Natural Mage (Magical Mayhem 2)

The numbers were in my phone. Which meant I didn’t have them. The only person whose number I knew by heart was my mother, and I wasn’t desperate enough to call her. Yet.

“What do you mean, they handed her over to the vamps?” one of the guys at the table said, bristling. “What kind of shit is that?” He shot up and headed for the bar, although I wasn’t sure what, exactly, he planned to do. The guy was dressed like some sort of hipster lumberjack—carefully groomed beard, plaid shirt, and seriously tight jeans.

“She’s too powerful for anyone else to train,” Red said.

“What about that Rogue Natural?” one of the girls at the table asked, standing to get a better view of me. “She can’t be more powerful than him. I saw him, once. I’d take training with him any day.”

“Not cool, Gail,” the guy next to her said.

“What?” she shot back. “You don’t think I see you looking at other chicks? I see you looking. What’s good for the goose, as they say.”

“Please, can you give me Reagan’s number, Red?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Reagan?” one of the guys at the end of the bar murmured. “Did she say Reagan?”

“I knew she was bad news.” Smells-a-Stink huffed and backed out.

“Just perfect,” I said to myself. These people practically deified Emery.

“Listen, honey,” Hipster Lumberjack said, “you gotta stay away from that vamp-banger. Anyone that messes with those filthy creatures has got a screw loose.”

My smile was tight. “Red, the number, please. Now.”

“Red,” the bartender barked, leaning over the bar. “Get her that number. This is getting ridiculous.”

The others kept piping up, offering to train me themselves, telling stories about Emery, but I blanked it all out.

“What’d they do to you?” Hipster Lumberjack leaned toward me, resting his elbow on the bar. “We can protect you. I’m sure Roger can find training for you somewhere else. We got plenty of mages on the payroll. Let us handle it.”

“That’s a neat trick.” The bartender nodded at me. “That soft and vulnerable look really suits you. Don’t let them know what you really are until it’s too late.”

It felt like I’d walked into a circus and was currently stuck on a rotating stile. What in God’s goosebumps was she talking about?

“Look at her,” Hipster Lumberjack said, straightening and scowling at the bartender. “Clearly she’s had a rough night. She wouldn’t be asking for help if she could help herself.”

The bartender threw up her hands and took a step back. “Just saying. There’s more to her than you think.” She winked at me and sauntered down the bar.

“Here. You can use my phone. Her number is pulled up.” Red handed it over. The number on the screen was labeled “She-Devil.”

“That’s not very nice,” I said, taking the phone.

“You’re a lovely girl, don’t get me wrong, Penny,” Red said. “But you would change your tune if Reagan were the one beating up on you.”

“I’d rather her than vampires.”

Before I could call, someone shouted, “Hey!” outside.

Broad Face spun around. He had time to brace himself, bringing up his hands, before two arms came into view, grabbed his shirt, and yanked him through the door.

“Whoa,” we heard, and the door started to swing shut behind him.

The whole bar jumped to their feet. A loud bang had me flinching. The door swung open wildly and slapped the edge of the frame. The top hinge tore loose and the whole thing teetered.

“Oh no,” Red groaned, and tried to slink away.

She-Devil had arrived.

17

The street lamp behind Reagan outlined the curve of her hips, interrupted by the bulge of her fanny pack. Leather covered her legs, leading down into thick-soled boots. Only a tank top covered her upper body, but she didn’t hug her arms against the chill.

I’d never been so glad to see someone.

“Red, where are you running off to? Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked, watching him skitter to the back.

Her gaze swung to the two guys at the end of the bar, both larger than her, and both ready for battle.

She didn’t even flinch. “What are you two lug nuts looking at? Sit down before you hurt yourselves. Hey, have any of you— Oh, Penny. There you are.” She sauntered in like she belonged, when she most certainly, without even a question, did not.

Hipster Lumberjack stepped in front of me like we were besties. “We know the vampires did something to her,” he said, refusing to move. “The last thing she needs is help from your kind.”

“Oh yeah?” Reagan said as Broad Face filled the doorway behind her. He wiped blood off his chin, but didn’t advance. He probably didn’t want to be thrown again. “And. What. Kind. Is. That?” Each word was its own threat.

“Blood junkie.”

The bartender reached under the bar for something.

“Trixie, no need to jump to conclusions. I’m just here to pick up my friend,” Reagan said, giving a thumbs-up to the bartender.

“I’m not tryin’ to hate on you, Reagan, but I gotta do my job,” Trixie said. “We both know you have a reputation for ruining bars.”

“That was one time, and it wasn’t even my fault. A Mages’ Guild wannabe started it.” Reagan didn’t elaborate as she turned back to Hipster Lumberjack. “Blood junkie is a derogatory term for a vampire, actually. I’m not the one after the blood, so therefore, I am not a junkie.”

“Trixie, do you need someone to take out the trash?” one of the guys from the corner asked.

“He means me, Trix.” Reagan raised her hand. “I am the trash in this scenario.”

“You’ve got five minutes to settle down, Reagan, and then I gotta throw you out,” Trixie said, shaking her head with a small smile still on her lips.

Reagan nodded. “Sounds good to me. Like I said, I’m just here to pick up my friend. And hopefully have a little libation as I do so.”

“We know the vampires did something to her,” Hipster Lumberjack said, refusing to back off.

“Five minutes, you said?” Reagan asked Trixie.

“Four, now,” Trixie answered.

“Right.” Reagan leveled her gaze at Hipster Lumberjack. “You know what the vampires did to her, do you?”

“Yeah. Look at her.”

“Yes, look at her. Look at the untrained mage who killed four newbie vampires, scared the fifth so badly it cowered from her, and protected a mid-level vamp from one of the oldest vampires who walks the earth. A vampire so old and powerful that she very nearly killed my boyfriend—who is a blood junkie, by the way—and the higher mid-level vampire fighting by his side. If I hadn’t given him my blood just now—which is legal, since I’m magical and also willing—he would’ve perished, I would’ve gone crazy, and you’d all likely be dead. All because no one has ever documented what happens when you force an untrained natural into a life-or-death situation.”

“If she did all that,” Broad Face said, his hands on his hips and his expression sour, “then how come she is in here looking for help?”

“I said she was extremely talented and powerful.” Reagan stepped closer to Hipster Lumberjack, their faces now a foot apart and neither one backing down. “I didn’t say anything about her intelligence level. I mean, seriously. Who runs for their lives in this day and age without at least taking their phone? Wallet-schmallet, you can steal what you need. But a phone? Yeah. You need that. Or, at the very least, a good set of running shoes. Penny, you fail that test, I don’t mind telling you.”

“You got one minute left,” Trixie warned her, pulling out her shotgun.

“I just called Roger,” Red said, emerging from the back. He stayed on that side of the bar. “He’s not too far away. He’s thinking about paying us a visit.”

Reagan stiffened and turned her head, her focus no longer on Hipster Lumberjack. She narrowed her eyes at Red, who flinched before lifting his phone up like a shield.