by Emma Holly
Georgie hoped it wasn’t more rubbers.
Alma retrieved the leather satchel she’d set on Georgie’s bed. As she spread apart the handles, Georgie heard a telltale mew.
“A cat!” she exclaimed, suddenly totally excited.
“A kitten,” Alma clarified, lifting out a small black feline. The kitten wasn’t an infant, because it had yellow eyes. Seeming calm, it blinked at Georgie in slow motion.
Instantly in love, Georgie cooed and held out her hands. Alma passed the cat over. The kitten was scrawny but seemed healthy otherwise. It wriggled in her hold and meowed louder. Georgie doubted it weighed more than a pound.
“Look at its paws!” she said. “It’s going to grow up big.”
“A member of staff found it hiding in the woods and coaxed it to the house. I expect it had a feral mother, but he saw no sign of one. Or littermates. Manuel gave it a flea bath and a warm milk bottle. No doubt you’ll need to buy it a few more things.”
“I’m going to build it a cat walk!” Georgie cried. “With twisty ramps it can run up and down.”
“A litter box might be a good place to start. And a trip to the vet.”
“Of course,” Georgie said. “I’ll Google the practical stuff.”
Alma appeared amused and not worried. Appreciating that, Georgie cradled the kitten against her shoulder. As she petted its floofy fur, it relaxed and began purring. The most incredible warmth filled her. She had a creature to care for—to feed and protect and snuggle when she felt lonely.
“Thank you,” she said to Alma. “This is the best gift ever.”
Alma blinked as if the depth of Georgie’s gratitude surprised her. “You’re welcome,” she said once she’d recovered. “I believe we rebels should stick together.”
Maybe I am a rebel, Georgie thought.
At the moment, the idea didn’t seem ridiculous. In truth, it might have been appealing.
She lifted the purring cat so she could smile at it. Unable to retract its claws yet, its oversized front paws clung to her sweater front. Feral or not, the kitten was unafraid of her: her little furry conqueror.
“If you’re a boy,” she vowed, “I’m naming you Titus Andronicus.”
WELL, Luna thought, pausing once she’d shut Georgie’s door behind her. That was an unexpected stroke of genius, not to mention good timing. Who’d have thought the girl would be more won over by a scruffy kitten than an entire historic home?
The funny thing was the kitten hadn’t needed coaxing to come to Ravenwings. The ifrit who found it—one of Taytoch’s outside men—said it was already headed in their direction. The creature couldn’t be more than six weeks old. Even if its mother had abandoned it, its determination to struggle through the undergrowth was odd. Taytoch’s man claimed the kitten seemed to know where it was going.
Was the beast capable of knowing a willing caretaker resided here?
Luna pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Cats in the Qaf often were uncanny. She hadn’t guessed felines in this realm would possess similar traits. She noticed Georgie chose the same name for it as she had in the alternate timeline. Was it the doppelganger’s nature to be that stubbornly herself?
Luna frowned. She felt a tug of . . . could it be admiration for Najat’s human twin?
No, that simply wasn’t possible. She reminded herself how satisfying killing Najat had been. Shoving the queen’s head into that basin of concentrated seawater. Watching the salt burn her face like acid. Turning Georgie into a weapon against Iksander would be doubly rewarding. In the meantime, if the girl called to some vestige of emotion inside Luna, she’d be that much more convincing in her role as caretaker.
Nodding to herself, she continued down the hallway to take care of her own business.
INTERESTED IN EVERYTHING that happened at Ravenwings, Connor had hung about invisibly watching Georgie and Luna talk. After the empress left, his consciousness whirled with thoughts—some of which troubled him.
His fundamental nature, in truth his main source of joy, was to love and not to judge. It went without saying he admired the woman who’d brought him into being. Luna had such passion, such beauty and cleverness. He simply couldn’t be completely joyful over the way she seemed to be maneuvering Georgie.
He’d already decided free will was a good thing, a gift every being ought to bless their Creator for. Luna steering Georgie to a destination she might not choose for herself, that wouldn’t necessarily lead to her benefit, upset him. Connor loved Georgie too. Should he love Luna less because she was playing tricks? He didn’t want to do that. He wanted to love everyone fully.
Oh leave that be, he thought, shaking off the question. It was far more pleasant to be happy and affectionate. With that aim in mind, he sent his essence through Georgie’s door. At the very least, he wanted to meet her cat.
Kit, kit, kit! he called once he was in the room.
Titus bounced from the closet and meowed squeakily at him.
“You see me!” Connor said, delighted by this development.
“Connor?” Georgie asked, stepping out of the closet after the kitten.
“Titus can see me,” Connor informed her. “We’ll be able to play.”
“That’s good,” Georgie said. She looked at the staring cat and laughed. “You’ll make a great laser pointer.”
Connor took a moment to figure out what she meant. “Yes! I will be the red dot!”
Georgie smiled. “I’m glad you came back.”
Her words made him brighten with happiness. It was extremely pleasant to have one’s company valued. He noticed she held a garment bunched against her bare front. “What are you doing now?”
“Uh,” Georgie said. “Seeing if maybe I’m ready for a change. Alma’s staff bought new clothes for me.”
“Alma” was the name Luna called herself to Georgie. In the short time he’d been among them, Connor noticed corporeal beings liked to keep secrets from each other.
“You wait there,” Georgie said. “Play with Titus. I’ll try some on and show you.”
“Why should I wait? Can’t Titus and I come in with you?”
She tilted her head at him. “Because maybe you’re a pervy marsh light. Anyway, I’m modest.”
Her reasoning perplexed him. What was there to be modest about? Georgie was beautiful to him, no matter what. Plus, the cat had been in there with her. How was Connor different than Titus? Unless he was. He knew his consciousness was unlike an animal’s. Georgie was treating Connor as if he were a male person. Did that mean he could become one?
While he contemplated these fascinating thoughts, she shut the door between them. This made him even more curious. Was her unclothed body truly that interesting?
Disinclined to play, Titus curled up in a sunbeam and took a nap. Connor waited without entertainment until Georgie reappeared, wearing different garments from before.
She spread her arms to either side of her. “What do you think?”
“You are beautiful,” he said honestly.
She furrowed her brow at him. “Do you think bugs are beautiful?”
“Certainly.”
“What about rotting trash?”
He realized what she was getting at. “Georgie, your insides are the important thing. Not your internal organs, but the light of life within you. That is what I see most clearly.”
“Hm,” she said with the same air of discovery he was feeling. “Whatever you are, you certainly make a person think.”
“I do!” he agreed happily.
She laughed. “Okay. I guess I’ll have to decide for myself which outfit won’t get me sent to the principal.”
ALMA’S ASTON MARTIN roared down the drive sometime before sunset. She didn’t return for dinner, which Manuel and Georgie shared at the island in Ravenwings’ large kitchen. The chef seemed unconcerned by his lover’s absence, so Georgie didn’t feel she ought to ask where her guardian had gone.
Was it weird that Manuel wasn’t possessive?
&n
bsp; Georgie offered to clear up after the meal. She wasn’t surprised that Manuel let her, just disappointed he didn’t stick around to talk. That wasn’t his job, of course. She was probably lucky he’d been as friendly as he was.
The sight of the chef’s fruit selection reminded her of her promise to the library’s gargoyle to bring him a fresh apple.
Oh don’t, she begged herself. Your life is weird enough.
Her plea didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave it alone. Once she’d started wondering about a question, she liked to settle it.
She grabbed the prettiest, reddest apple she could find, plus—for the hell of it—a pomegranate. She cut both up and arranged them on a plate. If her other imaginary friend liked red fruit, this ought to appeal to him. Despite these preparation, her nerves remained wound up.
“Connor?” she asked as she reached the library door.
The marsh light didn’t answer or appear. Maybe he was busy. Or keeping Titus company.
You’re on your own, Georgie thought.
She drew in a steadying breath and pushed the double doors open. The room was dark, so she flipped on the lights. She braced, but nothing moved or spoke that shouldn’t.
Be strategic, she thought. If something’s here, you don’t want to miss it this time.
Rather than put the plate on the central table like before, she decided to spread out her offering. Slice by slice, she set her temptations around the room.
“This is for you,” she said as she placed the final quarter of pomegranate on a Georgian desk’s green blotter. “I thought you’d like to try something new. The seeds are red and juicy, and full of vitamins.”
She turned, intending to wait and see what happened. Waiting wasn’t necessary. A blur of gray was currently flashing around the room, collecting her little gifts.
“Holy freaking smokes,” she murmured.
“Oops,” said a half-familiar boyish voice.
The exclamation came from the Oriental carpet a few feet in front of her. The gargoyle was there, no longer hunched and about two feet tall standing up. Because its fist was full of apple slices, it used a knuckle to nudge its spectacles up its granite nose. The gargoyle was chewing a section of pomegranate. Red juice dripped down its stony chin, which it wiped away with one wrist. Maybe the choice was reckless, but Georgie crouched down to speak to it.
“Hey,” she said, ignoring the crazy hammering of her heart. “Thank you for letting me see you.”
“Not supposed to,” the gargoyle said around its full mouth.
“I won’t tell,” Georgie said. “What do you think of the pomegranate?”
The gargoyle swallowed. “Good. The seeds are crunchy.”
If you had stone teeth, eating seeds probably was okay. “I’m glad you like them. My name is Georgie, in case you were wondering.”
The gargoyle considered her. Its eyes were alive and not stonelike. They were older than its voice. Don’t treat this creature like a child, Georgie warned herself.
“You may call me Ishmael,” it said.
Georgie snorted a startled laugh. “That’s not your name. You got that out of a book!”
The gargoyle smiled slyly. “I do live in a library.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll call you Ishmael. Do you mind if I stand up? My calves are getting a cramp.”
Ishmael nodded cautiously. Georgie took a chair and waited for Ishmael to feel comfortable again. After a few more seconds, he hopped onto the nearby desk, landing beside an antique inkwell. The claws on his feet dug into the felt blotter.
“What are you?” she asked, she hoped politely.
“Imp,” Ishmael said. “Ishmael the Imp.”
He broke into a laugh she couldn’t help but find amusing. He thought he was funny too. “Have you lived in this library long?”
“A while,” he said evasively.
“Did the original owners attract you here? Are you allowed to leave?”
Ishmael thought for a moment then shook his head, to which question she wasn’t sure. She almost asked if he knew Connor but decided maybe she should be evasive too. She framed her next query carefully. “Are there . . . others like you in the house?”
“I couldn’t say,” Ishmael answered airily. He crossed his granite arms, his batwings lifting slightly with the motion. “That’s enough questions. Do you want your payment?”
“My payment?”
“The location of the supernatural books.”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes, I’d very much like to know where they are.”
“This way.” Lighter than he looked, he hopped down without a sound. Georgie followed him across the carpet to one of the library’s two alcoves. The large nooks were located in opposite corners, their walls formed by crooking shelves. The last time she searched them she’d found nothing.
“Stand in front of this bookcase,” Ishmael instructed, indicating one. “Take a breath, gather your will, and say, ‘Damn you to hell if you don’t show me your true contents.’”
Since this wasn’t any crazier than other things she’d done recently, Georgie did as he said. When she finished uttering the curse, the shelf he’d pointed out shimmered like a heat mirage. What had been a cobwebby assortment of Dickens’ collected works transformed into a line of jewel-studded, gold-edged, leather-bound volumes.
“Huh,” Ishmael said, as if he hadn’t expected this to happen. “Not bad for a beginner.”
Georgie barely registered his comment. She was already pulling out a book and stroking its rich cover. The jewels that decorated it were smooth—ruby and sapphire cabochons. The title embossed on the leather was picked out in speckled gold: A YOUNG IFRIT’S GUIDE TO MAGIC BY HILARIA THE INFERNAL. Georgie grinned as she deciphered the fancy letters. A kid’s book sounded the right speed for her.
She did wonder what an ifrit was.
“Don’t get ideas because of this,” Ishmael warned. “It’s not like you can be a great sorceress.”
“Of course not,” she agreed absently. “I just like learning things so I can understand the stuff around me.” She looked at the imp and smiled. “Thank you. This is helpful. I’m going to read for a bit. Do you mind if I come back again tomorrow?”
Ishmael gaped up at her. “You’re asking me?”
“Shouldn’t I ask you? I mean, I know the house is Alma’s, but isn’t this sort of your library?”
The imp’s stony eyelids blinked. “Yes. Yes, it is. I agree you may come back. If you think of it, please bring more fruit. I am—” The imp hesitated. “I am only allowed to eat higher beings’ food if I’m given permission.”
“I’ll try to remember. And you don’t have to pay me. I meant what I said about there being no strings attached. I’m genuine happy to have made your acquaintance.”
As she said it, she realized she wasn’t being polite. How strange that was: being happy to meet a completely uncanny being. Two uncanny beings, actually. Knowing Connor gratified her too.
Maybe she’d been wrong about who her people were.
Ishmael also seemed nonplused by their exchange.
“Enjoy the book,” he said brusquely, after which he zipped off to scowl on his shelf.
Georgie didn’t need to be invited twice. Already opening the cover, she curled up in the nearest wingback chair.
“Shoot,” she said a moment later. The text that accompanied the colorful illustrations wasn’t written in English. She couldn’t even identify the letters. They were nothing but dots and swirls. As to that, the pictures were blurry too.
Had Ishmael intended to cheat her?
She recalled the curse he’d taught her to make the bookcase’s contents reveal themselves. Maybe she needed to threaten the book as well.
“Bad book,” she tried, frowning hard in order to seem more serious. “If you don’t show me what you say in my language, I’ll dog-ear your pages and crack your spine!”
When the page shivered and obeyed her, she couldn’t resist smiling. This was an alp
habet book. A is for Angel. B is for Bogeyman. Simple descriptions a few paragraphs long followed each title line. On the off chance that M was for Marsh Light, she flipped ahead.
“M IS FOR MOON RULER,” the heading said.
EMPRESS LUNA RULES the City of Endless Night, in the Mordent Hills region of the Qaf. Born to humble light djinn parents, when she was fifteen Luna caught the eye of the previous emperor by winning a competition for promising young magicians. Because she was comely and—some say—skilled at love charms, the old fart lost his heart to her.
Though decrepit compared to Luna, he married her as soon as could be arranged. Two weeks after the ceremony, he died of connubial bliss. It is assumed the empress didn’t deliberately cause his death, because she retained her light status. She has held the throne for five decades since. Despite a reputation for harsh justice, she’s popular with her citizens.
Inexperienced ifrit are advised to give Luna a wide berth! This empress is adept at demon conjuring. If you don’t wish to be enslaved, keep away. The period of the Moon Ruler’s greatest power is midnight. Identifying features include long silver hair, glacial blue eyes, and glowing alabaster skin. (See Figure A for portrait.)
WARNING ASIDE, FIGURE A was a beautiful depiction. The empress looked about fifteen in the illustration, in which she wore Eastern-type bridal robes.
She was younger than me, Georgie mused, touching the girl’s exquisite uncovered face. Had she really seduced the aged emperor on purpose? Fifteen seemed early to be that ambitious. In the picture, Luna’s vivid blue eyes were wide and startled, her expression innocent. Georgie’s mental gears took another turn. Wasn’t “djinn” another word for genies? If Luna had been light djinn, were ifrit the dark sort?
Georgie snuck a glance at Ishmael, hunkered unmoving on his shelf. He looked like stone again, completely inanimate. Was an imp a sort of ifrit?
But perhaps Luna wasn’t real. Maybe this account was just a kid’s story.
A kid’s story given to her by a bookend that walked and talked.
Okay, Georgie thought, abruptly overwhelmed. Maybe she had enough to think about for now. She closed the book, got up, and slid it back on the shelf.
