Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  I didn’t bother correcting him this time. “I’ll be fine.” I hope.

  “Maybe you will. All the same, Ian, I think we should get some help.”

  Ian went still. “And who do you suggest we call on? Shamil? Perhaps you can locate other Bahari here in the next six hours. In case you have forgotten, Taregan, I am the only surviving Dehbei.”

  Tory blanched. “I haven’t forgotten,” he whispered. “But we can still contact the Council. They’ll send reinforcements.”

  “No, they will not. Your clan leader has persuaded the Council not to interfere. No one will come to assist me, whether or not you are involved.”

  “What about Akila?”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed. “I will not risk her life. And you should know better than to ask such a thing, for your rayani to betray her father’s directives. No, we do this alone.”

  “Then we die!”

  “It is possible. However, the most likely outcome is that I will die. The rest of you will survive, and my death should be incentive enough for your leader, in his infinite wisdom, to act against the Morai. At the least, it will please him.” Ian made a rough grab for the mirror. “Donatti, if you do not mind, I would prefer that we practice outside.”

  He stalked out without waiting for an answer.

  Although the last thing I wanted right now was to torture myself trying to use magic, I decided it’d be less painful than what would happen if Ian didn’t get some distance between himself and Tory. “Jazz,” I said gently.

  She opened her eyes. “They still catting?”

  “No.” I glanced at Tory, but he’d turned his attention to making Lark comfortable. “I’d better go with Ian. Do you want to come out with me?” I had the feeling things might get a little tense in here.

  Jazz seemed to understand my unvoiced concern. “I’ll be fine. Wanted to check on Lark anyway, make sure he’s had enough fluid.” She eased forward, stood, and stretched. “Go. Do what you have to.”

  “Right.” I let out a breath. “Sorry about all this. Soon as we’re clear of Trevor, I’ll try to explain everything to you. It’s a long story.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Akila gave me a crash course in djinn politics.”

  “Oh.” I should’ve guessed that. Jazz didn’t enjoy not being as informed as possible. She probably had better stories than I did. I hoped I’d get the opportunity to hear them someday.

  “You should get out there. Ian’s waiting for you.”

  “Yeah, I guess I should.”

  She brushed my arm and moved toward Lark and Tory. I grabbed a bottle of water and an energy bar from the pack, hoping to ply my protesting body with food and drink, and headed out after Ian. Outside, I found him leaning against the outer wall of the mausoleum. “Hey. You all right?”

  “Yes. Fine,” he said, sounding anything but. “My apologies, thief. I did not realize Taregan was so opposed to your assistance.”

  “Yeah, me, neither.” Unfortunately, I could see Tory’s point. It would be safer if we had another djinn or two. Or a hundred. Taking on Trevor was risky, even as just a regular brutal, underhanded bastard. Now he was a bastard with power. Damn near untouchable.

  But there was no one else. Just a couple of djinn, two humans, and a whatever I was.

  Ian straightened and propped the mirror upright. “There are three components to forming a bridge. Symbol, words, intention. The intention is the most difficult to master, because it is imprecise.”

  “Well, let’s just jump right in,” I muttered. “It’s not like I just robbed a store and burned up my reserves or anything.”

  “We have no time to waste. Power takes time to rebuild, and you must be as close to full strength as possible when we attempt this for real.”

  I sighed and shuffled over to him. “Okay. Let’s do the easy part first.”

  “You’ll use my symbol. You are my descendant, so it should work.”

  “Should?”

  “It will work.” Ian frowned, pointed to the mirror. “Pay attention.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Do you know how to form the symbol?”

  “Yeah. In blood. There’s a wavy line and a dot . . .”

  “Show me.”

  Crud. I was hoping this would be more of a theory lesson. I used the knife to slice my left index finger and smeared what looked like a reasonable facsimile of Ian’s squiggles onto the top corner of the mirror. “Right?”

  “Good enough.” Ian stepped back and motioned for me to stand before the glass. “With the words, you must have the intention. Concentrate on your destination, and call on the desire to bring it to you.”

  “Hold on. I’m supposed to bring some other place to me?”

  Ian made an exasperated sound. “You simply have to desire being there.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “The words,” he said sharply. “Insha no imil, kubri ana bi-sur’u wasta.”

  I blinked. “That’s a lot of words.”

  “Say them.”

  I tried. And failed spectacularly.

  Frustration flooded Ian’s face. He drew a quick breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. “All right. Move away for a moment.” A half-smile tugged his mouth. “I have never found occasion to teach this to anyone, you know.”

  “Yeah. I guess it’s pretty natural for a djinn.” I stepped aside and tried to recall the words in my head, but all I could come up with was eenie meenie miney moe. That probably wouldn’t cut it. “Can you say the middle part again?”

  Instead of replying, he moved behind me and gripped my shoulders. “Try to relax. Close your eyes.”

  I did, hoping he wasn’t going to give me a massage. “I don’t know how relaxed I’m going to get here.”

  “Silence, thief. Listen.” He paused, then repeated the incantation. It still sounded like gibberish to me. “Do not attempt to memorize the sounds and spit them back out. Feel the words, understand their shape. You have this knowledge already—find it.” He said them again.

  This time, a glimmer of understanding penetrated. My mind automatically translated part of the chant: Go quickly and connect. I stood trying to tune out everything but the words and plant them in my brain.

  At last, I opened my eyes. “I think I got it.”

  “Try again.” Ian released me. “Remember to focus on your intention, your destination.”

  “Wait. What’s my destination?”

  “Oh.” Ian cleared his throat. “Yes. You should not attempt to arrive in Trevor’s basement yet.” He scanned the area, and his gaze fell on the water bottle I’d left by the entrance. He grabbed it, twisted the top off, and poured the water carefully into a small stone basin next to the doorway. “This will do for the moment.”

  “Uh . . . Ian, I don’t think I’m going to fit in there.” The basin was about two feet in diameter, and the puddle he’d created was considerably smaller.

  “You do not have to pass completely through to test the bridge. Just put your hand inside.”

  “Right. No problem,” I lied. I stared at the basin, trying to establish it as where I wanted to be. It wasn’t easy—I wanted to be in some tropical foreign country, with Jazz and Cyrus, where no goon or evil djinn would ever find us. But that wouldn’t happen until I figured out how to work this bridge trick.

  Finally, I faced the mirror and projected my intentions.

  “Insha no imil, kubri ana bi-sur’u wasta.” The sound of my own voice surprised me. My lips moved almost automatically, and the words came out low and rhythmic, the same under-breath chant Ian used. I felt my chest tighten, my limbs thread with painful tingling. The surface of the mirror rippled and shivered. My reflection vanished. Distorted, cloud-spotted blue sky took its place. I glanced at Ian. He nodded.

  I held out a hand, hesitated, and eased fingertips against the mirror. Through the mirror. A freezing sensation penetrated my flesh and bit clear to bone. It was like reaching into a snow bank. When it disappeared to the wrist, I risked
a look at the basin.

  My hand jutted from the water, solid and undamaged.

  I wiggled my fingers and watched them wave at me from way over there. I yanked my arm back with a strangled yelp. “Christ. That’s just . . . ugh. Glad I don’t have to see that again.” I shook my hand viciously to make sure it was still attached. It didn’t fall off, but imaginary pins and needles crawled around my wrist and up my palm.

  “Well done, thief.” Ian sat cross-legged on the ground and motioned me to join him. “Just one further task before you rest.”

  “Is that all?” I sank down on the grass, already feeling the drain. “What now, flying? Honestly, if that’s it, don’t trouble yourself. I’d rather swim in a cesspool.”

  Ian withdrew his false tether from a pocket. “You must learn to destroy these.”

  “Come on, Ian. We won’t have to—”

  “Nevertheless,” he said firmly, “you will learn. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to destroy Lenka’s tether first.”

  I grimaced. “You didn’t sound very convincing. Wanna try and tell me that again?”

  “No.” Ian averted his eyes and drew the dagger from its sheath. The copper blade glinted in the sunlight. He laid it on the ground between us, pressed his lips together, and explained.

  The process was simpler. Blood, a decent amount, no symbol required. Focused power, lots of it. And words. Ana lo ‘ahmar nar, fik lo imshi, aakhir kalaam. Through blood and fire, shatter and be gone, for eternity.

  I got the words right the first time. And prayed I’d never have to utter them again.

  CHAPTER 29

  Sleep came easy. Staying that way didn’t.

  I woke hard on the tail end of a muddled nightmare, cold and disoriented. After I figured out I wasn’t restrained in Trevor’s basement again, things started to clear up. The warmth next to me was Jazz. A paler shade of dark indicated the entrance to the tomb. Nightfall but not yet late. Probably eight o’clock or so. One of these days, I’d get myself a watch. Soft, rhythmic breathing marked the others as still unconscious. At least now I knew djinn did sleep sometimes.

  For a few minutes, I tried to ease back into slumber. My bladder had other ideas. At last, I gave up and wrenched my stiff muscles into motion. Swinging my legs over the side of Joseph Trumbull’s crypt, I stood and bent forward, attempting to sneak some feeling back into my flesh. Sleeping on stone hadn’t done any wonders for my back, but waking up beside Jazz sure didn’t hurt. I probably would’ve slept on nails and broken glass if she asked me to, though I would’ve preferred a bed. And considerably less company.

  I headed out in search of a tree to water. Outside the crypt, a medley of sounds made a mockery of the phrase silent as the grave. A brisk wind rattled bushes and whistled around corners, carrying the chirps of crickets and peepers and the occasional hoot of a nearby owl. My footsteps rustled the grass, making small thunder.

  When I stopped walking, I still heard footsteps. Behind me.

  I turned, reaching instinctively for something to throw. My pocket yielded the wire spool. Useless. Several bulky shapes lay between my position and the crypt. One of them was moving.

  The breath I’d been holding exploded in relief when Jazz stepped out from behind a headstone. “I knew it,” I said. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “If I was, you’d already be dead.” She came toward me with a smirk, but her expression eased into genuine concern. “You all right? You look awful.”

  “I’ve had better days.” Pressure stabbed my groin. I grimaced and squeezed my legs together hard. “Uh, I’m just going to step around this a second,” I said, waving at the nearest grave marker. “Otherwise, it’s gonna get a little wet down south.”

  Jazz shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s not like I haven’t seen your equipment before.”

  “You are evil, woman.”

  “Sometimes.”

  I moved out of her line of sight and relieved myself fast. When I came back, she’d taken a seat on a stone bench in front of one of the bigger monuments. She patted the empty space beside her. “Saved you a spot.”

  “Thanks.” I sat down. “So, what about you . . . are you all right?”

  She shook her head. “Oh, yeah. My son’s in some magical realm that I can’t get to, and I’m hiding from Trevor in a cemetery. I’m great.”

  I wanted to dig up a coffin, crawl inside, and bury myself alive. Sorry wasn’t going to cut it, so I didn’t say anything.

  “That was a joke,” she said. “Guess it wasn’t funny.”

  “I’m laughing on the inside.” I sighed and stared at the ground. “Jazz, I—”

  A muted ring tone drifted from her pocket. She frowned and pulled out her phone. “No data,” she said. “It could be Trevor again. He’s blocked his number before.”

  Crud. If it was, I doubted he was calling with a discount subscription to Time magazine. “You wanna answer it?”

  “No. But I should. I’ll put it on speaker.” She hit a button. “Yeah.”

  “Miss Crowe?”

  It wasn’t Trevor, but I’d heard the voice before. Recently. I just couldn’t place it.

  Jazz gave a deep frown. Nobody called her Miss Crowe. “Who is this?”

  “I’m looking for a friend of yours. One Mr. Donatti.” The identity of the voice hit me in the brief pause before he added, “My name is Quaid.”

  “Son of a bitch,” I blurted.

  Jazz shot me a look. I groaned and hung my head. Damned speaker phone—should’ve kept my mouth shut.

  “Ah. So you are there, Mr. Donatti.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?” I said. “You’d better forget this number, asshole, however you got it. She isn’t involved in this.”

  Jazz cleared her throat. “What the fuck is this about? Who’s this Quaid guy?”

  “He’s a bounty hunter,” I muttered.

  Her eyes widened. “You’ve got bounty hunters after your ass, too?”

  “Just this one.”

  “Mr. Donatti.” Quaid sounded downright indignant. “I think you’d better listen to me.”

  “I don’t have it, Quaid.”

  “Have what?” Jazz said. “You know, Donatti, we really don’t need this right now.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I said through my teeth. “Look, can I explain everything after I deal with him? This is getting really confusing.”

  “Fine,” she said. “But you’d better—”

  Quaid cut in. “I’ve contacted the police.”

  I stared at the phone. “So? They’re already looking for me.”

  “I can make them stop looking for you. If you return my employer’s property.”

  Even Jazz laughed at that. “No, you can’t,” I said. “You can’t do shit for me.”

  “I have contacts in every sheriff’s department across the state.”

  “Are you trying to cut me a deal, Quaid?”

  “I’m offering you an opportunity to stay out of prison.”

  I snorted. “You’re not very good at this part.”

  “Which part is that?”

  “The deal.” I rolled my eyes. “See, when you’re dealing with criminals, you’ve got to have something concrete to bargain with. Police contacts don’t mean jack when half the force is working for our side anyway. Criminals don’t trust anyone. Ever.”

  “So, you admit it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a criminal.”

  “Uh . . . yeah. I am.”

  “Which means you’re no different from Mr. Maddock.”

  Ouch. “Wrong. I’m nothing like Trevor.”

  “But you are.” Quaid sounded smug, as if he’d just scored a hit on some mental Bingo card for insults. “Unless you return the property you stole, you’re exactly the same. People make mistakes. If they make them intentionally and illegally, with no thought of correcting them, they are criminals.”

  “It’s not that simple.” I didn’t have time for a philosophy discussion w
ith a bounty hunter looking to extract a payday from me. “Trevor isn’t just a criminal. He’s an animal. A coldblooded killer. He’ll shoot you for being you and smile when he does it.”

  “All you have to do is return the dagger. Then you won’t be a criminal like Mr. Maddock.” Quaid spoke in a tone that suggested it’d be stupid to disagree with his logic. “To be honest, if you fail to produce it this time, I’m afraid I’ll have to take the matter up with him instead.”

  “You’re insane.” I didn’t like this guy, but that didn’t mean I wished him dead. “Look, Quaid, you’ve got to stay away from him. I’m not kidding. He’ll kill you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Have you ever tried reasoning with him?”

  “Reasoning? With Trevor?”

  “You have until midnight tonight.” Quaid gave an address in the small town we’d flown over on the way here. “If you don’t return the item to me by then, I’ll bring the situation to Mr. Maddock.” He paused. “I assume, at the least, that you fear him more than the police.”

  “You idiot! You can’t—”

  The phone clicked and went silent.

  Jazz put it away with a frown. “How long’s he been after you?”

  “He showed up right after you went over to the djinn realm. Bastard keeps finding me. This is the third time.” I dropped my head in my hands. “Jesus Christ. He’s going to get his righteous ass murdered.”

  “What’s he want?”

  I looked at her. “Ian’s tether.”

  “Shit. Guess we can’t give him that.” She put a hand on my leg, and a delicious shiver zipped through me. Bad timing, as usual. “Well, he doesn’t seem like much of a threat.”

  “He’s not. He’s really more annoying than dangerous.” The bounty hunter was about as threatening as a nun’s tongue, compared with Trevor. I held out some hope that he’d take my warning seriously and set his path in a direction that didn’t lead to certain death.

  Not much, though.

  BY TEN OR SO, EVERYONE WAS MORE OR LESS AWAKE AND HANGing around outside the crypt, looking about as lively as the bodies in the ground. Ian and Tory still weren’t speaking, and I was too wired to care. Still had a few details I wanted to work out. It was nice to have weapons, but shotguns and rifles weren’t exactly designed for ideal portability or close-range work. And I was a lousy shot with them.