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  Off Duty

  A Chaos Mages Short Story

  Alex Steele

  Steel Fox Media LLC

  Off Duty

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental. All inquiries can be sent to [email protected].

  First edition, November 2018

  Version 1.0, November 2018

  ISBN 978-1-7324518-6-5

  Copyright © 2018 Alex Steele

  Cover © Steel Fox Media LLC

  Cover by Deranged Doctor Design

  Character illustrations by Zhivko Zhelev

  The Chaos Mages Series (along with the plot / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2017-18 Alex Steele and Steel Fox Media LLC

  To all who have had a very bad date…

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Want more?

  Make a Difference

  Acknowledgments

  Follow me

  About the Author

  Recommendations from Alex

  One

  I sat back in my chair, trying to appear relaxed. Her steel gray eyes followed my every move. She could tell if I was lying, if I was nervous, or if I was holding back. Detective Kay Beckett wasn’t anybody's fool. She was the best officer in the NYPD, and she didn’t give a crap that I was a mage.

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Logan Blackwell, you have a reputation.”

  “Is that so?” I asked, raising a brow.

  “The incident in St. Louis, the explosion in Prague, and the city block that was destroyed in Dublin,” she said, counting off the incidents on her slender fingers. “Everyone knows it was you.”

  “Yet no one has proof,” I said, a grin sliding across my face. “There are always accusations, but if you can’t make them stick, they’re just gossip.”

  This probably shouldn’t be fun, but it was. It was a challenge, and not much was these days.

  She snorted and crossed her arms. “Are you saying you didn’t destroy the arch in St. Louis?”

  “I’m saying no one can prove it was me. Why would someone even want to destroy a landmark like that?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? What would drive a detective with the IMIB to cause such destruction everywhere he goes?” She lifted her water and took a sip. Condensation dripped from the bottom of the ice cold glass.

  I swallowed, my throat painfully dry. I was practically dying of thirst. “Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

  She set her glass down and leaned in. “No. I also don’t think that’s a very good excuse. It makes me trust everything you say a little less.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” I said, leaning in. Her perfume drifted across the table. It was light and tasteful. “Trust is important in these sorts of situations.”

  “So, tell me Logan, is your boss covering for you? Or do you just buy your way out of things?” she asked.

  “Is that what you’ve heard? That I buy my way out of things?” I asked, feigning shock. I couldn't quite keep the amusement off my face, which she noticed immediately.

  Her eyes narrowed and she pinned me down with a glare. “Answer the question, Blackwell. I’m not here to play games with you.”

  Sighing, I leaned back in my chair. “Fine. The answer is neither. Every single instance has been completely justified. However, the St. Louis Arch wasn’t entirely my fault.”

  “Oh, now you’re trying to justify what you’ve done?” She grabbed her glass again, shaking her head. My eyes followed the water, my thirst growing worse as she taunted me with it.

  “How else was I supposed to stop––”

  “I’m so sorry for the wait, sir,” the waiter said, finally appearing with my glass.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said with a nod, grabbing it before he could set it down and draining half in one gulp.

  “The appetizers will be here momentarily. I’ll go ahead and get you a refill as well,” the waiter said, eyeing my half-emptied glass.

  “If you were that thirsty, I would have given you a drink,” Kay said with a laugh. The smile brightened her face.

  She looked beautiful this evening. Her black hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. She’d even worn a dress, which I hadn’t expected. It was some kind of shimmery, black material that hugged her curves. The neckline made it extremely difficult to keep my eyes on her face, but I was doing my best.

  “It’s fine, I wasn’t even that thirsty,” I said, waving her suggestion away.

  She raised her brow. “You know I can tell when you lie, right?”

  “You’re not supposed to use your detective skills on a date,” I teased with a smirk.

  She shook her head with a smile and relaxed back in her chair, her gaze wandering toward the windows. We had a decent view of Central Park from the dining room of the Met.

  I’d gotten reservations a week ago then asked Kay out. I’d consulted with her on a homicide that had turned out to be under the jurisdiction of the IMIB –– International Magical Investigations Bureau –– where I worked as a detective and we’d hit it off. It wasn’t every day that I met a woman I was interested in having more than a one-night stand with. Especially a human woman. I was almost one hundred fifty years old –– mages were very long-lived –– and there was a strange disconnect with humans most of the time.

  I didn’t despise them for their differences, I just rarely had any reason to form a relationship with one of them. Many humans, or as we called them, prosaics, were suspicious of mages and other supernatural races. They thought of us as arrogant and reckless. We were harder to kill and less prone to disease, so it changed our outlook on life.

  “I was surprised you actually asked me out,” Kay said, her eyes returning to my face. They really were piercing. I could completely understand why she had a reputation as an interrogator. She got confessions more than any other detective in the city.

  I tapped my finger against my glass. “Why were you surprised? We spent the entire case dancing around each other.”

  She laughed. “That we did. However, you also have a reputation for inviting women over for one night, not out to dinner.”

  I frowned, feeling a little insulted. “People gossip too much. Though it’s true, I don’t date much.”

  “Well that’s pretty typical for IMIB agents and NYPD officers, so I guess I can’t judge you too harshly for that.” She picked up her menu and scanned the options briefly. “Do you have a favorite? I’ve come to the museum dozens of times, but never the restaurant.”

  “I’ve actually never been here before either, so your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that. I can show you my favorite ex
hibits after we eat.”

  “That would be great,” I said with a smile. It seemed like the interrogation part of the date was over.

  Two

  The museum was much less crowded this near to closing than it had been when we first arrived. Eating first, per Beckett's recommendation, had been a smart choice.

  We were currently wandering through a gallery filled with Italian decorative pieces. They had the room divided up between prosaic and supernatural items to highlight the cultural differences between the two.

  I stopped in front of a formerly cursed chair. Apparently, it had prematurely aged anyone unlucky enough to sit in it.

  It was a hideous brocade thing with skulls carved into the wooden handles. Honestly, anyone who sat in that was just dumb. It looked cursed.

  "Nasty piece of work," Beckett commented, reading the tag explaining its history while slipping her arm into mine. This date was going better than expected in many ways. She was easy to talk to if a little...intense at times.

  "It says it was made in 1702. Were you alive when this was made?" she asked, raising her brow at me.

  I laughed. "I'm not that old."

  If we were both prosaics, our age difference would turn this into a sugar daddy and golddigger kind of relationship. Mages lived much longer than prosaics, and we seemed to age differently. Our minds held up to the passage of time. We adapted better. As a result, most prosaics couldn’t tell how old we were.

  An announcement over the loudspeakers alerted us that the museum would be closing in fifteen minutes and asked us to head toward the exit.

  Beckett grabbed my hand. "There's one last exhibit I have to show you before they kick us out."

  We jogged through the exhibits to a nearby gallery, passing a few other people that were actually obeying the announcement. This place was massive. The entire museum was two million square feet. It had five floors, though many of the exhibits were several stories tall which meant the upper floors were nothing more than a few rooms on the edges of the structure.

  As we rounded a corner, we almost ran into a security guard.

  "Oh sorry––" Beckett froze, recognition dawning on her face. "Mr. Garrett?"

  "Kay?" A smile lit up his wrinkled face. They embraced, both grinning wildly.

  "I had no idea you worked here now!" she exclaimed, taking a step back but keeping her hands on his arms.

  "Started about six months ago, after I retired. I'm getting too old to run around after criminals. I thought at first they were just getting faster, then realized I was old, fat, and slow." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Who's this with you?"

  "Logan Blackwell, an IMIB agent," she said, introducing us. "And my date for the evening."

  "Your date? Oh, well isn't that a surprise," Mr. Garrett said, shaking my hand firmly with a smile.

  "Oh hush," she said, crossing her arms.

  "How do you two know each other?" I asked, curious.

  "He was my father's partner," Beckett answered with a smile.

  "Where are you two headed in such a hurry?" Mr. Garrett asked.

  "I wanted to show him the stained glass in the Medieval Treasury, we somehow skipped it on the way here."

  Mr. Garrett glanced at his watch, then waved us on. "Alright, go ahead. I'll come find you in twenty minutes and walk you out."

  We both nodded our thanks and hurried on toward that exhibit.

  "I didn't realize your father was a detective as well," I said as we walked.

  She nodded, face going somber. "He was killed in the line of duty the year I joined the academy."

  "I'm sorry to hear that." I squeezed her hand lightly. No one liked having their dead parents brought up. Especially on a date. I was seriously out of practice.

  "No worries, you had no way of––"

  Four loud explosions in quick succession shook the building and the lights went out, plunging us into total darkness.

  Three

  The emergency lights flickered on, casting an orange glow in the gallery. Beckett and I peeled ourselves off the wall and crept toward the entryway we'd just passed through. This was not good. On a scale of getting a kiss goodnight to getting a glass of wine thrown in your face, this was a bad turn closer to having your date call the police. Except she was the police.

  Beckett had pulled a baton out of...well, I didn't know where. She had a flashlight in her other hand. Some prosaics carried guns, but most used other weapons. Guns became useless artifacts after the supernaturals came out of the closet almost a century ago. Any mage worth their salt could protect against that kind of attack with a simple anti-high-velocity shield spell, and most prosaics could get their hands on enchanted clothing that did the same thing.

  "Where were you keeping all that?"

  "You don't want to know." She hurried toward the door and peeked around the corner. "That sounded like it came from the direction of the entrance, right?"

  "I think it came from several directions, actually," I said, following close behind her and drawing a rune of revelation in the air. It would give me a snapshot of the immediate vicinity to let us know if we were alone or not.

  The bright lines of magic floated in the air for a moment before dissolving with a pop. An outline of the area around us formed in the air. Two red dots hovering in a room signified the two of us. There was no one nearby. "We're alone, we should head toward the entrance and see what the hell is going on."

  "I have a bad feeling about this," Beckett said quietly, her fingers tightening on her baton.

  "Me too."

  Explosions, especially at a place like this, were never accidental. The only question was whether it was a robbery, or if someone was planning on flattening the place. I could probably keep us alive if they did, but it'd be a pain in the ass.

  We both went silent as we crept through the dimly lit halls. The emergency lights made the place eerie. The statues and paintings were cast in shadow. Our breathing seemed overly loud.

  Following the signs that directed us toward the entrance, we rounded a corner. Ahead of us was a bigger room that housed the Medieval Sculpture Hall. The statues stood frozen in place like pale, stone ghosts beneath the vaulted ceiling.

  A shout rent through the place, echoing off the stone floors. There was a loud snarl, and the shout cut off abruptly.

  Before I could stop her, Beckett kicked off her heels and sprinted toward the sound. There was nothing to do but follow. I thought I was reckless, but any prosaic who would charge at a werewolf with nothing but a baton and a flashlight had to be absolutely insane.

  As we wove through the statues, I spotted a glimpse of the werewolf's yellow eyes reflected in the light of Beckett's flashlight. It was half-shifted –– something many weres preferred since it was quicker and you kept your opposable thumbs –– its back stooped and its face caught between a snout and a human face. The creature's hands were misshapen, with claws extending from the fingertips. Patchy black fur sprouted from his skin. A body lay at his feet in a growing pool of blood.

  "Police! Put your hands up!" Beckett shouted as she slid to a halt about twenty feet away. That was good. She knew to keep her distance.

  I circled around to the left, fingers twitching for the katana I usually carried. Of course, for this one date, I thought it'd be polite to leave it at my apartment. I didn't expect to be fighting werewolves.

  The creature growled, baring its teeth at her. "Not going to happen, prothaic." His massive teeth causing him to speak with a lisp.

  Before Beckett could speak again, he charged. Electricity crackled to life on Beckett's baton. She sidestepped the werewolf's aggressive charge and swung it like a baseball bat, catching him in the stomach. He roared in pain as his muscles contracted sharply.

  The prosaics had learned to deal with supernaturals. They'd always be at a disadvantage, but they poked at every weakness they could. A burst of electricity that intense would kill another prosaic, but would only temporarily cripple a shifter. Vampires got maced with
garlic. And mages...well, it was really better to just have another mage.

  She brought the baton down on his back in two sharp whacks. He seized with each strike, then went still. His half-shift faded with his loss of consciousness. The claws returned to hands and his misshapen head returned to normal, revealing a man in his mid-thirties, at least in dog years, with a paw tattoo on his cheek. If that gang sign was what I thought it was, then he definitely wasn't an upstanding citizen. Not that it was really in question at this point.

  I ran over to them, magic still ready at my fingertips just in case he woke up.

  "You could have helped," she snapped, keeping her baton ready as I knelt and began searching his body.

  "Helped? You charged a werewolf then beat his ass with a baton. Pretty sure you didn't need help." I found a radio on his belt, zip ties in the pockets of his cargo pants, and a knife that was big enough to be classified as a machete. "Why does he even need a knife?"

  "Can we tie him up?" Beckett asked, adjusting the grip on her baton.

  "He'll break the zip ties easily. If we can't tie him up with silver, he won't be held. Honestly, even that's risky if he's determined enough."

  As if on cue, he twitched. She whacked him again and electricity leapt through his body.

  "Well, I guess you could just beat him to death," I said with a shrug.

  "Shut up. You're one of them, come up with a solution," she snapped, having lost her sense of humor. Glancing at the body near us, I couldn't really blame her.

  I dragged a hand down my face and sighed. "Alright, give me a moment."