Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  Not that I was much better with handguns. But put a rifle in my hands, and I’d miss the broad side of a blue whale.

  I brought the guns out of the crypt and laid them on the ground. “Don’t suppose anyone has a tubing cutter or a hacksaw handy,” I said.

  Jazz smirked. “Sorry. I packed light.”

  “You’re not going to saw those off,” Tory said. “You’ll ruin them.”

  I shrugged. “Can’t anyway. But if I had the tools, I’d do it. Carrying these things around is gonna be a pain in the ass—and so’s firing them.”

  “Give ’em to me.” Tory stalked over and scooped up the pile. “Lark, come on. I need some technical advice.”

  Without a word, Lark followed him around to the back of the crypt.

  “Touchy,” I said. “I guess we all are, though.”

  “It is best to let him be.” Ian sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed. “Taregan can be quite stubborn.”

  “Yeah. Not unlike some other djinn I know.”

  Ian ignored that. “I assume at this point we are as prepared as possible.”

  “I can’t think of anything else.” I turned to Jazz. “You?”

  “Not really.” She folded her arms and shivered. “Except . . . I’d like to talk to Cy before we do this. If I can.”

  Ian looked at her. He started to frown, but the expression slid away into understanding. “Of course, lady,” he said. “It will have to be brief. I must conserve my power, so I will not be able to keep the bridge open long.”

  “Understood.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

  Ian nodded. He stood and went to the mirror still leaning against the outside wall of the crypt. After a pause, he drew out the fake tether and nicked a finger, then did the spell. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there were a few different words from the one he’d taught me. A faint flash traveled over the surface of the mirror, and the reflection became a bedroom illuminated with glowing balls of light on the walls. Akila sat on the floor, Cyrus in her lap. She was reading to him in the djinn tongue from a massive book lying open in front of them.

  “Hello, love,” Ian said softly.

  Akila caught a breath and looked toward the mirror. “L’rohi,” she whispered. She stood and carried Cyrus closer, until the two of them filled the frame. “You are worried. What has happened?”

  “I am simply tired, my heart. And the lady wishes to see her son.”

  “Of course.” Akila smiled. “Cyrus, your muut is just there. Do you see her?”

  Cyrus grinned. “Hi, Mommy!”

  Ian moved aside and gestured to the mirror. Jazz blinked fiercely a few times and stepped forward. “Hey, baby,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “Having a good time?”

  “Me and ’Kila’s readin’,” he announced.

  “I see that. Is it a good story?”

  “Yep. No monsters.” He leaned his head back and yawned. “Come read, Mommy.”

  “Oh, Cy.” She managed to smile. “Mommy has . . . something to do, but we’ll read double stories tomorrow night. Okay?”

  “’Kay. C’n I get my drink?”

  “Sure, baby. I love you. So much.”

  “Love you, Mommy.” He slid down and out of sight.

  Akila turned to watch him and faced back. “He is a beautiful child,” she said. “A true delight. He will be strong.”

  “Thank you,” Jazz whispered. “For taking care of him.” She pivoted and walked away from the mirror fast, as if she couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.

  While Ian moved to talk to Akila, I went after Jazz. I touched her arm, and she stopped with her back to me. “Not now,” she said thickly. “I need a minute.”

  “Jazz . . .”

  “I said not now.”

  I almost let her go. But I had to try. “You don’t have to be alone,” I said.

  She hesitated. Just when I thought she’d take off anyway, she turned back. She said nothing, but I could feel the conflict in her—she was hurting, vulnerable, and she hated it. She didn’t want to want comfort. Especially from me.

  At the risk of bodily harm, I put my arms around her. She shuddered and held back for a fraction of a second, then leaned in to me and buried her face in my shirt.

  I held her as close as I dared. She finally stopped shaking, but I didn’t let go. I never wanted to let go. If a few hours were all I had left in the world, I wanted to spend as much of them as I could with her. It wasn’t enough for an apology. But maybe she’d remember that I cared and that I’d never meant to hurt her.

  In a flash of spectacularly shitty timing, Tory came back around the opposite side of the crypt with Lark in tow. He deposited an armload of guns that weren’t long-barreled anymore on the ground. “Problem solved,” he said. “Now, can we—what the hell’s he doing?”

  I assumed he meant Ian. I glanced over and saw him kneeling in front of the mirror, his forehead resting on the glass, one hand pressed flat to the surface above his head. The band around his finger pulsed faintly. His shoulders twitched once, the barely perceptible motion a testament to his struggle not to give in completely, not to burden Akila with his pain.

  From where Tory stood, the image in the mirror wasn’t visible. I glared at him. “Maybe you should ask him that,” I said.

  “Fine.” Tory stalked toward Ian. He made five or six steps and stopped dead. “Rayani?”

  The hand on the mirror convulsed, clenched in a fist. Ian didn’t look up. “This is not your concern, Taregan.”

  “Taregan?” Akila’s voice was faint but audible. “You have found him. Thank the gods.”

  “I would not thank anyone yet.” Ian straightened and sent a fierce glower in Tory’s direction. “He still has not learned to be responsible, and he makes foolish choices.”

  “Nevertheless, I am pleased he is with you,” she replied with gentle reproach.

  “I am not certain I agree.” Ian turned back to the mirror, his anger supplanted with regret. “I must go, love.”

  “I know,” she whispered. She said something in djinn, and Ian replied in kind.

  I couldn’t quite grasp a translation, but the meaning of the words reached for my soul and plucked a few strings. I almost felt guilty for being able to hold Jazz.

  Ian stayed on the ground for a moment. When he stood, he stared at Tory. “I hope you are finished with this childish game of ignoring me. We have work to do.”

  Tory blinked. His defensiveness evaporated. “Of course, rayan,” he said. “My apologies.” There wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in his formal delivery. He was practically bowing and scraping.

  Nodding, Ian gestured to the pile of guns. “Show me what you have done here.”

  Tory started to explain. In calm, deferential tones.

  Jazz stirred and looked up at me. “What’s a rayan?”

  I’d understood that one. “Prince.”

  “What happened to Tory?” she murmured. “Somebody whack him with a chill-out stick?”

  I shook my head. “Guess he forgot about that whole royalty thing for a while. Maybe seeing Akila reminded him.” Or maybe he’d finally realized what was painfully obvious to me, after knowing Ian for all of three days—that he loved Akila more than should’ve been possible.

  “Oh.” She leaned back and peered around me at Ian and Tory. A tiny smile surfaced. “Let’s go check out the new toys.”

  “Sounds fun.” I dropped my arms reluctantly and reached for her hand.

  She didn’t pull it away.

  CHAPTER 30

  A full moon in a clear sky turned the world into a scene from an old movie. The five of us huddled under gray trees with brown leaves and looked over silver-white grass fields at a mansion straight from the set of Frankenstein. Unfortunately, there were far scarier things than Boris Karloff in green makeup waiting inside.

  I leaned against a tree and watched Tory impersonate a zombie. He’d been motionless, with eyes wide open, for at least five minutes trying to
locate Lenka’s tether. Apparently, the hawk clan specialized in scrying—which I’d finally gathered meant “finding stuff ”—illusions, and generally being pompous jerks. The last must have been a male trait.

  At last, Tory blinked and sagged back. Lark rushed to him, ducked under his arm, and helped him ease to the ground. “It’s in there.” Tory gasped. “Something small and round—a ring or a coin. In Trevor’s pocket. Front left.”

  Great. It’d be easier to rob the White House than pick Trevor’s pocket.

  “So before we go in, let’s run through this real quick. You break Shamil out, and I find Trevor and somehow relieve him of a pendant around his neck and a ring or a coin in his pocket. Not that it’s a problem,” I said when Ian opened his mouth, probably to remind me about the Walmart thing. “I can get them. And then . . . what? Do I destroy Lenka’s on the spot?”

  “That would be preferable,” Ian said.

  “Okay. Fine. But isn’t somebody going to notice the whole destruction thing? I mean, I’ve never seen a djinn die, but I’d guess it doesn’t happen quietly. Where is Lenka, anyway?”

  Ian shook his head. “I have been unable to locate him. The traces of his energy are muffled. However, I believe he is near.”

  “Any more good news? If there is, don’t tell me.” At least everyone had a gun. Except Ian—he’d insisted he wouldn’t be able to use it anyway. Apparently, he’d never fired one in his life. I clenched my jaw and turned to Jazz. “You’re set with your end of things, right?”

  “I’m good. I’ve done a dry run on his garage before.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. After he horned in on a gig I was doing and kept the score, I considered boosting his blue roadster to even things out. I’ve always liked that car.”

  “You are crazy.”

  “No. But Trevor is, and that’s why I didn’t take it. At least, not the whole thing.”

  “What did you take?”

  She smiled. “The gearbox.”

  “You’re terrible.” I grinned back, but my good humor faded fast. “All right. You pull your sabotage act and then come back here. Give us two hours. If we’re not back, get the hell out and find some backup.”

  “See, that’s the part I don’t like,” she said.

  “Which one?”

  “The leaving-you-for-dead part.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to stay calm enough not to blow it. “Jazz. You can’t go after Trevor yourself. Not that I don’t think you could take him,” I said quickly. “But it’s not just Trevor we’re dealing with here. He’s got serious protection—and I don’t mean Leonard the Land Mass.”

  She scowled and looked over in Lark and Tory’s direction. “What about him? He’s a djinn.”

  “Tory? He’s kinda young. And not really too strong.” I spoke low to make sure he didn’t hear me. “Please don’t do anything . . . rash. You can’t get killed. Cyrus needs you.”

  Jazz looked away. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “What’d I do now?”

  “You made sense.” She leaned in to me for a moment. “Don’t you die on me, Houdini.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Reluctantly, I straightened and walked to the mirror, where Ian stood in silence. I glanced back at Tory. “You’ll take care of them and guard our escape route here, right?”

  “Yeah.” Tory didn’t look too thrilled with his assignment. “I’ll stay.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Ian nodded. “Taregan, you will help him retrieve my tether if it becomes necessary.”

  “Gods, Ian.” Tory’s voice shook, not entirely from exhaustion. “I still say we should contact the realm. Akila will—”

  “No. She is safe there. I will not endanger her.”

  “She won’t be in danger. Lenka only wants you.”

  A stricken look crossed Tory’s face the instant the words left his mouth. He obviously hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I almost felt sorry for him.

  Ian didn’t. “Understand this, Taregan.” His hands tightened to white-knuckled fists. “Sometime before the attack, Lenka requested a marriage bond with Akila. He was denied, but only because the Council overruled Kemosiri’s consent. I do not know whether this decision contributed to the Morai’s revolt, and I will not take the chance that Lenka no longer desires her. Do not contact my wife.”

  It took Tory a moment to recover. “Fine. But will you just listen to me for a second?” Tory struggled to his feet, wavered. Lark supported him and glared at Ian, as if it was his fault Tory was acting like an idiot. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I agreed to help you hunt down the Morai in the first place? I’m Bahari. We were sent to watch, not to fight.”

  Ian’s eyes narrowed. “I assumed you wanted to protect the realm, and your rayani.”

  “Screw the realm.” Tory spat on the ground. “There’s nothing for me there—politics and bullshit and courting and war. I’ve found what I want here.” His hand rubbed Lark’s arm, and he flashed a smile. It died fast. “I’m helping you because I made a promise. To Akila.”

  “You did what? What promise?”

  “I came to watch you, not the others. I promised to keep you alive long enough to return to her. I spent three centuries thinking I’d failed her, and then you came waltzing back. So I’m not going to stand here and watch you march to your death.”

  Ian closed his eyes, opened them. “Very well. Then I release you from your vow.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I can. I have.” Ian raised his hand. The band around his index finger glowed. “We are bound, and I can speak for her in matters that concern me. You are absolved of responsibility.”

  “You son of a bitch. What do you think will happen to her if you die—do you think that won’t hurt her?”

  “Yes. But far less than it will hurt to see the Morai conquer the realm and enslave her kin. Your kin, Taregan.” Ian turned his back and punctured a finger with his teeth. He scrawled his symbol on the mirror with crude strokes. “If I must die to open Kemosiri’s eyes and force him to deal with those snakes, so be it. Your clan would never have accepted me anyway.” He snarled the words to open the bridge and plunged through without hesitation.

  Tory stared after him with a crumpled expression. “I would have accepted you,” he whispered.

  I couldn’t look at him, so I concentrated on Jazz. “Remember what you said about not dying on you?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “That goes for both of us.” The smile I tried to summon wouldn’t come. I turned away and did the bridge spell as fast as I could, then forced myself in before I could change my mind.

  MY TEETH WANTED TO CHATTER, AND MY HANDS WANTED TO rub away the frost clinging to my skin. I knew I hadn’t really turned into a human-sicle, but it sure as hell felt like it. Trevor’s basement was a blur of flickering light and shadow, but my vision had already started to clear. The rack of pliers resolved itself first, and I wanted to kill Trevor right then. Preferably by yanking his heart out with one of his own damned tools.

  “Cloak yourself, thief,” Ian whispered from somewhere close.

  Turning on invisibility barely registered this time. Ian shimmered into sight at the foot of the stairs, head cocked. “I’ve heard no one,” he said. “They may not have detected our entry.”

  “If they had, they’d be down here already.” I pointed at the dark alcove. “Is he still in there?”

  “He is . . . unconscious.”

  The catch in his voice suggested that the blackout state was probably the best one for Shamil right now. “Can you get him out?”

  “I believe so. But it will take time, and all my power. The seal is strong.” Ian held out an arm. A fireball blossomed over his cupped palm. He approached the alcove with stiff steps, and the light revealed evidence of his unspoken suggestion.

  A thick gash scored Shamil’s torso from shoulder to hip. The edges looked burnt, the inside raw and red. Fresh c
uts marched down both arms. And a familiar symbol had been seared into the top of his bowed and shaven head. Ian’s symbol.

  I shuddered and looked away. After watching Tory locate a tether, I knew mutilation wasn’t a necessary component of the process. This was a message. Don’t fuck with Trevor.

  “Go.” Ian knelt in front of the alcove. “Try to be quick. I cannot leave this place without you, once I’ve freed him.”

  “I’m gone.”

  Climbing the stairs was the easy part. I paused at the top and listened through the door. No sound from the other side. I opened it slowly, slipped through, and entered a room empty of life. No thugs, no Trevor.

  One room down, twenty or thirty to go. Trevor could be anywhere.

  I headed for the short hallway, toward the sitting room where I’d been taken on my last visit. Three days ago. It seemed so much longer. The Gavyn Donatti who’d watched Trevor kill a cop in cold blood and order his son kidnapped and tortured, who’d stood helplessly witnessing everything important to him fall like dominoes, no longer existed. I had power and purpose. Something—and someone—to live for. To die for.

  In the hallway, I stopped again. Listened. Only silence reached my ears. I passed through the entry arch that led to the sitting room and couldn’t help remembering how I never expected to leave this house alive the last time I’d been in here. Dimmed lights shone from fake sconces set in the walls at regular intervals. Without thugs and mortal terror to distract me, I noted more detail. The floor-to-ceiling columns flanking either side of the arch seemed overkill, as if they’d been included in the design just to point out how much money Trevor had. Chairs and tables weren’t so much placed around the room as abandoned. He obviously hadn’t seen fit to hire a decorator. And someone had gotten the cop’s blood out of the pale carpet without a trace.

  I moved across the floor to the closed door and paused. If I opened it and anyone noticed, I’d draw some attention even if they couldn’t see me. After a listen against my cupped hands yielded no sound from the other side, I twisted the knob slowly and opened the door to a dark and empty vestibule.