.” 

 

“I don’t know how unusual it is,” Stokes said, taking a mindless sip of his coffee. “I think this guy was an undiagnosed schizophrenic who went off the rails.” 

 

“What makes you say that?” Thompson asked. 

 

“He was running around the park, screaming about people’s colors. He attacked a young woman who was jogging along the street. That’s how he ended up dead.” 

 

I balked. “The jogger killed him?” 

 

“She didn’t mean to,” he said. “It was self-defense.” 

 

“Where is she?” Thompson asked sharply. 

 

“She was taken to the station,” Stokes said. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to speak to her. The two witnesses are here, though.” He pointed to a bench where an older couple sat under a medic blanket, looking stupefied. 

 

“Thanks, I’ll have a word with them first,” Thompson said. 

 

Stokes whistled and the officer hovering near the bench cleared out so Thompson and I could speak to them privately. They still seemed shaken up. 

 

“Hello, my name is Detective Thompson and this is my colleague, Alyse Winters. We’d like to ask you a few questions about what you saw today, if that’s okay.” 

 

The man nodded somberly. “I’m Earl Gaskell and this is my wife, Trudy. We were just taking a walk through the park. A normal day.” 

 

He pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. His hair was balding on the top and white on the sides. He had a kind face, the type that smiled at grandchildren as he handed them a lollipop.  

 

“Do you walk in this park often?” I asked. 

 

“Most days,” Earl said. “Especially this time of year when the weather is nice. It’s big so even when it’s busy, you don’t notice it. Not like some of the others. You don’t get bombarded by dogs and strollers.” 

 

“And you saw what happened with the jogger?” Thompson asked. 

 

A strangled cry escaped from Trudy and her husband placed an arm around her. “It’s all right, dear. It’s over now.” 

 

“You saw the jogger defend herself?” I asked. 

 

Trudy sniffed and Thompson handed her a tissue. “I heard the man first. We’d passed by him not a minute or so before. He said hello to us, didn’t he?” 

 

Earl nodded. “Seemed like a normal fella.” 

 

“Then we heard this yelling so we turned around and he was clutching his head.” 

 

“We thought he’d hurt himself,” Earl said. “There was a fallen tree branch nearby. We thought maybe it had hit him.” 

 

“The jogger was near the street,” Trudy continued. “She caught his eye and he started yelling about colors. She’s…what was it, Earl?” 

 

“She’s yellow,” Earl said. “He kept saying she was glowing yellow. That she was some kind of alien. Then he ran into the road chasing after her, almost got hit by a car in the process. But he went after her like a shot.”  

 

“With a weapon?” Thompson asked. 

 

“The tree branch,” Earl said. “He grabbed it and went over swinging it like a club.” 

 

“The jogger was stronger than she looked,” Trudy said, still amazed. “She snatched that huge tree branch right out of his hands like it weighed an ounce and drove it at his head.”   

 

Earl closed his eyes. “He kept coming at her. All deranged like. I started yelling to stop.” 

 

“We couldn’t get involved,” Trudy said. “One of them would have killed us.” 

 

“How did she end up killing him?” I asked.  

 

“She kicked him.” Earl gulped. “It must’ve been really hard. He fell into the road as a bus rounded the corner.”  At the mention of the bus, Trudy began to cry in earnest.  

 

“It was awful,” she said between sobs. “I’ve never seen anyone get killed like that before.” 

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Thompson said. “Would you mind giving me your contact details, in case I have any more questions?” 

 

Earl gave his number and Thompson keyed the digits into her phone.  

 

“If you think of anything else, you’ll let me know?” Thompson asked. 

 

“Of course, Detective Thompson,” Earl said. “We’ll help any way we can. That poor man.” 

 

“I think I’ll stick to walks around my backyard,” Trudy said. “The world isn’t safe anymore.” 

 

I hated to break the news to her that it never was. 

 

Thompson cast a sidelong glance at me. “How’d you like to come down to the station and make friends with a jogger, Winters?” 

 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

 

“Her name is Josie McGovern,” Thompson told me, quickly scanning the woman’s file. “No priors. No anything. Just a crappy day.” 

 

The jogger sat in the smallest of the interrogation rooms. She was a petite brunette with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She didn’t look strong enough to wield a large tree branch against her attacker and then kick him into an oncoming bus. Then again, she was no ordinary human. I saw her yellow glow the moment I stepped into the room. 

 

She was a Hinn like Farah. 

 

“Miss McGovern,” Thompson said, taking the seat opposite her. I opted to stand behind Thompson. 

 

Her gaze flickered from Thompson to me. She didn’t appear nearly as freaked out as someone in her position should be. I knew why she wasn’t, of course, but she had no way of knowing what I was. Thanks to the cuffs, my telltale blue aura was snuffed out, invisible to others with the Sight. 

 

“Yes,” she said, her tone almost bored.  

 

“I’d like to talk to you about the incident in the park,” Thompson said. “Care to tell me what happened?” 

 

“Nothing’s changed since the last time you people asked.” She huffed. “Some lunatic came running at me with half a tree in his hands, trying to take me out. I defended myself and he fell into the road. It was an accident.” 

 

“I believe you,” Thompson said. 

 

Josie’s eyes widened slightly. “You do?” 

 

“I work for the PTF,” Thompson said.  

 

Josie’s expression shifted. “Oh. I didn’t realize.” She looked at me. “You, too?” 

 

I folded my arms. “Nope, I’m just a spectator.” 

 

“What kinds of things was the man yelling?” Thompson asked. 

 

“Nonsense,” Josie said, shaking her head. “Complete gibberish.”  

 

“Two witnesses say he was screaming about your yellow glow. Thought you were an alien instead of a Hinn.” 

 

Josie appeared startled and glanced around the room, presumably searching for security cameras. “Is it safe to talk in here?” 

 

Thompson nodded. “No one’s listening.” 

 

Josie visibly relaxed. “The guy was batshit crazy. It was like he’d never had the Sight before and suddenly he could see everything at once and it was driving him insane.” 

 

“If he thought you were an alien, it sounds like he didn’t have the Sight before,” I said. Or else he’d have understood what he was seeing. 

 

“And what? He randomly inherited it in the middle of the park during a stroll?” Josie queried. “He was a grown man, not some prepubescent kid.”