Home. I looked around the place, knowing the house I’d called home for a year stood just outside these walls. We’d been gone four days. Nothing had changed here—but everything had. The same place, but I wasn’t the same person. It reminded me of stepping out of prison after a six-month stretch and going back to the old haunts. Wondering why everyone I’d known was different, unfamiliar, and finding out it wasn’t them. It was me.
Ian headed straight for the couch and plunked down. “I believe I will sleep for a decade,” he said. “And then bathe for another.”
“You do need it, love.” Akila giggled and drifted over to plant herself next to him. “I do as well. I believe I’ll join you.”
He smiled and drew her close. “As you wish, lady.”
Tory folded his arms. “I need to get home soon,” he said. “I didn’t die, so Lark’s gonna kill me. He won’t even look at me for a month.” He looked at me and frowned. “Donatti, you … want to come with me?”
“Yeah, I guess I should.” I had to face Jazz sometime, and find out how much she hated me now. I glanced down and grimaced at the filth and grime ground into my skin. “Mind if I jump in the shower first?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Fifteen more minutes won’t make me any less dead.”
I murmured thanks and headed out. Down the stairs, across the yard, around to the back door. It was locked, but locks had never stopped me before. I was a thief long before I knew about magic. But since I didn’t have a pick set on me, I pressed a palm against the handle and thought about how much I needed it to open. A dull click sounded as it disengaged.
I moved through the kitchen. Bloodstains on the floor, dried and black. The living room. A shattered mirror, maroon smudges on the carpet. Debris everywhere. Up the stairs. The main bathroom, another shattered mirror, more blood. Ghosts of fear in the tub, where Jazz had hidden Cyrus from men with guns, men who would’ve killed them both.
The bedroom. Jazz in green silk. Bloody footprints on white tile in the master bath. I closed the door, stripped, and climbed in the shower. Hot water washed away dirt—but never guilt.
As I scrubbed through the grime, I tried to work out what I’d say to her, if she’d even talk to me. Should I beg for forgiveness? Spout poetic crap about how my life was empty and meaningless without her? Maybe I should just end it myself. Maybe that was the best thing for her, and for Cyrus.
Things had been complicated enough before. Now I was more or less immortal, beyond freakish—and I’d probably ruined whatever chance there might have been at the normal life Jazz wanted.
Eventually the water cooled. I still wasn’t clean, but at least I’d gotten most of it. I dried off and dressed, and left by the back door.
Tory waited in front of the garage. “They both passed out,” he said when I approached him. “I didn’t want to wake them. You ready?”
“No.” I ran a hand through my hair. It probably didn’t help my looks much. “I don’t know how you planned to get home, but do you mind if we drive? We can take my car. I really don’t feel up to flying right now.”
“If I couldn’t tell you felt like shit, I’d say no,” he said. “Flying’s faster. But yeah, that’ll work.”
“Thanks.”
I opened the garage door. Both vehicles—my Chevy, Jazz’s Hummer—sat untouched, even though we both kept our keys folded in the driver’s-side visors. The crime rate around here was practically nonexistent. We were the only criminals for miles. I climbed in, waited for Tory, and then hit the road.
For the first ten minutes of the half-hour drive, neither of us spoke. It was full dark, a warm and quiet night. We hadn’t passed a single other car. My brain insisted on counting all the ways Jazz could break my heart. Eventually, panic set in.
“I can’t do it, man.” I clenched the wheel knuckle white and fought the urge to pull over, get out, and run. “I just can’t … she hates me. I’ll drop you off. I’m not going in.”
“Hold on,” Tory said. “We’re talking about Jazz here, right?”
“No. I meant Hillary Clinton.” I rolled my eyes. “Yes. Jazz.”
Tory grunted. “You really are an idiot, Donatti.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on. She’s crazy about you. Can’t you see that?”
“Not exactly.” I told him about the blowout we’d had before we went after Akila, how I insulted her, told her she was too weak to fight, how she’d said she’d had enough of me.
Tory stayed silent for a minute after I finished. Finally, he said, “Here’s the thing about women. When they get mad at a guy they care about who’s trying to protect them, it’s usually because they know he’s right and they don’t want to admit it. Think it’ll make his head swell or something.”
I shot him a glare. “What do you know about women?”
“Quite a bit, actually.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the strain in it said I’d insulted him. “They talk to me because I’m safe. They know I won’t try to get them into bed.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a little stressed out right now.”
“Yeah. The ocean’s a little deep too.” He smiled. “Honestly, I’ll bet now that she’s had time to cool off, she’ll be happy to see you.”
“I hope so,” I muttered. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No problem.”
I stared out the windshield. Clouds filled the night sky, but a bright star shone through a gap just ahead. I wondered if Cy had made his wish on that star tonight.
Star light, star bright …
I went through the whole poem, and wished with all my soul that Jazz would take me back.
When we got to Lark’s place, the porch light was the only sign of life. All the windows were dark. I parked in the driveway, and we got out of the car to complete silence.
Tory frowned. “It’s not that late,” he said. “What is it, ten o’clock?”
“Ten thirty,” I said.
“Yeah. Not that late. Somebody should be up.” Tory headed for the porch steps. I followed him up. He hesitated, then rang the doorbell. “I’d just walk in, but I didn’t tell him we were coming. Don’t want to give him a heart attack.”
We waited. And waited. Two full minutes. Tory reached for the doorbell again, and footsteps approached the door from inside the house. The knob turned. The door opened a sliver. “Who the fuck, and it better be good,” Lark said.
Tory glanced at me and mouthed Here we go. “It’s me.”
Lark threw the door open. He was barefoot, which made him almost as short as Jazz, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Dark circles smudged the hollows under his pale hazel eyes, and his usually immaculate sand brown hair was a tousled rat’s nest. “Tory?” he whispered.
“Think so. Can I come in?”
“You asshole.” Lark whirled and marched back into the house.
“Lark, wait … damn it!” His shoulders slumped. “Come on in and close the door,” he said. “Things might get loud in here.”
I did what he said. Lark hadn’t gotten far. He’d stopped down the front hall next to the living room, and stood with his back turned and his arms folded across his stomach.
Tory went to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Don’t ‘babe’ me.” Lark pulled away from him. “You couldn’t have called? Jesus Christ, I was terrified. I almost hired a private dick to go after you.”
“I was a bird for two days. Couldn’t dial with my feet.”
“Yeah? What happened the other two days—were you a fish then?”
“Adjo, please.” Tory’s voice broke. “I’ve missed you so much. I need you.”
Silence. Lark turned slowly, reached up, and stroked Tory’s hair. “What you need is a shower,” he said in shaking tones. “You’re filthy.”
Tory folded him in a fierce embrace and bent to kiss him. “Can I have some company?”
“Shit,” Lark hissed. He leaned aside and peered around Tory at
me. “Donatti. Your woman’s in the guest room. All the way back on the left.” He grabbed Tory’s hand and pulled him into the living room, toward the stairs.
Tory shrugged and waved at me. “Good luck,” he said.
I waited until I heard a door close upstairs, and started down the hall like a con walking the Last Mile. I’d convinced myself that what Tory had said made sense. Now my convictions unraveled in the face of impending confrontation. Tory might know women, but he didn’t know Jazz. Didn’t know how tough she was, how independent, how proud.
I reached the end of the hall. To the left, a door stood ajar onto a darkened room. There was a door on the right, closed, with a weak bar of light spilling into the hallway. I went left and pushed the door open just enough to slip through.
Inside, a double bed sat under a picture window, and a small figure slept in tangled covers. Cyrus, sprawled across all the available space, as usual. A fresh swell of gratitude tightened my throat. Cyrus is safe. At least one of my wishes had come true. The ham’tari curse would never touch my son.
“Guess there really is something to wishing on a star.”
I whirled around. Jazz stood in the doorway, a cool, expressionless stare on her face. Her poker face. She could be thinking anything—I missed you, I hate you, I want to rip your eyes out and stuff them in your ears—and I’d never know unless she chose to share.
“Yeah?” My voice sounded strange, like it belonged to someone else. “Why’s that?”
She came into the room. “Because I wished that you would come back tonight,” she said. “And every single night you were gone.”
“Oh God. Jazz … I’m …”
“Hush.” She closed the distance between us and wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her to me, convinced I’d pass out from relief any second. “I was wrong,” she whispered in my ear. “That might be the only time you ever hear me say that, so enjoy it while it lasts. And here’s something else I don’t say enough, and should’ve said before you left. I love you. Always have, always will.”
I couldn’t speak. Every sentence, every word I tried out in my head, seemed either stupid or inadequate. So I held her and breathed in her scent, and felt her heart beating against me, and knew I was home.
She finally drew back and looked up at me. “What happened to your eyes?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “Really long. Like Cap Holland drunk in the bar telling war stories long.”
“You’re babbling, Donatti.” She smiled. “All right. You can tell me in the car.”
“Car?” I echoed.
“Yeah. You did drive here, didn’t you?”
I managed to nod. The giddy feeling made my head light and my tongue sloppy, and I knew the more I talked, the dumber I’d sound.
“Good, because I need to get out of here.” She grimaced. “You wouldn’t believe what it’s been like the past few days. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, bed. Normal stuff in between.”
I grinned. “Thought you wanted a normal life.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been bored out of my fucking mind.”
“Then you’ll love this. I’ve got a lot of exciting new ways to screw with reality.”
She narrowed her eyes. Just when I thought I’d pissed her off again, she laughed. “Take me home, Houdini,” she said.
“Your wish is my command.”
Somehow, the ridiculous saying didn’t sound as stupid as it should have. Maybe because I meant every word—and I didn’t need stars to make wishes come true. I had the whole world for that.
Chapter 41
Morning had officially been canceled. Everyone, even Cyrus, slept until noon.
Jazz temporarily revoked the injunction against using magic to clean, because nobody was interested in scrubbing off bloodstains. Ian and I took care of the house. The mirrors couldn’t be repaired, but we got rid of the broken glass. We’d replace them later.
Akila and Jazz had a tearful reunion. I’d almost forgotten that Jazz had thought she was dead. Now, the two of them sat in lawn chairs in front of the garage, drinking coffee and chattering away. Probably about me and Ian. Cyrus tooled around the front yard with a red wagon, a plastic shovel, and a bucket. Every so often he’d stop and pluck something from the grass. Whatever it was went in the bucket, and he’d move on.
“So,” I said eventually. “I guess we’re retired now.”
Ian, on the other end of the porch swing, grunted. “I do not know what we are,” he said. “Other than exhausted.”
“Yeah. That too.” I’d been thinking about something, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up with him. Finally, I decided to just spit it out. “If you don’t destroy the rest of the Morai, you won’t be able to go back to the djinn realm,” I said.
“Yes.” He stared out over the porch railing at nothing in particular. “Perhaps I do not wish to return.”
“What?”
He looked at me. “There is nothing for me there,” he said. “I have never liked the Council, and I have no desire to lead. My clan is dead. Everyone who matters to me is here.”
“Akila,” I said.
“And you, thief.”
I grinned. “Don’t start that bonding stuff again. I’ll break out in hives.”
“Speaking of bonding.” Ian passed a hand down his face. “I believe I informed you that the rohii’et cannot be undone?”
“Yeah, you mentioned something like that.”
He gave a weary nod. “We must attempt to control our shared vision. There are times I would strongly prefer not to have you in my head.”
“You mean like when you’re getting it on with Akila?”
“Yes,” he said through his teeth. “Like that.”
I shrugged. “Don’t think about me, then.”
He let out a laugh. “I assure you that while I am intimate with my wife, I am not thinking of you.”
“Same here.” I had to admit, this soul-sharing thing was weird. And neither of us seemed to know much about it. Another first-time situation for Donatti the Earth Mage. “I’ll work on it,” I said.
The women were approaching. Jazz stopped to talk to Cyrus, and Akila came up the porch steps. “I forgot to ask,” she said, “but I assume Taregan arrived home safely?”
“As safe as he could be. Lark was pretty pissed at him, but I think he forgave him.” I got up and moved aside. “Have a seat, Princess.”
“You do not have to move for me.”
“Oh, I insist.” I flashed a grin. “Besides, I’m sure Ian would rather have the pleasure of your company than mine right now.”
“Thank you.” Smiling, she settled next to Ian. He wrapped an arm around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder. “It is so good to be home,” Akila said.
“That it is, love.” Ian glanced at me, and I didn’t need the bond to hear his thoughts: bugger off while I have a moment with my wife.
I headed down the steps, thinking I’d sneak off for a smoke—and almost walked straight into Jazz. “Whoops. Didn’t see you coming,” I said. “What’s the little guy up to?”
“Digging for treasure. Too many pirate movies.” She grabbed my hand and linked her fingers through mine. “I hear you’ve been learning some new tricks.”
“Something like that.” Last night, I’d told her about the soul bond and why my eyes looked like ice cubes, but that was about it. “I can put out forest fires and break rocks in half. Stuff like that.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Forgive my skepticism, but … bullshit.”
“You know, I kinda wish it was.” I smirked. “And if you don’t believe that, you’re really not going to believe this.” I tried to give her the condensed version of what Calvin had explained to me, about native earth magic and why I could use it.
When I finished, Jazz said, “Did he sell you the Brooklyn Bridge too?”
“Yep. The deed’s in my other pants.” I leaned down and kissed her, knowing how hard it’d be for her to accept this.
“It�
�s the truth, and I’m sorry. Look.” I let go of her, knelt, and put a hand on the ground. Something simple, I thought. Like a column. A couple of them, connected, with a road between them …
Heat washed into me. Grass parted, and slender piles of dirt built themselves up from the ground, tight packed and solid. Soon I had a clumsy but recognizable dirt model—a single span of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Jazz made a soft, strangled sound. She looked from the crude dirt sculpture to me, and said, “I felt that.”
“You did?”
She nodded. “I’ve been getting these weird feelings on and off for a couple of days,” she said. “They were like that. Warm fuzzies. I thought maybe it was early menopause or something.”
“Erm.” That didn’t make any sense. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I … crap! Where’s Cy?”
I turned in the direction he’d been. The bucket sat in the abandoned red wagon on the lawn, and there was no sign of Cyrus. Shit. He’d probably decided to make himself shiny. I straightened and looked toward the porch. “Ian. Did you guys see where Cy wandered off to?”
“I did not,” he said.
Akila stood and came to the rail. “He was there just a moment ago,” she said, her voice laden with worry. “He could not have gone far.”
“Wait.” Jazz stared at the far corner of the porch. “I think …”
I followed her gaze. There was nothing there. “Uh, Jazz—”
“Hush.” She moved like a sleepwalker across the yard and stopped at the end of the porch. Then she reached out, bent slightly, and rested a hand in the air, about three feet off the ground.
And vanished.
“What are you looking at, baby?” Jazz’s disembodied voice shook a little.
“Frog went under there,” Cyrus said—even though he wasn’t there.
All the breath went out of me. She’d seen him. He was invisible, and she’d seen him without being anywhere near him. That was impossible.
“Cy?” Her voice steadied. “You’re being shiny again.”
“Oh. I forgot.”
They popped into view. Cyrus was scrunched down, staring through the lattice skirt under the porch. Jazz’s hand rested on his shoulder. “He’s gone now,” he said.
Master and Apprentice Page 35
