by Trisha Telep
I lie on the floor in a growing pool of my own blood and wonder why I am thinking of this now. I feel cold—colder than I have ever been, maybe even colder than when I died. Surely the dagger can’t kill me, I think. Not again.
It is getting more and more difficult to concentrate.
I try harder. The blade isn’t made of silver—I know that much. Adam said it was made of iron, which would hurt the Afarit. So why is it burning between my ribs as though I will break in two at any moment? It must be magic, I think dully, trying to focus on some way I can get myself free. There must be something—I refuse to just lie here like a victim. I feel hot tears leaking out of my eyes. They roll down my temples and into my hair, and I can’t stop them.
The Djinn, in the shape of the magician called Bilal, crawls on top of me and lowers his body over mine. I try to shake him off but there is no strength in my limbs; they feel like overcooked spaghetti.
The Afarit’s breath is hot on my face, and I feel its neatly trimmed beard touch my cheek. I want to push it away—get it the hell off me—but I can’t move and the dagger hurts so much. And anyway, he is almost lying on top of the hilt. He will push it even deeper into me if I struggle too much. Large, hot hands press mine against the concrete, and I can feel chunky rings digging into my fingers.
It whispers in my ear: “You stink of fear, little vampire.”
Its face is pressed against mine, and I feel a flicker of wet warmth against my temple. I try to jerk away but his weight holding me down is too much. What is it doing? Something inside me shivers as I realize that it is licking me—lapping up my tears. Its tongue feels long and sharp as it collects every drop of warm, salty moisture from my face and I resolve, in that moment, to never cry again. It will remind me too much of this nightmare.
I feel sick and helpless. I want to kill this thing. Just thinking about sinking my fangs into its throat makes me feel a little better. I test my legs, trying for any sort of movement. I only need leverage, just enough to get my knee up and give this asshole something else to think about.
Bilal’s face leers at me, and I wish he would get a little closer. Maybe I can bite off his goddamn nose if I let him think I’m beaten. I slump and allow him to feel the shaking in my body. Let him believe it’s fear, I think savagely. Let him think I’m trembling because I’m afraid of him. I almost forget to play victim but manage to swallow the snarl that is building in my throat.
I think that maybe the creature sees murder in my eyes because it pulls back and stands over me. The pressure on the knife eases, and I take an experimental breath. The pain is turning into a dull sort of ache and I wonder if the wound is beginning to heal around the blade. That’s probably not a good thing.
The Afarit looks like it is done playing with me for a while. I follow it with my eyes as it finds the book lying in a puddle by Adam’s side. Stupid freaking book. I am tempted to burn it rather than deliver it Theo—if I actually manage to survive this and get it back from the spirit thing standing over me.
I can’t help thinking of the Afarit as Bilal, even though I know that the magician is long gone. Its white teeth are gleaming as it smiles at me. “Thank you,” it says in Bilal’s smooth tones. “All of this unpleasantness could have been avoided if you had just given it to me in the first place.” He sounds so calm, so reasonable.
I want to kill him.
I smile back. I can’t help it, because my legs twitch and I am getting the feeling back in my knees. That seems like something to smile about.
Bilal’s mud-spattered black shoe is close to my heavily booted foot. Close ... closer...
I take a deep breath against the burning pain in my chest and strike with the hardest kick I can manage. Under the circumstances, I think I do a pretty good job. I hit Bilal in the ankle and he howls with shock and staggers backward. Bones might not have broken but that’s got to hurt like hell.
I grip the dagger’s hilt with both hands and pull. It doesn’t matter that it feels as though I’m pulling out an internal organ or two, it only matters that I survive.
It only matters that I am free.
I fling the knife away, watching with fascination as my blood flies above me in a crimson arc. It sprays across Adam’s pale cheek, several stray drops landing on his lips.
His golden eyes snap open. He wipes away the blood and licks his fingers. He grimaces at the taste and then drags himself to his feet. Adam seems to take in the situation: me on the ground, starting to pull myself to my knees. Bilal is running away with the book, escaping with the only thing that matters here. Not just for Theo, I am surprised to find myself thinking, but for Adam. For a dead girl named Hasna.
I hurt all over. It feels as though something crucial is missing from my body, and I’m afraid to look at the wound left behind by the blade. I press a hand against the ragged hole over my ribs and use the other to help me regain my balance against the fence. I am pleasantly surprised to find that I can stand.
Adam is visibly torn. He is taking a step toward me, while at the same time turning to look at the fleeing magician.
“What are you waiting for?” I shout. “Go after him!”
He responds to the command in my voice, running to the corner of the alley and moving out of my line of sight.
I am still relearning how to breathe. I hope my ribs are all in their right places, otherwise healing is going to be a bitch even with my abilities. I look up and almost scream with frustration. Adam has returned and is hovering over me, his face filled with horror and something else it takes me a moment to recognize.
“This is all my fault,” he says. His eyes are wild as they swivel between me and the ground—alighting on the exact spot where Hasna died.
Of course, he thinks that I am the second girl he didn’t save from the magician’s knife. I swallow pain and bile and know I have to reassure him. Apart from wanting to help Adam, I can’t stand being fussed over like this.
“I’m okay, you should’ve gone after him. It.” I correct myself. It seems important that I remember the thing that stabbed me—almost in the heart—is a monster. Maybe it’s even more of a monster than me? That is a bizarrely comforting thought.
He nods his head toward the end of the alley. “He went through the stage door.”
“What? Why would he do that?” It was the middle of the freaking night. Unless London shows had special midnight performances, the Afarit wasn’t going to achieve much in a deserted theater.
I am furious with Adam for letting the book go. Idiot. I want to punch him, but I am suddenly feeling weak again. I’ve lost a lot of blood and will need to feed, but the last thing I want to do is to have to use Theo’s contacts. This job was supposed to be straightforward, dammit. It was meant to be easy.
And then I fall to my knees again and wonder why everything is spinning. Even Adam’s face is spinning around in slow circles. He crouches down with me and his golden eyes look like twin suns.
I manage to force words from my parched throat. “Why do I feel so sick?”
“Djinn magic,” he replies. His hands are underneath my elbows, holding me up. “The knife was a conduit for a death spell.”
“It can affect vampires?” I can’t believe there is such magic in the world, and yet here I am on the verge of collapse.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know there really were vampires until today. It certainly looks like it can hurt you, even if it can’t kill you.”
I choke on a laugh. “Already died once.”
“What can I do?” he asks.
I take a shuddering breath, trying desperately to steady myself in his arms. “What you should have done was stop that bastard before he got away with my book.”
His eyebrow rises in response, and I could almost swear that he is smiling. “Oh, it’s your book now, is it?” He shakes his head and the smile is gone, if it was ever there to begin with. “I couldn’t leave you, Moth. Not after you trusted me.”
I slump a little furth
er. “Yeah, and look where that got me. Tossed around and stabbed.” He props me up and my cheek rests on his shoulder. I take in the strange dry scent of him, and the hunger gnawing at my belly gets stronger.
Adam turns his head slightly so that his chin touches my face. “Are you going to bite me?”
“What?” I raise my head, surprise shaking me out of this half-drugged stupor. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re sniffing my neck,” he replies, and I can’t decide if he sounds afraid or curious. I wish he was more afraid of me—it would be safer for him.
I sigh and drop my head again. He’s so warm, even out here in the chill night air. “I guess I do need to feed.” I don’t know what to do. I should phone Theo, but that means admitting that I’ve failed.
I’m not ready to do that.
He nudges me so I have to pull back and look at him. Our eyes meet: gold on silver. I catch my breath; I can’t help it, he is so beautiful.
He touches my cheek with warm fingertips and something inside me breaks. The tide of loneliness that I hold back, day after day, rushes through the breach, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying. Remember what you promised, I tell myself. No more tears. Never again.
He is stroking my face, pushing my tangled hair out of the way, and his eyes are filled with compassion beyond his years. It reminds me, just a little, of the way Theo looks at me when he is in one of his better moods. The lump in my throat expands to the size of a fist.
Adam’s expression is deadly serious. “Feed from me,” he says. His voice is steady and sure.
I blink and try to push him away. This isn’t what I expected. I thought maybe he’d help me find one of Theo’s London contacts. Or even that he might offer to steal hospital supplies with me—his Houdini superpowers would come in very handy for that—but this ... this strangely innocent offer is a surprise.
I shiver against him and shake my head. “No, you’re too young. You don’t know what you’re offering.”
Adam puts his fingers beneath my chin and forces me to look at him. “I don’t care. You got hurt because of me—let me help you.”
“There are other ways you can help, Adam. You don’t have to open a vein.”
“I don’t mind a little blood,” he replies. “Djinn have a long and complicated relationship with it.”
We don’t have time for a history lesson on the Djinn. I frown at him and once more attempt to wriggle out of his arms, but I am weak and he is stronger than he looks. He is also determined.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell him. I mean it, too. I didn’t think I would care about him so quickly. I wish I could toughen up. All very well to be able to talk the talk, but if I can’t walk the walk when it counts, then my attitude is all for shit. My image was taking a pounding right here in the back alley of a London theater. How embarrassing.
Adam shrugs out of his jacket and bares his throat. “Go on, do it.” There’s a challenge in his voice, but no fear that I can detect. This boy is something else.
I lick my lips and breathe him in. He smells of cinnamon and sunshine. His scent reminds me of the hot spices that drift from the Indian restaurant down the block from Holly’s apartment.
My fangs extend, and the hunger grabs hold of my gut. I cry out as my whole body spasms and rips open the slowly healing gash below my chest. I snarl with helpless need and pull Adam toward me.
“Give me your wrist,” I pant, barely able to get the words out. “That will be enough.”
He shakes his head and puts burning hot palms on either side of my face, pulls me toward him and presses his dry mouth to mine. My fangs nick his bottom lip, and a bright bead of blood wobbles there for what feels like centuries. I watch with fascination as the dark crimson blooms and begins to flow.
My hands are in his hair, and I press against him, kissing him back, not stopping to think about the fact that he’s a lot younger than me. Okay, on paper it’s only a year. In reality? No, I really wasn’t going to let that thought take hold in my head. Not when he kisses like he really knows what he’s doing.
I wonder if he is thinking of Hasna.
Adam kneels on the wet ground, and I straddle him, overcome by the rich scent of his blood. It is like nothing I have ever experienced before—he tastes exotic and other. My body opens up with need as I wrench his head backward with both hands and plunge my teeth into his throat.
***
We are standing outside the stage door, having followed the badly concealed trail that the Afarit left behind. It obviously wants to be found, an insight that doesn’t sit well with me.
I cleaned as much of the blood off Adam as I could before we crept out from behind the tall buildings, and he did the same for me. Although we don’t speak about what happened between us back there, the awareness is palpable. Not just awareness of the act but of how we both feel about it afterward.
How do I know what Adam is feeling? Because I can feel it. My heart beats in time with his, and I can taste his pulse on my tongue. We are connected in a way that I never imagined could happen with anyone other than Theo. I don’t mean that after one random feeding we are suddenly in love. That’s ridiculous. He’s a half-human and I’m a vampire, not to mention the fact that he’s mourning his girlfriend’s death.
So, no, not love. But something else almost as strong. His blood is inside me, and it feels wicked-good. Normally, after I’ve fed from my Maker I feel ashamed. It’s as though I’ve done something wrong and twisted; as though I am a monster and my desire for Theo’s blood just goes to prove it. No matter how many times he tells me that it’s natural to feed from the vampire who made you, I cannot allow that to be true. I worry about what that might mean.
I never let Theo feed from me; not since the day he turned me.
With Adam it’s different. This is the first time in a decade that I don’t feel suffused with shame after feeding. I glance at him through the dancing shadows, and he takes my hand in his. He is no longer as warm as he was ... before. I have stolen some of his heat, and I feel deliciously alive. Adam told me there are legends that Djinn have fire running through their veins. After feeding on him, I can almost believe it.
I could get used to feeding on Djinn blood. My wounds have healed, and I’m glowing with the power of the sun.
Seems we have to stop the Afarit from taking the “next step.” The book contains incantations that will free the creature. Adam tells me: “The Djinn love to travel. Think about it ... As Islam spread West, so did the old legends and stories. Only, the Djinn aren’t just mythical creatures after all—I’m evidence of that. My mother is a powerful Djinn; I’ve only met her twice in my whole life, and the first time I couldn’t possibly remember. That was after she’d given birth to me and left me with my father. Dad, in turn, handed me over to an endless supply of nannies and carers while he worked overseas as an anthropologist. Afarit, however, are creatures of habit. They love their homes, and many of them live in the Middle East.”
So the darkling that wears Bilal’s face wants to go home. And to do that, it needs to remove the binding placed on it—a binding that holds it here on English soil. It can’t travel over water until it breaks that spell.
Which is where the book comes in; the same book that Adam needs to save Hasna’s soul. The same book that I must retrieve and deliver to Theo.
Adam can teleport inside the theater, but I’m not so lucky. However, what I lack in Djinn powers I more than make up for with vampire attitude and a recent intake of fresh blood. I kick down the door without a second thought and feel like Wonder Woman. I don’t care whether anyone hears, though Adam looks at me with wide-eyed horror and makes exaggerated “shushing” motions.
