Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  “It does,” Tory insisted. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.” He backed away, and a frown surfaced. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you out earlier. You do understand, though—it’s Akila I’m worried about. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like an afterthought.”

  Ian blanched. “I have done nothing to Akila, and I will thank you to leave her out of this discussion. She is not your concern.”

  “The hell she isn’t! How can you say you’ve done nothing, when you screwed as many human women as you could get your hands on behind her back?”

  “You do not understand—”

  “I don’t have to. You never wanted the marriage, but she loved you anyway. And this is how you repay her. Screwing around like a college frat boy.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a human thing. You wouldn’t get it.” Tory flashed a poisoned glare. “I don’t blame you for the war, but I won’t let you hurt her. If I ever see you so much as touch another woman, I’ll kill you myself.” He whirled and stalked from the room.

  I glanced at the pillow where I’d hidden my knife. “Guess I should’ve stabbed the bastard after all.”

  “No.” Ian sat down hard on the window bench. “Allow him his anger. I’ve no desire to discuss personal matters with him.”

  “But why is it so damned personal? I mean, she’s your wife.”

  “Yes. She is.” Ian closed his eyes. “For many centuries, Taregan’s family has served as bodyguards, and more, to the royal Bahari. They call themselves the Guardians. When he came of age, Taregan was assigned personally to Akila.” A smile tugged at his lips. “He takes his duties quite seriously. Even when I attempt to relieve him of them.”

  “So he thinks he’s her godmother—er, father?”

  Ian almost laughed. “Something like that.”

  I choked back a snort at the idea of Tory doing a Marlon Brando impersonation. “Well, don’t you think it’d help if he knew why you made all those descendants?”

  “Perhaps. But he does not seem inclined to stop berating me long enough for an explanation.”

  “True. He’s got a mouth on him.” I slipped the blade back into a pocket and finger-combed my hair, a useless attempt to look presentable. No way I’d get back to sleep now. “Well, at least you’ve got me on your side.”

  Ian smirked. “How fortunate for me.”

  “Just a guess, but I’d say you’re better off with me than your other descendants. I haven’t started any massacres lately.”

  “Take care, thief. Your arrogance is showing.” A small smile belied any bad intentions. “My apologies for not trusting you sooner. I had to be certain that you were not like your predecessors.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  He shifted sideways and drew his knees up to his chest. “I did attempt to return. To Taregan and the others. By the time it was safe, they had moved on.”

  “Safe. You mean from your descendants?” A shiver stole through me. “I didn’t know they were trying to kill you.”

  “Not me,” he said. “Taregan and Shamil. You see, the one who called himself their leader had located their tethers. He threatened to destroy them both if I did not remain with them and continue to indulge their desires. I had to wait until the humans died on their own. Killed themselves with their excesses and foolish behavior. It took nearly a century for those who had turned on me to pass away, and at last I was able to take the tethers. But I could not locate the Bahari. Dehbei do not possess strong scrying abilities.” He leaned back against the sill. “With the Morai hunting us down, it was not safe to keep the tethers with me. I hid them among ancient human remains, deep underground, on separate continents. However, it seems not even the dead are sacred to humans. They were found before I could return to retrieve them.”

  “Yeah. Looks like Trevor’s been collecting them.”

  “He has Shamil’s, and he nearly had mine.” Ian closed his eyes briefly. “I can only hope Taregan has located his own. Though I suppose it would do no good to ask him, as he will simply blame me for that as well.”

  By the time Ian finished talking, I wanted to hurt someone. Several someones. Since a bunch of them were already dead, and one of them was in his fortress by the lake, that left Tory.

  “I’m sorry, Ian. That really sucks.” I would’ve offered something a little more sympathetic, but eloquence had never been one of my strengths. “Look, I . . . have to take a piss.”

  He looked confused.

  “You know, urinate.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah, so I’ll be back in a few, okay? Gotta find a bathroom.”

  He nodded vaguely and stared out the window.

  I left the room, relieved that he hadn’t prodded me any. If he’d known what I really intended to do, he probably would’ve refused to allow it. Or tried to, anyway.

  Tory wouldn’t listen to Ian. Fine. He’d damned well listen to me.

  CHAPTER 21

  Four in the morning wasn’t my idea of a good time for an argument.

  It wasn’t hard to find Tory. I just had to follow the trail of angst leading to Lark’s living room, where a plasma TV blared old Bugs Bunny cartoons at a volume suitable for old folks with broken hearing aids. The djinn sprawled on a couch, shirtless, beer in hand. He’d obviously adjusted to life as a typical American. In the blue-white glow of the screen, I made out armband tattoos that matched Shamil’s. For some reason, the sight of them pissed me off.

  Probably because I knew where Shamil was right now. Didn’t seem right that this asshole should sit here drinking and damning Ian while his clan member took Trevor’s abuse.

  I moved between Tory and the television. He lifted bleary eyes and let out a grunt. “Fuck off, monkey.”

  “You sound like Lark. Besides, I thought you liked humans.”

  “I don’t like humans who choose to associate with Gahijian. Especially the female ones.” His gaze narrowed. “Or humans who go around crippling people and then screwing them over.”

  I winced. Couldn’t defend what I’d done to Lark, but I wasn’t about to let his idiotic tirade against Ian continue. “Let’s get a few things straight here,” I said. I reached down and hit the TV’s power button.

  “Hey! I was watching that.” Tory grabbed for a remote lying on a side table.

  I got there first and threw it across the room. “No, you don’t. You’re going to listen to me, damn it.”

  “Why should I?”

  “What are you, five years old?” I folded my arms, took a breath. “Okay. First, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what happened to Lark. I would’ve stuck around and tried to help, but he asked me to leave. Actually, he told me if I stayed, he’d kill me.”

  Tory glowered. “He should have.”

  “Maybe. But he didn’t, and that’s for him to decide. Now, about Ian.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You’re going to if I have to tape your mouth shut.”

  “Not if I turn you into a frog.”

  “Oh, come on. A frog? I do know a little about djinn, and I’m pretty sure you can’t do that. But maybe I’m wrong. If I am, go ahead and prove it.”

  Tory sank lower into the seat cushions and knocked back a swallow from his can.

  “Thought so.” I relaxed. A little. “Ian didn’t desert you.”

  “Right. I just imagined him going off with those half-breed morons.”

  “Shut up and listen.” I had to drop my arms and clasp my hands behind my back to keep from strangling him. “Those morons had your tether, and Shamil’s. They were going to kill you both unless Ian did what they wanted. He had to wait until they died to get the tethers back, and then he couldn’t find you.”

  Tory sprang to his feet. “You’re lying.”

  “No—”

  “Gahiji-an cares for no one but himself. He rejected me, the same way he rejected . . .” The color drained from his face, and he slid back down on the couch. His features slackened.<
br />
  “Uh, Tory?” I said when he didn’t continue. “You’re gonna have to give me a little more to go on. I’m not following you.”

  “Is that really what happened?” His lips barely moved.

  “Well, I wasn’t there, so we’ve only got Ian’s word on it. But I believe him.”

  “Gods.” Tory hung his head. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “I would not go so far as to say that.”

  Ian’s voice jangled my unsuspecting nerves. “Would you stop doing that?” I snapped as he popped into view across the room. “I thought you trusted me now.”

  “I do. However, I knew it should not have taken quite this long to relieve yourself.”

  Tory stood and faced Ian. “I . . .”

  “It is all right, young one. I cannot fault you for believing as you did.”

  “Whoa.” I glanced from Tory to Ian. “Isn’t he like a thousand years old, too?”

  “Not quite,” Ian said. “He was a mere century old when Kemosiri sent us here. A child, by our standards.” A tiny smile graced his lips. “And already insisting on shouldering more responsibility than was required of him.”

  “I wasn’t a child. I’d been trained by the Guardians.”

  “Training is no substitute for experience.”

  I sensed another imminent explosion. “Breathe, guys,” I said. “Whatever it is, can’t it wait? We’ve got more important things to worry about than our respective maturity.”

  “Your pathetic human is right, Gahiji-an.” Tory smiled. “He’s got balls, too. Where’d you find him?”

  “Under a rock.” His eyes flashed with amusement. “The pathetic human calls me Ian. Perhaps you should as well, to avoid confusing him.”

  “Watch it, genie boy. I can name-call right along with you.” I had to grin myself, from pure relief. At least they wouldn’t try to kill each other now.

  Unless the subject of Akila came up again.

  I leveled a look at Ian. “Isn’t there something else you want to explain, now that he’s listening?”

  “I do not recall anything else.”

  I sighed. “Subtlety isn’t one of your strengths, is it? Descendants, wife . . . any of this sound familiar?”

  “Good point, Donneghy.” Tory raised an eyebrow. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “It’s Donatti,” I said.

  “Whatever.”

  Ian made a dismissive gesture. “Listen all you like. I have nothing to say.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Tory snorted. “Like I said, you’ve never wanted her.”

  The expression on Ian’s face made me regret bringing it up. I hoped Tory’s tether wasn’t anywhere close. He might end up disintegrating—or whatever happened to a djinn when his tether was destroyed. “He must have,” I said, trying to put myself between them in case of sudden murder attempts. “I mean, he wouldn’t have married her in the first place if he didn’t. Right?”

  “Ah. He hasn’t told you.”

  “Apparently not.” Now what had Ian conveniently forgotten to mention?

  “It wasn’t his choice. Their marriage was arranged to unite our clans. And he protested it—loudly and publicly.”

  “That is enough, Taregan.”

  “What’s wrong? Don’t like being in the hot seat? Well, now it’s your turn.” Tory moved closer. “You deserve it, after you humiliated Akila.”

  “I did not mean to hurt her—”

  “Whether or not you meant it, you did. Everyone else sure as hell saw it that way.” He turned to me and said, “Your friend Ian here showed up late for his own marriage ceremony. Then, as soon as it was over, he announced that he was leaving, and he’d see his new bride in ten years when her mating cycle arrived.”

  “Her wh-what?” I stammered.

  “Female djinn can only reproduce for a three-day period, once every three hundred years,” Tory said. “Only when her time came, he was here, impregnating his human harem.”

  “Enough! I have my reasons, Taregan, and they are not your concern. Regardless of what you and the rest of your clan believe, Akila is my wife, and we have every right not to share the details of our personal life with you.”

  Tory reeled as if he’d been slapped. “Please,” he said softly. “I’m not asking for details. This has nothing to do with clans or politics. I just . . . gods, Ian. She loves you so much. It breaks my heart to think you don’t return the feeling.”

  Something in Ian’s rigid stance relented. “I have always loved her. More than you can know.” He looked away. “Akila is aware of my descendants. In fact, she made it possible by breaking the dormancy component of the tether spell. Without access to blood magic, I could not defend myself against the Morai—and I wished to do so without human sacrifice. I also needed blood descendants to ensure that the barrier would not collapse.”

  “I thought all the Dehbei created the barrier together,” Tory said. “You’re telling me their blood won’t keep it from collapsing?”

  All the color drained from Ian’s face. “They are all dead, Taregan. Only I remain.”

  It took Tory a full minute to pull himself together. “Ian, I . . .”

  A short electronic tone cut through the room and amputated the conversation. Lark’s voice followed. “Tory. Where are you?”

  Tory shook himself. He unclipped a small, slim black rectangle from his waistband and held it near his head. “Upstairs. Our guests are up and about.”

  “Good. We have a problem. Bring them down.”

  “Be right there.” Tory replaced the device and frowned. “Come on. If Lark says we have a problem—”

  “Then we’re five minutes away from gruesome death,” I finished for him. “Right?”

  “Exactly.”

  Crud. I’d wanted to be wrong this time.

  CHAPTER 22

  Tory lurched us down to the basement in an old-fashioned birdcage elevator that creaked and complained and had me praying we’d survive long enough to find out what the problem was. I considered introducing Lark to the technological wonder of WD-40 but decided he’d probably take it the wrong way. We stepped out, and the décor changed from ancient cave to Bat Cave.

  The central room of Lark’s subfloor hadn’t changed much since my last visit. Banks of equipment lined the perimeter, projecting a kaleidoscope of indicator lights and screen glow. A row of digital clocks still displayed the current times in every major metropolitan area on earth, and the industrial gray linoleum and cool, dry air still reminded me of a morgue.

  But the sarcophagus in the glass case hadn’t been there before.

  I took a closer look and recognized the unusual piece. It was about three feet tall, as if it’d been made for some obscure midget pharaoh. King Tiny the Terrible. Its angular, blank-eyed, inhuman face sported a traditional Egyptian headdresstrimmed in onyx and gold, and long folded wings crossed its chest in place of arms.

  When Lark first showed me a photo of the thing, before we failed to steal it and I crippled him, he’d said it was a falcon and that it contained mummified remains of said bird. Aside from the wings, I couldn’t see the artistic vision. It just looked damned freaky.

  “Lark, how in the hell did you get this?”

  Too late, I realized he couldn’t possibly know what this was, but he wheeled around from the screen he’d been facing to cast me a twisted smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “Matter of fact, I would.”

  “Well, tough shit. You’re a master thief. I’m sure you know every trade secret there is to know, so I’m not going to bother explaining.” He turned back, and I could’ve sworn his chair harrumphed at me.

  “Fine.” I squinted through the glass. The sarcophagus leered back. “This thing’s even uglier in person. Why’s it still here? I thought you had a buyer lined up.”

  “I did,” Lark said without turning. “And I delivered.”

  “So this is a figment of my imagination, then, right?”

  “No. I commissioned a
dupe.”

  “Impressive dupe.” I was no collector, but I’d stolen plenty of art, and it looked exactly like the original to me. “Who’d you get it from?”

  He laughed. “No. The one I delivered was a dupe. That one’s real.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Afraid not. That’s the genuine article, and some sucker in Italy paid half a mil for a fake.” Lark gave a thin shrug. “We needed it.”

  “We?”

  “Thank the gods.” Ian had come up behind me to stare into the case. “You did find it.”

  “Whoa, hold on,” I said. “You’ve seen this thing?”

  Ian nodded. “It is where I attempted to conceal Taregan’s tether.”

  “Oh, you did more than attempt to hide it,” Tory said from the doorway. “Took me forever to find the damned thing, and when I finally did—”

  Lark interrupted with a snort of laughter. “He tried to steal it. And he got busted.”

  “I wasn’t trying to steal it.” Tory flushed and crossed his arms. “I was just going to get my tether out. They could’ve kept the damned coffin.”

  “Yeah. That’s like saying you didn’t want the Mona Lisa, you were just going to take the frame.” Lark smiled, shook his head. “He’s lucky I was already working on the guard who grabbed him. That’s how we met. I had a buyer lead for a different piece at the OCM in Albany, and when I went up to feed the bribe, there was Tory trying to talk his way out of a trip downtown. He’d told the guard he dropped his watch into the exhibit, and it somehow mysteriously landed in the sealed sarcophagus, and he had to get it back.”

  Tory rolled his eyes. “You just love this story, don’t you?”

  “You know it.” Lark shifted his chair around and almost relaxed. “I ended up having to use the bribe money to get him out. Lost the lead, gained a partner. Fair trade.”

  “Something like that.” Tory looked away, but a faint smile lingered on his lips.

  I felt like an ass all over again. “So that’s why you were so hot to lift this thing,” I said. “And I . . .”