Stifled (Summoned Book 2)

by Rainy Kaye

  “That's. . .disturbing.”

  Syd shrugs as we approach the door, then swipes it open. I stand in the doorway. She darts to the bed, feels around the edge of the mattress, then pulls out the ring.

  Her shoulders slump with relief, and she slips the ring on her finger. We head back toward the lobby.

  “What happened to your mother, then?” I glance at Syd to judge her reaction. She's calm. As usual.

  “Oh, that wasn't her dad. My grandmother wound up marrying the son of a close friend of the family.”

  “I mean your mother. What happened to her?”

  Syd stops, and then continues walking, so quickly it's like she didn't mean to stall.

  “She left.” Syd's tone is flat.

  “Because of your dad's obsession with, uh, the genie thing?”

  “I guess that's part of it. Look, I was fifteen, and Zoe was a year old when she took off. She just decided she didn't want to be a mom anymore. Not like she was much of one to begin with. No big.”

  I grab Syd's arm, forcing her to face me. “So, you raised Zoe?”

  There's more to her story, but she won't take it seriously unless I make her. For someone who takes such pleasure in examining the gears of my brain, she's astonishingly protective of her own.

  “Kind of. Dad was the parent, but I made sure Zoe was fed and bathed. Grandma Pat—my mother's mother—wanted to help out, but Dad didn't really want her around. She wasn't 'in'. We skirted around the genie thing, pretended to be normal.” Syd shakes me off and starts walking again. “And the genie weren't the only big elephant in the room, obviously. It was just uncomfortable.”

  I match her stride. “No nanny?”

  “We had one for a while, but I didn't like her.”

  “So you did raise Zoe.”

  “Seriously, Dim, I'm fine. It didn't go down the way I expected, but I still got Zoe out of that mess, didn't I?”

  “Well, yes.” I hesitate, trying to understand the pieces of Syd still obscured from me. Her logic doesn't check out. I add, “If the genie thing caused so much hassle for you, I don't see why you keep going. Shouldn't you be, like, liberated now?”

  She scoffs. “You're one to talk about being liberated.”

  Right in the nuts.

  The surprise must show on my face because she glances up and says, “Sorry.”

  I shrug it off as we round the corner. She disappears into the lobby to return the key card, then we load back up in the car.

  After we're on the road, she finally replies. “I can either start over, or I can work with what I have.”

  I want to point out that she's only twenty-three. There's plenty of time to find a new path, but she's right—who am I to talk? As much as I like to pretend one day we'll live like normal people, I can't fathom how we will ever leave this life behind.

  We don't talk about it anymore during the rest of the trip, but I suspect we're both trying to decide what our future holds.

  Sometime after midnight, we arrive at her house in Phoenix. I get out and grab our bags from the trunk. Syd messes around with her purse, probably searching for her house keys.

  I slam the trunk shut then start off to the front door.

  I halt in my steps. “Uh, Syd?”

  She jingles as she approaches with her keys. “What's. . .”

  Her voice trails away like she forgotten how to speak.

  We stand side-by-side in the driveway, staring at her house. The front door is open. The windows are busted out. The house kind of looks like I got a hold of it, except it wasn't me.

  Goosebumps spread across my arms and the back of my neck. We don't say anything, but I know we're both thinking the same thing.

  Never mind what the future holds. Right now, we're not safe anywhere.

  ***

  We check into a hotel. Syd orders a pizza, but it remains in its box on the table untouched. I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers laced, and watch her. A Syd-breakdown is pending. I can't do anything about it.

  She pushes aside the pizza box and dumps out her purse. There's enough stuff in there to build a rocket. She sorts through it, like she's misplaced something, but I'm pretty certain there's nothing logical going on here. Synapses are misfiring, yet her expression is mild. As always.

  She starts battling with the zipper on a little bag. Her expression doesn't change, but her body grows tense.

  Then she knocks everything off the table. The purse. The contents of the purse. The pizza.

  She stands, dropping the little bag, and steps over the mess to lie out on the bed. I pull off my shirt, then climb onto the bed and straddle her hips. Her eyes close as I lean in and kiss her neck. I tug down her sleeve, revealing her shoulder, and follow along her soft skin with my lips. Her breathing deepens, and I pull back to help her out of her shirt.

  Her back arches as I kiss down her chest to her stomach. As much as I would like to do what I always do—slide under the sheets and exhaust her body so her mind will follow—this isn't what she needs.

  So I shift off her and yank the bedding from under us. I pull her close, wrapping us together in the blanket. Her hand goes to my crotch, but I deftly brush off the attempt. I tighten my body around hers. She tries again, but I lock her hand between our stomachs.

  She pulls her head back a few inches to look at me. “Fuck me, baby.”

  “Mm,” I say, because anything else is going to irk her.

  She rocks her hips against me. I put my hand on her ass to still her.

  I kiss her silver-studded ear and whisper, “Let's just rest for a little while.”

  “So we aren't going to fuck?” Her tone is surprisingly vicious. “That's bullshit.”

  A small, sad smile plays on my lips. She can't see it. Something deep inside me hurts, knowing I've been enabling her. She has lost so much, and she never dealt with any of it.

  I don't say anything. I just hold her.

  I hold her as her body stills, as her breathing deepens, and then, as she cries. Her tears wet my shoulder and trickle down my arm.

  This is one of many nights to come, but I meant what I said: I'm fixing this.

  ***

  On the way to Fiona's house, I go over everything we know about this jinn situation and, more importantly, what we don't know.

  We know a female jinn is on a killing spree, but we don't know why. We know her would-be victim, Ian Cook, is somehow tied into the tests JiNet sent me on, but Lyle's motives are unclear. And we have no idea where Ian Cook has run off too, so we can't ask him for an explanation.

  We also know someone is hell-bent on taking me alive. Someone who knew as soon as I landed back in the US. Someone who has tracked me around Phoenix, San Diego, and the Los Angeles area. But none of our guesses about who adds up to why.

  Fiona's house is a huge Mediterranean style home, yellow with blue doors. It is fronted by big archways with drawn back curtains, stone steps, and squat palm trees. In the middle, a pool with many corners and picture-perfect water.

  Someone is living an Arabian dream, complete with a genie.

  People have already gathered at wrought iron and mosaic tables on the tiled patio. I recognize many of their faces, though I still don't know right off who is jinn and who is master.

  They glance up and smile at us as we approach. Someone waves us over to their table. It's the gorgeous Oriental woman. She gives Syd a quick half-standing hug. Then we pull up chairs.

  “How was the drive?” She addresses Syd, sipping from a martini glass.

  Syd places her purse on the ground. “It wasn't a bad trip. We came in last night.”

  I tune out the prattling and scan the crowd. Everyone seems relaxed, laughing and drinking, gathered in little social circles. Shadi—Fiona's jinn—struts by like he's on the catwalk. My gaze follows him, and I smirk. If I had ever flaunted like that around the Walker estate, I would have been sent to Burma to work in a sweatshop for a month.

  I turn my attention back to Syd. She is wearing a sh
ort white dress covered in gold rivets and tiny spikes. Her nails are painted to match. She's somehow classy and revealing at the same time, and manages to blend in while standing out. She's all sorts of sexy contradictions, and it's kindle to my smoldering lechery.

  Hopefully she's in a better state of mind when we get back to the hotel. Not sure I can hold out another night, even for the greater good.

  “Dim, wanna go?”

  I blink back to reality.

  Syd nudges my leg. “Fiona is going to show us around.”

  “Oh.” I look up.

  The Oriental woman is standing next to her chair, waiting.

  So that's Fiona. Now that I think about it, she's a perfect match with Shadi. They both act like a camera crew follows them.

  I push to my feet and join Syd, trailing after Fiona. She leads us across the patio and through a set of blue doors. Inside, the floors are tiled with medallions six feet in diameter. All the doorways are rounded with squared pillars on either side. Glass shelves display colorful trinkets, and tall vases sit in corners.

  We're led into a living room with long, simple couches, round tables, and ornate metal lanterns. The living room opens into the dining room through a gaping archway with pillars probably too big for me to put my arms around. It's like a giant used to live here.

  Above the embellished dining room table, the tray ceiling is hung with a candle chandelier. A painted mirror rests on the fireplace mantle, and a planted palm sits by a rounded window.

  Syd and Fiona are still yammering it up as we cross into a courtyard in the center of the house. Outdoor dark wood furniture, and plants I'm pretty sure I saw hanging around in Italy. The next set of doors leads into a kitchen. More over-the-top tiling and imported materials for cabinets and backsplashes. One wall is decorated with painted Moroccan plates. A massive domed metal chandelier set with red and blue gems is suspended above another heavy table.

  This place is smaller than the Walker estate, but it makes up for it in lavish detail. Fiona must have shipped half of Marrakesh to Phoenix.

  We turn and head up a wide staircase with bowed black railing. Down the hallway, we pass more palm trees in planters and hand carved wooden tables filled with distinctively Middle Eastern decor.

  I stop in my tracks. Syd and Fiona don't notice and keep going.

  I narrow my sight on the table to my left. Between a red blown glass hookah and metal pitcher rests a vase. It's white, it has a lid, and it has a sigil on it.

  It's the vase I stole from the pottery shop.

  I glance down the hallway toward Fiona and Syd, who are steadfast in their conversation. My fingers twitch. I want to take the vase, but what am I going to do with it?

  Instead, I catch up with the women and complete the tour. Then we go the way we came, back to the patio next to the pool. The air is warm, and it would be easy to believe we were in the Middle Eastern desert instead of the American Southwest.

  “I don't want to be rude,” Fiona says to Syd as we gather at a table, “but Shadi and I must get on the road. Long drive ahead.”

  Syd perks up. “Long drive?”

  “Yes, for the divan meeting. I don't fly, and neither would anyone else who watches the news. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like. The house staff will be on-duty all night, and the party rarely ends before morning. If you aren't fit to drive, there are guest rooms upstairs. So please enjoy yourselves.” She smiles and takes Syd's hands. “It was lovely speaking with you again. I look forward to seeing you at the monthly meeting in San Diego.”

  She pecks Syd on each cheek, and Syd returns the gesture. As soon as Fiona turns to say goodbye to her counterparts, Syd spins around to face me.

  “Dimitri, come out to the car with me,” she says. Then she's down the carport.

  I follow after her. At least we're not hanging around. Maybe Fiona divulged everything Syd wanted to know. Or maybe Syd is just bored with this game. I certainly am.

  I slide into the passenger seat and slouch down. Syd shuts her door. After a few seconds, I realize she hasn't started the car. I look up. She's staring at me, and her eyes are dancing.

  I know that look. “Mother of God, what now?”

  “We should sneak into the divan meeting,” she says.

  “No, Syd. No.” I shake my head. “I'm done.”

  “Come on, Dim.”

  “Done.”

  “Please?”

  “Done, done, done.”

  She takes a deep breath. “If you do this, I'll drop out of JiNet.”

  I slant a look at her.

  “I'm serious,” she says. “I'll tell Lyle there's an emergency and I have to go take care of family in Europe.”

  I would like to protest. Not because I want to stick around with JiNet, but because the answer is so damn simple, I'm irritated I didn't think of it—and insist on it a few break-ins ago. Instead, I just stare at her, mouth gaped.

  She waits for my answer.

  I snap my jaw shut and look away.

  “Is that a yes?” She sounds like I just agreed to go on a double-date with her and a friend.

  She is so far from normal. Says the guy who sears off his own fingerprints.

  “We don't even know where they meet at,” I say, but we both know the argument is null and void. I'm in the business of figuring out the impossible.

  As if on cue, a silver Bentley backs out the garage and rolls past us. I catch a glimpse of Fiona in the driver seat, Shadi next to her. They are sporting sunglasses and chatting it up. I'm not entirely convinced they really are master and jinn.

  They pull out onto the road.

  I groan, frustrated, and mess up my hair with my hands. Syd grins and climbs out of the car. I trade places with her, and then we're trailing the glam pair on their way to the divan meeting.

  Trailing someone is not as easy as it sounds. I have no idea where Fiona and Shadi are headed, so I have to stay on the qui vive for their next move. Are they going to change lanes? Run a red light? Start a high-speed chase?

  Not only do I have to excel at Follow the Leader, I can't let any of the jacknuts sharing the road with me get in the way. One suped-up Honda cuts me off, and the game is over.

  The best part is, I have to do all of this without Fiona realizing we're playing.

  Things are tricky until we get on I-10 east. The she moves over to the left lane and maintains speed. I settle in two car lengths behind her. As long as she doesn't catch who is behind the wheel, there is no reason for her to notice she's being followed.

  In an hour, we're out of Phoenix and headed toward Payson. I've been through here before. The desert turns into trees, and traffic fades out. Still, as long as I keep distant, we should be safe.

  Then I notice we have a small problem.

  “Uh, Syd,” I say, breaking the long stretch of silence. “We have less than a half a tank of gas.”

  “Stop and fill up then.”

  “Yeah, and should we call Fiona to ask her to hang tight while we do that?”

  Syd looks at me.

  I continue, “We can't fill up when they do either. She would notice us for sure then.”

  Syd's eyebrows come together. “So what do we do?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Her eyes fix on the fuel gauge, probably willing it not to move. My eyes fix on the Bentley up ahead, willing it to find its destination soon.

  It does not.

  Before long, we're through Heber and well on our way to Holbrook. In less than two hours, we will be over the Arizona-New Mexico state line. And we will be down to a quarter tank.

  I frown at the Bentley still cruising along. “She didn't give any hint of where this meeting will take place?”

  “Nothing,” Syd says. “I didn't think to ask anyone.”

  “They probably wouldn't have told you, anyway.”

  We go quiet again. Both of us stare at the car we're trailing. The meeting is tomorrow night, so she isn't driving cross-country, but a lot of ground can
be covered in a day.

  An hour after we pass through Holbrook, we enter Chambers. It's one of those towns that requires zooming in pretty far on a map to find it.

  The Bentley exits the freeway. I stomp on the brake. Syd yelps, bracing her hand against the dash. I slide the car over, practically on the Bentley's ass. If Fiona glances in the rear view mirror, we're screwed.

  I drop back, but the Bentley turns and disappears. I follow after, and find she isn't far ahead or going very fast. No choice but to crawl up on her.

  She pulls into a gas station. I speed up.

  Syd twists to watch as we leave Fiona in dust. “Dim, what—?”

  I take the corners without slowing down, looping around the block and pulling into a parking lot.

  “Stay here.” I unbuckle the seat belt, grab the backpack out of the back seat, and shuffle around for the screwdriver. I glance at Syd. “Leave the car running.”

  She gives me a hesitant look.

  I step out, screwdriver in hand, and head toward the gas station. As I approach, I slow down and scope out the area. The pumps are vacant. The Bentley is parked by the side of the store. Fiona and Shadi are nowhere in sight.

  With a deep breath, I head straight for the Bentley. I halt long enough to spot what I'm looking for: the GPS mounted to the right of the steering wheel. Just the normal kind, no fancy in-dash contraption.

  I wedge the screwdriver between the passenger window and door, and shove down. It takes a couple of pushes, then the glass shatters. I reach in, yank off the GPS, and pull a ghost out of there.

  When I approach our car, Syd straightens in her seat.

  I yank open the driver side door, then toss the GPS into her lap as I slide behind the wheel.

  Syd picks up the GPS. “What's this for?”

  We're already back on the freeway, heading east.

  “Check through the saved locations,” I say. “Look for anything we can use.”

  “It's routed.” She presses a few buttons then adds, “To Tulsa.”

  “Oklahoma? Yeah, there's no way we'd have made it without refueling.”

  There's silence. Then Syd starts laughing.

  “You stole Fiona's friggin' GPS?” She slinks down in her seat. “Who the hell thinks of these things?”