Southwest Nights (Semiautomatic Sorceress Book 1) by Kal Aaron (ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📗

his head toward the house. “And the feds have three dead FBI agents that can be pinned to him. The feds will be here soon, but the chief wants this resolved before that, so my captain wants it resolved before that too, which means we’re going to do just that.” He pointed at her. “And that’s where you come in.”

“Let’s take a step back. Jorge Alvarez?” Lyssa shrugged. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

She did her best to put a face with the name. A local politician, maybe? Familiarizing herself with the area was coming along slowly, but it didn’t matter that much. Samuel was the main one giving her orders, and his area of responsibility was a lot larger than the Phoenix Metro Area. Most of her jobs since becoming a Torch hadn’t been in or even close to her home city.

Lopez scoffed. “The big bad Society Torch doesn’t know the name of a major cartel player? I thought you were supposed to be magical Special Forces? I guess TV adds ten pounds of badass to everyone.”

Lyssa stomped over to the cop, slamming her boots down on the pavement for extra emphasis. He backed away, his hand drifting toward his gun.

“Hey, everyone, just chill.” Damien waved his hands. “We’re all on the same side here. No reason to get rough.”

“Are we?” Lopez asked, his fingers twitching near his gun.

“Don’t antagonize him,” Jofi said. “That will lead to an unpleasant and unnecessary confrontation.”

“He’s antagonizing me,” Lyssa whispered. “I need to let this guy know who’s boss.”

“Your relationship with Elder Samuel is already strained. An altercation with the local Shadow authorities won’t strengthen it.”

“But it might make me feel better.”

Lopez watched her, his jaw tight. If he could hear her, he probably thought she was a nut talking to herself. Like everyone else, including most Sorcerers without spirit sorcery and normal humans, he showed no indication of hearing Jofi. This was one of the few times she wished the spirit were telepathic.

“I’m not a cop, Lieutenant Lopez.” Lyssa raised her voice. “I’m not Special Forces in the military of any country. I’m a Torch of the Illuminated Society. I destroy what I’m hired to destroy on orders from my Elders. I don’t care if you’re having some problem about that, so cut the BS and get to the point. Otherwise, stop wasting my time. Or maybe the feds will show up and decide they’ll handle Alvarez their way. And trust me, if you drew on me, you wouldn’t like how I rearranged your face.”

Lopez licked his lips and inched his hand away from his gun. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were checking for reinforcements. Others watched, but they kept their distance, some looking at the ground as if they’d be safe if they didn’t make eye contact with Lyssa.

“Do we understand each other, Lieutenant?” Lyssa asked.

“Yeah. Alvarez is garbage.” Lopez grunted. “If you can help clean him up, we’ve got no beef. Drug smuggling, murder, trafficking, and I bet the bastard doesn’t pay his light-rail fares, either.” He took a couple of deep breaths and wiped his brow, then pulled out his phone and tapped before holding up a picture of a fierce-looking man with slicked-back hair and an evil gleam in his eyes. “This son-of-a-bitch is cocky enough to murder FBI agents and stroll back home like he had been on vacation.”

Something felt off about the whole situation. The cop was right; ruthless killers were as common as glass, but the kind of criminal who rose to a position of authority in a cartel combined intelligence with ruthlessness.

Alvarez had to know the police would come for him. It was almost as if he wanted a shootout. Maybe he’d come back from his latest trip with some new toys, like a grenade launcher or a machine gun for his best Scarface impression.

“I get it. He’s not a great guy.” Lyssa snapped her head toward the house. “But I’m curious. After your little loving tribute to me, why does this require a Torch instead of a SWAT team?”

Lopez’s constipated look returned. “The mayor wants, in his own words, a better liaison with all you witches and warlocks.” He made air quotes around the word “liaison.” “He says we need to know what you’re capable of, now that we’ve got one local. We know this is a bad dude, so might as well throw you in there and let you turn him into a toad before we pitch him into a six by eight cage.”

“I’m not a witch. I’m a Sorceress, Lieutenant.”

“Isn’t Hecate technically the goddess of witchcraft?” Damien asked.

Lyssa growled at him. He backed away with his hands in front of him and an apologetic look.

“And the night, magic, ghosts, and other things, too,” he added hastily.

Lopez snorted. “Sure, sure. I don’t care. Witch, Sorceress. Whatever.” He gestured at the house. “Go in there and get ‘em, Hermione. Bust them up.”

“Very funny. For a guy who was going to wet himself before, you’re awfully cocky now.” She stepped toward him. “And like Agent Riley said, I’m Hecate.”

Despite her correction, she harbored zero doubts that Lopez didn’t know exactly what he was doing by calling her by a fictional witch’s name. Maintaining a good relationship with her Elder didn’t mean putting up with whatever crap someone wanted to shovel onto her. Lopez was already on her list of people getting a nasty fruitcake for Christmas.

Lopez glared at her, but he didn’t do a great job of concealing his shaking. “I bet you wear that freaky mask because you’re an old hag under there.”

“Not exactly. Would you like to know?” Lyssa snickered. “Maybe I’m a zombie under here. Maybe I’m nothing but a skull, or I’ve got snakes for eyebrows.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Lopez tried to keep the quiver out of his voice.

“Could have fooled me.” She shrugged.

“Now, you listen,” Lopez growled. “I don’t—"

“Hecate,” Damien snapped. “Just let it go. And you, too, Lieutenant. She’s right. The city