Stifled (Summoned Book 2)

by Rainy Kaye

  At Eileena's house, the window has been replaced, and the shattered aquarium has been completely removed. No sign that someone got in a fight with a sledgehammer. In fact, the place would be pretty homey, if I didn't know Empress Wu dwelled here.

  Eileena doesn't speak as she leads us down the hallway, flips on the light to a bedroom, and leaves. I shuffle to the bed and plonk down. Dust shakes off my hair and pants onto what was a clean comforter.

  Syd drops her purse next to the dresser and crosses the room to me. Her eyes skim over me, then she gets down on her knees, wedging between my legs.

  “Are you okay, Dim? Tell me the truth.”

  “Stop scowling.” I touch the wrinkle above her nose. “Your eyebrows are never going to separate again.”

  She brushes my hand away. “What happened with Eileena?”

  “Good question. I think she was going to keep me prisoner until the baby was old enough to speak. That's Karl's son, you know.”

  “Yeah, you said that.” Syd lowers her voice. “We can't trust her. What about Silvia? You actually think Eileena got over the fact you killed her daughter?”

  “She was using Silvia too. As soon as Silvia was dead, she ran away. Now she's all wrapped up in another child she can put to use.” My gaze drifts past Syd and I realize I'm staring at something jutting out of her purse. “Is that the scimitar?”

  Syd looks over her shoulder at it. “Yeah, Fahim passed it to me before they left, so Eileena didn't see it. I'm going to do some research when we get out of here.”

  “That belongs to Kalila,” I say.

  “I know, but we can learn a lot from it.” Syd looks up at me again. “It has a lot of history, Dim.”

  “And more so to Kalila. You have to give it back, Syd.”

  My mind is wobbling, but the faint pout struggling on her expression makes me want to kiss her face. Her enthusiasm is adorable.

  “Maybe if we ask Kalila?” Syd raises her eyebrows.

  I shake my head. “She will feel obligated.”

  Syd stares at me, then drops back on her heels and sighs. “Fine.”

  “Thank you.” I lean forward and kiss the top of her head. “I need sleep now.”

  “You should clean up first.”

  I tip my head back and groan.

  “Come on, I'll help you.” She braces herself against my knee to stand, then helps me balance as I hoist to my feet.

  Pain rips through my abdomen. I crumple over and inhale a few deep breaths until it fades to a dull ache. I let her lead me into the open bathroom. It takes a minute for me to register that she's drawing a bath.

  Before I can protest—before I even know what I'm trying to protest—she starts messing with my zipper. I lean against the wall before I pass out and let her undress me. The humidity rising off the tub is inviting, and she steadies me as I lower into the water. The warmth is as comforting as a blanket and a mattress.

  Water trickles down my chest as Syd uses a light touch to clean off the dust and blood. The soap is pert with citrus, but it does less to invigorate and more to put me at ease in a way that will knock me out for twelve hours.

  Syd continues to work over me, slow and rhythmic. I let her, partly because my tank is on empty and mostly because I'm baffled how anything could be so clear: Every brush of her hand on my hair, every dab at the marks on my face, they're almost echoes of the way Eileena had touched me. Yet it doesn't feel the same. Syd's caress sends a tingle through me that nestles in the pit of my stomach. A lingering feeling that assures, at the end of the day, everything is alright. No matter what.

  Her touch is nothing like that of a master. I can't believe I ever thought otherwise.

  When she deems me clean enough, she helps me to my feet and back to the bed. She doctors some of my wounds and wraps my hand, and I don't make any effort to resist or to help.

  When we're done, she shakes off the cover. I crawl underneath and collapse.

  She cuddles up next to me, and we lie side by side staring at the ceiling like we used to do before we knew we were tied together by a fifteen hundred year old curse. Sometimes, I think we're both imagining a black sky full of bright stars. We should lay outside and watch them sometime.

  But not now. Right now, I need to sleep.

  As my eyes start to close, I whisper, “Thanks for busting me out, Syd.”

  “Of course. I would do anything for you.” Her hand finds mine under the covers. “You know that, right?”

  “I do now,” I say. “You organized a jinn army for me.”

  She pauses, then her happy laugh tinkles in my ear. “I guess I did.”

  I smile and drift off to sleep because in a few hours, we'll be putting that jinn army to the test.

  ***

  Someone shakes me awake. I jerk upright, fist pulled back. Syd raises her eyebrow. I drop my arm to my side then fall against the mattress.

  “Shadi called.” She tosses clothes on top of me. “We gotta get going.”

  I put a hand over my eyes, registering all the spots on my body that still ache. Pretty much everywhere.

  With a groan, I sit upright and rub my face. Syd is in my peripheral, sorting through her purse. She mumbles to herself, but I focus on mentally prodding my brain awake enough to remember how to dress myself. How ever long I've been asleep, it's not enough.

  I push away the covers and tug on my pants, standing to fasten them. Then I drop back to the mattress. Even my tailbone hurts. Not sure when that happened. I sigh and reach for the shirt.

  My hand halts, and my gaze fixes on my pants. They're familiar black BDUs. Pretty sure I had been wearing jeans. My jaw clamps as I turn to the shirt. It's a camouflage t-shirt. My camouflage t-shirt that I left at my house before fleeing to Italy.

  Syd is standing in front of me. “Yeah, Eileena has all of your things.”

  “Why?” If there was more to that question, it doesn't make it out before my jaw tightens again.

  “Probably because she intended for you to stay. . .for a long time.”

  I clench the shirt and storm out the door. “Eileena! Where are you, you friggin' wench?”

  Eileena steps into the living room from the kitchen, tea cup in hand. Her brows come together.

  “I want my shit back,” I snap. “As soon as I return with Kalila, I want everything ready to go.”

  This whole time, I didn't feel safe returning to my house, yet Eileena had just waltzed right in. I'm sick of people helping themselves to my life.

  Syd comes up behind me but doesn't say anything.

  “I'll have it packed up.” Eileena looks at Syd and gives her a tight, but amused, smile. “Good luck with this one.”

  She disappears back into the kitchen.

  #

  By some miracle, Syd's car isn't impounded. She had insisted Eileena take her to scope out the lot while I was asleep, and then go with her to replace my phone. They hadn't been spending quality time together. Syd figured the longer she could keep Eileena away from me, the less likely something would go wrong.

  Now that I'm no longer on the brink of dying from exhaustion, I remember all the reasons Eileena makes it to my list of top ten least favorite people in the Milky Way. Unfortunately, she is the lesser of two evils for Kalila. I would like a better option, but I'm in the business of granting wishes, not making them.

  I leave Syd at Eileena's house and head out to meet with Shadi. I'm not particularly delighted by the plan, but it's the best we could come up with. Shadi is somehow going to get me into Lyle's house, where I will do anything up to and including cleaving off Lyle's fingers to steal Kalila's ring. Then I will make my escape—not before getting stabbed, gouged, or bashed up, I'm sure—and meet Syd and Eileena at the pottery shop for the hand off.

  Eileena won't be able to summon Kalila, but neither will Lyle at that point. Instead, Eileena will take Kalila out of state, maybe even out of the country. As long as Kalila can't hear Lyle, and as long as Lyle can't summon her, she's home free.

&
nbsp; Until Eileena figures out how to transfer the bond. We'll cross that troll-infested bridge when we get there.

  I pull into the bar mapped out on the GPS and, leaving my phone in the cup holder, step into the warm night. The tiny lot is packed full of vehicles, and people are gathered in groups to smoke and talk in their I-don't-realize-how-wasted-I-am voices.

  I could go for a shot of whiskey, but severing fingers takes sober precision. I assume, anyway. Never done it before, and I'm a little disturbed by how okay I am with Lyle being my first. The fact he's been abusing his jinn and covering up for masters tormenting their own probably has something to do with it. Whatever happens to Lyle tonight, he deserves it.

  As I step up on the patio, Shadi bursts out of the door. He throws his arm over my shoulder and says in a low voice, “Fahim is about to shit himself waiting for us to show up. We need to hurry.”

  “You mean Hulk Hogan is actually scared of something?” I try to ignore Shadi pressed into my side like I'm his frat buddy, or the ridiculous amount of cologne he has baptized himself in.

  “Everyone's scared of Lyle,” Shadi says in the same tone someone would use to describe a grilled cheese sandwich.

  We head toward the pickup truck, the one Syd and her army had taken to Mexico. It's pristine like it never left the neighborhood.

  Shadi opens the driver side and steps up into it. “Follow me there. We're going to park a block away and walk.”

  “Roger that,” I say, turning on my heels and heading for my car.

  Behind the wheel, I contemplate my gun still tucked under the passenger seat. If I bring it, I will use it. And things just don't work that way anymore. I can't walk around shooting people.

  Too bad. The list of individuals I would like to remove from Earth seems to grow every day.

  With a sigh, I put the car in reverse and trail Shadi's I-got-something-to-prove vehicle. At least it's difficult to lose him in traffic.

  Before long, Shadi pulls into the parking lot of an upscale clothes store with dark windows. I pull in next to him and wait for his lead. He messes around with the truck dash for a few minutes, then picks up his phone and makes a call as he drops down from the truck.

  I join him in the middle of the lot as he talks on the phone. He says nothing of interest, nothing that might clue me in on how likely it is I'm going to get a punch in the kidney before the night is over.

  Then he hangs up and starts walking in his Armani strut.

  I clomp after him. “So, what is Fahim going to do, throw a rope ladder out a second story window?”

  “He's going to unlock the front door,” Shadi replies without missing a step.

  I falter. Entering a target house through the front door without taking it off its hinges is a first. What a concept.

  “Hey, if Fahim can get us in so easily,” I say, “why can't he just grab the ring and sneak them out?”

  “He's not allowed to touch them.”

  “Ah,” I say. “Of course.”

  That had never been part of my commandments—Kyle had opted to keep the vase out of my sight—but it makes sense Lyle would have his own set of rules for his jinn that would safeguard his power over them.

  No one expected a vigilante.

  When Lyle's domain comes into view, Shadi drops back. I glance over my shoulder, and he nods toward the front door. His master is tight with Lyle. He has too much to risk by showing his face during the breach of the Gardner estate.

  Besides, he might break his sunglasses.

  I smirk as I head up the walk toward the front door. My sole clunks down on the first step. The door swings open. No one is in sight. Like a haunted house.

  Great.

  I halt before the threshold and peer into the darkness. Lights flick on, illuminating the entire downstairs.

  I step inside. The door clicks shut. My breath catches as I turn, ready to go for the throat.

  Fahim is standing behind the door. The guy doesn't even blink, just stares at me with all the joie de vivre of Lurch.

  “Life of the party, aren't ya, pal?” I pat his shoulder. “Lyle upstairs?”

  Fahim nods, once.

  “Is Lyle sleeping?”

  Another nod.

  “Didn't happen to drink himself unconscious, did he?”

  Fahim hesitates.

  “I guess two out of three ain't bad. Hang tight,” I say. “Things are about to get uncivilized around here.”

  I make my way across the foyer, toward the stairs to the left. Fahim could save me some time by just escorting me around like a proper host, but I imagine he's going to flee as soon as I'm out of sight. Can't blame him. I'm not sure I would have ever been brave enough to let someone into Karl's estate.

  My footsteps echo against the high ceiling. They're probably amplifying in my head too. I hope they are, anyway, because it sounds like Paul Bunyan and that stupid blue ox are trudging up the steps.

  When I reach the top of the stairs, I realize a floor plan would have been useful. I have no idea where Lyle's bedroom is located. At least I do remember where the bathroom and the library are, but that's as far as I got.

  I could detour and steal some of those books now.

  I shake my head. Focus. Just grab the ring and bail.

  My footsteps are softened by the carpet, and I'm careful not to bump into any statues. One klutzy move and this will all end poorly for me.

  I glance over the balcony as I enter the hallway. Fahim has already taken off. My skin crawls at the thought of what sort of monster it takes to frighten a giant like him.

  And I'm about to go head-to-head with that monster. A shudder slithers up my spine and coils it's unhappy self in my brain.

  A few doorways stand open, revealing darkened rooms. I stop outside of one and squint to see into the void. I can make out the shadow of a dresser, and a nightstand with a tall lamp. The bed is obscured, and I can't tell if anyone is laying in it.

  I step back. The master suite isn't going to be a single door in a long line of them. This is a mansion. The master suite is going to have everything but a parade leading up to it.

  My muscles tense as I pass each open doorway, preparing for an ambush that never comes. When the hallway splits off, I take the direction opposite of the library. Straight ahead stands double doors with metal inlay and elaborate molding. Marble and gold sconces glow on either side. A red carpet paves the way. Of course.

  I stop outside the door and listen. Nothing. They're pretty solid doors, so noise would be muted anyway. My hand goes to one of the lever-style knobs. The snake in my brain rattles a little reminder that I'm about to do something moronic.

  I turn the knob until it clicks. With a forced steady hand, I glide the door open. A floor lamp shines from the far seating area, casting a dim path across the room.

  The headboard is seven feet tall, dark wood with intricate carvings. Lyle is sleeping on his back with thick covers pulled to his shoulders. His left arm is out, his hand resting on his chest. Unfortunately for me, the rings are on his right hand.

  God dammit.

  I sneak around to the other side of the bed, which seemed like a good idea at first. He's lying closer to the side nearest the door, though. I will either need to go back around and somehow uncover his right hand and lean over his body to slip off the ring, or I will need to crawl across the bed.

  Either way, Rumpelstiltskin is about to be awoken.

  If I'm lucky, he'll be the type to who tosses and turns in his sleep. I wait, but there's no tossing. No turning. He sleeps awfully well for a guy keeping servants against their will. So much for a guilty conscious.

  Thankfully I had the foresight to leave my gun in the car. As much as I'm opposed to killing, it would be all too easy to screw on the silencer and leave a big red stain on his pillowcase.

  Then I would track down this elusive son of his and make a matched set. Where the family line leads from there is beyond me, but this isn't what I came here for, anyway.

  I came
here for the ring. The one that I'm brave enough to slip off the hand of a man capable of inhumane things, but too much of a coward to actually keep.

  I shake away the guilt. The middle of a heist is a poor time to be philosophical.

  I focus back on his sleeping form. It's eerie how silent he is, not a snore or a snuffle, or even a rustle of the sheets. If I had benzo syringes like I used to keep handy, I could drug him up. He would wake, but after a few stabs, his brain would need to pack extra for that trip to Nod.

  Now that I think of it, that's the smartest way to go about this. I need to call off this burglary, track down my supplier, and hope Fahim is courageous enough to unlock the front door in the middle of the night a second time. Any other strategy is just idiotic.

  Why don't I ever think of these things beforehand?

  Time to retreat. I shuffle around the bed again, crossing through the faint glow of the lamp, and slip into darkness. I lower my head to watch my steps. Slow. Soft. One more. Then another. And—I smash the top of my head straight into the door.

  The door thuds a little.

  My heartbeat jumps into my skull. I cram it back down and listen, not daring to look behind me.

  The room is silent.

  I let out my breath and grab the knob, turn it ever-so-slowly, and pull open the door.

  Something rams into my back. My face collides into the red carpet. I twist to turn over, but I'm pinned between my shoulder blades. Silence, but I know it's Lyle. I try to throw my elbow into him. He grabs my arms, one in each hand, and shoves his knee harder into my back. My shoulders burn like they're tearing apart. My lungs deflate, and I can't suck in any air.

  I turn my head, but I still can't breathe. With each effort to shove back, I lose strength. The world darkens.

  He does this to them. He does this to Kalila. Suffocates her just until she's helpless, until he has physical power over her. He could wish anything and she would have to obey, but he likes the raw dominance.

  I'm yanked to my feet. Air fills my lungs until a pang forms in my side. My head tingles with the rush of blood.