The camera angle changes and the anchorman swivels in his chair, his face the perfect picture of concern. “It is not known how she left the hospital, but she did not leave alone.” Now Roman’s picture from his hospital badge comes on the screen. “Dr. Roman Palis was last seen carrying the suspect from her hospital room, accompanied by a yet to be identified female with red hair pictured here on hospital footage. The woman was careful to keep her back to the hospital security cameras at all times.” A shot of the back of Brielle’s head appears. I’m impressed that she had the foresight not to look at any of the cameras. “Police do not know if Dr. Palis has been involved in the recent killings; they are speculating that he may have simply fallen under the charms of this madwoman. Police fear he may have been the eighth victim, but have yet to find a body matching his description. The police can only speculate on the involvement of the other young woman. If you have any information regarding the case, you are asked to contact the police either through their victim hotline or their silent observer line. Due to the severity of the case, the FBI is taking an active role and may be contacted with any pertinent information as well.” Then, in the blink of an eye, he goes on to the next bit of news about a local woman with cancer and no health insurance.
I believe a part of me just withered and died. Whether they were my real parents or not, I’m glad Mom and Dad are not alive to see this. It has just been announced to the world that I’m a psychopath serial killer. What’s worse is that I have no way of proving that I’m not. I can’t exactly go into the police station and tell them what really happened. All that would do is perpetuate the need for sanity testing. I could probably spend my life in a mental institution instead of prison. I’m sure that would be so much better.
“Zane, get her a cup of coffee. Maybe the caffeine will jolt her out of stupor,” Mrs. Gregori says.
I turn my head in her direction but I have completely lost the ability to speak. If I open my mouth, I’m sure just random noises will fall out. Zane looks unsure about stepping away from me, but he finally does. Somehow, I manage not to fall out of my chair. I’m wanted as a serial killer. I blink my eyelids rapidly as if that will help erase the truth from my mind.
“Here,” Zane says.
He places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. Absently, I pick it up and take a sip. If I was capable of reacting to anything at the moment, I would be cursing loudly about burning my tongue and throat. Right now, I welcome the pain. It distracts me slightly from the terror that is running around and screaming inside my head.
I am shocked back to my senses when Mrs. Gregori slaps her palm on the table. “Listen up, this is no time for you to be feeling sorry for yourself. It’s not just you who’s in trouble here. Those djinn know damn well who helped you escape and it won’t be long before there’s more than just the back of Brielle’s head up on that screen. They made it personal and I ain’t going to let a damn djinn vendetta or whatever the hell it is ruin my grandbaby’s life. I just got her and I plan to keep her around for a long time.”
Zane is the first to respond. It’s funny how the only two who aren’t being sought by the police are the only two participating in this conversation. “What do we do now?” he asks.
Before she answers, Mrs. Gregori spins her chair around and motors to a cupboard next to the stove. She pulls out a couple of things and then spins back towards us. She’s holding two tea pots. Two copper colored tea pots. She slams them on the table like she did her palm. “The first thing we do is make sure we know where everyone’s loyalties lie. If you two want our help, you will need to be bound first. If that isn’t to your liking, then you can go on without us and good luck to you. I’m not sure which will be worse, if the feds get you or the djinn.” My money’s on the djinn.
Fuck. This is really happening. I’m marked by one person and about to be bound to another on top of the whole serial killer thing. I wonder if I’m still in a coma and just having a horrible nightmare. It seems plausible, except for the tiny little fact that coma patients don’t enter the REM stage of sleep. That means this is all horribly real.
I look at Roman, wondering if his eyes will give me any clue which way he’s leaning on the whole binding thing. His steady gaze is already on me, probably wondering the same thing about me. He surprises me when he speaks first. “I’m in.”
His statement is met with undisguised shock. What, they expected him to just walk out of here? What does he have to go back to? I’m pretty sure his career is already down the toilet, and he’d have a hard time convincing the police that he didn’t help me murder those people. Shit. Now I’m accusing myself of murder.
“Me too,” I say quietly.
Chapter 30 - Binding
“How does this work?” Roman asks, eyeing the copper pots.
“Who will be bound to whom?” I ask.
Mrs. Gregori thinks for a moment. “I think it best for Skye to be bound to Zane.”
Roman is about to blow his top. “I think that would be a mistake.” Turning to me, he says, “Do you really want to be controlled by him?”
“Do you?” I counter.
“Of course not,” he spits out viciously. “We would both be better off bound to Brielle or Mrs. Gregori.”
Mrs. Gregori snorts. “I’m not binding either of you. I’d be too tempted to just send your butts on your way home.” I seriously doubt she means our respective apartments.
“Grams, wouldn’t it make more sense for Roman to be bound to Zane,” Brielle asks.
Her grandmother raises a brow. “It makes sense if you want to see one of them dead by nightfall. There’s no way they could be so closely linked without wanting to kill each other. And I still don’t plan on binding either one of you,” she says to Roman.
Roman clears his throat; I think to swallow down the bile that has crept up his esophagus. “Then I am sure I can make it work if I am bound to Zane.” That was so hard for him to say between gritted teeth.
Zane’s voice has a distinct warning in it when he says to Roman, “We discussed this little jealousy problem of yours upstairs.”
“Uh guys, could you both give it a rest. I’m still dealing with the fact that I’m considered an accessory to serial killing; I don’t need to break a nail prying you two apart as well. Doc, you’re with me,” Brielle says. Some of her normal color has returned to her face and I’m pretty sure she’s not going to throw up. She bounces back well. So does her attitude.
“So, who goes first?” My skin is prickling uncomfortably. My nerves feel rawer now than they did when I had road rash.
Mrs. Gregori gives Roman a hard look. “I think we should take care of him first before he does something stupid.” Roman is insulted, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“Alright.” Brielle picks up a copper pot and brings a chair around the table so she can sit in front of Roman. “It’s really strange doing this with a djinni that’s cooperating,” she says to him.
“Would it be better for you if I resisted?” he asks dryly.
“It wouldn’t be better for you,” Brielle responds. “I’ve taken down djinn bigger than you.” Roman just grunts in response.
Time for conversation is now spent. All eyes are riveted on Brielle and her copper pot. She reaches over and takes Roman’s hand in hers. His desire to resist almost gets the better of him and he stubbornly pulls his back, but after a couple of seconds he gives in. Brielle’s face is sober as she recites the words that will make Roman a slave to a kitchen utensil:
“From ancient times, a race forgotten and shunned,
Fire made, not of earth or sky, these first Bedouin,
A scourge, a plague, an impurity that mars the earth and heavens
Surfaced from behind the veil, unguarded, and chaos threatens,
Bound by copper and my will,
The need to please I now instill,
I carry the burden to control this one of the djinn,
Free will once granted, now revoked herein.”
> I wait for a puff of smoke or a noticeable shift in the air or something, but nothing happens. “How do you know it worked?” I ask.
Brielle gets a mischievous glint in her eye. She looks at Roman and says, “Take off your t-shirt.”
There are death threats in his eyes, but Roman pulls the bottom of his t-shirt up and pulls it over his head. “Are you going to have me do the chicken dance now?” he snipes.
Brielle is trying hard not to giggle at his irritation. “Nope, I’m good.”
“Let’s get on with this,” Mrs. Gregori says gruffly.
My eyes seek out Zane’s and I find hesitance in his. Now that it’s come right down to it, I don’t think he wants to do this. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to be bound to me or if thinks this whole thing is a bad idea. Either way, I agree.
His face becomes a blank page and Zane takes my hand in his. Grabbing the other copper pot from in front of his grandmother, he solemnly recites the binding spell. Just like I expected a physical response when Brielle bound Roman, I expected a distinct change in my psyche after Zane finishes the spell. Nothing. I don’t feel one iota different. I’m sure that will change when he tells me to do something.
“Go ahead,” Brielle says. “Make her do the chicken dance.”
Zane puts on a mask of mischief but his eyes are still sober. “Kiss me,” he says.
Roman comes up out of his chair which goes flying backwards. “You said this binding wouldn’t be used to make us do things we don’t want to do.”
Zane gets to his feet a little more casually. “Who says she doesn’t want to?”
As the two of them volley heated words back and forth over the table, a troubling realization washes over to me. I don’t feel any type of compulsion to kiss Zane. When Brielle told Roman to take his shirt off, he responded immediately. I suspect I was supposed to do the same. This should be a good thing. But I know it’s not. From the crinkle that’s growing in Mrs. Gregori’s already wrinkled brow, I know it’s a very, very bad thing.
Jumping to my feet, I tug on Zane’s arm. When he turns to me, I say with a warm smile, “You’re making it difficult to kiss you with all this bickering.” Then I place my hands on his cheeks and I bring my lips to his. Finally, I get a jolt of something, but it’s not obedience. The feeling grows when Zane puts his arms around me and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. Maybe I am bound to him.
“Alright, alright, knock it off. Roman, stay put. Zane, be a part of the solution, not the problem,” Brielle chastises.
Abruptly, Zane breaks the kiss. He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says softly.
Huh, I’m not. That takes me completely by surprise. “It’s okay,” I say just as softly. I even give him a small smile, which he doesn’t return.
Zane looks towards his grandmother as he sits back down. “Now what?” he asks. Well, that’s a slap of cold water in the face. He obviously didn’t have the same reaction to the kiss that I did. I sit down as well, refusing to look in his direction now.
He asked a good question. Now what?
Chapter 31 - Hank
“Lily!” a male voice bellows from down the hall, nearly making me jump from my chair. Who is that?
“In here!” Mrs. Gregori yells back, her loud, gravelly voice grating against my ears. A feeling of dread washes over me. Did she call someone in to get rid of us now that we’re bound and malleable?
Before he gets to the kitchen, the man has already started a conversation. “I can’t find anyone in this damn place. What are you still doing in the kitchen? It’s nearly half past eight.” He says this as if it’s eight at night. When did he get up, the crack of dawn? That’s probably not my biggest concern regarding him, though.
The seventy-ish-year-old man with mocha colored skin halts when he reaches the kitchen and his old, pale eyes sweep the room, taking in Roman and me. The roundness of his belly, his dark gray bushy hair and eyebrows, weathered face and a slightly stooped back don’t at all diminish his overall intimidating appearance. The rifle slung over his shoulder, the fact that he’s about seven feet tall, and the ‘I’ll eat babies for breakfast if I want to and you wouldn’t be able to stop me’ toughness that exudes from every single one of his pores all make a pretty convincing argument that he’s very much capable of causing harm.
“Who the sam hell are they?” he booms. I find myself trying to shrink down in my chair.
“Hank, you mind your manners now,” Mrs. Gregori says sharply. “We have a mess already and we don’t need to add to it. Sit down here and we’ll explain.”
Mrs. Gregori pats an empty kitchen chair next to her. Hank lumbers over and sits down; his gaze never leaving me or Roman, which is impressive since we’re on opposite sides of the table from each other. “I go on one little hunting trip and I come home to a houseful of strangers,” he gripes.
“Don’t worry, Hank. We got this,” Brielle says. Of course she’s not terrified of this giant of a man. “In a nutshell: I was asked to save these two, things got hairy, turns out they’re really djinn and now one is bound to me and one is bound to Zane. Oh, and I’m wanted as an accessory to multiple murders.”
That helped the situation. Hank’s breathing becomes snorts through his nose, like a bull right before it attacks. “What the hell are you waiting for? Get them out of this house and back behind the veil,” he says to the room in general. To Brielle, he says, “Did you do it?”
Instead of being insulted, she chuckles. “Not yet, but I’ve seriously thought about it the last couple of days.”
“Things aren’t that simple this time,” Zane pipes in. “We can’t send them back behind the veil until we have more information.”
“Nonsense. You don’t need any information; you just shove their asses on.”
“Hank, do you seriously believe I’d let these two be here if I didn’t have a damn good reason?” Mrs. Gregori asks with steel in her voice. “Now, you hush so we can explain properly.” To my great surprise, Hank’s shoulders slump and he sits back in his chair with his arms crossed, waiting for Mrs. Gregori to fill him in.
Several long minutes later, the story has been told and Hank is up to speed. The only problem I have is that I still have no idea who Hank is. As if reading my mind, Brielle says, “Hank is Gram’s husband.”
From the way she said it, he’s apparently not her grandfather. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say quietly.
“Well, I can’t say the same from where I’m sitting. It sounds like you’ve brought nothing but trouble to this house.” Maybe he’s Brielle’s grandfather after all.
“Unintentionally, I can assure you,” Roman says.
“Unintentional or not, what’s done is done. Now we have to figure out how to get rid of you without getting caught in the middle of some kind of djinn civil war.”
My thoughts must be showing on my face because Zane leans towards me and says quietly, “He means out of our lives, not kill you.”
That’s a relief. “We’re truly sorry that your family has gotten mixed up in this.”
“Zane, Brielle, take them for a walk. I want to have a private conversation with your grandmother.”
That’s nice. Now I feel like their family dog. I’m going to keep that sentiment to myself, though. I’m learning to keep my mouth shut as much as possible around these people. When Zane stands and looks at me expectantly, I get up and walk ahead of him out of the kitchen. Roman and Brielle follow right behind us.
“Hank’s taking this well,” Brielle says to Zane when she catches up to us. “I thought he’d totally freak out.”
Zane shakes his head. “Nah, Grams has him wrapped around her finger. If she says it’s okay, then Hank will say it’s okay.”
We’re just approaching the elevator when there’s a loud chime from somewhere near the door. My eyes follow the sound and I notice a small monitor and speaker next to the door that I hadn’t noticed before. The monitor screen shows someone on the other side. Z
ane and Brielle give each other nervous glances; it’s obviously someone they don’t recognize. Zane strides to the door, puts his finger on the talk button and says roughly, “Yes?”
“I’m Special Agent Sam Strout. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Loud footsteps behind us cause me to turn around. Hank is lumbering towards us. With hand gestures, he indicates that we should get away from the door. He points to a closed door off the foyer and then puts his finger on the talk button. “What the sam hell could you have to talk to me about? Go on out of here before I let the dogs loose.”
Dogs? I don’t remember hearing any dogs barking. Zane, Brielle, Roman and I are now in a library listening through the door that we have open just a crack. I give Zane a quizzical look and he nods. Apparently, they do have dogs.
Marked (The Secrets of the Djinn #1) Page 15
