Death Rite Genie: An Urban Fantasy Folly Read online

  Death Rite Genie

  Smoke & Magic Book 2

  AE McKenna

  Published by Strikethrough Publications

  www.aemckenna.com

  DEATH RITE GENIE (SMOKE & MAGIC BOOK 2)

  Copyright © 2021 by AE McKenna

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by Rebecca Hodgkins

  Cover by Christian Bentulan

  Created with Vellum

  For Mindy

  Always for Ben

  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

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by AE McKenna

  Chapter 1

  As I drove home from work, I yawned so hard my jaw popped. It was one in the afternoon on a sunny October day, and I could sleep until tomorrow if I let myself. This being my first week as a prep cook for the morning crew of the local diner, All Up in My Eggs, was hard work. Mostly, I chopped veggies and washed dishes. Sometimes I made coffee, but I had yet to apply heat, salt, or pepper to any of the food I prepped. On the plus side, I hadn’t broken any of the appliances yet. You laugh, but it’s a genuine concern.

  If I remained patient, I could eventually cook something. Or maybe I’d wind up tripping Neil, the head chef, when he raced up and down the line, warning no one he was moving. I’d only worked with him twice, but I already knew he had it coming. He claimed cheese was a bogus way to make something delicious. We all have our faults.

  I turned into the subdivision for the house I shared with Mom and my Grandma Mags in Papillion, Nebraska. It was home base, and we were almost always there. Except for Mom. I hadn’t seen or spoken with her for a few days. Truth be told, I didn’t know what to say to her after I found out she’d sneaked around on me for a heist in the Faelands while we were in Australia working for a travel guide. Then she’d given me a bracelet—while I was Facetiming with Mal—to make it up to me. She wasn’t willing to change. I pulled into the driveway and shifted my car into park.

  There was a realty sign in my front yard.

  It hadn’t registered what I was seeing until I turned the engine off and looked at it again. A realty sign. In my yard. Pinched nerves at the base of my neck replaced the weariness tugging at my body.

  I grabbed my purple tote covered in pizza slices and climbed out of my car. This time, I caught the door before it closed and snagged my keys from the ignition. I was a work in progress. Hitching my awesome tote over my shoulder, I crossed the driveway and stepped into the grass.

  “For sale by owner?” I squinted at the sign. They’d smudged the listed number just enough that I couldn’t read it.

  A realty sign was bad news. For djinnis like myself, they were a doorway to a magical road that connected the three realms of Earth together: The Faelands, the Lantern, and the Iron Realm. There were all kinds of expressways. I was extremely familiar with Gamblers’ Road—a neon highway that connected all gambling facilities—but I’d only traveled Realty Lane once, and it had been enough. It was dangerous, filled with conniving fae, djinni and human trafficking, and I didn’t know what else. Bad food, probably. The shady realty sign on my lawn meant I had a door right to that road—and they had a door to my home. Gulping, I faced the house.

  The front door was ajar.

  My heart sped up. An ajar door could mean plenty of things: Mags or Mom forgot to close it all the way, or they were keeping it open for hauling in groceries—which we do more often than you’d think. Or… it could mean there was a horde of djinni gangsters inside shackling my mom and grandmother in gold to sell off to who knows where. I was well-experienced with that too.

  But I wasn’t the same person I was five months ago. Thanks to getting mugged in Australia, by humans no less, I knew basic self-defense and carried mace. I dug into my tote and touched my bottle. Physical contact helped to summon things from it—especially if I didn’t speak out loud to it. As usual, I found other things in my tote that should’ve stayed inside my bottle. Like a pizza wheel and a salt grinder.

  Sighing, I pulled the tote across my stomach and peered inside. My purple metallic bottle had a curved bottom with a long skinny neck, delicately painted arches and swirls, and fake gemstones glued around the mouth with a crystal stopper—an exact replica of the genie bottle from I Dream of Jeannie. It floated in the jetsam of kitchen gadgetry.

  I was learning how to deal with my true nature. Since cutting my hand dicing an onion, I’d entered my bottle willingly for the first time and healed. Mostly to avoid another trip to urgent care. Now, I used my powers and my bottle daily, but our relationship remained strained. For one, I couldn’t sleep a whole night in it, and two, it leaked. Or sometimes sucked. Literally. I’d set it on the kitchen counter last night, and it’d sucked up the toaster. It also didn’t dematerialize, and it redecorated on its own.

  I didn’t waste time chastising my bottle; I’d do that later. I just needed the mace before I went inside. I sincerely hoped someone forgot to latch the door all the way, but knowing my luck, it was djinni mobsters.

  The bottle pushed the mace halfway out and stopped. I yanked it free and flipped open the top. Holding it in front of me, I approached the door. The closer I got, the more I realized the door hinges had pulled away from the frame. I froze on the porch. It was dark inside as if the curtains were drawn, but when I checked, they were open. I couldn’t hear anything, and when I took a deep breath through my nose, I smelled nothing weird, either. I swallowed, glancing around, but no one was nearby. Which was probably a good thing. They’d call the cops, and this probably wasn’t a human problem. Exposing magic to humans broke fae canons, and who knew what the punishment would be for that. Probably gold bracelets.

  I nudged the door open the rest of the way and leaned in. “Mom? Mags? Anybody home?”

  The house was quiet. Not even the whirr of a running HVAC fan. I crossed the threshold. The voodoo blacking out the windows was a one-way trick, as light shone through, highlighting the disarray. Cracked vases, wilted petals, and dirt were scattered across the sitting room. The slipcovers on the couches had holes. Shards of Mags’s special farm scene plates littered the floor. Thank goodness I had an alibi.

  A thump from upstairs had me cautiously climb to the second-floor landing. Should I call out? What if there was a murderer up here doing murder things to my family?

  What can I do?

  My tote shifted on my arm and I caught it before it dropped to the floor; the heft of my bottle inside was oddly reassuring. I had magic now; I could do plenty. Feeling a now-familiar cold buzzing in my chest—a surefire way of knowing my bad luck could trigger with a slip of the tongue, I stepped into the hallway, ready to sarcasm someone stupid.

  I checked my mother’s room, then Mags’s, and finally the guest room. Asid
e from them being ransacked, I found no one or the cause of the thump. I clutched my lucky four-leaf clover pendant tightly. I wanted to leave, but I needed to search the rest of the house. I headed back to the stairs and halted.

  My bedroom door was open and someone had messed with my shoes! Sure, I stored most of them in my bottle now, and she—I’d begun thinking of my bottle as a her—held on to them with a firm grip even when I called for them while inside, so I hadn’t stored my complete collection. I only had one floor-to-ceiling shoe rack left. But some creep had rearranged my shoes. Like how could he—obviously male because he screwed with the color coordination—not know I had a rainbow theme?

  He’d also torn the pictures off my walls and smashed one on the floor. I whined a little. It was a precious picture. The last one with the three of us before Dad died. It was the backyard. We were huddled on the hammock and smiling. I could almost hear his voice. Pulling the photo free from the broken glass, I slipped it inside my tote. I’d get a new frame for it soon.

  My curio cabinets of charms were open and someone had rummaged through them but nothing appeared to be missing. I had so many; I wouldn’t know until I returned everything back to its place. I set my tote down, wondering what to do, and in two blinks of an eye, my bottle sucked up all the charms one by one.

  “Really?” I asked. “What about my shoes? Will you take those, too?”

  My bottle just sat there in my tote, looking full. At least it had sucked up all the gizmos when it stored my charms.

  Whatever, we needed to find Mom and Mags. I grabbed my tote, hurried downstairs, and turned into the kitchen, nearly bowled over by the smell of rotten food.

  I gagged, covering my mouth and nose. “What the hell?”

  Fruit flies swarmed the pears and bananas in the fruit bowl and buzzed the garbage cabinet. I do not keep a dirty kitchen, yet this was a scene of weeks—no, months—of neglect. How could things have gotten this bad when I’d cleaned it yesterday?

  Magic. I sniffed, but rotten fruit coupled with whatever was in the garbage was overwhelming. I hadn’t smelled anything this stinky since Supervillain Sigvald, and Mal assured me he was bottled. The jerk. Sigvald, not Mal.

  I hefted the mace in my hand. Would this do me any good? Maybe. I mean, what creature enjoyed having concentrated ghost peppers sprayed in their eyes? There were probably some.

  Backing away from the hot mess that was the kitchen, I approached the door to the backyard. The storm door was torn off its hinges, and the orchids I’d given Mags were strewn across the yellowed grass. I frowned. It would sadden her to see the state of her garden. On the plus side, my sexy new pizza oven was unscathed. Except the cover was shredded. Damn squirrels!

  I still needed to check the basement, but I had to walk through the kitchen to get to it. Pinching my nose, I hurried in, but a note addressed to me written on the kitchen wall froze me in place.

  Honeybees aren’t safe here.

  Big strokes, bold, even for a sharpie, and across the walls. Mom’s handwriting. Mags would be so pissed at us.

  My heart pounded against my ribs as I fumbled my phone open and took a picture.

  She didn’t need to tell me twice. But how was I supposed to do this on my own? Mom had been home while I was at work. There was a realty sign in my front yard, Mags’s flowers were strewn across the place, and someone had tossed the house.

  An unread text notification from Mal caught my attention. Another invitation to dumpling night.

  The answer was obvious, but… I hadn’t called him on the phone once since we parted ways in the Philippines. Yes, we texted daily, Facetimed almost as much, but after what I put him through five months ago, I was a little gun shy to see him in person. My eyes snagged on the warning again. He was the safest person, the only one I could trust. I pressed the audio button under his name and stepped outside.

  “Hey, Luce,” Mal answered, sounding drained.

  Like he knew trouble would be the only reason I’d call instead of text. Damn, was I that person? I heard voices in the background.

  “Where do you live?” I asked, struggling to unlock my car and afraid someone would open the realty sign and stop me.

  “What’s wrong?” His tone changed. Alert, concerned.

  “There’s a realty sign in my yard.” I sat in the driver’s seat. My ribs tightened painfully and I could barely breathe. “The house is a disaster.”

  The background noise dropped dramatically. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, but ‘honeybees aren’t safe here’ was written on the wall.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Okay. I’ll text you my address. If you aren’t here in thirty minutes, I’ll find you.”

  A single knot in my spine loosened. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t make me wait.”

  We disconnected and I plugged his address into my phone. He lived in Iowa but his house was only eight miles from mine. I took a deep breath, started the car, and pulled out. I was halfway down the street when the door to the realty sign opened and a djinni I didn’t recognize stepped out.

  Screw the stop sign. I floored it for the highway.

  Chapter 2

  I leaned against a car in my driveway and checked the time on my phone. Lucy wasn’t late, but I was anxious. I’d wait the entire thirty minutes, but once it rolled over one more minute, I’d drive to her house in Nebraska.

  A Web Smoke alert flashed across my screen. Originally, Web Smoke used to be the deep net as a way for djinni and fae to communicate. Then the humans started using the deep net, and people like me who worked for the Fae Bureau of Investigation had created blocks and stop gaps, which caused some problems. Thankfully, the plethora of conspiracy theorists and misinformation outweighed the truth, and magic had never truly been exposed to humans. Besides, folks like Stan Lee kept the humans’ attention and real magic remained largely hidden.

  I thumbed through the alerts. Whatever happened in Ireland yesterday had spilled over to today.

  “Hey, Mal.”

  I looked up and Lucy Avalon stood before me in a diner uniform. Wind played with a wisp of her long black hair, and the skin around her spring blue eyes crinkled as she smiled. I couldn’t help but return it. Seeing her again in the flesh after five months was a gut punch. She was unusual because she always saw me—my mostly passive magic blended me in with my surroundings. It was probably her bad luck working against my magic, but I didn’t care. I felt… special because of it. Maybe special wasn’t the right word, but it was close enough.

  Shoving my phone in my pocket, I pushed away from the car. “I was just about to come look for you.”

  “Parking was a bitch.” She gestured at the cars. “Am I interrupting a party?”

  Cars belonging to my family packed the driveway and the street in front of my ranch-style house. This was typical for Sunday. She would’ve had to park a block down.

  I grabbed her up in a hug. “Pops is ill, so we’ve been doing dumplings every weekend. Some of these cars belong to family.”

  “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She tried to pull away.

  My arms tightened around her. “It’s fine. I’m glad you called. Tell me everything.”

  Her breath fanned against my neck and I closed my eyes, taking in her wildflower scent buried beneath hours of preparing greasy food. As she described the state of her house, the broken plates, the charms scattered in her bedroom, and trashed backyard, her fingers curled into my shirt and her voice turned thick with unshed tears. I rubbed her back, hating someone had caused her this much stress and fear. She handed me her phone, showing me the picture of the warning in a filthy kitchen.

  “Here’s what we’re gonna do.” I handed back her phone. “You’re coming inside and eating with us.”

  “What about my house?”

  “Since your place was ransacked while you were at work, I think we should wait until tomorrow to thoroughly search it.” Seeing the protest in her expre
ssion, I rushed ahead. “You said someone is there right now, and there could be more by now. Unless you want me to call for help from the bureau?”

  She gasped. “But they don’t know anything about me, not to mention they’re after my mom.”

  “Then let’s wait until tomorrow to check everything out.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, smoothing a wrinkle from my shirt. “How sick is your dad? I don’t want to short out any machines or…”

  “He’s not that sick and don’t refer to him as my dad. He’s my grandpa. Pops has seven human kids, but only two have passed away, and one of them acts as my parent for appearances. Everyone believes I work in the Art Theft program for the human FBI. Got it?”

  Her brows pulled together and she took a step backward. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. I don’t want to blow your cover.”

  I scratched my jaw. “Yeah, well, I don’t want you to be alone, so I’m willing to risk it. Just go along with whatever I say, okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what happened to my mom or Mags. I didn’t know what to do. I’m just... I’m just scared.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  I wrapped my arms around her, hating to hear her cry and wishing there was more I could do.

  “Is this your girlfriend Lucy?” my sister asked. Of course, she’d see this. Kaede lived for this sort of thing.

  Lucy blushed. “We’re only friends.”

  The happy thrum of my heart stalled. “Yeah.” Then to Luce, I said, “This is my Aunt Kaede.”