by Emma Holly
Maryam’s golden gaze had gone teary with sentiment. “Paulette was my best friend. Nobody could pull the wool over her eyes—not the highest djinni or the low. She made sure people knew it too. Too brave for her own good, she was.”
A scoffing noise neither of them expected pulled their attention to the next table. The bearded coffee vendor sat there, partaking a busman’s break of espresso and cookies. Georgie hadn’t seen him except in passing since that first day. He wasn’t among the djinn helping with the play. As she recalled, he’d glared daggers at Paulette over some quip she’d made. Georgie surmised the two hadn’t been buddies.
Maryam narrowed her eyes at the sound he made. “You have something stuck in your throat, Feodor?”
“What’s stuck in my throat is treating that female like a saint. Any decent djinni will tell you God struck her down for disrespecting her betters.”
“If you mean our ‘lovely’ regents, the idiot twins, the only people they’re better than are ifrits . . . and that’s me being kind.”
Feodor threw his napkin down and rose. “They’re cousins, you ignorant hellion.”
“Fine. The idiot cousins are only better than Iblis worshippers.”
“Peace,” Georgie said, getting to her feet to place herself between the pair. “Differences of opinion aren’t worth coming to blows over.”
She hoped her assertive stance, as someone who might actually hit back, would discourage the male djinni. To a certain degree, it worked. Feodor shifted his lip-curling scorn to her.
“I know what you’re up to,” he said ominously. “You’re no better than Paulette was.”
“Go jack off to your icons,” Maryam spat. “No one wants your opinion.”
“More fool you,” he declared before stalking off.
Sympathies in the restaurant seemed to run in Maryam’s favor. A couple customers clapped as he exited.
Well, Georgie thought, slowly sitting down again. That was exciting.
She refrained from asking why Feodor claimed the regents were cousins. Probably it was something everyone ought to know.
“He keeps their portraits in his cart,” Maryam said, not yet ready to let her anger go.
“The regents?”
The djinniya nodded. “He’s got a fancy jeweled frame for them. I’ve seen him pretend to talk to them when no one’s in his line.”
“Is he going to cause trouble for the play?”
“That wouldn’t do his business any favors. Though the less he knows the better. Annoying blabbermouth.”
“He sounded like he knew something.”
Maryam grimaced and shook herself. “I’ll ask Sasha’s grandfather to talk to him. He’s good at smoothing smoke. God help my temper if that jackass wants hush money.”
AS LUCK WOULD HAVE it, Sasha’s grandfather hadn’t simply played Jacob in the original second feature of their doubleheader; he’d also choreographed the crowd-pleasing fight. This afternoon, he was teaching its moves to Connor and Iksander. In preparation for the lesson, the theater’s stage was covered in wrestling mats. Connor’s first glimpse of the older djinni warned him to gird himself. Grizzled but still athletic, Yarik had the puffed-out chest of a drill sergeant. Sasha stood beside him, probably there to help demonstrate. Per instructions, Connor and Iksander wore baggy drawstring trousers and no shirts.
Seeing them, Yarik grunted in grudging satisfaction and turned to his assistant. “Tell these green wisps the secret to being good students.”
Obviously enjoying this, the younger man flashed a grin. “Sir! Listen well, practice hard, ask questions if you need to but don’t complain.”
“Correct. Now, do either of you know thing one about theatrical wrestling?”
“I’ve seen humans do it,” Connor said. “Other than that, I’m totally ignorant.”
His pleasure at admitting this raised Yarik’s brows. “And you?” he asked Iksander.
“I was taught real wrestling in military school.”
“‘Real’ wrestling, eh? Well, we’ll see if that does you any good today. We’ll start with backward falls. Sasha, please show them what to aim for.”
Sasha showed them by jumping high into the air, falling back with his arms flung wide, and landing with a great thump. Then, as if by magic, he flipped up onto his feet. Connor thought that looked fun, but Iksander rubbed his chin doubtfully.
“Problem, Andrei?” their teacher drawled.
“You really want us to exaggerate that much?”
“You do know what ‘theatrical’ means, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You try it,” Yarik ordered Connor, cutting him off briskly.
Connor was happy to. He copied Sasha as closely as he could but hit the mat harder than he was ready for. Stunned by the impact of his own weight, he couldn’t flip up like the boy had.
“Sorry,” he laughed. “Obviously, there’s a trick to that.”
“All right,” Yarik said. “That was your first try. It’s good you’re not too proud to make a fool of yourself.”
Iksander didn’t need it spelled out that this was a dig at him. He narrowed his eyes before attempting the move himself.
“Bigger!” Yarik barked. “You’ll put babies to sleep like that.”
For the next half hour, he kept them at it. Iksander was soon too tired to scowl, and even Connor ran out of laughs. He did figure out “kipping up,” as Sasha called it, though he suspected his version wasn’t as slick as the younger man’s.
“Show off,” the sultan muttered the first time he managed it.
His powerful chest gleamed with sweat, his lungs heaving with exertion. Liking that, Connor grinned and sent him a kissing noise. To his delight, Iksander cracked a smile.
“Tolerable,” Yarik conceded. “Take five minutes while Sasha and I show you basic holds.”
Basic they might have been, but watching Yarik and his grandson grapple was impressive. Connor studied what they did with every scrap of his concentration, hoping to break each move into its component parts. He found himself jealous of the sultan for having experience. The wrestling he’d studied wasn’t the same as this, but at least he knew the language the others’ bodies were speaking.
“Wow,” Iksander murmured when Yarik finished by flipping Sasha over his lean shoulder. “I hope I can move like that when I’m his age. Actually, I hope I can move like that now.”
“Can we try?” Connor asked as Sasha got to his feet again.
“You can try carefully,” Yarik cautioned. “Even if a fight is pretend, injuries can be serious. Protecting yourself and your opponent is more important than selling the drama. Neither of you knows how to do that yet.”
“We’re ready to learn,” Iksander said.
Yarik must have heard the respectful “sir” he didn’t quite tack on.
“Good,” he said. “Sasha will guide you while I observe.”
FOUR HOURS LATER, FINALLY back at the power plant, Iksander ached in places he hadn’t known had muscles. Too exhausted to change form and heal that way, he was in the men’s bathing chamber, sharing a hot soak with Connor. The deep square tub was more than big enough. Stretched out from opposite sides, they draped arms and necks on the rim while the churning jets pounded them soothingly.
“Phew,” the angel sighed, his relentless sunniness dimmed for once. “This must be how people feel after trains run over them.”
“Mountains,” Iksander slurred. “Assuming mountains could.”
Connor must have understood, because he hummed. Water sloshed as he shifted his weary weight. “I confess I thought we’d bagged the easy acting job: a little wrestling, a bit of flying, and hardly any lines to learn. Georgie’s playlet is the one with words.”
“Words are easy. Body slams are hard.”
“How do you suppose Sasha does that kick thing with both his feet in the air at once? It ought to be impossible if you don’t have the power to levitate.”
Iksander smiled but didn�
�t open his eyes. He’d admired the dropkick too. “He’s a freak of nature. You and I will have to cheat.”
Connor grunted and sighed again.
“You’re an okay partner,” Iksander said, languorous enough to give credit where it was due.
“You’re only saying that because I stopped being so cheerful.”
Iksander laughed but didn’t deny it.
“Many humans are the same,” Connor said. “They find happiness suspicious.”
“That’s because it—”
“Ah,” Connor interrupted. “Georgie is back.”
Iksander started and looked around, but she wasn’t in the bath chamber. Was she close? He hadn’t heard her arrive. He was naked under these bubbling waves. What if she came in to greet Connor? High temperatures didn’t dull his kind’s sexual reactions.
“Not here,” Connor elaborated. “She keyed open the plant’s outer door.”
“You can tell that from this distance?”
“I am sensitive to her energy. Probably I’d know if you did the same.”
Iksander stared at the angel’s placidly smiling face. Steam had flushed his classically carved features, causing beads of sweat to glint on his broad cheekbones. His skin was flawless, his mouth a rosy, curved cushion. “You don’t know me as well as Georgie.”
“But I like you nearly as much. For me that is enough.”
Connor liked him nearly as much? Hearing that made Iksander’s chest feel odd. Wasn’t this what every djinni secretly wanted? To have one of the Creator’s messengers approve of him again?
Connor offered the gift too easily. Naturally distrustful, Iksander shifted in the jetted currents. As he did, he became aware of heaviness at his groin. The feeling was sensual, the unmistakable beginning of arousal. He knew the angel was charismatic—both personally and in a physical way. Connor had too much inherent magic for that not to be the case. Certainly, no one could deny he was beautiful. Still, Iksander didn’t expect the male to inspire an erection. For all the kinks he had, that would be a new one.
The discovery distracted him enough that Georgie’s knock took him by surprise.
“Are you two decent?” she asked, opening the door a crack. “Should I pick something to spell up to size for dinner, or do you want to soak longer?”
“You can come in,” Connor said amiably. “We’re neck deep in water.”
Evidently, Connor didn’t think he needed to consult him. Iksander would have rolled his eyes, but Georgie was entering.
“Hey,” she said a little shyly. “How did your lesson go?”
“Brutal,” Connor answered happily. “You’d have been impressed with us for surviving.”
Georgie pursed her lips in amusement. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Iksander knew a lot already. He studied grappling and other fighting moves in military school.” Connor laughed. “Yarik didn’t appreciate him calling that kind of wrestling ‘real.’”
“Got you in trouble, eh?” Georgie’s grin for Iksander made his blood redirect to places that weren’t in need of more. “I could have warned you teachers don’t like know-it-alls.”
“If only I had known it all. I’m not used to pulling my punches. I’m afraid I made too much contact a couple times.”
“Knocked me on my butt!” Connor exclaimed as if it were a good thing.
Still smiling, Georgie tilted her head at her lover. “I suppose you spent so much time hanging around me you never had a guy to do guy things with. There was Tommy, I guess, but he was more my friend than yours.”
“I didn’t mind, Georgie. You’re a tomboy. I did guy things with you.”
“Uh-huh,” she said drolly.
She didn’t mention the not-guy things they did together, but Iksander could tell they were thinking about them. Their gazes held, their mouths taking on similar humorous curves. His mouth tingled as the idea of kissing both of them rolled without warning into his mind. He shouldn’t have let his imagination stray onto that track.
His cock throbbed so intensely it startled him.
“Well,” Georgie said, breaking the strange—at least for him—moment. “I’ll leave you guys to your guy talk. I can fill you in on my meeting with Maryam over dinner.”
“We’ll be out soon,” Connor said before glancing at Iksander.
Iksander braced as the angel’s focus turned to him. How could such soft blue eyes feel so much like spears? Connor might have been looking into his soul.
“Soon,” Iksander agreed, willing his voice to remain normal.
Sometimes he thought the angel saw right through everyone.
GEORGIE HELD OFF ON fanning her face until she was alone in the small kitchen. The sight of Connor and Iksander lolling naked in the djinn equivalent of a hot tub threw her hormones into turmoil. Probably, she should have expected the reaction. The men were handsome and healthy and of course they attracted her. She was human. And female. Anyone who didn’t like that could sue her. Being human, however, wasn’t the reason she had to brace on the sink with her pussy wet and her knees wobbly.
The reason was seeing the men together in the same body of water. They could have been lovers with that matching flush riding their cheekbones, with those beads of sweat glinting on their chests, and their beautiful arms and fingers gone indolent. She’d wanted to slip into the hot waves with them, to lick and kiss them all over until their recently sated passion rose one more time for her.
That didn’t happen, she told herself. They aren’t lovers. Stop being delusional.
She was glad Connor had a chance to experience male friendship. She forgot sometimes how limited his experience of life was. He deserved to be friends with more than her and their absent cat, Titus. Trying to turn his bromance with the sultan into something else in her imagination was simple selfishness.
Resolved not to indulge her fantasies, she turned to the cleverly organized storage unit that held the miniature meals. The compartments reminded her of an airplane galley—assuming an airline would construct their drawers from handsomely etched brass. She pulled out the section that held meat offerings. Maybe the men would like lamb stew tonight. Protein anyway, considering how they’d spent their afternoon.
She scanned the little labels, wondering idly if djinn had a version of humans’ mile high club. Would someone else have to fly the carpet while they had sex? Maybe they did it in their smoke forms. Come to think of it, hadn’t she read an article about that in Ishmael’s Daily Demon Mirror? The story was, the sultan went walking on the wild side after mistakenly assuming his wife cheated. Georgie recalled a mention of “numerous lowborn females” he’d plundered in his disembodied state. The tabloid implied his behavior was scandalous. Would that make it sexier to a djinni? Like the thrill of the forbidden? Had Iksander been remembering his former debauchery when he flew Georgie above the school? She’d thought at the time he’d been especially warm . . .
“Crap,” she murmured as a zing of feeling streaked up her palpably swollen clit.
She had enough questionable fantasies of her own. She didn’t need to heap Iksander’s on top of them.
Chapter Eight
CHALLENGING THOUGH many aspects of their theater project were, eventually lines were learned, old sets reassembled, and costumes refurbished. Sasha scheduled a dress rehearsal, to which actual members of the public were invited via Maryam’s careful distribution of free tickets.
“We’ll kill a couple birds with one stone,” Sasha informed the production’s circle of insiders. “Make sure the emotion skimmers are functioning like they should, work out the final kinks in the play, and hopefully generate word of mouth. I don’t know how full our houses will be to start, but if tonight goes well, we could hit the ground running.”
“No pressure, though,” their director chimed in sarcastically. He was another oldster from back in the theater’s day. Though he had a tendency to be dour, he seemed to know what he was doing. “Tell me again how we’ll all be swimming in magic.�
�
“I’m going to swim in it,” Neisha said. “Or store it up in a vessel. I haven’t decided yet.”
In preparation for playing the hero, she’d cut her hair boy-short. She’d spiked it too—an ode to Georgie’s hair most likely, though she told her slightly disapproving mother the style was to make her look spunky. Parental doubt hadn’t mattered. Neisha was hard to say no to. She certainly looked adorable. Georgie discovered she wanted to perform well for her co-star’s sake as much as any other reason. At some point, when she hadn’t noticed, she’d grown attached to the djinniya.
She stroked Neisha’s baby-soft, peach-fuzzed cheek with the back of one knuckle. Neisha looked up at her and grinned.
“I can’t wait to see you in your beard,” the twelve-year-old exclaimed.
“We’re ready to start on makeup,” Sasha’s mother announced. Like seemingly all Sasha’s relatives, she’d been dragooned to help.
Georgie’s nerves jumped at her announcement, as they’d been doing on and off all day. Neisha’s squeal didn’t settle them, but it did make her smile.
“Georgie first!” the girl said, tugging her by the hand toward the communal dressing room. “She needs lots and lots of wrinkles.”
Though the actors had private changing cubbies, the makeup stations were set up in a row. Djinni greasepaint, Georgie discovered, smelled like coconut oil and spice.
“You’re not nervous?” she asked as Neisha urged her into a seat in front of a tri-fold mirror.
“My mom said at least a dozen prayers over me since morning. And swirled me with incense. God must be on my side by now.”
“May it be so,” Georgie’s personal makeup lady murmured. “Now, out of my way pipsqueak.” She turned Georgie’s head with her hands to study her reflection. “We’ll apply the wig and beard last, I think.”
When Connor and Iksander plunked into the two stations to her right, Georgie wasn’t sure she felt calmer—though she was happy to see them. Like her, they wore robes and not costumes yet. With amusing synchrony, they peered at her with their necks tilted.
