The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  They threw a pair of white sneakers one to another, presumably just out of their victims’ reach.

  “Give them back!” a new voice yelled.

  A smaller teenager erupted through the crowd. It was Georgie. That pale red ponytail could belong to no other girl. She barreled into the midsection of the boy who currently held both shoes. Though she knocked him to the weedy ground, she didn’t succeed in reclaiming her footwear. He laughed and tossed them to another adolescent. Georgie growled and tried to hit the boy she straddled, but he was much larger. He caught her wiry biceps before the blow could land.

  The sight of Georgie’s fury was interesting. It seemed Najat’s twin wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows.

  “Oh yes,” the boy urged as she twisted atop his waist angrily. “Squirm on me some more. I guess you do like me.”

  “Let me go!” Georgie demanded then, not strong enough to wrench away.

  “Say ‘fuck,’ and I will,” the boy retorted. “Say ‘Jesus ate shit and died.’”

  “Punk,” Georgie snarled instead.

  “Ooh,” the boy taunted.

  A new participant interrupted before he could continue his mockery.

  “Get off my boyfriend!” this girl ordered. She swung her bunched hand at Georgie’s head, the assault a combination of punch and slap. Whatever it was meant to be, the clout connected with Georgie’s eye.

  “Ow,” Georgie exclaimed, covering the injury with one palm.

  The boy released her, no doubt amenable to watching girls fighting.

  Though Luna wouldn’t have minded that either, she sensed an adult’s approach. She decided her goals would be better served by stopping the quarrel herself.

  “That’s enough,” she said, grabbing both females by the scruff of their necks. The girl who claimed to be the young man’s sweetheart seemed startled by her strength. Georgie was too enraged to notice. Wanting their attention, Luna gave both a shake. “You two are acting like you were raised by wolves.”

  “She started it,” the girlfriend accused, the standard child response to grownups.

  Unfortunately for her, Luna wasn’t the sort of grownup she was used to.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” she said in a voice as dark as the night itself. The girl jerked back at the power she’d put in it. Luna smiled creamily.

  “Go, little girl,” she went on in the same magic-infused tone. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  The girl ran—how far, Luna neither knew nor cared. She let go of Georgie.

  Free now, her true target stared at her warily. Her right eye was puffing shut. Luna suspected it would turn black shortly.

  Georgie didn’t get a chance to speak, whether to thank her or pose questions. A heavyset harried older female trotted down the group home’s front steps. Her lumpy brown cardigan was the ugliest garment Luna had ever seen.

  “Oh Lord,” she exclaimed to Luna. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes these children get away from me. I’m Beulah. I run this madhouse. You must be Alma West. Why don’t we go inside and talk?”

  Because Beulah didn’t scold the children or instruct them to give back Georgie’s shoes, Luna spared a moment to point a finger at the ruffian with possession. She mimed an unmistakable order for him to return them.

  “You should ice that eye,” she threw over her shoulder to Georgie. Georgie nodded numbly but didn’t say a word.

  Luna smiled to herself as she followed the home’s administrator up the uneven brick front steps. That could hardly have gone better if she’d planned it.

  Her entry into the building was less agreeable. The moment she and Beulah stepped inside, the squalls of what sounded like a hundred infants assaulted her. Wails and screeches intertwined with excited babbling that was no improvement on misery. Unable to control her reaction, Luna covered her nose in horror. To go by the awful smell, more than one diaper was overdue for changing.

  She didn’t want to know what Alma’s boring black pumps had just stuck to. Too shocked to continue, her legs simply stopped moving. No wonder Georgie had told Iksander her time here had been hellish!

  A toddler wearing nothing but a saggy nappy stumbled into the hall in front of her.

  “Juice!” he declared, seeming to offer Luna his bottle.

  “Justine,” Beulah admonished the thin young woman in the chamber the toddler had escaped from. “Please keep the little ones corralled.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Justine responded faintly as Beulah resumed sailing down the passage.

  Luna held her breath and followed.

  To her relief, Beulah shut the door to her office firmly behind them. The sounds and smells disappeared. With at least a semblance of manners, the human offered Luna a chair before noisily dropping her own broad bottom into the seat behind the desk. With the same unwarranted self-satisfaction Luna often saw in petty potentates, Beulah folded her hands atop it.

  “Now,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re interested in fostering?”

  Luna was grateful she’d prepared an answer ahead of time. If she hadn’t, in that moment, she doubted she could have summoned a reason.

  The administrator heard her out, nodding in approval at intervals. The only thing that took her aback was discovering Luna had a specific foster child in mind.

  “Oh we couldn’t do that,” she said, shaking her head so firmly her jowls wobbled. “There are procedures. We don’t hand out children like candy.”

  “Don’t you? Not even if I make a much-needed donation to the home?”

  Beulah didn’t blink at the offer of a bribe—which Luna took to mean she wouldn’t refuse one.

  “Donations are always welcome,” she assured her. “Georgie is special, though. Bright. Maybe a little moody now, but that’s to be expected. Her manners are lovely compared to most of the hellions who roll through here. The problem is I had a different couple in mind for her. They’re from my church and have been looking to adopt for a while. Wonderful people. Plus, they’re married and not single.”

  “I may be be single, but I can certainly provide for a growing girl—nor do I rule out adoption. Georgie would have every opportunity in the world with me. A beautiful home. Higher education. Have this couple even met her? Are they prepared to take on a teenager?”

  “Well,” Beulah said, her expression a bit less sure. “It’s true the Hamiltons were thinking of adopting a younger child. I just had a feeling the moment I met Georgie that they were meant for each other.”

  “Everyone has feelings,” Luna said, hoping she struck the right note of dismissal. “I had a sense of fate myself when I saw her. As a female professional, I’d enjoy taking a girl old enough to mentor beneath my wing. Girls need role models, don’t you think?”

  Though Luna was using magical persuasion, Beulah’s mouth pulled sideways dubiously. Some humans were naturally more resistant. Their inflated sense of self-importance made them a challenge to influence.

  Since Luna wasn’t one to back down, she tried another tack. “Suppose Georgie agreed I was the right person to foster her? Perhaps you could let me take her out for a day. See if we both get on. Wouldn’t that be sensible?”

  “I suppose,” Beulah said unsurely.

  Luna treated her to a brilliant smile. “Wonderful! I’ll complete a few preparations and return for her tomorrow.” Suspecting the deal required a sweetener, she dug Alma’s checkbook from her purse. “Why don’t we discuss what sort of donation would help Kind Shepherd most?”

  As expected, the payoff eased Beulah’s reservations. Only as Luna was getting into her car did she recall the story Georgie told Iksander. She’d been beaten to a pulp, she’d said, due to a fight for a pair of shoes. After crying herself to sleep, she’d connected psychically with Najat. Luna’s intervention had changed that chain of events. She’d rescued Georgie before she’d received major injuries.

  A smile spread across her face, but not for sparing the human pain.

  If she’d prevented Georgie from playing I s
ee dead people with Najat, she had two checks in the plus column.

  THE EMPRESS MADE HER preparations, most of which involved Ravenwings, and returned for Georgie the following day. When the girl emerged from the home, she was neat as a pin in jeans and a candy pink button-up sweater. Her face was scrubbed, her red hair combed ruler-straight, her black eye mostly covered by concealer. Luna wondered if Beulah had encouraged her in this. Georgie could have adorned a brochure for adoptable older girls. Only her sulk contradicted the pretty tale.

  Though Luna could tell the teenager was curious, and that she admired Alma’s silver convertible, her demeanor as she got in the car was sullen.

  The empress was too elated at her success thus far to be cast down by Georgie’s reaction. Her prize was sitting beside her, nearly within her grasp. If there’d been no work to catching her, Luna wouldn’t have enjoyed it.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she teased five minutes into their windy but exhilarating drive. On the grounds that it would be more exciting, she’d put the car’s top down.

  Georgie frowned and looked at her sideways. “Why are you doing this? Most women your age want to adopt babies.”

  “Babies smell,” Luna said honestly. “They’re a lot of work, and frankly they’re boring. I’m interested in fostering someone I can talk to.”

  “You’re a lonely old spinster,” Georgie declared.

  Luna sensed the young human wanted to see if she’d be called out for her rudeness.

  “Do I look like a lonely old spinster?” she asked instead.

  Again Georgie shot her a suspicious sideways glance. Luna was garbed more glamorously today, in a snug red dress with a sheer white scarf that loosely wrapped her hair and billowed behind her. These were Alma’s “date” clothes, and consequently not as bleak as her business suits. Though Luna didn’t need the white-framed shades’ protection, she appreciated their stylishness.

  “You look like you could get any man you want. And eat them for breakfast.”

  Luna laughed, startled and pleased by this. Georgie didn’t know how right she was. “That’s an exaggeration,” she said, smoothing the sports car’s wheel. Red kid leather gloved her hands. “Though I’m gratified to see I was right about you being smart.”

  Georgie said mmph and turned her gaze to the side window. She used one hand to drag her whipping hair from her face.

  “I’m smart too,” Luna said, ignoring the seeming withdrawal of interest. “I recognize a girl who’s had it up to here with doing what she’s told.” This bull’s eye earned her a startled look, so Luna pressed her advantage. “I saw you fight back against those bullies. You’ve got spirit. You know there’s more to life than perfect report cards.”

  “I like school,” Georgie said stubbornly. “Learning new things is fun.”

  “I have lots to teach,” Luna said, honestly enough. “Things no one else in the whole world knows.”

  Georgie narrowed her eyes but didn’t press Luna to explain. Her finger and thumb rubbed her golden cross. Luna concluded she wasn’t ready to admit she was intrigued.

  “That’s fine,” she said, shifting the car into high gear and gunning it. “You have all day to decide if you want to kick off your good girl shoes.”

  THE EMPRESS WASN’T worried about Georgie admiring Ravenwings. Flush with power, she’d called up a crack crew of ifrit minions to fix the place. Though inclined to mischief if not closely supervised, they made useful slaves. They’d been laboring nonstop since she’d taken possession, so to speak.

  In addition to restoring the red brick mansion, the demons had cleared the entangling growth. No longer hidden by forbidding thicket, the house’s stone-surround windows gleamed in the morning sun. The breeze that riffled the emerald lawn set it shimmering like satin. Huge hundred-fifty-year-old tulip poplars shaded everything gracefully, the freshly raked pebble paths inviting worthy wanderers to draw near.

  Luna doubted the plantation looked this good when it was first built.

  Too impressed to hide her reaction, Georgie got out of the car and blinked. “Wow. Nice digs.”

  “Georgian,” Luna said, having enjoyed a rummage through Alma’s mind during their battle for her body. “My ancestors settled here in the 1700s. Union troops used the house as a hospital. Much of the furniture was shipped over from England.”

  It had been shipped—and recently—by larcenous ifrits who liberated it from scattered historic houses and museums. Georgie didn’t need to know that, of course. The girl bit her lip, visibly fighting an urge to dash everywhere at once and investigate. Luna congratulated herself on the lure she’d chosen.

  “Shall we take a tour?” she suggested delicately.

  Georgie’s grudging but eager nod was almost everything Luna hoped. The girl was sharp for a human, and not as quick to trust as would have been convenient. Just in case she was too sharp, Luna mentally said a spell to prevent her from discovering who and what her tour guide was.

  If the enchantment needed strengthening down the road, she had no doubt she was up to it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  —

  TEMPTATION

  Doing what she was told wasn’t all Georgie was tired of. Being powerless actually seemed more of a weight right then. The only person who’d cared for her was dead, literally struck down in front of her. Her father, who she’d never met, had turned out to be even less of a help than anticipated. When the court tracked him down, they discovered he’d died in jail. Drug charges, the lawyers said, and resisting his arrest.

  Georgie’s mom never said her dad had that sort of trouble, just that he was bad news and they were better off without him.

  Discovering he was junkie dealer was bad enough. Learning he’d been dead two years knocked her for a loop. She didn’t know why it made her cry. He’d been an unlikely savior to begin with. The only thing her tears accomplished was putting her on the other kid’s radar.

  Though she’d been teased before, their cruelty was a shock.

  More shocking yet was the fact that no adult interfered. Georgie learned straight off she shouldn’t count on Beulah. For all her praise of Georgie’s “lovely manners,” she ran that home like a gosh darn zoo. Georgie didn’t kid herself the woman would look out for her. In the end, she’d land wherever it suited Beulah to send her.

  Georgie would have to survive as best she could.

  The question was: did surviving mean getting on with someone like Alma West?

  Georgie was pretty sure she shouldn’t trust her either. Alma was a bored rich woman, playing with the idea of fostering the same as taking up pottery. She could lose interest in her tomorrow. Or drop dead, for that matter.

  When it came right down to it, Georgie couldn’t count on anyone but herself.

  That being true, she probably shouldn’t let herself get excited by the prospect of exploring Alma’s house.

  Truthfully, getting excited about anything seemed disrespectful to her mom.

  She tried to keep her scowl in place as she trudged up the pebbled walk, but it was difficult. Ravenwings was her dream home. Its bricks were rosy, their red richer and softer than modern duplicates. The giant trees made her think of angels standing sentinel. A handsome double door marked the center of the symmetrical façade. Elegant stone columns framed the entrance, the scrolled pediment that capped them exactly what a historic house should have.

  When Alma swung the door sections open, the space between was totally wide enough for hoop skirts to fit through.

  Slaves made this place possible, Georgie recollected. Owners hadn’t scrubbed these marble steps. Or cultivated the tobacco that paid for them.

  Her imagination fired regardless. Bad or good, the past fascinated her.

  She gave up scowling the moment she entered the long main hall.

  “Holy smokes,” she breathed, goggling openly. Alma had said the furniture was shipped from England. Georgie hadn’t realized it would still be here. This was like a museum . . . without ropes to hold you
back.

  “That’s an antique settee!” she exclaimed. “With its original seat cushion. Actual historic people sat their actual butts on it.”

  “You may put yours on it, if you wish,” Alma said, amused by her outburst.

  Georgie hesitated then said to heck with it to herself. She wouldn’t be less miserable tomorrow because she stayed glum today. She sat gingerly and grinned. Probably it was her imagination, but she felt as if the past were buzzing into her from the old padding. Kids had sat here before her, swinging their chubby legs, heaving dramatic sighs while they waited for permission to run outside and play.

  I want this, she thought. I want to wake up here every day and live among everything.

  That sobered her. Wanting anything seemed risky.

  She got up and looked at Alma. Now that they were inside, the stylish older woman had removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were a striking gray framed by dark lashes. She considered Georgie with her head cocked, maybe wondering why she’d turned serious. Georgie felt a bit more observed than she was used to.

  “Please could I see the rest?” she asked politely.

  THE REST WAS ALMOST too overwhelming to absorb. The house wasn’t just antique, it was bonkers luxurious—more like a summer palace than a Virginia plantation.

  “I’ve tired you,” Alma said once they’d perused a palm-filled conservatory, a portrait-lined dining room, and a double-tiered library.

  “Oh no,” Georgie assured her. “I’m loving everything.”

  “Then perhaps you’d like to see the space I’ve chosen for your suite.”

  Georgie’s eyes widened. Suites weren’t part of her normal experience. Alma led her to the second floor of the western wing, where she opened a broad paneled door.

  “Here we go. It’s only partly furnished. I thought you’d like to finish it yourself.”

  Georgie stepped in and lost her breath. The suite took up the length and breadth of the wing, with tall deep windows beaming light from both sides. The flowery plasterwork on the ceiling was pristine, not a single chip to mar it. As she walked farther in, the dark plank floors creaked slightly beneath her feet. She could smell the past here, like something from a dream.