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    Switch: An Urban Fantasy Short Story
    Switch: An Urban Fantasy Short Story
    Switch: An Urban Fantasy Short Story
    Ebook36 pages18 minutes

    Switch: An Urban Fantasy Short Story

    By Lindsey R. Loucks and Rebecca Hamilton

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    About this ebook

    Elemental fae and bomb squad specialist Myla Snow must find the bomb in the subway tunnel to save Mystic City from a cult of witches.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvershade Publishing
    Release dateDec 15, 2017
    ISBN9780999625644
    Switch: An Urban Fantasy Short Story
    Author

    Lindsey R. Loucks

    New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Hamilton writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance for Harlequin, Baste Lübbe, and Evershade. A book addict, registered bone marrow donor, and indian food enthusiast, she often takes to fictional worlds to see what perilous situations her characters will find themselves in next. Represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA, Rebecca has been published internationally, in three languages: English, German, and Hungarian. You can follow her on twitter @InkMuse

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      Book preview

      Switch - Lindsey R. Loucks

      witches.

      Chapter 1

      Inside a long, dark tunnel approximately one hundred feet below ground, I straddled a man in what probably looked like a lover’s embrace. Well, except for my coiled fist ready to land another blow to his face. And maybe my just-uttered promise to gut him into next week if he didn’t tell me what I needed to know.

      The man—who was definitely not a lover—twisted his mouth to the side before my punch connected. His bruised eyes glinted malice while realization inched its way through my skull. My fist hung near my head, forgotten. My lungs cemented together with a hiss.

      Shit.

      I flung both hands at his mouth, prying open his jaw, thrusting my fingers between gnashing teeth and over his slimy tongue. He bit down. Hard. Not on me, but on the cyanide capsule he’d likely wedged into a molar. Death happened instantaneously, cling-wrapping its haze over the man’s dark eyes. Sealing the location of the bomb he’d planted in the crowded subway station for good.

      Heaving a shaky breath, I dragged my fingers—wetted with the dead man’s spit—down the front of his black shirt. According to the sharp-eyed good Samaritans who’d called the Mystic City Police Department, he’d jumped down onto the subway’s tracks carrying a backpack while wearing no indication of the Mystic City Metro’s swish insignia. I hadn’t seen any sign of that backpack, and after a quick search of his pockets, I didn’t know who he was, either.

      As I stood on liquid legs, I fumbled for my cell to call my commander, Oli Lincoln, of the Mystic City Bomb Squad.

      You’re off duty, he answered.

      Susan called when I was a block away from here. Susan was the department secretary and resident information leaker.

      Doesn’t change that you’re off duty.

      Listen, your guy’s dead. Cyanide capsule. No backpack, no nothing.

      Son-of-a… He breathed a clipped sigh. Did he say anything?

      No. I ran my tongue over the cut on my lower lip. But he did punch back. Is the station evacuated?

      Getting there, but there are still some trains on the tracks.

      I glanced down the tunnel in both directions. On the sides of the tracks were foot-and-a-half-wide platforms for service people, but in some areas, those platforms desperately needed repair. Yellow lights hung from the walls about every fifteen feet, so if I slipped off the path onto the tracks about a foot below, at least I would be able to see

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