Stitching the Talisman (Kali James Book 3), page 1
Copyright © 2022 by L.A. McBride
author@lamcbride.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
Cover Artist: Natalie Narbonne
Editor: Sara Lundberg
ISBN: 978-1-957445-05-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
NEWSLETTER SIGNUP
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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
Note to Readers
Books by L.A. McBride
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER 1
No one charged into battle quite like a group of twenty-somethings with too much time on their hands and access to an Army surplus store, as evidenced by the group of men across from us. After a tense few weeks, we were ready for a distraction, which is how we ended up outside the local paintball range waiting to face off with our archnemeses. Other than Janis’s visiting niece who was a paintball virgin, we’d all been to this range several times, thanks to our ongoing rivalry with this band of twenty-something jerks who fancied themselves soldiers.
What had started a couple months ago as a fun way to spend a Saturday with Riley’s witches quickly escalated into what Bea had dubbed Paintball Wars. So far, we were 0-4. The douche brigade we were up against took paintball very, very seriously. Not only did they show up rain or shine dressed in military fatigues, they brought MREs for snacks like they were actual Army rangers or something. They also came armed with elaborate battle plans.
The only formation we’d managed so far was forward.
Today, we were down three players. Emma was out of town visiting her grandmother who just had surgery, Bennie refused to come back after “the incident,” and Alyce’s tricky hip was acting up. That left me, Riley, Janis, Bea, Helen, and Janis’s twenty-four-year-old niece Olivia. Riley had offered to recruit a couple substitutes so we’d have the required eight people to go head-to-head with the guys. Knowing Riley, it was hard to say who would show up, but whoever it was, she assured me they’d be here by starting time.
“How do I work this thing?” Olivia shook the paintball gun before looking down the barrel. Olivia was staying with Janis while she looked for a job that would get her out of her tiny South Dakota hometown. She was a wide-eyed strawberry blonde who jumped at her own shadow. I didn’t have high hopes for her paintball prowess.
Bea grabbed the paintball gun out of Olivia’s hands and demonstrated how to use it again. Today, Bea looked like a Golden Girls meets Rambo mashup. She might have been in her late sixties, but Bea was rocking the camo. Although Riley and Bea had tried to convince me to wear camouflage, there were some fashion lines I refused to cross. That was one of them. I’d settled on cute hiking boots, skinny black jeans, and a forest green sweater with a scoop neck low enough I hoped it would give me a tactical advantage.
Riley scowled at Olivia, who was still fumbling around with her paintball gun. “I think she’s going to be a liability.” Riley nudged me in the side. “We better not lose.”
“We always lose,” I countered. Facts were facts, no matter how much I’d like to make those puffed-up jerks eat paint.
“Not this time,” Riley smirked. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Me, too,” Helen said, clutching her brown paper lunch bag. Only Helen knew what was in it, and she refused to let us peek. She mumbled something about secret weapons and ruining the surprise. The guys on the other team had made one too many old women jokes the last time we faced off, so Helen was out for blood. I just hoped whatever she had in her bag didn’t get us arrested.
Riley high-fived Helen before turning back to the parking lot and waving both arms enthusiastically. I turned around to see who she’d talked into joining our rag-tag group. Then, I gawked at the last two people I expected to show up.
“How on earth did you convince them to do this?” I asked Riley.
Craig Ward and Max Volkov were headed our way, and the closer they got, the more annoyed they both looked.
“I told them we needed firepower.” Riley fist pumped. “We’re so gonna win.”
I took in the murderous look Volkov was leveling at Riley. “I don’t think he’s going to play.”
“He’ll play.” Riley exuded confidence that didn’t falter even when Volkov nearly popped a vein.
“Why the fuck are we here, Riley?” Volkov asked.
She grabbed his arm with one hand and Craig’s with her other, high-stepping backward as she pulled them onto the range. “Come on. I’ll explain while you gear up.”
They must have been taken off guard because they followed her despite the seriously irritated expressions they were both wearing. As soon as we were on the range, Riley dropped their arms to dig into our bag of supplies. She pulled out the camo paint she’d swiped from my costume shop and squeezed some out of the tube. Standing on her tiptoes, she smeared it across one of Volkov’s cheeks, preparing to do the same to the other until he grabbed her hand to stop her.
He leaned down so the two of them were eye level. “This explanation had better be good because you said you needed protection.”
Riley used her free hand to swipe the paint off the one he held in a tight grip. Before Volkov could object, she reached up and smeared it on the other side of his face. “We do.” She pointed to the benches where the other team was camped out. “Those guys are going to take us all out unless you two help us.”
Volkov grabbed her second hand, rendering her temporarily immobile. “You do realize I’m the alpha, right?”
Riley shrugged. “So?”
“So, I have more important things to do than play games with a bunch of witches and wannabe soldiers.” Volkov practically snarled in her face.
Helen tried to thump Volkov in the back of his head, but at four foot ten, all she managed was a good thwack between his shoulder blades. “You better watch your tone around me, pup.”
Volkov opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut again. He let go of Riley’s hands and took a step away from all of us, presumably to gain control of his rising temper.
I looked at Craig who telegraphed his annoyance more subtly than Volkov but no less effectively. “Sorry. I had no idea she called you.”
Craig scanned me from head to toe, lingering on the neckline of my sweater, before surveying the range with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”
Bea chose that moment to step into his personal space and plaster herself against his side. She batted her eyelashes at him. “We’re here for Paintball Wars, sugar.” She grabbed one of his big hands and held it up. “I’ll bet with hands like this, you’ll be able to handle a paintball gun real good.” Bea made the most boring things sound lewd. It was her superpower.
Craig took a deep breath through his nose and stared at a point on the other side of the range.
Volkov rejoined the group, his face slightly less livid than when he’d walked away. “We are not staying.”
“Don’t be like that,” Riley cajoled. “Isn’t this what you train for?”
“This,” he said, gesturing around the range, disgust evidence in his voice, “is most definitely not what I train for.” Volkov threw his hands up as if to ward Riley off.
Before he could storm off, the douche brigade started in.
“That’s right, pretty boy. You better run back home. Wouldn’t want to muss up your hair.” The skinny guy sitting next to the guy running his mouth laughed loudly and clapped his friend on the back.
Volkov looked incredulous. “Did he just call me a pretty boy?” There was no denying he was attractive with his dark hair and pale blue eyes, but Volkov looked more like he belonged in an NFL huddle than a boy band. I was certain this was the first time anyone had dared call him pretty.
The guy doubled down. “You heard me.” He stood up and struck a model pose. Like a pack of hyenas, the rest of the group leaned in, ready for the blood sport to begin. Idiots.
But they were far from done. The most athletic guy in their group nudged his buddy before pointing at Craig. “Hey big man, why don’t you stay? I haven’t had a target that big since your mama.”
Craig stiffened, the only tell that he was contemplating ri
“You mean the way we got to you, sweet cheeks?”
Craig picked me up and swiveled to the side before setting me back on my feet. He made a move toward the group of loudmouths who had suddenly gone very quiet. With the build of a tank, flinty gray eyes, and a shaved head, Craig was intimidating without trying. And right now, he was trying.
Riley got to Craig before he reached the guy, thrusting a giant paintball gun into his hands. “You ready to nail these assholes?”
Craig smiled and pointed over her head at the heckler. “I’m coming for you.”
The guy paled and stumbled back a step, the others closing ranks.
With an exaggerated sigh, Volkov stalked over to our weapons pile and picked through them until he found a gun that passed his inspection. He held out his hand, still looking annoyed to be here. “Paintballs?”
Riley rushed to hand over the ammo without a word.
Alyce cackled and settled herself on the far bench, reaching inside her purse to pull out several mini bottles of alcohol. She collected them from hotel rooms and flights like most people collect soaps and little shampoos. She downed the first one in a single gulp and lined the others up next to her. “Give ‘em hell boys!”
Riley rounded everyone up in a circle and stuck her hand out. Helen, Bea, Janis, and I all added our hands to the huddle. Olivia was slower, but she eventually caught on. Riley stared expectantly at the two holdouts until Craig and Volkov caved and added their hands to the pile. “For Bennie!” Riley yelled.
Craig and Volkov both looked to me for an explanation. “It’s a long, painful story and one he’d probably rather I didn’t tell you.”
The other team crossed the field, taking up positions behind a berm. They dropped to their stomachs, resting their guns on top of the raised ground like they were in the trenches of an actual battlefield. Then, the ridiculous hand signals started.
Riley flipped them the bird before tugging Volkov to the ground with her behind a pile of old tires. The rest of us had to settle for crouching behind a tiny half wall made of cedar pickets.
“What’s the plan?” Craig asked, his voice close to my ear.
I laughed. “We shoot.”
He frowned. “That’s not a plan.”
“And that’s why we lose.”
He caught Volkov’s eye and canted his head to the left. Volkov nodded. “Follow my lead,” Craig told me.
When the shooting started, Craig and Volkov began systematically moving down field, taking turns covering each other while they picked off the other team every time they raised their stupid heads. Because Craig hadn’t specified what follow his lead meant, I was content to hang back and watch them decimate the jerks. I’d call it a win regardless of who did the actual shooting.
Craig hit the skinny kid as he sat up to take a shot. He clutched his stomach and staggered backward before getting to his feet, whining the whole way as he trekked back to our side of the field. I looked up when he finally reached us. He held his shirt up to show me the red splotch mark where he had been hit.
“Is it bad?” he asked with a wince.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed.
Helen moved closer to my side. “That’s four,” she said, pointing a finger in the shape of a gun and pulling the trigger as he passed us. She opened her bag and peered inside. “This is bullshit. If those two keep shooting them so fast, I’m not going to get a chance to use my surprise.”
“Fine.” I raised my arm to get Craig’s attention, pulling it back in time to avoid the paintball that sailed overhead. When he looked at me, I pointed to Helen who waved her brown paper bag in the air and gestured toward the guys still cowering behind the berm.
Neither he nor Volkov looked happy about being asked to stand down, but they both took cover behind a rusted-out car and waited. Riley army-crawled her way to us to find out what was going on.
Helen dumped the remaining paintballs out of her gun and replaced them with ones from her bag. I raised an eyebrow. Helen’s smile was positively evil. “Just you wait.” She peeked around the wall. “I need to get closer.”
“Get behind me,” Riley told her. “We’re going in.”
This is how we usually lost at paintball. Riley had even less patience than I had, and that was saying something. Within a few minutes of starting play, Riley would get antsy and go into full-on assault mode. She rarely made it to midfield before being pelted with paintballs.
She caught Volkov’s eye and held three fingers in the air, counting them down. “Three, two, one. Go!” She stood up, shielding Helen who crowded against her back. “Cover me!” she shouted at Volkov. Then, she zig-zagged across the field while shooting paintballs as fast as she could pump them out.
Volkov hung his head for a second before dutifully laying down cover fire for her. Between him and Craig, they managed to keep the other team off kilter enough Riley made it most of the way across the field before she took a barrage of paintballs to the chest. I grimaced. Those were going to welt. Riley clutched her chest dramatically and fell to the ground, revealing Helen behind her.
Helen didn’t waste any time shooting her special paintball stash across the berm. She didn’t seem to be aiming at the guys very well, but she peppered the general vicinity with her shots. By the time they returned fire, she’d emptied her gun.
“Ha ha! Who got an old woman beatdown now, you little shits?” It didn’t make any sense at first. Helen was out of the game after getting hit in the leg, so it hardly seemed like she’d delivered any kind of beat down.
Then, the gagging started. Two of the remaining guys jumped up and ran for us, forgetting their guns on the ground. They were easy pickings for Craig and Volkov. Helen and Riley ambled their way back to the benches.
I gave them a thumbs up. “What was in those paintballs?” I called.
“Magic!” Helen started laughing. “The kind that smells like day-old farts and rotten meat.”
I looked back at the two remaining guys from the other team. One of them sat up to puke, making him an easy target Volkov was more than happy to hit. That left a lone player on their side, and it happened to be the guy who had been running his mouth to Craig earlier. Somehow, I doubted it was accidental.
Although Craig was a large man, years of martial arts meant he was both agile and fast, moving with a practiced ease that said he’d done this before. He alternated between quick bursts of speed and ducking behind obstacles for cover. When he was within striking distance of the last guy, he didn’t take the easy shot. Instead, he inched his way closer. He made it all the way around the berm, aiming his gun at the guy at a close enough range the shot was going to hurt.
The guy stood up and scrambled over the berm to make a run for it, aiming the gun over his shoulder and shooting indiscriminately at Craig as he went. Craig dropped to the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee, popping off three shots—two to take out the guy’s legs and one to the back of the head. Damn. He must have been toying with the guy before.
I met Craig midfield, jumping so I could wrap my arms around his neck in celebration. He caught me and lifted me off my feet.
“That’s the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” I confessed.
Craig looked amused, but he took full advantage of my bout of hero worship to lean in for a victory kiss. By the time he set me on my feet, I was flushed and breathless.
“You sure we have to wait until tonight for our date?” I asked.
Even though Craig and I had spent plenty of time together, tonight was only our second official date. The first had been months ago, but our relationship had been sidelined by murder attempts and complicated by a demon playing fast and loose with my emotions. Since banishing Zepar a few weeks ago, we’d both been busy wading through the wreckage the demon left in his wake. We’d spent a few afternoons together when Craig helped restore my shop to working order, and he’d made it a point to show up at Krav Maga on the nights I trained. However, other than flirty banter and some hands-on technique correction, we hadn’t found the time to explore the attraction that flamed between us.
