by Emma Holly
Georgie smiled. “You can’t always be in charge, Iksander. Sometimes a ruler makes the most valuable contribution when he’s a worker bee.”
“No,” he repeated.
Georgie’s amusement deepened. “We could put it to a vote.”
He didn’t need to see Connor’s grin to know how that would turn out.
“I’m not making a fool of myself,” he muttered.
“Not even to save your people?” Georgie asked dulcetly.
“Yes, Iksander,” Connor chimed. “Wouldn’t you be a fool for them?”
“Damn it,” he snapped.
How had he gone from being the “ultimate leader” to them ganging up on him?
GEORGIE HAD ENJOYED outflanking Iksander. It was only after she’d lain down to sleep that she wondered if the sultan might have a point.
She had zero experience acting. She’d been too busy starting up her salvage business to do the drama thing at school. Just because it looked fun didn’t mean she’d be competent.
Djinn who thought actors sucked probably booed them.
She wriggled around toward Connor, but he was fast asleep. Little things like humiliation didn’t bother him very much—certainly not if he were risking them for a good cause.
Georgie had her own brand of boldness, but she wasn’t as brave as him.
She’d have been better off volunteering to build sets.
Shoot, she thought, flipping around the other way. Connor’s sureness had infected her. Except . . . when Connor got that confident he was usually right. His angelic intuition was nearly infallible.
She closed her eyes and pictured a theater full of djinn, mocking her.
Biting back a curse, she sat up and rubbed her face. Iksander was sleeping in the men’s bath again, instead of at her back. Maybe she should discuss her concerns with him. What if he’d come up with a better plan, and she was losing sleep for nothing?
Oh get up and see, she thought, disgusted with her indecision. It won’t kill you to admit you’re not as self-assured as Connor.
She slipped out of bed and tapped lightly on the adjoining door.
She had three seconds to wonder if he’d heard before he yanked it open.
“What now?” he demanded.
His anger took her aback, and maybe his bare chest too. He wore a pair of silk drawstring trousers and nothing else. The hipbones they hung from were drool-worthy. Georgie struggled to get her brain to work. “I . . . couldn’t sleep and I—”
“I’m not your hot water bottle.”
“Nobody said you—”
Before she could get the “were” out, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the bathing room. She spluttered at that; he was extremely strong. Also coordinated. When she stumbled against him, he righted her easily. He’d let his eye color revert to normal. The lights were off, but his irises glowed—like actually, magically lit up.
The hands he’d put on her waist weren’t releasing her.
“I’m not a eunuch,” he hissed at her.
She definitely hadn’t accused him of that! She opened her mouth to say so, only to have his lips crash down on hers.
He kissed her like he’d been hungry to for a while, with tongue and heat and hard arms winding around her torso boa constrictor-style. Sensations zinged through her body, whether she wanted them to or not. His hold felt good. She registered his steely contours—from his sculpted chest to the growing ridge at his abdomen. Her breasts were squashed against him under her soft T-shirt, her pussy aching and hot and wet. She was hugging him too, totally clutching his back muscles. His tongue delved deeper, sucked harder. She squirmed with pleasure as his hand slid down to grip her ass. He ground his erection against her pubis as if he meant use the friction to shred their clothes. Loving that, needing that, Georgie hitched her bare thigh up his pajama leg.
He didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the increased access. His length split her labia, forcing the panties she wore between her folds. This seemed to excite him more. Needing air, his mouth tore free of hers.
“Fuck,” he gasped.
The hand that held her ass yanked her closer. She moaned as he mouthed her extended throat. All her female parts wanted to surrender, to be taken by his big rod and pumped.
“Still want me to sleep at your back?” he challenged.
The words meant nothing, though she recognized his tone was angry. It didn’t matter. He was continuing to grind against her as if he couldn’t stop. She pushed her pelvis right back at him, angling the painful throb of her clit to get the best pressure. He grunted, jerked, and suddenly the thin trousers he wore went wet. He was ejaculating: long, hot bursts that caused her to shudder on the verge of orgasm.
He cursed and thrust back before she could go over.
“You shouldn’t have come in here,” he said through gritted teeth. “Certainly not dressed like that.”
“Oh right. My oversized Tractor Supply T is irresistible.”
“Your legs are completely bare!”
“Screw you. I didn’t force you to get your rocks off on me.”
“I didn’t hear you objecting.”
She crossed her arms, and his gaze dipped down to her breasts. Her nipples were still contracted, her pulse vibrating hard in them. “My not objecting is my concern. Your actions belong to you.”
He frowned, but she could see he was calming. His mouth worked.
“I . . . apologize,” he said. “Perhaps I misunderstood your intentions.”
Georgie grimaced as her conscience prodded her. He hadn’t misunderstood completely. “I did sort of come in here because I couldn’t sleep. You are . . . comforting to have nearby.”
His brows drew together. “You had another nightmare?”
“No.” She wrestled in her head whether to explain her doubts about Connor’s plan. Given what she’d just done, didn’t she owe her boyfriend extra loyalty? “I’ll go now. I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”
“Georgie.” Iksander touched her arm. Despite the lightness of the contact, her skin tingled. It was just her luck they had chemistry in spades.
“I wasn’t trying to lead you on,” she said.
He dropped his hand, seeming not to have a response to this. As Georgie left, she wasn’t sure she’d told the complete truth. She’d kissed Iksander twice now. Voluntarily. With fireworks and everything. Shaking her head, she eased down onto the mattress she and Connor were sharing.
He stirred when she pulled her side of the unzipped sleeping bag to her neck.
“Iksander isn’t coming out here with us?” His voice came drowsily from behind her.
“Not tonight,” she said as lightly as she could.
He shifted closer, the arm he draped around her relaxed. The lack of tension in his body suggested he wasn’t aware of what she’d done. He’d probably forgive her if she confessed. He was Forgiveness Guy. Her guilt kept the words inside. She loved Connor. He was everything she wanted and more besides. She and he had fireworks too. Being attracted to Iksander was completely her problem.
“He should come out,” Connor slurred, half asleep already. “I think he’s lonely there by himself.”
Georgie rubbed his forearm but said nothing. Sometimes her boyfriend was too angelic for anyone.
Chapter Five
BACK AT THE THEATER the next morning, Georgie picked up a shadow. Neisha, the girl who’d been afraid to slide down the bannister, decided following her around was more interesting than vacuuming seat cushions with the boys. Georgie wouldn’t have minded except for Neisha’s seemingly endless stock of questions.
Did everyone in the provinces have as much magic as Georgie? Was she a sorceress? Why did she wear her hair so short? Was Connor a good boyfriend? Did she think Neisha would meet a nice one someday?
“My mother says grown up females should wear dresses,” Neisha volunteered as Georgie grunted over pulling the stuck prop room door open. The entrance wasn’t locked, just warped in its old wood frame. “Why don
’t you say a spell? That’ll unstick it, no problem.”
Georgie exhaled and looked at the chattering girl. “What spell would your mother say?”
“She used to say ‘let go, let go’ and fling magic out her fingers.” Neisha demonstrated what she meant.
Georgie closed her eyes and composed herself. When she felt calm enough to try, she repeated the formula. It worked a little too well. Before she could avoid it, the door sprang free and smacked her nose.
“Shoot,” she said, pressing her hand to the injury. Her nose wasn’t broken, just stinging.
Neisha snickered hilariously.
“You laugh now,” Georgie warned. “Wait till I make you scrub floors.”
“You won’t!” Neisha cried, skipping into the dark room with her. “You’re too nice. I can tell. Loan me a little juice. I’ll do the lights for you.”
Georgie gathered some as carefully as she could. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally electrocute the girl. Neisha scooped the power fearlessly from her palm.
When she said “fiat lux,” the bulbs lit neatly without bursting.
“Ah,” Neisha sighed as if she’d enjoyed a treat.
Georgie’s treat was discovering a stack of old scenery flats leaning on a wall. Constructed of light balsa wood and canvas, they hadn’t faded during their long storage.
“Look at these,” she crooned, tipping up a forest scene made dreamy by dusk and mist. A deep perspective cityscape was revealed behind it, followed by an aviary housing parrots so bright and lifelike they looked ready to fly out. “This trompe l’oiel is incredible. The person who created these had a gift!”
Neisha wrinkled her little nose. “That’s just paint.”
“This is just paint like the Sistine Chapel is just a ceiling. Art is magic too, Neisha.”
The girl was impressionable enough to cock her head and give them another glance. Georgie had reached a fifteen-foot tall rendering of a throne room, adorned with porphyry columns and convincingly sparkly jewels.
“That one’s nice,” Neisha conceded. “Maybe it’s from the Solomon play.”
“Maybe it is,” Georgie agreed, more interested now. “This could be the artist’s conception of an ancient Hebraic palace.”
The idea of acting in front of it caused her nervousness to return. Then again, maybe these evocative sets would help her get into character. She stroked her chin a moment before realizing she was imagining herself as the great ruler.
“What do you think?” she asked Neisha teasingly. “Would I look good with a wise man’s beard?”
IKSANDER FOLLOWED THE sound of female giggles down a hallway behind the stage. He didn’t want to face Georgie. He felt awkward about last night. The knowledge that putting it off would be immature forced his spine to straighten.
To his surprise, he found Georgie genuflecting in front of a prop throne on which a young djinniya posed regally. The little girl’s too-large crown glinted with cheap gems, its gold rim slanting across one eye. Her appearance was made more singular by the trailing gray beard she wore.
“You are my djinni slave,” she declared in a growly voice. “I order you to find more diamonds and bring them here to me.”
Georgie tried to answer but laughed instead.
“Ahem,” Iksander interrupted.
Both females spun to face him and burst into fresh giggles.
“Iks— Andrei,” Georgie said, correcting herself at the last moment. Her eyes danced with merriment, an expression that appealed to him too strongly. “We found props for the Solomon play.”
“I see. Was this young lady auditioning for the lead?”
The djinniya seemed not to recognize his deadpan delivery as a joke. Luckily, Georgie was quicker.
“Yes,” she confirmed, getting to her feet and smacking dust from her leather pants. “Convincing, wasn’t she?”
“I tremble at the memory even now.”
Georgie laughed, which he liked very much. “Did you need me for something?”
For my future happiness and satisfaction, a perverse corner of his mind proposed. Not liking that, he frowned and shook himself. “Sasha’s grandfather brought his scripts to the theater. I thought you might want to examine them.”
“Yes, I would!” She turned to the girl with her hand held out. “Come on, Neisha. Let’s see if there’s a good role for you.”
Wide-eyed, the girl hopped up. “Really? I can be in the show?”
“Absolutely. As long as your mom agrees.”
Neisha let out a squeal he suspected girls in every dimension emitted. She took Georgie’s hand as if they were old friends. Georgie clasped Neisha’s back the same way. Iksander’s eyes stung without warning. In that moment, the pair weren’t human and djinniya. They were simply people enjoying each other.
That idea held his thoughts until they reached the lobby, which was empty except for Connor. The recently arrived scripts sat ignored on the candy counter. Connor had opened the door beside the outside ticket booth, and chill air was gusting in. The manner in which he leaned suggested some activity in the market had caught his attention.
“Andrei,” he said without turning. “Something’s happening outside.”
Pleased he’d remembered the alias, Iksander went to him. “Another royal summoning?”
“No. I think it might be a storm. See there? The stars on the horizon have grayed out.”
The angel’s bulk took up much of the entrance. Iksander put his hand on his back so he could move by and look. The instant he spotted what Connor pointed at, dread too thick to swallow rose in his throat. The roiling cloudbank was hard to see in the winter dark, but the sultan had encountered—and felt—a similar phenomenon before.
For one terrifying moment, he froze at the memory. Then he expanded his lungs with air. He didn’t have time for fear. The dark massed clouds were moving in their direction.
“Timur,” he called in the tone of command he’d learned at his father’s knee. Magic boosted its carrying power. “Paulette. Bring the children to the lobby now.”
“What is it?” Georgie asked.
With him and Connor in the door she couldn’t get a clear view. The girl Neisha was more strategic. She dashed to the exit on the ticket booth’s other side, thrust it open, and cried out. “It’s the demon cloud! I’ll ring the warning bell in the market. Tell everyone here to run.”
“Wait,” Iksander called, but the girl was already gone.
“That looks like smog,” Georgie observed, having edged her head between them. “I thought you djinn didn’t have pollution.”
She rubbed her arms, maybe unable to distinguish between the prickle of dark magic and the icy cold outside.
“It isn’t—” smog, he began to say. Timur and the rest cut him off by arriving in the lobby. Neisha must have reached the warning bell. A clanging racket broke through the neighborhood’s other noise.
“Oh God,” Timur said, stopping short. “Is it the demon cloud? How far away is it? Do we have time to escape?”
This talk of time and running reminded Iksander locals didn’t have the magic needed to flee in their smoke forms. Though that was bad, whatever this demon cloud was, they knew it as a danger that could be evaded.
“It’s moving slowly,” he answered evenly. “And it’s at least half a mile away. If you want to rush to your shop, we three could each take a flying carpet and get more people away safely.”
Timur nodded jerkily, pulling himself together. “Yes. I’ll go. The children at least could ride.”
“I’ll grab our carpet.” Georgie’s voice was breathy but not panicked. “One of the boys can direct me on the best way to go. Paulette, can you count if all the kids are here?”
The woman was doing so. She jerked her head toward the rug Georgie was unrolling. “You need to drag that into the street. It won’t fit through the door if it’s set up.”
“Right,” Georgie said. “Sorry.”
“I’ll help her,” said the olde
r boy Iksander believed was called Sasha.
Iksander met Georgie’s eyes. She was quick, but he’d only taught her to operate a carpet yesterday. “If you’re comfortable handling this, Connor and I will pilot Timur’s supply.”
“I can do it. The boys will look out for me.”
She hugged one of the frightened littler ones to her side. The sultan’s heart contracted, admiration and alarm warring inside of him. Was Georgie truly confident or just putting on a brave front? The coffee lady, Paulette, had no patience with his concern.
“Go,” she urged, flapping her hands at him. “People could die while you make moon eyes at her!”
Though his pride took offense at her characterization, Iksander grabbed Connor’s arm and went.
ACCORDING TO HER LESSON from the previous day, the guide pole was key to flying a djinn carpet. Georgie’s secondhand stick was scratched and tarnished silver. Six feet long, it sported a chunk of citrine to dress up the scepter top. Once Sasha helped her unroll the rug on the pavement, Georgie used the bottom of the pole to draw a rectangle a couple feet inside the perimeter. This caused the edges to fold up and form a box—handy for preventing riders from toppling out.
One glance at the threatening mass of gray creeping up the street told her she absolutely didn’t want that happening. Timur had called it a demon cloud. Had he meant that literally? What would the cloud do to someone it engulfed?
But maybe it was better she didn’t know. Hoping she looked self-assured, she turned to the waiting boys from their cleanup crew. The ten ranged in age from six to sixteen in Sasha’s case. Ahmed, the littlest, had big brown eyes and a cute cowlick.
“Okay,” she said. “Pile on and we’ll get going.”
“That won’t lift off with all of us on it,” one boy said doubtfully.
“Sure it will,” Georgie contradicted. “More than half you guys are shrimps. Plus, haven’t you heard ladies from the provinces are extra powerful?”
Please heaven this was true. She refused to leave anyone behind. She noticed the sleeve tattoo on her left arm was heating up. That never happened unless the protective symbols hidden in the design were charging to meet a challenge.
