Quinn Read online

  Quinn

  An Urban Fantasy

  Ann Gimpel

  Contents

  Quinn

  Book Description, Quinn

  Books in the Circle of Assassins Series

  Author’s Note

  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

  Book Description, Rhiana

  Rhiana, Chapter One

  About the Author

  Also by Ann Gimpel

  Quinn

  Circle of Assassins, Book Two

  An Urban Fantasy

  * * *

  By

  Ann Gimpel

  * * *

  Tumble off reality’s edge into a twisted world fueled by lore and magic

  Copyright Page

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © January 2020, Ann Gimpel

  Cover Art Copyright © October 2020, Covers by Julie, JMN Art

  Edited by Kate Richards

  Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, e-mail, or web posting without written permission from the author.

  Book Description, Quinn

  The only constant in my long life is murder. Assassin for hire, to put a finer point on it. I’m an earth wizard. Usually, we’re on the peaceful side. Not sure what happened to me, but I never fit in with my kinsmen. They’d have chased me out of the fold—for obvious reasons—but I saved them the trouble. I left on my own. The same way I left the Circle of Assassins because it was too tame for my taste. Or maybe too structured.

  Along with my bondmate, an oversized eagle, I’ve been playing fast and loose with the rules forever. Of course, the rules have changed, but I’ve rolled with the punches. Never found a policy I couldn’t manipulate to my advantage.

  There’s an old saying about life coming full circle. It’s about to snatch me up and spit me out. I can run, but there’s nowhere far enough to hide from what I am or the Circle of Assassins.

  My first home.

  My first nemesis.

  Grigori said I’d be back. How in the hell could he have known?

  Books in the Circle of Assassins Series

  Shira, Book One

  Quinn, Book Two

  Rhiana, Book Three

  Kylian, Book Four

  Author’s Note

  Between Covid-19 and the California fires, I’ve had a lot of time to dream up ideas for books. Watching too much Blacklist and Warehouse 13 and Stranger Things probably didn’t help. And the last season of Supernatural. I will miss Sam and Dean…

  Meanwhile, a concept shaped up for me. Assassins have always held a fascination factor. Death is a job for them, but what kind of people are they beneath their knives and guns and poison? Toss a few bond animals into the mix, and the bones for a darkish urban fantasy series took shape.

  Within its pages, you’ll meet men and women who found their way to an age-old profession. Every king worth his salt had a court assassin, and so has every ruler from olden times to modern. If you’re shaking your head saying such things can’t happen today, consider “suicides” that are swept under a whole bunch of rugs. Oddly enough, the victims of those suspicious deaths had stories to tell, stories someone wanted silenced—forever.

  Quinn would understand completely. And he wouldn’t give two hoots about any of it.

  Chapter 1

  Automatic weapons make a hell of a racket. My ears ached. Worse, they’d be ringing for days. Depressing the trigger of my Kalashnikov, I fired another burst in the general direction of the Taliban commando unit. It had been mighty quiet these past few minutes, but I didn’t trust those bastards as far as I could see them. It’s not accidental the Brits have never won a war against them. For that fact, neither has the US. Mountains are high and wild and inhospitable in this remote locale with a million places to hide and stage counterattacks. No matter how rough things got, local militia had an ace in the hole: they wore their enemy out until they gave up and went home.

  I’m not in the habit of giving up. Period. My ace in the hole is I have magic. I’m an earth wizard. Or earth mage. Means the same thing. There aren’t too many of us left, not because we died out but because we got tired of dealing with mortals and made a run for other worlds.

  They’re not perfect, either, those other places. I know. I’ve shopped them, and I always end up right back here slopping around in mud and blood and guts. Most earth mages are pacificists at heart. No idea what happened to produce an outlier like me.

  Afghanistan could be the poster child for human quirks. Over the past few decades, it’s transitioned from being run by Russians to the US training the Taliban to overthrow the USSR to the Taliban spiraling out of control and giving the US hell’s own time.

  I never take sides. I’m for sale to the highest bidder so long as what they’re asking me to do doesn’t run aground on the few scruples I have left.

  More firepower rained from the two men with me on this mission. Spaced fifty feet to either side, they were solid fighters. The mercenary world is small. We all more or less know one other, but not too well. It’s not that kind of club.

  “Quinn.” My earphone hissed static along with my name.

  “Yup. What?”

  “Think they’re dead?” Rafael asked.

  Breath hissed from between my teeth. It was the question of the hour. “No. But any survivors are long gone.”

  “How? I’d have killed anything that dislodged so much as a pebble,” he growled.

  “Another of their infernal underground tunnel systems. How else?”

  “What do you want to do?” a different voice joined the discussion. Leon had clearly been listening in.

  More hissing breath as I considered his question. “Move in. Sweep for survivors. Search for anything that looks like a tunnel entrance and drop grenades.”

  “Works for me,” Leon agreed cheerfully. Being on the move was always preferable to staying in one spot.

  Rustling from both sides alerted me my companions were on the move. I paced myself to their stride until we arrived at a five-hundred-foot granite wall. Its broken rockwork offered virtually unlimited paths upward to still more crags above. Bodies littered the ground. I never bother to count, and I didn’t now. Dead was dead, and these poor fuckers weren’t dressed for the minus twenty temps. Maybe we’d done them a favor. Dragging out my phone, I snapped pictures to provide proof we weren’t out here with our dicks in our hands jacking off.

  A spate of curses from Rafael brought me at a run. He stood over exactly what I’d been certain we’d find. A hole in the ground leading god only knew where. “Got it,” Rafe mumbled as he pulled pins and dropped grenades. By the time they detonated, we were a hundred yards away, running over talus blocks and sucking dry cold air. Our work was done, no reason to tarry.

  “Fuck me. Bird’s still there,” Leon shouted and fist pumped empty space in front of him.

  “Sure is a pretty sight,” Rafael chimed in.

  I’d given it fifty-fifty our ride wouldn’t be d
isturbed. Not great odds, but better than the usual in my business. Of course, I didn’t actually need the chopper. I can teleport. Saved a lot of explanations, though, since I’d be the logical one to come back with another bird.

  It’s where not being BFFs came in handy. None of the dudes I worked with asked very many questions. Or any at all about the times I’d bailed them out. Rafael and Leon hadn’t worried about the chopper being stripped for parts—or blown up—because they had faith I’d produce another exit strategy on short notice.

  Leon headed for the bird at an easy lope.

  “Hold up,” I yelled. “We don’t want any ugly surprises.”

  “Like it exploding when you hit the ignition?” Rafael arched dark brows. Not that everyone I work with is a clone, but men in this trade all have the same look. Roughhewn with lots of muscles, they’ve lived through nightmares and keep coming back for more. Truth was they didn’t do well in polite society, and they knew it. Kind of like snarling watchdogs; necessary, but no one wanted to get too close to them.

  The occasional woman is drawn to this life, but not many. Too bad because there’s nothing quite as fierce as a cornered bitch.

  I understood all of it too well. Assassins are born, not made. We only feel alive when adrenaline is pumping, and Death’s dank breath stinks up the joint. I bit back a snort as I went through the chopper from stem to stern with Rafael and Leon helping. Death was actually a woman, and she wouldn’t have appreciated my reference to stinky breath.

  “Clear,” Leon yelled. Rafael echoed the word.

  I’d just yanked the door open when the rat-a-tat-tat of an automatic rifle jerked my attention away from the chopper. More rifles joined the choir. Damn it. I could deal with one, or even two, from the air, but not the dozen or better filling the night with their death chant.

  “Fuck. Not home free yet,” I shouted. Feeling naïve and gullible—and pissed—I dove for a boulder pile This attack made perfect sense; I should have expected it. The Taliban hadn’t bothered to boobytrap the chopper. Why go to the trouble when they could kick back and wait for us to return to it.

  Leon zigged and zagged before jumping next to me. I scanned for Rafael, but didn’t see him. Rather than wasting magic, I relied on our communicators. “Dude. Make a run for it.”

  Bullets peppered the rocky ground. Bits of broken granite blew everywhere, deadly as shrapnel.

  “Nah,” Rafael’s crusty voice crackled against my earpiece. “I’m good where I am.”

  “Hold your fire,” I cautioned. “Let’s let them burn up more ammo.”

  “Copy that,” Rafe muttered.

  For the next quarter hour, we hunkered as bullets splatted around us. I sent a thread of power outward, intent on eavesdropping. Maybe I’d hear something helpful, like if they had enough ammunition to last all night. It had been dark for a couple of hours, and the temperature was dropping—if that were even possible.

  The Taliban has always drawn its ranks from small remote villages. Driven by faith, they were fearless fighters and as tough an adversary as I’d come across. I’d fought them before—many times. Often enough, I’d even been approached about switching sides, but some of their activities rub me the wrong way. Human trafficking, for one.

  “Christ. Colder than a well digger’s ass,” Leon mumbled and dragged a hood over his helmet.

  Cold weather gear was cush-city these days, compared with the ratty woolen coats we used to have that always smelled like rancid sheep fat. I’d have called him a pussy if I weren’t so intent on deciphering a conversation in Dari and Pashto.

  I held up a hand. “Ssht.”

  “No one can hear us,” he protested. “Not with all this racket.”

  It wasn’t why I’d silenced him. A trio of the rebels were arguing—in two languages. They hadn’t counted on us going to ground. They’d assumed they’d smoke us out and make short work of us. Ha. I’m not in the habit of being easy pickings for anyone, and certainly not this bunch of dicks.

  “You need to get out of there,” a familiar voice buzzed through my head.

  “What do you see?” I asked my sidekick. Some would call him a familiar, but he’s been my partner in the assassin trade for hundreds of years. He’s an eagle, but only in a very distantly related sense. In the days he was hatched, they were far larger, true birds of prey. His given name is Roland, but I saddled him with Gwaihir after Lord of the Rings became popular. It amused him—after I told him about Tolkien’s tale—and he hasn’t said not to call him that. Not yet anyway.

  “Men are moving toward you,” the eagle squawked.

  “How many?” I screwed my mouth into a scowl. Counting wasn’t the sort of thing he excelled at.

  “Too many.”

  Not the answer I’d hoped for, but I trusted my bondmate.

  “We’ve got problems,” I told Leon, assuming Rafael would hear too.

  “How do you know?” Leon shot back. “Nothing’s changed.”

  I keep Gwaihir a secret. It’s why he was in the air and not down here with us. After a small shrug, I said, “Instincts.”

  “You’ve got to do better than that, dude,” Rafe protested.

  No. I didn’t. Since no answer would satisfy him I didn’t offer one. He didn’t push it, either.

  Thoughts collided as options bounced around. We couldn’t take the chopper. She’d be shot down before we got off the ground. It only left one option, and it wasn’t something I could talk about. I located Rafe easily and crafted the underpinnings of a spell to move us all out of here.

  “What you thinking, boss?” Leon nudged me.

  “Going to have to trust me,” I mumbled and sent a wing of my casting to scoop Rafe into it. Was it worth wasting ammunition? So far, we hadn’t fired a shot. The same phalanx of boulders protecting us meant we’d have to move beyond their shadows to use our weapons. I was still listening to the three men haranguing each other. Since I’d established a link, I rode in on it and opened the dirt beneath their feet.

  At first, they probably figured it was another quake. The ground was riddled with fissures from volcanic disturbances. By the time they realized this was something different, that they’d be sucked through layers and layers with rocks sealing their egress, it would be too late.

  So much for those three. Were the others worth killing? If I told my comrades-in-arms we were going to open fire, they’d be all over it. Murder has a seductive aspect, particularly when the target is fighting back. Makes it easier to justify atrocities. Not that I’ve ever required an excuse to snuff out a life.

  Leon elbowed me again and angled a come-on-already look out of clear blue eyes. He was right. We’d overstayed our welcome. One of the sheltering boulders exploded, peppering me with rock fragments.

  Clock just ran out.

  I tightened the wing of my spell draped over Rafael and ignited it. The shithole countryside dropped away, and we catapulted through blackness. No worries about Rafe and Leon. Something about the vibrational force of teleporting rendered mortals unconscious.

  We were headed back to Camp Leatherneck Marine base in Helmand province. The CO would be irate about his chopper. Or not. Far from the first aircraft lost in combat, it wouldn’t be the last, either. Besides, I hadn’t completely given up on it. Our mission had originated at Leatherneck, but I wouldn’t bring us down inside the base. I could do a little bit of memory alteration with my buddies, but not with everyone on the base who saw us wink into existence out of thin air.

  Too many balls in the air when I wasn’t certain who’d seen what. People would compare notes, though, and it made modifying memories a total crapshoot. Gossip ran rampant in spots like Camp Leatherneck. It was the kind of place that turned humans into alcoholics—or addicts. Drugs were cheap and plentiful in the Middle East. The Marines had a sporadically enforced policy about illicit drugs tucked away somewhere. I had vague memories of signing it along with a spate of other hush-hush agreements.

  It’s a dirty little secret the mi
litary hires mercenaries to do certain aspects of their wet work. Places where it would be inconvenient to admit US involvement have made me a wealthy man. Except I was set for life long before the war in the Middle East.

  Once I made the mistake of asking a high-ranking Army officer if he had second thoughts about training the Taliban. He’d turned on his heel and left the supply tent. Eh, when you’re as old as I am diplomacy isn’t a driving force.

  My spell, which had been chugging along on autopilot, was running down. Not dissimilar to the barren region we’d left, I dropped us a few miles outside the Marine installation on a high, windswept mesa. A squawk from above told me the eagle had anticipated my moves and beaten me here. Shit. He was worse than a wife, not that I’ve ever had one. Women are a complication I don’t need. I settled Rafael and Leon with their backs leaned against substantial rocks. They had GPS equipment and could figure out where they were once they came around. I expected to be back before then, but plans have a way of derailing. While they were still out cold, I mucked around and planted a memory of us making a run for it.

  And then, I deepened their trances to make it believable we’d covered the miles between where we left the chopper and here. Because they were sitting ducks, I swathed them in invisibility and ripped a page out of the small notebook I never gave up carting around.