by Rainy Kaye
I throw back the covers and amble over to her.
She holds up her phone so I can see the screen.
I blink a few times, unsure what I'm looking at. My brain is still snoozing.
“These are from the first house,” she says. “Take a look.”
She zooms out. It's a photo of the reading area off from the main bedroom at the first murder site.
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Notice something weird?”
“They have a lot of books.”
“That's part of it. They have a lot of built-in bookcases.”
“So they like to read.” I shake my head and cross the room to the vanity. “Not sure I'm following the clues, Velma.”
“Jinkies,” Syd says, monotone. “Look, the bookcases on the left side of the room are different than ones on the right.”
I flip on the faucet to warm up the water. “That's poor architecture.”
“Dim, that house appraises at over two million dollars. That isn't bad architecture. It's a bad addition.”
“What addition?” I lower to the sink to splash my face, then run my wet hands through my hair and turn off the faucet. I grab a towel from the vanity. “You mean the reading room?”
“No. Okay, if you want a bookcase to swing out, you can't just build it on the ground. Not properly, anyway. It'll leave marks on the carpet and eventually sag from dragging.”
I scrub my face with the towel, trying to jar my brain awake.
Syd continues. “The proper way—the way a two million dollar house would have done—is to hang it above the baseboard.”
I try to follow what she is describing. “But there's no doors on those bookcases.”
“Not doors, the bookcases. The bookcase swings out.”
I halt. Then I toss the towel on the vanity and look at her. “Have you slept at all, Syd?”
“I knew you wouldn't believe me.” She comes toward me, offering her phone again.
She has loaded a video. I take the phone and tap play. Some guy begins to demonstrate how to build a swinging bookcase off the ground. His voice irritates me.
I pause the video and give back her phone. “First rule of the Internet—just because it exists online doesn't mean it's real. No, wait, that actually wasn't a rule, but it should have been. The only thing more true is rule thirty-four.”
Syd stares at me, dumbfounded.
I shrug. “It's a thing. Google it. Anyway, so you're telling me you think casa numero uno had a secret door?”
“Well, since you put it like that. . .Yes.”
“And you think we can just waltz in there and open it?”
She hesitates, then says with resolution: “Yes.”
“And you've totally forgotten we nearly got killed at both stops yesterday?”
She looks away. “No. . .”
“But we're going there again, anyway—aren't we?”
She glances at me and winces. “Yeah.”
I sigh and push past her to grab my jacket off the back of the chair. Without a word, I pack one gun into my pocket, and load the other gun to carry. If my fan clubs shows back up, I'm not eating a face full of razor wire again.
***
At the first house, my tools are still on the patio, and the back door is wide open. The lights are on inside.
I signal for Syd to hang back, then I slink inside, gun tight in my hand. Not a clue if those guys are still hanging around, or what they plan to do next time they find me. The only observations I have made are that those men could have shot me, but they didn't. This is not a hunt. This is big game catching.
And they appear to have no interest in Syd.
Not like either aspect can't change. Either way, I'm not quite sure what it all means.
I make my way through the living room. A few chairs and end tables are turned over. The couch is pulled from the wall.
“Dim.”
I spin around to face Syd, gun up. She's standing in the living room doorway.
I lower my gun.
“I didn't hear any noises, so figured it was safe,” she says. “Let's be quick. This place creeps me out now.”
I nod, keeping alert to any sounds within the house. We beeline down the hall to the master bedroom. Syd bustles ahead to the raised bookcase, reaches up, and yanks on it.
As sure as Antoinette lost her head, the bookcases slide open with all the majesty of a castle gate.
She stares behind it, though the swung-out bookcase blocks my view. I cross the room to her, and we stand side-by-side.
It's a bedroom. A simple platform bed made up with a purple cover. A few bamboo furnishings. No windows.
On the wall opposite of us hangs a three by two foot canvas painted with black lettering: Vivo Para Servir.
I reel through the abridged Spanish-to-English dictionary in my head.
Syd points at the painting. “Isn't that a religious thing?”
“I guess it could be.” I narrow my eyes at it, trying to convince myself it is related to the church. Something tells me it isn't. And that something makes me lightheaded. “Vivo para servir. I live to serve.”
“Do you think a jinn slept back here?”
“Either that or Harry Potter.”
“He was under the stairs,” she says, but her voice has a distant, unsettled quality.
I force my gaze away from the picture to follow Syd out to the patio. We gather the tools before leaving.
I have so many questions, but one keeps nagging for an answer: Why were these people being hunted?
***
As I drive us back to the hotel, Syd sits in the passenger seat, jotting away in her binder. After a few minutes, she taps her pen against her lap, eyes scanning the page.
Then she looks up at me. “I made a list of everything we know already. Maybe all laid out like this, something will make sense. Maybe.”
“So read it to me.”
She takes a deep breath. “Okay, well, we know Silvia killed Karl so she could claim you, but you killed Silvia. That means you killed your master. But you were only able to do that because she hadn't wished for you not to be able to harm her. We also know that a genie needs someone to inherit them, or they die. The only reason you didn't die was because I inherited you.”
I make a small noise in affirmation. I really dislike when we have to talk about this stuff.
“That aside, we know that a female jinn is running around killing people. She killed three that we know of, and we've visited two of those sites so far. At least one victim was, presumably, a master. Given what was behind the bookcase. We don't know if it was her master, though.”
“Well, someone still controls her,” I say, changing lanes. “She would have died otherwise. Besides, she was twitching, so I know she was hearing the hum.”
“Right. Forgot about that.” Syd crosses out a line and makes another note. “So the female jinn is still owned by someone, but we don't know who. You interrupted her last wish, Ian Cook, but he actually knew she was coming for him.”
“And he's scared of them. . .the jinn.” I frown in thought. “No, not scared. Disgusted, maybe. He called them demons.”
“Ouch,” Syd says with a grimace.
“Yeah. Does any of this actually make sense to you now that it's on paper?”
She sighs and leans back in her seat. “No.”
“Figured.” I glance at her. “What else you got?”
“Well, there is this whole thing about someone tracking you. They pulled us over on the trip here, followed us to two houses. They're pretty serious. But. . .”
“Yeah, you noticed it too. They want me alive.”
“A dead genie is a useless genie, I guess.”
“I'm free of that shit,” I snap, then regret my words. Syd hasn't done anything wrong.
She takes it in stride. “No, but maybe some people don't realize that yet. I'm convinced this is the work of Eileena.”
“Even if she thinks I'm still a genie, it doesn't make any s
ense. She was Karl's wife, and only blood can inherit the bond. Plus, wouldn't she want you too? Being that you should. . .own me.”
“Unless she doesn't know who owns you. Either way, it doesn't fit together. She's being obvious about this, to say the least, which is a bad idea if she thinks you're still under someone's control. That someone would just send you to retaliate against her.” Syd shakes her head. “But who else could it be? We didn't leave behind a lot of witnesses. I just don't understand.”
“Me either,” I mutter. “But, you did miss one thing.”
Syd jerks straight. “What?”
I chuckle. “Did I offend the over-achiever? You forgot Eileena wanted to realign all the jinn with Arabic masters. She's so obnoxious, it's no wonder Karl cheated on her.”
Syd stares down at her notes again. “I guess I never noted the race of her kills. Some profiler I am, right?”
“Watch more Criminal Minds. So do you think maybe Eileena is killing off masters to get the jinn back under Arabic control?”
“It's possible.” Syd closes her binder and stares out the passenger window. “That would mean the female jinn is hers. Somehow. I'm not sure if that is even possible.”
“Maybe she just hooked up with another master,” I say.
“Even then, that doesn't explain who the male jinn was that robbed a bank.”
“Or what Ian Cook has to do with any of this. We don't know why the female jinn was after him.” I hesitate before asking, even though I already know the answer, “Where are going now?”
“To the third site, the last crime scene.”
I look at her longer than I probably should take my eyes off the road. My brain can't seem to process what hers is up to.
“We don't have a choice,” she says, voice even. “There's more to these kills than just eliminating competition. If Eileena really is realigning the master bloodline, we need to know and we need to. . .”
I give Syd a chance to finish her sentence, but she doesn't seem interested in picking it back up. She realized a little too late what she was saying.
“You want to stop her,” I say, because whether she speaks it aloud or not, that's where we will wind up.
She remains silent for a while.
Finally, she says, “Yeah. We need to go to the third house. We need to find what Eileena is up to. And we need to stop her.”
The third house on Syd's list of places the jinn had targeted is located in east San Diego. It's smaller than either of the other two houses, in a neighborhood packed close together.
I slow the car to a halt next to the curb and look at Syd. “You sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah, it's the address I have written down.” She turns to check out the house. “How we gonna get in this one?”
“I'm disconcerted no one lives in these places.” I ease down on the gas. “Well, besides Billy's squatter.”
“I have a few theories,” she says.
“'Course you do. Fire away.”
She smiles, though she still looks exhausted. Then again, my eyes feel like someone poured Ocean Beach in them.
“Well, if Eileena is destroying master lines, there's no one left to take the property—any of it.”
I nod a little. Good point. She's full of them.
“Or, you know, their family was killed there,” she says. “Not rushing to move into that.”
I turn the corner and look for a good place to stash the car. There's a park up ahead. That works.
I glance at her. “What else you got?”
“That's all I have, actually.”
I pull into the park, then turn to the backseat. I grab a hammer and a couple of screwdrivers. Syd reaches under the passenger seat for the second gun. “What do I do with it?”
“Shoot bad guys,” I mutter, turning back in my seat and trying to figure out how to fit everything I need in this damn jacket.
Not happening.
God dammit.
Syd places the gun in her lap, staring down at it.
“Sorry, babe.” I pat her leg. “Rock-filled purses don't cut it every time. You're packin' now.”
I step out and lock up. Syd follows after. We head down the block, toward the house. I'm carrying the hammer, because that's not going to raise any eyebrows at all.
This career path is making me bitter.
At the house, I don't even check if anyone is watching before I hop the back fence. On the other side, I unlatch the gate for Syd then head for the covered patio.
She locks the gate behind her and hurries to catch up with me at the back door. “Don't you need the drill?”
“Nope.” I pull a flat-head screwdriver from my pocket, crouch down, and use it with the hammer like a chisel against the bottom hinge.
After a few taps, the end cap pops out. I throw it to the side and swap the screwdriver for a thinner one. I hold it underneath the hinge and hammer away. Once the pin is out, I stand and set to work on the top hinge.
I love old houses that haven't had their out-swinging doors updated. I also love that my assumption about this place was right. Otherwise, I would have looked like a glifnard going back for the drill.
“I don't see how this will unlock the door,” Syd says.
“I'm not unlocking the door.” I pocket the screwdriver and drop the last pin to the ground. “I'm removing the damn thing.”
I pull the door from the frame, separating the hinges, and lean it against the wall.
Syd looks between me and the gaped opening. “Yeah, I should have seen that coming.”
“You really should have.” I reach inside and pat the wall for a light switch. Not going to get me twice. The light flickers then illuminates the room. “Tada.”
We're staring at what must be a family room. Old desk to one side, scattered with papers. Couch opposite of it, also scattered with papers. A few empty soda bottles lie on the floor. House cleaning must have been on the to-do list that was never finished.
Syd pushes ahead. At least she's holding the gun at her side, instead of like it's a dirty sock.
A thought occurs to me.
I hurry to catch up with her and grab her arm. “Syd, look, if those guys show up again, use the gun as a last resort.”
She scowls at me.
“If you shoot at them, they're going to shoot back, right? For the moment, they're not interested in you.” I let go of her arm. “So only use the gun if they change their minds.”
“Or if they clunk you upside the head,” she says.
I hesitate. “No. If they show up, you need to run.”
“Stop being brave, Dim.” She rolls her eyes. “I'm not leaving you.”
“You have to.” I cross my arms over my chest. “For Zoe.”
Pain bolts across her face. Then she composes herself and strides toward the hallway. I follow after her. I want to force her to promise she won't hang around, but it's a waste of my breath. She has already made up her mind, and that is that.
I should have insisted she stay at the hotel.
We peer into bedrooms and bathrooms, then find a makeshift home office at the end of the hall. The room has a single window and contains a folding table, a plastic lawn chair, and bookshelf loaded down with everything but books. Those three pieces fill the room.
“I have some researching to do,” Syd says, her tone like she's going to plan world domination while she's at it.
Hell, maybe she is.
“I'll go keep watch,” I say.
She barely nods as she begins scanning the bookshelf.
I head back down the hallway and cross the living room to the front door. The door is locked, so I drag the worn leather chair to face the window and peer out the blinds.
The sun practically chars my retinas. The yard is dried up and empty, except for old litter. The street is as quiet as the day after the Apocalypse.
I attach the silencer because preparing for something means it won't happen.
Then I watch out the window and wait.
I stare into the bright daylight so long I see spots. With a sigh, I let go of the blinds and lay back in the chair with my eyes closed.
I'm freakin' starving.
I start to yell to Syd that we should head out. A small thud outside cuts me off. A few more thuds follow.
I sit forward and peek out the blinds again.
Men are unloading from three nondescript cars parked on the other side of the fence. The men are wearing all black, and I'm pretty sure the one in front is the guy who sucker punched me in the gut. I scramble from the chair and barrel down the hallway to the office.
Syd snaps upright where she sits behind the desk, poring over papers.
“They're out front.” I close the door behind me and whisper, “Be quiet.”
Her face tightens, but she stuffs a few slips of papers into her pocket as she stands.
I listen for sounds of their entry. Nothing.
The nothing goes on so long, I begin to wonder if I was mistaken. I can't imagine why else a half-dozen men would show up. Pretty sure they weren't delivering pizza fliers.
Syd gives me a questioning look.
I shrug and lean closer to the door.
Frantic beeping erupts down the hallway.
Fire alarm.
Oh, shit.
I glance at Syd to make sure she still has her gun. She does. I yank open the door and dart into the hallway.
Smoke billows from the living room. Behind it, a trace of heat.
Syd is right beside me.
“Out the back.” I nod my head toward the direction we had entered.
We take off through the living room. The front wall is already bonfire. Whatever they used, it works remarkably well.
We round into the family room. I skid to a halt, reaching back to block Syd.
The path outside looks clear. No men. No fire.
I'm not that much of an idiot.
I signal for Syd to retreat. She gives me a wary look.
I lower my voice. “They're trying to drive us out this way.”
Before she can reply, I grab her arm and usher her back through the smoke, trying not to inhale. Doesn't work out so well. I choke, throat burning, as I shut the office door behind us. Syd starts throwing the contents from the bookshelf toward the door. Her eyes are streaming.
