by Ash Krafton
Dolly knocked twice before opening the door. Tam didn’t look up from the box she’d been filling with file folders, which had been stacked in several piles cross her desk. Eight different practices were accepting her other transfers. Her clients would be scattered to the wind.
Box full, she reached for another carton and resumed her task. If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have to think about it.
Dolly reached out and took her hand, making the woman stop in mid-pace. “You are doing the right thing, you know. It’s not the easy thing, but the right thing.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a choice, do I?” She meant it as a rhetorical question. She might have changed substantially since she met Burns, but one part of her was immovable. She would ultimately choose to do the right thing.
She knew being spellbound had nothing to do with it. She simply had values and a sincere regard for her practice. The difference was that now she had to face the emotional consequences of her decisions.
That difference made all the difference.
“Of course you do,” Dolly said. “You could have just hid it, you know. You wouldn’t have been the first. I can’t imagine anyone taking such drastic steps, throwing their career away just because of a man—”
“I’m not everyone else, Dolly. And, you know, I think you’d do the same thing.”
Dolly picked up a stack and flipped through them before holding them out to her. “We’ll never know, because I will never get involved with a client.”
“You don’t have to. You have a family. You have—” Tam stopped herself. What would she have said? A fiancé? A life?
Free will?
If only Dolly could hear the words she wasn’t saying. It would make this so much easier.
“I’ve known you for a very long time, Tami. You’ve always seemed so separate from everyone else. I always thought it was just a reserved personality. But I think it’s something else.”
She glanced at Dolly, trying to read her face and anticipate what she’d say.
Dolly shrugged. “I don’t know why he got to you. But he’s changed you. I think that’s the biggest reason why I think you are doing the right thing. Not just because your involvement casts a shadow on every single professional relationship you have or ever will.”
She grimaced, an exaggeration of a frown, trying to make Tam laugh.
It worked. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, a weak chuckle.
“But you have changed,” Dolly said. “I see it. I see it because you are my friend and I see how he thawed a part of you that had always seemed frozen. I know you have pain right now. All this—it’s a lot to give up. It’s hard to give away a part of yourself, to be separate from something you’ve loved for so long. But focus on him. He’s good for you. He can give you something that all this can’t. I really think it’s your destiny.”
“Do you—but—” She dropped the file she’d been holding and covered her face with her hands. “You don’t understand. I’ve lost everything.”
Dolly shushed her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “It will be okay, Tam. Sometimes we have to scrap everything to start over. He’ll help you get through this. So will I.”
She gave Tam a squeeze before reaching for the last folder and tucking it into the box on the desk. Lifting the box, she shouldered the door open. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Tam nodded and followed her to the door, watching Dolly make her way down the hall, listening to sounds of friendly conversation as she passed reception.
Alone again, she closed the door and sat behind her desk. Soon, too, all this would be cleared out. She had a few clients to wrap up this week, and then she’d be out of a job.
University. Maybe she could go into academics. She can go back to school, round out her degrees, and teach. That would be a better choice. It would eliminate the possibility of breaking the code of ethics—
She pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t like it was going to happen again. He had been an exception. He was every exception to every rule she’d ever known.
And she’d hurt him, somehow. She didn’t even know how. She certainly hadn’t meant it.
All she knew was that she had to talk to him.
She looked at the clock on the wall. Ten after nine. It was his hour. Let me nine o’clock with you forever…
The clock ticked, booming into the silence. The room sounded empty, felt empty.
Her whole being felt empty without him.
She whispered his name, wanting nothing more to fold herself into his arms. She’d be willing to endure his tantrums if it meant she could be with him.
The word had barely left her lips when a crack of thunder shook the room. A cloud formed over the empty chair in front of her desk, writhing and solidifying into Burns.
He looked magnificent and terrible at the same time.
Bare-chested and brooding, he wore unadorned tan trousers. His skin glowed, blue flames seeming to boil under the surface, roiling and rippling. His eyes were twin lanterns, piercing blue and ferocious. He looked savage.
And devastatingly handsome. Her stomach dropped at the sight of him. It should terrify her, not thrill her. And, yet—
“You called, mistress.” He crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, a broadside display to intimidate her.
It worked. His monotonous voice tripped her thoughts. What had made her hope for a positive reunion, a replay of the love signals he’d broadcasted in front of Dolly? Maybe he’d done it just for show, to play up the inappropriateness of their relationship. To discredit her in front of her colleague.
Doubt gripped her and she consciously unfisted her hands, trying to shake it. “You’re in a rotten mood today.”
“Yes, I am.” He glowered at the corner of the desk, unwilling to look at her face. “May I have permission to pace?”
She waved her acquiescence.
“I passed a card store today,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back and tightly stepping a straight line in front of her desk. “I like to read greeting cards because it amuses me to see how many ways people can say the same thing. Human sentiments are so trite.”
He paused and looked at her then. It struck a sour note. Probably just what he wanted.
“Why don’t they ever make interesting cards? Congrats on your first night in jail! Heard about your DUI, why’d you make your mother cry? Thanks for the toss last night, sorry I forgot your name. That sort of thing.”
She suppressed a grin. It would have been rather humorous had he not looked so insanely angry. Wisps of smoke hovered near his temples and his eyebrows dipped so low they almost touched. “The lack of selection makes you angry?”
“No.” He stopped pacing. “Although the sympathy section lacked reference to gruesome death and damnation.”
Again, a look. It was like a poke in the chest. “So…?”
“So. Right. Angels. Everywhere. Ornaments. Trinkets. Paintings and pictures. Pretty fluffy wings and ethereal smiles. I could just vomit. I very nearly did.”
“You don’t like angels?”
“Actually, I have nothing against angels, in general. I simply despise this generic representation I keep seeing. For instance. Wings. Only cherubim have wings—and they don’t look like giggling babies. They are ugly beasts with destructive powers the human mind cannot even begin to imagine.” He paused and shrugged when he looked at her. “Well, you might. But obviously, Hallmark cannot.”
She drew a deep breath. At least he was talking to her. Trick was to keep him talking. That’s what she did. That’s how she worked things out. “So, angels with wings make you angry.”
“No. I was just reminded of one angel in particular and every time I think of him, I go berserk. I want to rend and tear and burn. And then, I really want to…hurt something.”
She had no reason to doubt him. If he had looked this fierce the day of his first appointment, she would have called security. Maybe he needed to release some of his negativity.
Through language. Finally. Good. Something she felt capable doing.
“Do you want to talk about him? Get something off your chest? Purge your—demons isn’t the right word, is it?”
He turned a most disapproving eye upon her. “Do not make light of this.”
“I’m not.” She lifted her hands in a surrendering show of palms. “Who is this angel?”
“Homadiel.”
Not exactly somebody she’d learned about in Sunday school. “Who is Homadiel?”
“My betrayer.” He paused and shot a look at her that made her want to duck.
The way he’d said it was so personal. She knew that’s what he considered her to be, too. A betrayer.
She focused on what he said and not the subtext she was hearing. “You were betrayed by an angel?”
“Not just any angel. He’s Archangel rank. And a jackass. And if I could I’d—” He cut off and put new energy into pacing.
She watched him circuit the room a few times. “You’d…?”
He stopped long enough to give her another hard look before resuming his strides. “Some things even I do not dare speak aloud.”
“Why would an angel betray you?”
“Because he could.”
“But you’re magical, right?”
“Magic doesn’t fix problems.” Frustration leaked into his tone, as if his patience had poured away. “Sometimes, it just causes more. Angels and demons are out of my league. Demons are the shadows that angels cast when standing in the light of God. That shadow, completely devoid of God’s splendor, is every bit as powerful as the angel who casts it. Homadiel is an archangel. His shadow is…gruesome.”
He dropped into his favorite chair and rubbed his mouth, staring out the window. “Asmodeus, king of demons. Jealous of the angel to whom he is tethered. When Homadiel bestowed his favors upon Solomon, Asmodeus was there. He wanted that power for himself. And me? I’m just the poor bastard stuck in the middle.”
He snarled and got up to pace again.
He stomped back and forth for fifteen minutes, complaining about only God knew what. Literally, from the name-dropping. His pounding footsteps rattled the mug on her desk. Occasionally tiny tendrils of flame curled around his footprints. Her frequent glances showed he hadn’t burned the rug so she figured it’d be safe enough letting him stomp it out.
On his last circuit, he swung close to the window and stopped pacing. His anger seething like a furnace, he panted from exertion. “What is this?”
His elbows fanned, he planted his hands on his waist and jerked his chin toward the planter. He glared down at the wretched fern as if it had offended him.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if it actually had. He was enormously touchy today. She rolled her eyes. “Leave the plant alone, already. I told you, I am not getting rid—”
“Not the fern, woman.” He pointed at the planter. “What have you hidden within the leaves?”
“A water globe?”
He growled at her. “This.”
With a flourish, he spread his fingers and rolled his wrist. A tiny glow began among the leaves, slowly lifting free. A sphere of crystal-gold glint floated upward and hovered over the planter. Inside its shimmering shell spun a gold disk, its etched surface catching the light and sending of sparks.
Her mouth hung open. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.”
His eyebrows nearly touched as he gestured with two fingers, drawing the sphere closer and rotating it.
“I know this.” His voice was a hiss, the sound of scalding steam. “They have been here. Have you met any new clients since me?”
Her mind reeled, thoughts flashing like lights on a passing subway train. Had someone broken in here? Why wouldn’t security have caught it? She stared up at him and shook her head.
“Damn it all, Tamarinda. Don’t be resentful.” He smacked both fists onto her desk.
“No, Burns—I can’t tell you.”
He leaned onto his arms, palms planted in front of her, and stretched his neck toward her. “This is no time for your stupid counselor agreements. I need to know.”
“Listen to me. I cannot tell you.”
“You could be in danger.” He pointed at the sphere, which still hovered over the fern, and gave it a frustrated spin. “This is a magician’s work. Your name is within this—you are being tracked. We are both in danger.”
“Burnsie—”
“Stubborn woman!” He clapped his hand on his forehead and rubbed his face in a hard sweep. “Tell your staff we are going to lunch. I will seduce you and strip you and then, when my flesh is pressed into yours and my flame is consuming you, then you will tell me.”
The image made her breath hitch. She closed her eyes as her belly clenched, remembering the last time he’d done exactly that. “Damn it, Burnsie. I can’t.”
His eyes ignited and flames licked down his arms. He was going to blow any second.
She needed to explain to him that he was over-reacting—Sahir was going to help them. He was going to show her how to fix the complete disaster that their relationship had become. Sahir knew how to release them, to free Burns, to give them a chance at a kind-of-normal life.
She just had to tell him. But she couldn’t. “I didn’t say I won’t. I said can’t. I physically can’t. You know why. I’m bound. I can’t—”
“Try.” Desperation wilted his voice.
She wanted to. She wanted to tell him. Dammit.
She was tired of this stupid compulsion that made up her mind for her, time and time again. This had to end. For the first time in her life, she decided she’d be more than an afterthought. She was more than an object.
Filling her lungs like balloons, she stood, bracing herself. This time, I’m going to do it. Damn the consequences.
His brows lifted, hope ghosting across his face.
He needed her to do this. She had to do this. There had been only one new client. She would tell him.
When she opened her mouth—nothing happened.
Rather, nothing came out. Something did happen. The disk glowed, a white glare so bright she had to shield her eyes against it.
“Magic. That is why you cannot break your word. You are magically bound.” With a roar, he brought his hands together in a swinging clap. The sphere shattered, raining a shower of glittering dust onto the carpet. Deftly, he plucked the disk out of the air. “I’ll be back. Admit no one. Speak to no one. Say you will. Give me your word.”
“Yes, yes, but—” She wanted to assure him: don’t worry. Just don’t worry, it’s actually a good thing.
Nothing came out. An invisible hand choked off the words before she could utter them.
He pointed with his free hand to the free door, and a stylized symbol appeared, glowing briefly before fading. Twisting, he inscribed similar symbols over each window. Flames burst around his feet, erupting in a column of flame that engulfed him and vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
He was gone. No smoke, no ash, just the lingering scents of cinnamon and patchouli and a sprinkle of pulverized glass upon the carpet.
Wearily, she sank down into her chair and pressed the intercom, then let her finger slip off the button. She couldn’t even ask Cindy to cancel her ten o’clock.
She’d given her word.
Chapter 27
That sphere. He’d seen it before.
Too many times.
The magic that had hummed forth from it had a distinct treble, a tone that was akin to a person’s voice. A person’s voice revealed so many things; gender of the speaker, an accent or dialect that revealed origin, a pitch that betrayed emotion. Magic had the same qualities of voice, and this magic spoke of one source.
Those scheming mages, those al-Sahiri bastards who dared call themselves Guardians.
He took to the wind, scouring the corners of the city, searching every face for the tell-tale sign of al-Sahir: a tattoo on the right cheekbone, the stylized name of the first of the clan.
He knew the clan well. Their lineage went back just as long as his. Although the name had survived, their values and traditions had changed greatly over the years.
He had learned a great many things from Solomon, who had been wise beyond explanation. Loyalty and devotion to God were the Key to understanding Solomon’s wisdom. Burns, unaligned as he was, did not share that same depth of devotion to God, not Solomon’s or anyone else’s.
However, unaligned as he had been, he was not faithless. He just hadn’t decided exactly what he believed.
The tribe of Guardians believed in the same God as Solomon had; they appreciated his wisdom even if they did not share it to the same depth. They, too, controlled djinni, lesser beings capable of providing small magics, and stored that magic inside unique glass orbs. Burns had scorned the men and their weak djinni. He did, however, respect the Guardians, albeit begrudgingly, because they had been loyal to Solomon.
The years, and the loss of a man like Solomon, did much to change them.
Solomon controlled his djinni and released each one when their duty had been discharged. The Guardians monitored each one after they left the palace, and counted down the djinni who remained tethered. Their job was to protect humankind from the wrath of any djinn who considered seeking retaliation.
At length, there came to be only one djinn still bound to Solomon’s ring. Himself.
He did not like the darting eyes of the Guardians, their persistent presence and watchful mutterings. Solomon had played favorites when it came to Burns, giving him privileges and a place at court. As Solomon grew older, he exhausted the power of the other djinni he controlled—but never Burns. Never once did he call upon his last djinn to surrender his power and grant his wishes.
Sol could not bear to give him up.
The djinn solidified mid-stride, taking on the physical form of Burns. Washington Square. Pleasant park. Obnoxious squirrels. Choosing a sun-warmed bench, he mused through the years, remembering the life he shared with Solomon.
They had become near-constant companions, spending hours in thought-provoking conversation. Although Sol possessed a great wisdom through the generosity of his God, he was still a human with a very mortal heart. He never made a decision without first consulting the young djinn, who had the benefit of centuries and a wider world perspective. They strolled through gardens and lounged in perfumed courtyards, talking and sharing. When Burns was with the old king, they did not behave as master and slave.
