by Emma Holly
He wondered what Philip would make of Georgie, so like Najat in some ways and so different in others. Philip was the artist of the four friends. He saw beauty where others perceived only oddity. Would he fancy Georgie’s crazy bicolor hair? Would her burgeoning human magic alarm or delight him? Delight, Iksander suspected. Philip reveled in other’s gifts. He liked to say, “The better they are than me, the harder I want to try.” It was a trait Iksander always admired in him.
He touched his cheeks and found wetness. He hadn’t let himself remember how much he loved his friend. He’d been too caught up in the betrayal that had almost occurred.
It was time to forgive . . . probably past time.
God grant I see them all again, he prayed.
He placed the ward-linked sapphire on one of the brass tea tables. If the alarm went off, he’d hear it from the men’s bathing chamber with no trouble.
Oh screw it, he thought and dragged his mattress into the lounge. Sticking close made sense, no matter if it were awkward.
Though he tried to bed down quietly, Connor woke and turned around.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re here. Good.”
He reached past Georgie to pat Iksander’s arm. His reserves must have topped up quickly. The touch of his hand tingled. The feeling was sensual enough to make the sultan shift.
“I set an alarm,” he said. “If the demon cloud approaches, it will activate.”
“Good thinking,” Connor said. “Now we’ll sleep easier.”
The angel yawned, rubbed Georgie’s back, and closed his eyes again.
Iksander rather doubted Connor had been worried. The angel’s race didn’t seem designed for fear. Possibly, his own fear was exhausted. When he shut his eyes, he tumbled under with no delay.
Chapter Six
IKSANDER’S NUMBER ONE priority on their return to the theater was to install alarm wards there. He’d just finished when Timur came to invite them to Paulette’s memorial. They went, of course. As the leader of the Glorious City, Iksander knew the importance of being present to show respect. He didn’t expect to accomplish more than that, but as it turned out they did.
Paulette had been a member of the Fisher’s Temple—a local Christo-Judaic sect. The grapevine being what it was, the pews were packed with djinn from Prospekt Market and surrounding neighborhoods. News had spread of Iksander and his associates’ contribution to the demon cloud’s low death toll. Along with Neisha, who probably deserved more praise than them, they were thanked many times. In the process, they also met those interested in their upcoming theatrical production. Because Sasha seemed to have a cool head, Georgie recruited him to organize auditions.
Though Iksander was miffed she didn’t consult him first, he couldn’t deny her choice was sound.
“I guess we’re really doing this,” he observed as they returned to the theater.
Georgie laughed at his dubious tone. “I know. I’m freaking a bit myself. But sometimes it’s best to jump in before you overthink.”
“We haven’t even read the scripts!”
“I’ve read them,” Connor volunteered happily. “Wait till you see the fight you and I get to have.”
“You and I . . .” Iksander wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t aware we’d decided to fill those roles.”
“Of course we’re filling them. No one else has sufficient magic to play Jacob and his angel.”
Georgie tilted her head at Connor. “You’re looking forward to this. I had no idea you were a ham.”
“All the world’s a stage, Georgie. Why shouldn’t angels be hammy while we’re in it? Don’t worry,” he added, bumping Iksander’s shoulder amicably. “I’ve seen how quick and smart djinn are. You’ll catch the acting bug, easy.”
“Let’s pray I don’t catch cooties.”
When Connor and Georgie laughed, he was glad he’d tried to be humorous.
“I DON’T LIKE TO BE negative,” Connor said, “but these are pitiful.”
He and Iksander were in the prop room, taking stock of what remained from long-ago productions. Connor had opened a large heart-shaped wooden case. Its unknown contents brought a look of distaste to his normally cheerful face.
“What’s pitiful?” Iksander asked.
Connor rotated the case to show him. Two bedraggled moth-eaten wings were pinned to stained white satin, as if the box were a coffin in which they’d been moldering.
“They smell,” Connor said. “And there’s no harness. Even if I were willing to wear them, how would I keep them on?”
“Can’t you just grow a pair?”
Connor coughed out a laugh. A moment later, Iksander’s mental translator caught up to explain the joke. He tried to ignore the rush of heat to his cheeks. “I mean wouldn’t your magic cover creating wings?”
“I don’t know,” Connor said. “I’m rarely sure what I can do before I try.”
“You had no trouble flying the carpet.”
“Yes, but I’m only half an angel . . . maybe less, considering I’ve left the angelic realm twice now to stay with Georgie. This body I inhabit is made of human material.”
Iksander rubbed his lower lip. For eons now, djinn had been shut out from communicating with angels. Connor, however, didn’t seem to follow the same rules as his fellows. This inspired a question he wondered if he should ask.
“Yes?” Connor prompted, reading his expression.
“How exactly did you and Georgie meet?”
“Ah, that. My memory of my past isn’t as clear as it used to be, but once upon a time—as the saying goes—I existed as a single star among countless others in a luminous divine sea.”
“A sea.”
Connor shrugged his big shoulders. “That is the closest metaphor I have. We angels were all one, all happy and at peace bobbing in the waves of that nursery. I don’t think we knew we could become distinct from one another.”
“But you became distinct.”
“Because I wanted to, and because it was allowed. Georgie sometimes worries I fell, but that wasn’t my perception. If God made all, and comprises all, falling isn’t possible. We only think we’re no longer at one with Him.”
Iksander didn’t know about that but wasn’t prepared to debate. “How did you become aware of Georgie?”
“I expressed a wish to enter the stream of life. I wanted to grow, to create, to not have everything the instant I desired it. In that way, I believed I could experience love and longing more intensely. Something in my nature must have matched Georgie’s. The Intelligence that ruled where I existed sent me to her.” Connor smiled at the memory. He’d leaned casually on a shelf, his dreamy blue eyes on the edge of glowing. “I had no body at first. Georgie called me her marsh light and treated me like a puppy. For a while that was enjoyable, but later I began to wish to relate to her as an equal. I was in love without knowing it.”
“Obviously, you obtained a body at some point.”
Connor grinned. “Georgie picked my body from a book of nude photographs.”
Iksander’s eyebrows rose.
“Yes,” Connor confirmed. “Not that Georgie realized at the time. Luna spun this form from the picture Georgie preferred. The empress wanted the spirit that inhabited it to seduce and control her. She thought she’d summoned a demon to do so, but I swooped in before an ifrit could claim the shell.”
Georgie had selected Connor as her ideal. The angel was—literally—custom made for her. Thought he had no right to mind, Iksander’s stomach felt as if rocks had lodged in it.
Connor reached out to squeeze his bicep. “Luna wanted to prevent Georgie from choosing you. She feared she and Najat had more than looks in common, and that you’d fall for each other. Her fury over your rejection wouldn’t let her stand that a second time.”
Connor’s eyes were too sympathetic to suit Iksander’s pride. “Luna did a good job. You and Georgie are impressively devoted.”
“Georgie isn’t indifferent to you. Neither of us would be here if that were
true.”
Did angels understand jealousy? Maybe Connor didn’t see Iksander as competition. Perhaps he wasn’t. Thus far, Georgie had stuck by her boyfriend.
“Iksander,” Connor said in his gentlest voice. “You are as lovable as I. Your experiences make you different but not less in any way. To me, in truth, you are more.”
“You aren’t her. You don’t see me with her eyes.” Iksander hadn’t intended to be so direct. Now that he had, he wouldn’t take it back.
“True enough,” Connor said. “I’m not her.” His mouth had twisted higher on one side. On a djinni, the expression would have signified ruefulness. On Connor, Iksander couldn’t be certain what it meant.
Whatever he was feeling, the angel rubbed Iksander’s shoulder briefly before letting his arm fall. He turned back to the case that held the moth-eaten wings.
“We must consider how to fix this,” he said. “These things won’t fly at all.”
BECAUSE SHE’D ALREADY poked around the prop room, Georgie let the men explore on their own. Her moods weren’t always as buoyant as Connor’s. She needed time alone after the memorial. With Paulette’s death, their excursion to Luna’s city had taken a dark turn. More difficulties might lie ahead—not excepting the show they were putting on.
Deciding to find out what she was in for, she grabbed a script and curled up in the plush front row of the squeaky clean theater. Thanks to their youthful crew, the tilework on the ceiling sparkled and the golden fronts of the balconies gleamed.
The surroundings were appropriate to her reading material. Solomon was an ancient king who’d petitioned God for wisdom. He’d been granted that gift and, as a result, had also gained power and riches. Like most people, Georgie was familiar with the tale where he threatened to cut a child in half to determine its real mother. Apart from that, her recall of his life was vague. Evidently, Solomon could speak to birds, command the wind, and eavesdrop on distant ants.
Georgie supposed this meant he knew their language too.
From a djinni’s perspective, Solomon’s most important asset was the magic ring with which he ordered them around. The playlet, provocatively titled Besting Solomon, portrayed him as a tyrant whose power had gone to his head. No injustice was too awful for him to inflict on his enslaved workers. Some other time, Georgie might have enjoyed the prospect of twirling the king’s villainous mustache. Today, his cruelty weighed on her heart. People in her world did things like this too often—simply not with magic.
She found herself rooting for the djinni who seemed destined to take down his oppressor.
The sound of scuffling footsteps pulled her eyes off the play booklet.
“Neisha,” Georgie said in surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
The girl’s face was solemn, yesterday’s near escape shadowing her. “I came to help.”
“We’re not doing much at the moment. You could read with me, if you like.”
She supposed Neisha did like, because she climbed into the deep red seat next to her.
Since she only had one copy, Georgie moved it where they both could see. “I got to the part where Asmodeus tricks Solomon into letting him wear his ring.”
“Asmodeus is the hero,” the girl informed her. “He disguises himself as Solomon and frees the captured djinn. The good ones, anyway. The ifrits still work for him. After Asmodeus sleeps with the Queen of Sheba, their son burns down mean old Solomon’s temple.”
“I see,” Georgie said, unsure if teasing her about spoilers would translate. She fought a smile that might offend Neisha’s seriousness. “A lot happens in this little play.”
“It’s action-packed. Sasha’s grandfather says the ending makes people stand up and cheer.”
“Maybe we should put that on the posters.”
Neisha nodded and squirmed onto her knees. The way she bit her lip told Georgie she had a request she worried might be refused. “I was thinking . . . You’re a girl.”
“That’s true,” Georgie said.
“If you’re playing Solomon, could I be Asmodeus? I know he says a lot of words, but I promise I can learn them.”
Georgie touched Neisha’s hair. “I think you’d make a great hero. Will the audience like it, do you think? Should we gender switch all the roles and ask Sasha to play Sheba?”
Neisha giggled at that idea. “Sasha is kind of pretty.”
“Tell you what, I’ll talk to a few of the other grownups. If they think we can make it work, you’ll be the first girl we audition.”
CONNOR LIKED NEW EXPERIENCES. They made him feel as if his spirit were expanding. Dishonesty was the exception. That was uncomfortable. He’d have preferred being upfront with Georgie and Iksander. Unfortunately, at the moment, laying his cards on the table didn’t seem strategic.
Someone could get hurt if his hand weren’t playable.
“This might be useful,” Iksander said.
Connor took a moment to throw off his musings.
The sultan had pulled a fat dusty book from one of the prop room shelves. He turned the cover Connor’s way. DIRECTOR’S BIBLE: JACOB & THE ANGEL was embossed in the brown leather.
Georgie came in as Iksander opened it.
“Ooh,” she said. “Is that what I think it is?”
Relief rushed into Connor. With her there, he felt less like he was trying to arrange things behind her back. Luna had done that. The last thing Connor wanted was to follow her example.
Iksander probably didn’t guess how soft his expression went gazing at Georgie. “If you think this book records everything about how the play was staged, you’re correct. And there are costume sketches. Connor and I were wondering how to create his wings.”
Georgie hummed and touched the page Iksander was displaying. Her side was an inch from his—not that Iksander moved away.
“These look elaborate,” she commented. “And real. I suppose they need to. That, uh, King Kong movie had super special effects.”
The sultan nodded, unfazed by the reminder of Luna’s smear campaign. “Connor isn’t sure he can grow feathers, but we might be able to rig a cheat. I know you build things. If you construct a facsimile out of wire, he could use it to anchor a seeming. With a bit of work, the illusion ought to convince the audience.”
“Doesn’t he need to fly? Paper won’t support his weight.”
“I can levitate,” Connor said. “At least I think I could in this dimension.”
Georgie looked at him and smiled. “That wouldn’t surprise me. You flew three of those djinn carpets. Okay.” She studied the page again, her eyebrows pleating in concentration. “The actor in the sketch is smaller than you. I’d have to size up the measurements they’ve listed, but I think I can do it. Hold on a sec. I saw a big roll of paper when I poked around earlier.”
She walked off and dragged it back. The spool was taller than she was.
“Don’t carry that by yourself,” Iksander scolded.
“I’ve got it,” she huffed.
“It’s heavy!”
“Sheesh,” she said as he fought for and gained control of it. “Stand it over here then. I need room to unroll a good length. Take off your shirt,” she instructed Connor. “I’ll stretch this behind you and eyeball the right proportions.”
Connor peeled his top upward, the motion conveniently hiding his amusement at the back and forth between his friends. Not so long ago, the sultan had to be reminded to help Georgie carry things.
“Ready?” Connor asked innocently.
He followed Georgie’s directions to lift his arms horizontally. Georgie unfurled paper across him.
“Can you hold that end steady?” she asked Iksander. “I want to sketch with the surface flat against him. Connor, why don’t you brace your hand on his shoulder?”
Connor didn’t mind doing that. He knew by now he liked touching Iksander. Being given an excuse to do so, however casually, suited him. Sensitive to other’s energy, he felt Iksander’s aura ripple over his as warm as
a ray of sun. Not surprisingly, his male organ began to thicken. That sensation was also pleasant but maybe not convenient. As far as Connor knew, the sultan’s sexual history hadn’t included men. His harem had been female . . . and his kadin of course. On a conscious level, Iksander didn’t seem repelled by Connor. On a less conscious one, Connor had seen signs of him reacting to his attractiveness.
Too bad when it came to created beings, things weren’t always that simple. Just because one male could react to another didn’t mean he wanted to. By the same token, just because a female was attracted to two men didn’t mean she’d welcome all of them being intimate together.
You signed up for this, Connor reminded. To want things you might not get.
“Shoot,” Georgie said, suddenly patting her pockets. “Where did I stick that pencil?”
“It’s behind your ear,” Iksander said in a tone of mild suffering.
“So it is.” Apparently taking no offense, Georgie laughed. “Okay, Connor, hold still for a few minutes.”
The moment she pressed the paper against him, he had to hold back a gasp of shock. Georgie’s aura zipped into his right along with Iksander’s. Taken individually, the currents of their energy were subtle. Adding them together sent his arousal into flood stage. His cock jounced up hard as stone, only its stubborn throb asserting that it was flesh. Though his power plant trousers left room for the thing to rise, he squirmed at the discomfort. Ordering his flesh to go down was futile. He might have had an extra limb between his legs, with its own unruly will.
When Georgie began drawing on the paper, his excitement increased tenfold.
“Sorry,” she said, continuing to sketch despite his wriggling. “I don’t mean to tickle you.”
Tickling wasn’t the word for it. Hot chills streaked through him: up his spine, through his cock, even making his scalp prickle. He gripped the shelf with his second hand, hoping to steady his footing.
