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

along with a photorealistic graphic image of some pretty-boy soccer player who looked vaguely familiar.

Had they been playing games when the cops showed up? That didn’t seem right. There were too many people in the house. They’d expected trouble.

Lyssa kicked in the other doors to reveal empty bedrooms and a bathroom. The other rooms were already open.

She crept toward the stairs, waiting for the pressure marking sorcery or a hail of gunfire. One side of the hall ended, replaced by an ornate railing that exposed the spacious living room below. She flattened herself against the wall and looked around the corner.

The gangsters had positioned themselves behind furniture, many of them pointing their weapons toward the windows and the front door. Her arrival hadn’t cured them of fearing a SWAT raid. A small number of men watched the stairs, pistols in hand, looking nervous but not terrified. They swung toward her but didn’t fire when she pulled back.

“Jorge Alvarez, are you here?” Lyssa called. “We don’t have to do this the hard way. Your men up here experienced my power. It’s painful, and survival isn’t guaranteed. The more you resist me, the more you’re asking to die.”

Lyssa expected gunshots, but nothing came. Downstairs was eerily quiet, other than the heavy breathing of many large men and the scratches of their shoes and boots on the floor.

“Right now, I’m holding back,” Lyssa continued. “And that’s after you tried to burn me with a power you have no right to use. The police out there want you to survive to trial. I’m flexible on the matter.”

More pressure built in her chest. Lyssa ducked back to avoid the anticipated explosion. Again, nothing happened. No bullets. No explosions. No lightning. Nothing strange.

Did they have a Sorcerer working for them and not just traps, after all? That might explain why they weren’t as scared as she expected, but she had a hard time believing any Sorcerer would allow themself to get stuck in this kind of situation.

A trained Sorcerer could fight their way through police, especially if they didn’t care about casualties, but they’d be forced to use their regalia in its true form. Public use of the regalia might not reveal their identity to the police, but it would guarantee the Society knew who they were.

Being a rogue Sorcerer was a futile quest that was almost guaranteed to end in death or imprisonment. If a Torch didn’t take care of the problem, the Society would eventually send a dedicated anti-Sorcerer assassin, an Eclipse. Staying alive as a rogue Sorcerer or Sorceress mostly involved keeping out of sight, and that meant no massive unsanctioned public displays of sorcery against Shadows.

Lyssa shook her head. No, she’d been right before.

These idiots didn’t have a Sorcerer working for them. They’d gotten their hands on shards, powerful arcane objects created with sorcery that were usable by anyone. The trap fit that description, but Lyssa didn’t appreciate that no one had told her to expect shards.

“I’m beginning to think restraint is overrated,” Lyssa whispered.

“Lieutenant Lopez wanted survivors,” Jofi said. “Elder Samuel also highlighted the benefits of restraint during your last job.”

“There are plenty of survivors on the second floor. And if I sit around too long, I’m going to have to beat them up again.”

“I would think the current foes would need to demonstrate more inherent danger before you felt the need to resort to extreme force.”

Lyssa scoffed. “Fine. Let’s clear out the living room and let the cops point their guns at everyone who is left.”

She darted toward the stairs. They weren’t dark enough to use wall-walking, and it would leave her exposed for too long. She opted to bound down the stairs three at a time, trusting her enhanced speed and agility. The men guarding the stairs opened fire, leaving a trail of bullet holes in the wall behind her.

Once Lyssa made it three-quarters of the way down, she leaped over the rail. A bullet nailed her in the shoulder, stinging and tearing another small hole in her regalia before falling to the floor. She landed on top of one of the men guarding the stairs, and her quick roundhouse knocked another down. She clubbed the top of her landing pad’s head to take him out.

Beating up a house full of thugs was better exercise than the BollyX her neighbor had made her do last week. All she needed was a catchy soundtrack.

Men hidden in the back popped up from behind their furniture bunkers to fire. Others turned from the front, suddenly more concerned about her than the cops.

The living room might have been large, but it wasn’t a football field. She cleared the distance in seconds and became a whirlwind of unstoppable crushing and smashing pain. Her gangster victims collapsed to the ground, groaning and on the edge of consciousness if not out cold. Their loud echoing shots became less frequent as Lyssa continued her evil majorette routine until only the front guards remained. They’d ceased fire.

She faced them, smiling under her mask. That was one advantage of wearing a face covering. She never worried about the goofy faces she might be making in battle.

“I applaud your bravery,” she offered, letting her enhanced voice do its work. “I’ll remember you after you die.”

The guards didn’t open fire, just exchanged annoyed looks. Lyssa was about to congratulate herself on her intimidation when they all sprinted toward a large door that led to another room. The first man threw open the door, revealing a large rec room, complete with a pool table.

“Hiding in there isn’t going to help,” Lyssa shouted. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Another hallway led deeper into the house, but only the rec room and the huge empty kitchen were connected to the living room. She suspected Alvarez was hiding in the back of the house. Running would place him right in front of the cops surrounding the place, which meant he probably had a final surprise for her wherever he was holed up.

Turning her back on a