Stifled (Summoned Book 2)

by Rainy Kaye

  With that, he pushes past me and clamors down the stairs. I turn, more questions on my lips, but he's already darting out of the building.

  I face the room again. Folding chairs and tables, a microphone stand, and a set of floor speakers. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Except the jinn's knife. I stride over to it and pick it up. It's heavy, with a wide curved blade. Like a short scimitar. How fitting.

  I stuff it inside my jacket and make way down the stairs. As I reach the double doors, my phone buzzes in my pants pocket, so I pull it out.

  Syd is calling.

  How am I going to explain to her what happened? I found her jinn and victim, just not where she thought they would be.

  I answer right before the call goes to voice mail. “Hey, something—“

  “I found the jinn,” she interrupts, breathless. The background is loud with talking and sirens. “He came into the bank. Held up the place.”

  My brain hurts. “How is that—”

  “Dim, it was here. But—” She lowers her voice. “—the police are involved and asking everyone questions. I'm going to sneak away as soon as I can. Meet you back at the hotel?”

  I make a small noise of affirmation, feeling disoriented. Syd hangs up, but I keep the phone to my ear a moment longer.

  Nothing is making sense again. I have no doubt that woman was a jinn. All the signs were there. But Syd knows more about the jinn than even I do. She wouldn't mistake the common criminal with a being from a two-thousand year old story.

  Couldn't be the same jinn working at rapid speed, either. Mine was most definitely female. And Syd had said “he.”

  But if we're right, Southern California isn't hiding a jinn.

  It's hiding two.

  ***

  I should have brought the car. The whole walk from the church to the leather store, I worry the knife is going to fall out of my jacket pocket. I keep one hand tucked under, holding it in place.

  Yeah, like that doesn't look suspicious.

  I still haven't had anything to drink. Syd doesn't have a vehicle, though, and might need me to pick her up when the police are done interviewing witnesses. Probably should get myself back to San Diego.

  I place the knife on the passenger seat and glance at it as I drive to the freeway. Karl Walker had a summoning chamber, a room dedicated to. . .me. Dedicated to my family, anyway. It was filled with distinctively Middle Eastern looking trinkets: colored glass lanterns, etched metal lamps, painted mirrors, leather cushions. It was like walking through an antique shop in Morocco. Or, so I would assume.

  This knife would have fit among the summoning chamber decor, and that leads me to wonder if this knife is also a relic or just a really great knock off.

  While keeping an eye on the road, I pick up the knife and hold it to the sunlight. A circular symbol is cleanly etched in the metal.

  I have no idea what the symbol means, but hopefully Syd does.

  I drop the blade onto the passenger seat and merge onto the freeway. As many things I need to mull over, I don't want to. Not yet. Not until Syd is back so we can compare notes—and then hopefully stifle all these questions with some debauchery.

  Back at the hotel, I find Syd hasn't returned. I text her to let her know I can come pick her up, then wait. No answer.

  I shrug, set the phone on the nightstand, remove my shoes and jacket, and then sprawl out face down on the bed. My side clenches.

  Forgot about being sat on by the Jolly Green Giant's mutt. I roll to my back, sucking in a pained breath, then try to relax.

  My consciousness slips toward sleep. The door clicks. I bolt upright. Another pain shoots through my ribs.

  Syd steps inside the hotel room, shuts the door behind her, and double-checks all the locks before turning to me. Her face is radiant.

  I groan and fall back against the bed.

  “Dimitri! He was incredible!”

  “Of course,” I say, not trying to hide my growing dislike for all things jinn.

  “Oh, my god! He was so broad and tan and powerful.”

  I roll my eyes. “You mean all those adjectives you used to explain why I disappointed you?”

  “Yes! He's totally the opposite of you.” She laughs and claps her hands together. “He's a real jinn.”

  “You know, a normal guy would be jealous. . .”

  “Oh, come on, Dim.” She crosses the room then crawls up on the bed, supporting herself over me. “Let me have my moment.”

  “So, does he have magic then? Like the genies in the stories.”

  “If he does, he didn't seem to use any.”

  I reach up with one hand and tuck her hair behind her silver-studded ear. “How do you know he was a jinn, anyway?”

  Her smile widens to a grin. “He did the thing.”

  I stare at her.

  She adds, “Smacking his head and being twitchy and stuff.”

  “Ah,” I say, because I would rather not encourage that conversation.

  Every time a master makes a wish, his genie gets a little vibration in the brain. And the vibration keeps growing until the wish is fulfilled. If not, Bad Things happen. Very Bad Things.

  That is the genie bond. It made my life unpleasant.

  Syd lowers to leave a small kiss on my lips. “Stop thinking. That stuff is over.”

  “Yeah, you got me there.” I run my finger across her soft cheek, trail down her neck, and then wander to the front of her shirt. I tug her neckline a little and grin.

  She gives a half-smile. “Like something?”

  “Two things. They seem to come in a matched set.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to take in her scent. As much as I would like to keep this conversation going, there are more pressing matters. “I have something to show you.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “Sounds promising.”

  “Not like that. I kind of had my own run in with the jinn.”

  She sits straight. “You saw him too?”

  “Her.” I nudge Syd off from me. “You were right. The jinn is a girl. I ran into her and her victim, Ian Cook.”

  She scowls, then hops down off the bed and crosses. “That's not his name.”

  “He seemed to know the jinn was coming for him,” I say.

  She paws through her purse on the table and produces a small notebook, already opened to a page. “None of the victims I forecasted are named Ian Cook.” She looks up at me. “Are you sure it was a jinn?”

  “Yeah, same way you knew about the robber. I guess he got away?”

  “Yeah, took the money and ran in record time. Police scoped the area.” She quirks her lips at the notebook. “Maybe the jinn do have magic.”

  “Or his master summoned him.”

  Realization lights up Syd's face. “That's a smart move. Great tactic.”

  “Yeah,” I say with far less enthusiasm as I tug on my shoes. “Look, I'm going to grab the knife from the car so you can check it out. I think—”

  Syd interrupts: “Is that the new one?”

  I look to where she is pointing. My jacket, sprawled on the floor.

  “Ah, yeah.” I snatch it up and slip it on. “I hate it.”

  “It looks good.”

  “It's useless.”

  She leans back against the table and grins. “You look like a bad ass.”

  “Great, then I can be a dead bad ass, because I can't fit enough weapons in this damn thing.” I brush past her and head out the door.

  It's evening. Somehow I wasn't expecting it to be dark, but not like I had any plans of going back out today. Hopefully Syd's attention has turned to something besides that house. The one with the whale of a dog, and a maid who was all too ready to dial 911.

  I grab the knife from the car and return to the hotel room. Syd's eyes latch onto the weapon.

  I flip the blade around and offer her the hilt. “There's a symbol on it of some kind.”

  She takes the knife. I step closer and point to the etching.

&nbs
p; She studies it a moment, then lowers the blade and meets my gaze.

  “It's a sigil. They're used in magic.” A grin settles on her lips. “Dimitri, this is incredible. I think. . .I think she's bonded to it.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Does that mean you can summon her?”

  “I wouldn't think so.” Syd's eyes lower to the blade still in her hands. “I mean, that's what the stories say, that the genie belongs to whoever owns the item. But that can only be half of the truth. Otherwise, Silvia would have just. . .”

  My brain beats down the attempt to finish the sentence. I don't want to think about this.

  Syd glances around the room, then lands back on me. “What were you bonded to?”

  Guess we're going to dissect my weirdness anyway.

  I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. Not like I ever saw Karl summon me. To be honest, I never gave much thought to the “how.” I was a little preoccupied with the “ah, shit.”

  I force a shrug. “Doesn't matter. We blew up the mansion and everything in it.”

  “True,” she says, in a dreamy sort of way.

  There she goes, off chasing jinn in her imagination again.

  My mind is stuck on the realization I was bonded to an item, relegating me to little more than property. Not like it should come as a surprise. That's all I was to the Walkers, anyway.

  “There would have been two parts,” Syd says. “An item, and then a master that can use that item.”

  I zip up my jacket, but say nothing.

  She steps forward, knife lowered to her side, and touches my cheek with her free hand. “It dehumanizes the Walkers, not you.”

  As much as I appreciate that Syd understands my situation, I sometimes would rather she didn't. At least, not as deeply as she does. My thoughts are never private.

  She holds up the knife again. “If she's bonded to this, then her master can't summon her without it.”

  “That doesn't make sense. If she's carrying around the one item that can summon her, doesn't that defeat the purpose?”

  Syd hesitates. “Yeah, I guess it would. I'll have to do some research. See if there's any correlations between Solomon's ring, the genie lamp, this knife. . .whatever you were bonded to. . .”

  Anger boils in my chest. Some days, I'm her goddamn thesis.

  I look at her, throat tight. “I want to go back to Italy.”

  “We will.” She turns to the table and sets down the knife. “As soon as we find the jinn.”

  In the morning, Syd and I head out for breakfast. My eyes aren't even fully open, which is probably a bad thing since I'm driving. Syd sits in the passenger seat, flipping through a binder and sighing, each time with more exasperation.

  I glance at her. “Having issues?”

  “I give up.” She slams the binder shut. “I can't find anything about Ian Cook. Or any Cook. Or any Ian. So, I was either wrong about the target's name, or I was wrong about the gender of the jinn.”

  “It's not the big of a deal,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes. “Yes, it is!”

  I laugh. “Are you an over-achiever?”

  “Have you met my family?”

  I open my mouth, then close it.

  Met them.

  Worked for them.

  Killed them.

  “Well, this is awkward,” Syd says, deadpan, twisting the ring on her finger.

  I shake my head. “What do you intend to do, anyway? You don't really think we're playing Uno with the jinn, do you?”

  “We'll figure that out when we get there,” she says. “First, we have to dig up some more information on them. That's why we're going to the previous sites.”

  I glance at her. “Sites? You mean, murder sites?”

  “Yeah, the places where she killed before.”

  “And those were the targets' houses, right?”

  Syd nods.

  “Great, so I get to break in.”

  “Unless the front doors are unlocked.” She sounds hopeful.

  “The front door is never unlocked,” I mutter. “And what if the sites don't turn up anything?”

  “Then we track down her target, Ian Cook. At least we will have the right target this time.”

  We sit through another round of uncomfortable silence. It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours since her last big idea wound up with Cerberus using me as a chew toy.

  Finally, I sigh, defeated. “Do you have any intel on the locations?”

  She scratches her cheek with one finger. “Um, what?”

  I repress a groan. This is going to be fun. Not.

  “No pictures? Seriously, Syd?”

  “All I know about the first house is it was owned by a guy named Paul.” She lowers her hand. “I didn't realize you needed pictures.”

  “Well, that's one way to go about it,” I say with a little more sarcasm than I intended. She lowers her chin, looking obliterated. I try to reign in my douchebaggery and give her arm a reassuring squeeze instead. “No worries.”

  “What are we going to do then?”

  “I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out.” I place my hand back on the steering wheel. “I always do.”

  ***

  I stare up at the two story Victorian style home and say, “Huh.”

  Even after the jaunt around the perimeter and a peek over the fence, that's all I got.

  “What? What's wrong?” Syd stands rooted in place, hands clasped together.

  “Well, as far as I can tell, she didn't break in. So she either let herself in, or was invited in.”

  “Invited in? Like a vampire?”

  “No, but she didn't bust out any windows or doors.”

  Syd scowls, still facing the house. “What does that mean?”

  “That means we'll have to.” I lower my voice. “Neighbors are watching us.”

  Syd catches herself from turning to look. At least she's learning.

  She whispers, “So, what's the plan?”

  My gaze flits over the house, one last attempt at finding an easier answer. There isn't one.

  I huff. “We go get supplies.”

  ***

  Three hours later, I'm standing in the backyard of the Victorian house, loaded up like Tim “The Toolman” Taylor. Screwdrivers, hammers, electric drill with a rapid charger, and the biggest set of drill bits I could find because I have no idea what I'm doing.

  From next to me, Syd asks, “So, what are we doing?”

  Like shark to blood, this woman.

  “Well, since no one left the doors unlocked, I figure I would just. . .remove. . .the lock.” I glance behind me to take in the backyard again, and then pop open the drill bit case. I go through a half-dozen bits before I find one that slides into the deadbolt tumbler.

  “I have to admit,” Syd says, “I'm kinda surprised it took so long for you to get one to fit into a hole. . .”

  I look up at her, drill against the lock, and give my best unamused look. “Really, Syd? Really?”

  She shrugs a little and grins. “Just an observation.”

  “Better idea—go observe the front for nosy people.”

  “Aye, Captain,” she says with a small salute, then disappears around the side of the house.

  I start drilling out the tumbler, only to realize I forgot a little thing from the hardware store: goggles.

  Great, maybe I'll scratch a cornea while I'm at it.

  I turn my head and press in harder. Like the dead bolt is a five-dollar prostitute.

  After a few minutes, I pull out and go at it from another angle.

  Also like a five-dollar prostitute.

  It's not the quickest break-in on record, but eventually I can wedge a thin screwdriver into the tumbler, twist the lock around, and, with a little work from a flat-head and hammer, yank out the whole damn cylinder. A little more finagling, and the door opens.

  Inside, darkness. A big empty void of darkness.

  Come to find out, I also forgot a flashlight.


  I pull my phone out of my jacket pocket, unlock the screen, and hold it up like a torch.

  Yeah, that's not going to cut it.

  With a frown, I open the app store, search for a flashlight app, find one, download it—and Syd steps around me, reaches inside the cavern of nothingness, and flips on the light switch. The interior comes to life.

  I drop my arm to my side and look at her.

  “You can totally try it your way, though.” She smiles and then saunters inside.

  I cram my phone into my pocket. “It's a good thing you have a nice ass. Just sayin'.”

  “Love me for my mind, Dim,” she says, standing in the middle of the tiled utility room.

  “No,” I say, “your mind uprooted me from Naples.”

  She turns to look at me. “Scared to come in?”

  “Yeah, Syd, I've killed men in cities across the nation, but I'm scared of an abandoned house.” I roll my eyes and follow her inside.

  Syd leads the way through the utility room—dirty laundry piled in a basket; nothing fascinating here—and into the dining room.

  The table must weigh as much as an elephant. The thick wooden top is not even sitting on legs, but an ornate platform. Matching chairs with elaborate arms and gold colored cushions are pushed close. Above hangs a wrought iron chandelier, like something from Italy.

  Against the far wall stands an eight-foot tall china cabinet. I cross the granite floor and begin opening drawers and cabinets. Candles and silverware and lots of other uninteresting stuff.

  I turn to Syd. She's busy snapping photos with her phone. Before I can open my mouth to tell her that capturing incriminating evidence is rarely an awesome plan, she slips into the other room. A trail of lights marks her path.

  I sigh and follow after her. Pretty sure this was supposed to be my assignment. Why did I bring her along?

  She has already cleared the kitchen and formal living room, and is making her way down the hall.

  I hurry to catch up with her and grab her arm. “Hey, we're not supposed to be in here, remember? If the neighbors see the lights on through the windows, they're going to call the cops.”

  Her mouth makes an “O” shape. Then her expression crumbles.

  “It's just, well, look at it.” She holds up her phone so I can see the screen and starts flicking through the gallery. She's already taken close to hundred shots of the rooms. “This place is amazing. And—” She leans in and lowers her voice. “—we broke in.”