Tales of the Djinn_The City of Endless Night

by Emma Holly

  “We are,” Connor said. “But thank you for your kindness.”

  Georgie doubted kindness had been her goal.

  “As you wish,” the servant said. “I’ll returned for you at the gathering gong.”

  Iksander, evidently, had a similar interpretation to Georgie. He shook his head after the servant left. “That’s some whammy you’ve got. You should have asked her what’s going on.”

  “I didn’t want to push my luck.” Grinning, Connor handed the top package to Georgie. “This says FOR THE WOMAN.” He passed the next to Iksander. “FOR THE LEADER. This must be mine. It’s FOR THE PRETTY ONE.”

  He wasn’t kidding. The bundles were labeled as he said. Fortunately, the code for triggering the charms was included.

  “Careful,” Connor warned. “They’ve snuck some undeclared extras into the clothes. If we don’t deactivate them, our outfits will spy on us.”

  “Well,” Iksander said. “You really are handy.”

  CONNOR DIDN’T PLAY humble. Getting credit for the power he had left was nice. He confirmed the watch spells were dead before any of them used the clothes’ open sesame. The result of that was startling but fun. The garments flew onto them as if they came with invisible dressers. Almost before they’d finished gasping, they were laced and buttoned and even coiffed.

  “Ooh,” he said, because Georgie looked yummy.

  She was always beautiful, of course, but now she was done up. Her waist-cinching yellow gown matched the streaks in her hair, which was freshly washed and spiked. The corset top to her long trailing skirt made her breasts lift with every breath. Her face was painted, her bosom powdered, and she smelled like a fruit basket.

  “Good Lord,” she exclaimed, gaping at him and Iksander. “You two look different.”

  That revelation he didn’t like as much. Their shirts and formfitting coats bristled with prickly lace and embroidery. Worse, their knee-length breeches were almost too tight to walk in. Evidently, their shoes had heels, because Connor’s ankles were wobbling. On top of all this, he realized he felt silly. He hadn’t thought he cared about gender norms. Since the way he looked annoyed him, he guessed he did a bit.

  Iksander merely grimaced when he glanced at his reflection. The outlandish clothes suited his leaner figure better than Connor’s.

  “My hair,” Connor gasped, suddenly registering that it felt heavy.

  His hair was long now, falling a foot past his shoulders in honey-gold corkscrews.

  Georgie reached out to tug a trailing lock. “It’s not a wig. It’s attached to you.”

  “They might have asked,” Connor griped.

  Iksander laughed. “Don’t sulk. It looks good on you.”

  He was sulking and couldn’t stop, despite the compliment. “It’s ridiculous. Why did they leave yours chin-length?”

  “We’re lucky they did,” Georgie reminded. “‘Andrei’ looks less like his old self with his new haircut.”

  She kissed Connor’s cheek, which did make him feel better. He wished Iksander would kiss the other but that was rushing it. The sultan smiled at least, and didn’t look away.

  Connor told himself getting somewhere was better than standing still.

  By the time the gathering gong rang, his normal good mood had recovered. As promised, the cool-mannered djinniya escorted them to the banquet hall.

  There they discovered being invited to attend dinner wasn’t the same as being allowed to eat. They were directed to a balcony overlooking the stately hall. The balcony had no tables, just seats like a theater. Other courtiers sat already. Each had been supplied a binocular on a stick, the better to admire their superiors down below. Perhaps two hundred of those held pride of place at a big U of tables. These djinn were dressed even fancier than Connor, with more jewels and lace fussing up their outfits.

  When the regents entered, regal to the nth degree, the people at the tables leaped to their feet and bowed.

  The objects of their courtesy inclined their heads in exact synchrony. Henri and Eleanor Villeneuve had long hair too, shining buttery waves that slid cloak-like down their chests. Connor remembered how attractive they were from watching them on their Egyptian barge. Today they were honoring a different era. Their garb resembled that of their followers—except theirs was the richest. Matching plum-sized diamonds glistened like miniature suns in their coronets.

  They claimed the pair of thrones at the upper table. A moment later, everyone else sat too.

  This was the signal for a parade of servers to file in with large wine flasks.

  “Sheesh,” Georgie whispered. “If I’d known we were here to watch, I’d have brought popcorn.”

  One of the courtiers shushed her. Georgie submitted, seeming more amused than annoyed. Connor squeezed her hand and leaned forward for the show. The regents had come to their feet again.

  “Greetings, gracious subjects,” Henri began with his jewel-studded cup lifted. “Today, as always, we thank our Creator for His bounty. How wondrous that we among the Three Hundred have been so blessed!”

  “We thank Him for our lives—” Eleanor continued.

  “—and our triumphs over our enemies—”

  “—and for the plenitude of magic that we are so happy—”

  “—even honored—”

  “—to share with you.” Eleanor spread her arms to indicate the crowd as she completed this declaration. The co-regents’ voices were as similar as their looks: smooth and lovely and insincere. No one seemed disconcerted by their habit of divvying up sentences. Connor assumed they were used to it.

  What appeared to take a few unprepared was Henri setting down his goblet without drinking. Ignoring his courtiers’ consternation—for they’d been about to sip—he braced his hands on the table edge. A single crease nocked his slightly flushed marble brow.

  “Lamentably,” he said, “before we can partake of this sumptuous meal, we must address a serious matter. Lord Moore, would you be kind enough to approach the dais?”

  Connor didn’t know if Lord Moore was kind, but he certainly looked nervous. He was a tall young man with ginger hair and a thin mustache.

  “Your Gloriousness,” he said, bowing his head and dropping to one knee as he reached the appointed spot. “I live to serve.”

  “You do indeed,” Henri agreed, coming around to lean on the table’s front. “Better, however, to ask how you have displeased us.”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Do we not clothe and feed and house you like princelings in our palace? Do we not share our royal magic? Are you not grateful to experience our radiant presences every day? One would think you could not do enough to bring us joy. Instead, we hear you have discussed sensitive imperial secrets with members of the press.”

  The blood that rushed into Lord Moore’s face said he knew precisely what Henri meant. His eyes cut briefly to the guards posted at attention along the wall.

  “Your Highness,” he said, clearly fighting not to show fear. “I only communicated what many present at the incident observed. The demon cloud appeared to choose its last victim. It pursued a man around a corner and up the stairs of his home. It displayed a face that jeered. Some claim it called his name. The people of my district—indeed, of all the city’s districts—deserve to know this is happening.”

  “Nonsense,” Eleanor contradicted. She lounged in her high-backed throne, one graceful finger tracing the rim of her gold goblet. “Everyone knows the demon cloud isn’t sentient. It’s not capable of targeted attacks. Unless . . .” She pressed the same slender finger to her lips. “I suppose our enemy might have imbued his creation with the power of thought before our predecessor—God smile upon her soul—transformed him into stone. While he breathed, Sultan Iksander was known to be ruthless.”

  Seated on Georgie’s other side, Iksander exhaled in annoyance. Connor lowered his binoculars to glance at him. Finding him frowning but otherwise all right, he returned his gaze to the scene below.

  “Respectfully, m
y liege,” Lord Moore was saying to Eleanor. “If we are honest, as I believe behooves us in this instance, we of the privileged class have reason to suspect the demon cloud isn’t our enemy’s invention.”

  The female regent’s brows shot up in amazement. “Do you imply I lie?”

  Lord Moore bowed more earnestly. “Never, Your Radiance. Naturally, I understand—even commend—your desire to prevent a panic. I simply suggest that we, as guardians of the public good, perhaps owe the djinn in our care a fighting chance to protect themselves. If you and your esteemed brother would consider—”

  The collective gasp from the court drowned out the rest of his words. Their shock was followed by dead silence, during which Henri went ramrod straight and strode to Lord Moore.

  “Your Highness,” the horrified djinni stammered. “I didn’t mean— I—”

  Henri struck him across the face. “That is for my noble cousin, whom you have twice dishonored. For your treason, which I note you haven’t denied, you’ll pay a higher price.”

  “Henri, please, how is it treason if—”

  Henri struck him again. “Once you had the right to call me that but no more. No man can be my friend who betrays me.” He signaled the waiting guards. Four came forward with ominous willingness.

  “May I?” Eleanor asked before he could give them instructions.

  Henri bowed to her in permission. Eleanor’s smile was more foreboding than the guards’ ardor. She rose from her seat but didn’t walk around the table. Instead, she levitated up and over it. Connor was impressed in spite of himself. He hadn’t made floating appear that effortless. Eleanor seemed to impersonate a feather. She landed with an attractive flutter of gown and hair.

  The four guards stared, dazzled, as if she embodied their sweetest dreams. When she trailed her white hand across the gold-buttoned breasts of their uniforms, Connor swore he heard their hearts thump.

  “This isn’t leading anywhere good,” Georgie muttered beside him.

  “Now,” the regal djinniya said, “let’s see which of you fine males believe most fervently in the rightness of the sentence we must enact.”

  “She doesn’t want them to turn dark,” Iksander murmured in a tone of discovery. “If they believe the execution is justified, they won’t become ifrits.”

  “They’re going to kill him?” Georgie asked.

  Lord Moore appeared to agree with that conclusion. He flung himself prostrate on the floor. “Please,” he begged. “Show mercy.”

  Neither regent turned to look. Eleanor coyly tapped the middle two guards’ chests. “You and you will have the honor.”

  “This isn’t right,” Georgie objected. “How can what he did be a crime?”

  “Hush,” another balcony occupant scolded.

  Thoroughly upset now, Georgie gripped Connor’s thigh. Iksander stretched across him to pat her arm. “We can’t interfere. It’s their laws he broke, and there are only three of us.”

  Georgie’s growl was almost too low to hear. “I know that. I just wish they wouldn’t—”

  “Don’t,” Iksander said sharply. “Remember what you are. It isn’t safe for you to wish among this crowd. Not if you had perfect control.”

  “Fine,” Georgie said. “I’ll follow Herself’s old rules. I won’t say the W word.”

  By “Herself,” Georgie meant Luna. The empress hadn’t wanted her human charge accidentally activating her species-related advantage. Her fears had turned out to be justified. Maybe the sultan’s were as well. A sudden prickling in Connor’s thigh caused him to glance down. The hand Georgie had clamped on him was on fire—not the burning sort but the magical. The blue glow ran up her rainforest-themed tattoo, picking out the lines of the seal hidden under it.

  Iksander hissed as he recognized the Solomonic star. It was a symbol no djinni would dream of wearing. Possibly, only a human would.

  Before someone else could notice, Connor wrapped his hand over it.

  “Georgie,” he said as soothingly as he could. “Take a breath and calm yourself.”

  “Jesus,” she said, seeing the glow herself.

  A cry of fear from the banquet hall sidetracked them.

  They’d forgotten events were proceeding there. The pair of guards Eleanor selected had baton-like silver weapons tucked in their belts. Now they drew and pointed them at Lord Moore. He cowered on the floor, his hands instinctively—and probably pointlessly—covering his head.

  “I was trying to warn the people,” he pleaded. “I’m innocent.”

  “You disobeyed our glorious leaders,” the first guard argued.

  “Yes,” the second agreed. “At the least, you’re guilty of treachery.”

  Eleanor smiled faintly. “You may proceed,” she said.

  God forgive them, Connor thought as the guards shot crackling streaks of lightning toward their victim.

  They kept shooting for a good half-minute. Lord Moore’s body jerked with the charge, his limbs and torso slapping the floor by turns. Finally, as his spirit was shaken loose and the shaking stopped, his final breath left his lungs. Connor suspected no one but he sensed the subtle light of his soul rising up and departing. Lord Moore’s new consciousness seemed to need no guidance, but he said a prayer for it anyway.

  As physical deaths went, he imagined worse existed.

  Georgie was weeping silently. Connor hugged her to him and kissed her cheek, relieved her tattoo had stopped burning. “He is free, Georgie. His friends will miss him, but he is fine.”

  Georgie looked at him, startled, her lilac eyes washed by tears. She touched his face with her fingertips. “Sometimes I forget what you are.”

  He smiled. “I’m sorry his death made you sad.”

  She shook her head and let out a sigh.

  Iksander returned his gaze to the scene below. Though he hadn’t wept, his tone was dark. “They’re dragging off the body. I suppose this means the banquet can continue.”

  “Surely not,” Connor said, this at last shocking him.

  The smooth entrance of the soup course proved otherwise.

  THEY FINISHED THE MEAL, Georgie thought. A man died in front of them, and they fucking lifted their forks and ate.

  A quartet of musicians came in to play, and conversation continued. The people in the balcony lifted their viewing glasses and oohed at the display. They’d been discomposed, but they’d gotten over it.

  With so many eyes around them, Georgie was afraid to voice her reactions.

  At least the ordeal was over. As they filed back into the corridor, Connor rubbed her hand. Fortunately, her tattoo wasn’t burning anymore.

  She was doubly glad for that when one of the Swiss guards signaled them.

  “The regents would like to speak to you,” he said.

  Iksander must have been numb too, because he nodded and didn’t ask questions. They followed the guard through the emptying banquet hall to a private room at the upper end. The windowless chamber’s colors were blue and silver, the only seats a pair of tall sterling thrones. Clearly feeling informal, the female regent—Eleanor—sat draped gracefully sideways in hers. A small distance away, Henri leaned on the silk brocade that served as wallpaper. He spun a fidget toy on one fingertip, the thing’s curving silver wings centered on an egg-sized pale blue jewel. Georgie couldn’t tell whether magic or dexterity balanced it.

  “You must be wondering why we brought you here,” Eleanor began. “Instead of leaving you in a cell, as you deserve.”

  “We have wondered that,” Iksander said, bowing elegantly from the waist. “Naturally, no matter the cause, we’re honored to be in the company of your luminous selves.”

  Eleanor laughed softly. “You do that well. Perhaps the provinces aren’t as backward as we believe.”

  “Whatever laudable qualities we possess, we owe to our betters.”

  “Yes, yes,” Henri said, waving his pale free hand. “Show them the recording.”

  His sister—or cousin—snapped her fingers and plucked wha
t surely looked like an iPhone out of thin air. Georgie gasped before she could stop herself. Luckily, Eleanor assumed her amazement was for other reasons than recognizing it.

  “Isn’t it clever?” she said, swinging her legs around to sit vertically. “It’s a human device. Sometimes the strangest things fall between the worlds. Its ‘network’ doesn’t connect, of course, so it’s not as handy as a scroll. It does, however, take excellent moving pictures. As you might have guessed, we have an extensive web of informants. When we heard the infamous Variété Theater was staging a new production, after being shut for so long, we had to know what it was about. Our emissary filmed this for us. You were very naughty, arranging to steal people’s power that way—especially without our permission—but we did enjoy your drama.”

  Iksander and Connor’s fight was playing out on the iPhone’s screen.

  “You were also amusing,” Henri said, startling Georgie by addressing her. “A woman playing Solomon was a bold idea. It’s too bad you’re a terrible actress.”

  Georgie had no idea what a safe response to this would be. She stared at him instead, genuinely struck dumb by his exquisite beauty. His skin was poreless porcelain, his eyes hypnotizing navy pools. He wasn’t quite identical to his twin. Seen up close, his face was the tiniest bit asymmetrical. His slanting left cheekbone was a millimeter higher, his right jaw infinitesimally more broad. The variation made him more interesting, she thought.

  “You’re catching flies,” Eleanor observed.

  “Pardon,” Georgie said and shut her mouth.

  Henri snorted in amusement, apparently not displeased by her reaction.

  “We’ve confiscated your revenues, of course,” Eleanor said airily. “But since you may be of use to us, we’ve decided to show mercy.”

  “What sort of use?” Connor asked.

  It was the first time he’d spoken. Interestingly, his angel whammy also worked on regents. Eleanor’s eyes went rounder, her soft bowed lips parting. Caught by surprise, she combed one pinkie through a shining wave of her buttercup yellow hair. The color looked natural. Georgie guessed djinn came in slightly different hues than humans.