Djinn 3

by A. R. Moler

  Summer picked up the glass of iced coffee at her elbow. “Who?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m betting on Archimedes. I came home from shopping. The box was gone.”

  “You didn’t ward the house?”

  “I did. Really I did, but maybe I screwed it up.”

  “Mmm, of course if it was a mage, something like some simple aversion wards wouldn’t do much good.”

  “I need to find him. I love him. Please, please help me,” Dale pleaded.

  Summer regarded him through slit pupils. “If he’s in the box, there’s no way. You’ll only be able to locate him when he’s corporeal.”

  “How?”

  “Still got that bullet?”

  “Yes, well, at home, not with me.”

  “It has his blood on it. Soak it in a glass of water, then drink the water. A manifestation of his essence will be inside you. It will lead you to him.”

  The idea of drinking water with blood in it sent a shudder through Dale. “Is this some kind of a test? See how far the stupid human will go?”

  “I do not lie.”

  Riadh had told Dale that truth was in a dragon’s nature, but often in the most oblique, inscrutable way possible. “It sounds like there are things you’re not telling me.”

  “He has to be corporeal,” she repeated.

  “How long will I be able to track him?”

  “Perhaps as long as three days.”

  “And after?” Dale asked.

  “Then that method will no longer work.”

  “If I can’t find him, I’ll be back.”

  “Okay.”

  * * * *

  Dale spent several long hours contemplating where to start the search. Archimedes hardly seemed the type to put himself out much to meet with a potential student, which was how Dale had billed himself originally. They had met at a restaurant in Philadelphia. Chances were reasonable that the mage lived within an hour or two of that location.

  Bullet safely stowed in a Ziploc in his pocket, 9mm under the car seat for easy retrieval when he got to Philly, and pickled demon in its jar in the trunk, Dale drove.

  Aunt Mildred’s grimoire contained a spell that involved using one of those pickled monstrosities to place a curse. Dale wasn’t entirely sure he could pull off the spell, but it seemed like the best backup plan if the 9mm didn’t work.

  Chapter 4

  This time when Riadh materialized, he faced a different human, one who put a level of fear in his supernatural gut. Archimedes sat behind a huge mahogany desk. The box, Riadh’s binding container, sat on the desk in front of him.

  “Bring me a glass of Glenfiddich whiskey,” Archimedes said.

  Riadh held out his hand and the requested glass appeared in it. He set the glass carefully on the desk top.

  The mage picked up the glass and sipped the liquor. “Adequate. Just stay there, I have some other things I want of you.”

  All the while the mage drank the whiskey, Riadh stood immobile. Inside him, things twisted and knotted with trying to guess what his new master would order him to do next. He didn’t have more than half an hour to wait.

  “Assume the shape of a woman, naked, voluptuous, and pretty,” Archimedes said.

  Riadh spent a moment in blind panic before he forced himself to comply. Technically, his existence was not bound to a specific gender but his default had been male for a very long time and it had been a couple of centuries since a master had commanded that he appear female. He drew a shaky breath and changed, curves, breasts, all the appropriate female body parts.

  Archimedes’ pupils dilated and he licked his lips. “Bend over the desk.” He stood up and began unbuckling his belt. Riadh bent forward, forearms braced against the desktop. Moving behind Riadh, he unzipped his fly. “I intend to enjoy this.”

  * * * *

  This was the restaurant where Dale had met Archimedes. Dale stood on the sidewalk and stared into the doorway. This was where Archimedes had first offered to take Riadh in trade for training Dale. This was where he had treated Riadh like a non-feeling possession, like a thing.

  Dale opened the water bottle in his hand. He pulled the baggie containing the bullet out of his pocket. If Summer was lying to him, he was going to be so pissed. Pulling the bullet out, he dropped it into the water bottle and shook it. Was the water a slightly different color? Maybe. It didn’t make a difference. Either this was going to work or it wouldn’t. Summer had said if Riadh was corporeal, Dale would be able to track him.

  Hoping it didn’t taste too awful, Dale chugged a substantial part of the water. Okay, there was a metallic aftertaste. Now what? He stared at the sky. Maybe there would be a sign? Jeez that sounded like he was expecting a star or something. He paced in a circle, feeling…tingly when he passed the base of the street light. The tingling was reminiscent of picking up the magical tools in Summer’s garden or the items found in the house. Dale walked slowly in the direction of the light, then paused. If this worked like a compass, he should cross the street, then reorient and see if he could continue. But if the distance was too great though, he’d be tired and his gun was still in the car. He weighed his options. He’d walk for thirty minutes and see where that got him, then he’d hike back to where he parked and leapfrog his way as far as he could.

  Walk, pause, pay attention, repeat. Dale traveled about a mile before he decided to back track and move his car. He spent a fair chunk of the afternoon seeking Riadh before he suddenly had no hint where to go next. Nothing, no tingling, no impression of Riadh, he almost panicked. Think. Riadh has to recharge. Depending on what tasks or magic workings, Riadh would have to go back to his box to regain his energy. Speaking of energy, it slowly dawned on Dale that except for the water with the bullet in it, he’d neither eaten nor drank anything since he’d discovered the box was missing. He stopped at a convenience store and bought a bottle of Gatorade and a power bar.

  Walking back to the car, he made himself take slow, even breaths. Dale slid behind the wheel and allowed himself one long minute to rest his head on the steering wheel. I will find him. I will get him back.

  He drove to the last place he’d tracked Riadh and waited. It took three hours before he felt the tingling pull again. Hastily, Dale began searching again.

  Stopping in front of a big expensive-looking house in a wealthy neighborhood, Dale stared from across the street. This had to be it. He walked all the way around the block just to make sure the trail wasn’t leading off past the house in another direction. Nope, approach from every angle pointed to the house. It was logical that someone as powerful as Archimedes had money.

  The sensation of Riadh’s magical presence abruptly faded again. What the hell was the damn mage having Riadh do that required him to retreat to the box frequently? Or was the bastard just toying with the djinn?

  Dale decided he needed a plan. That plan required observation of the house, going back once more to move the car, getting his gun and setting up the spell that involved the pickled demon.

  * * * *

  “Prime rib, medium, a bottle of 2003 Lafite-Rothschild Bordeaux, some Beluga on toast points and crème brulee,” Archimedes said. He leaned back in the dining chair.

  Riadh heaved a tiny breath of relief. He could do expensive and exotic food and drink. Anything was better than having that man touch him again. At least he had been allowed to return to his male form. He conjured the requested items and set them on the table before the mage.

  A man with a beard, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket came into the room. “Sir, I spoke with Mr. Ransdell. He’s holding firm on the price of three hundred thousand.”

  Archimedes jaw clenched. “Henning, I assume you told him I will not pay a penny more.”

  “Yes, sir. He was adamant.”

  “I want that ring. I’d say kill him and take it but he has power. I doubt you’d be successful.” Archimedes crashed his fist down on the table. “Go! Let me think on what needs to be done next.”

  Hennin
g nodded and departed.

  Riadh stood immobile, a few steps from the table. He could see that the mage was furious.

  “Come here.” Archimedes ordered, pointing at a spot directly beside him.

  Riadh complied.

  Archimedes picked up a carving knife that lay on the table and rammed it into Riadh’s lower belly. The pain was exquisite. In his humanoid form, Riadh experienced pain as if he were a man. Archimedes yanked the knife free and blood began to gush from the wound.

  “Mother fucking son of a bitch! How dare he refuse to sell me the ring!” Archimedes snarled. He plunged the knife in again.

  More agony, more blood. Riadh’s knees began to buckle. No. No. No. Not again. He’d been owned by sadistic amoral bastards a few times before. He swore he’d find a way to die before he endured it again. Blood soaked his t-shirt and jeans, dripped down onto his bare feet. He sank to his hands and knees, eventually looking up at Archimedes.

  The expression on Archimedes’ face was vile. Dilated pupils and parted lips, he was obviously deriving a level of enjoyment and satisfaction from watching Riadh expire.

  Riadh gasped shallowly, hoping this would be over fast, that he would discorporate as his physical body failed and then he would have a few hours, at least, inside the box to recharge. With a sick feeling of dread, he wondered if this was going to be his existence for the foreseeable future. There had to be a way out.

  Chapter 5

  Dale carried the jar in one hand and his 9mm Sig in the other. He’d spent the evening doing recon in the neighborhood and observing everything he could about Archimedes’ house. There were two main doors. Dale decided to opt for the one near the back corner. He’d never thought the lock picking skills he’d learned in the military for covert assaults would be put to this kind of a use. Archimedes appeared to have at least one employee, because a bearded man had been seen entering the house in the early evening. The man had left an hour later. If there was an alarm system, Dale was mildly screwed, because it would take away the element of surprise. He’d have to rely on speed and hope the box wasn’t locked in some kind of a secure vault.

  He set down the jar of pickled demon long enough to open the lock of the door. No shrieking alarms. Good. Jar back in hand, Dale crept into the house. He was still following the tingling sensation, hoping to find Riadh as soon as possible. He made his way through a hall, a dining room and into a second hall. A slightly open door stood at the far end.

  Dale took a breath, then kicked the door open, aiming his gun at the man behind a huge wooden desk. Archimedes. Dale flung the jar at the mage. “Still as stone!”

  The jar never hit the floor, instead it hovered in the air a foot or so in front of Archimedes. The mage gave Dale a sly gloating grin. Dale felt the muzzle of a gun press against the base of his skull.

  “Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice someone breaking into my house?” Archimedes said.

  An arm reached around Dale’s shoulders and took the Sig from his hand. Dale was roughly spun around and shoved into a straight back chair by the bearded man. How the hell had he gotten back into the house without Dale seeing him? Magic had to be involved. His assailant stood in front of him, gun aimed at Dale’s face.

  “Bind him securely. Duct tape would be a nice touch,” Archimedes said. He had plucked the jar out of the air and set it on the desk top…next to the shoe box.

  Only then did Dale notice Riadh standing motionless in the corner of the room. One small gesture from the djinn and Dale was stuck to the chair with what looked like about a half mile of duct tape.

  “Henning, you may leave now,” Archimedes ordered.

  Henning, apparently the name of the bearded man, nodded and left the room.

  “I wondered if you’d come. Actually, I wondered if you even had the skill to find your…toy,” the mage said.

  “Riadh is not a toy!” Dale snapped. He looked at his lover. Riadh had returned to his motionless stance, but Dale knew him well enough to read the stress and misery in Riadh’s expression.

  “Well, he’s not your toy anymore.”

  Dale fumed. There had to be a way to patch back together this botched plan.

  Archimedes sipped from the glass of amber liquid. “I guess you never did find yourself a teacher.”

  Dale was silent. Let the asshole think whatever he liked.

  “I would like to know where you got the preserved baby demon though. Did you buy it?”

  “No.”

  “Interesting preservation method.”

  “It’s pickled.” Let the bastard make something of that.

  “Um, how fascinating. I will say, that particular option would not have occurred to me.”

  A minute or ten ticked by. Dale wondered if he was being studied or if he was supposed to start talking to fill the silence.

  * * * *

  Riadh wanted to free Dale, rescue him, somehow get him away from the revolting mage, but he was bound by the orders of the owner of the box.

  “Kill him,” Archimedes ordered.

  Riadh’s heart clenched and sank into despair. He walked forward to where Dale sat bound to the chair. He conjured a razor-sharp blade in his hand. If he was forced to do this, he would make it as fast and painless as possible. Riadh pressed the edge of the knife to Dale’s throat.

  Dale looked up at him. There was both fear and sadness in his eyes.

  “I have no choice,” Riadh apologized.

  Archimedes spoke up. “No, no knife, choke him. I want it done slowly.”

  Riadh dropped the blade on the carpet, not bothering to make it disappear. He put his hands around Dale’s throat and whispered, “Burn the box.” It was the only option he could think of. Better dead than forced to do Archimedes bidding for years to come.

  Dale’s eyes went wide. He obviously understood the implications of what Riadh was begging him to do.

  “Burn the box.” Riadh kept his voice barely audible to Dale. He tightened his fingers around Dale’s throat as slowly as he dared.

  Dale’s gaze went to the cardboard box sitting off to the side of Archimedes desk. He mouthed the words and the box burst into flames that flashed outward.

  Archimedes screeched in alarm and waved his hands in the direction of the fire but his actions were too late. The box disintegrated into a pile of blackened ashes. “No! What have you done?”

  Riadh immediately released his hold on Dale’s throat as the force of the magic that made him obey the owner of the box dissipated. “Thank you. At least I’ll die free.” He gestured toward Dale and all the duct tape vanished.

  * * * *

  Dale coughed and gasped. With the destruction of the box, Riadh immediately began to go grainy around the edges of his form. Dale was damn near panic stricken.

  There was a splutter of protest from Archimedes and the man launched himself around the desk. “Fuck it all! I’ll kill you myself then.” He plucked a long slender crystal from his pants pocket and started to aim it at Dale.

  Dale was faster. He scrambled out of the chair and punched Archimedes in the face as hard as he could. The older man crashed to the floor. Score one for Marine Corps hand to hand training. “Riadh! Babe!” He gripped Riadh’s shoulders. The djinn was beginning to feel less substantial, softening along the edges of his body. “I don’t want you to die. Please, Riadh, I want you alive. I love you!”

  Riadh touched his fingers to Dale’s lips. It felt like little more than the brush of a feather. “I’m sorry but I could not bear to be a slave to one like him.” He cast a look at Archimedes struggling to get up.

  “Please…Please…Please…I can’t lose you,” Dale begged. A dark, desperate thought skittered through his head and he embraced it without a moment’s delay. Dale grabbed Archimedes wrist with one hand and cupped his opposite hand against Riadh’s cheek. “Live.”

  Molten hot energy seared through Dale’s body, burning from where he gripped the treacherous mage’s arm all the way to his light touch on Riadh’s
face. As his vision blurred, Dale wondered if the heat would kill him. Finally, the flow dribbled to a stop and Dale was able to see again. Archimedes’ body was a dried, lifeless husk that hung from his grip like a grotesque Halloween decoration.

  And Riadh…Riadh was still there, naked, looking pale and dazed as he fell to his knees, then crashed sideways onto the carpet.

  Dale thrust the mummified corpse away from himself and sank to the floor beside Riadh. He carefully gathered his lover in his arms and cradled the man to his chest, stroking a hand through Riadh’s hair. “Riadh? Hon’, Talk to me. Are you okay?”

  Riadh lay limply in Dale’s arms, blinking. He drew a shaky breath “How did you…?”

  “I don’t know what the hell I did, not exactly anyway. Are you okay? You’re not fading around the edges. You’re still here. Did I save you? Or did I just postpone your death?” Fear and guilt clutched at Dale’s heart.

  Lifting a hand, Riadh stared at his own fingers. He wiggled them.

  Dale had no idea what it meant. Was Riadh waiting for the discorporation to start all over again?

  “Please, talk to me,” Dale begged.

  “You made me mortal,” Riadh murmured.

  “I did what?”

  “I’m mortal. I’m not…I’m no longer a djinn.”

  “But that’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  “In the realm of magic, impossible is merely a word.”

  The door of the office crashed open and Henning charged through it. Dale scrambled up off the floor, dumping Riadh, and grabbed the jar off the desk. He hurled it at Henning and yelled, “Still as stone!” as the glass container shattered. The gloopy contents of the jar splattered upward and in another second Henning was frozen in place, most of his body coated in the pinkish slime. It appeared to have solidified.

  Dale quickly pulled Riadh to his feet. His lover was naked and it was cold outside. It was likely to be only a few minutes until Henning broke free of the demonic goo. Dale half carried, half dragged Riadh out of the office. In the hallway, he turned left and found himself in the dining room. The table was covered by a cloth. That would have to do. Dale yanked the table cloth off and wrapped it around Riadh, who was teetering unsteadily beside him. “The car’s a few blocks away. Do you think you can make it?”