The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  Ishmael didn’t move when she walked to the library door.

  “Good night,” she said quietly. “Thanks again for your help.”

  You’re welcome, said his boyish voice in her mind.

  She shook her head and stepped back into the hall. At first she thought the corridor was empty. Then she noticed a glimmer approaching. Her heart steadied pleasantly. She knew by the feel of the light that it was Connor.

  “Hello,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  He bounced in his happy way. “I had a previous engagement, which I have completed for the time being. I am delighted to see you! Did you enjoy your time in the library? I had a little extra juice and watched you meet your new friend.”

  Georgie opened and held the stairway door, leaving room he probably didn’t need to follow her inside. “Keeping an eye on me, are you?”

  “Oh yes! And on Titus. I love Titus, and I love you.”

  “I’m pretty fond of you.”

  “Excellent!” Connor sighed happily. “Being loved is pleasant.”

  Georgie couldn’t argue that. She checked on the cat herself when they reached her suite. Titus slurped down some of his fancy kitten milk then played a bit with her and Connor. He conked out again—amusingly—between one pounce and another. Because he’d gone limp, Georgie carried him to the little bed she’d made in the armchair beside her own, where she’d hear him meow if anything was wrong. His blankie was fluffed for him to crawl under, his heating pad set on low.

  “Shall I watch over you while you sleep?” Connor asked hopefully.

  Georgie was sitting on her bed, giving Titus a last few strokes between his ears. She looked up at Connor. The rainbows at his edges glinted. She realized she didn’t feel wary around him like she did with Ishmael.

  “You’re all light,” she observed. “No dark in you at all.”

  “I don’t know about that. It’s hard to remember, but I think I have more different shades in me now.”

  She didn’t know why, but his words filled her eyes with tears.

  “It’s not sad,” Connor said soothingly. “Being here is wonderful. Nothing can make me less than before. Every moment, I am becoming more.”

  “I hope so.” Georgie pushed down her covers and got in. She realized Connor was waiting for her to answer his question.

  “Yes, please watch over me,” she said. “I feel safer with you nearby.”

  Maybe tomorrow she’d worry again. For tonight, she closed her eyes with the comforting knowledge that—in this strangest of houses—he was protecting her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  —

  UPCYCLE

  Despite the other matters that occupied her, Luna remembered Georgie’s eighteenth birthday was coming up.

  The empress had spent the week in Virginia Beach, the greatest distance she’d ventured from Black Bear Mountain in two years of residence. Her decision to go back in time had been rash, but ever since she’d exercised caution. She kept a low profile in her travels, gradually expanding them, never over-predating her hunting grounds. Some djinniya, especially elite ones like her, would have felt stifled hiding their power that long. Luna congratulated herself she was too farsighted to succumb to impatience. She planned for the future . . . and stuck to her objectives.

  The currently brimming contents of the Aston Martin’s trunk proved the value of self-control.

  Her only letdown was that she hadn’t been able to enjoy strolling the beach at the tourist spot. Evidently, she’d resided in Alma’s body long enough that even on the boardwalk, the windblown saltwater spray caused her skin to break out in hives. Though the itchy bumps had faded, they’d reminded her of her limits.

  Temporary limits, she assured. She always found a way around obstacles.

  Her latest employee, a good-looking, prematurely white-haired butler she’d decided to call Roger, came out to meet the car. Luna preferred to drive herself for special trips. Like the rest of the handful of human staff, he’d been charmed not to ask questions.

  Georgie, fortunately, dismissed Luna’s quirks as eccentricity.

  “Miss West,” Roger said, his pleasure at seeing her unfeigned. Also unfeigned was his erection, which pushed the zipper of his trousers forward aggressively. Roger had taken to his secondary duties like a duck to water, despite having been somewhat staid before meeting her. Well, who could blame him? His dear, departed wife had been an invalid for most of their marriage. Now, at the ripe human age of forty-five, he finally had a chance to indulge himself.

  With her, anyway. Luna had enchanted him so he couldn’t find release from any flesh but hers. Even masturbating, which she knew he tried, gained him nothing but frustration.

  “Roger,” she purred in acknowledgment, her tone causing the man to blush right up to his white eyebrows. “I hope you didn’t miss me too much while I was gone.”

  “A single night is torture,” he declared—daringly for him.

  “Mm,” she said, sure this was true for him. She released the convertible’s trunk from the dash, giving the servant ample time to admire her figure as she swung her legs out and stood. Her tailored aqua sheath traveled well. When she smoothed the dress, her hands found no creases. Naturally, Roger’s gaze followed the caress. “Please carry my luggage to my rooms. I’m afraid the bags are heavy. I did a bit of . . . shopping on this trip.”

  “Of course.” He cleared his throat of huskiness. “Shall I unpack for you?”

  “No need,” she said with casual firmness. “I want to do that myself. You should, however, feel free to strip off your clothes and wait for me on the bed.”

  He wet his lips, practically shivering with anticipation. “That would be my pleasure, Mistress West.”

  This was his preferred name for her.

  “Roger,” she said, stopping him before he could ascend the entry steps. “Where might I find Georgie?”

  “In her workshop, in the barn. I believe a school friend is with her. And that man who’s mentoring her, Jerry.”

  She nodded and strode off, smiling to herself as Roger grunted at the weight of the bag he heaved up the marble treads. Virginia Beach had been unusually hot and humid this past week, lethally so for certain vulnerable segments of its population. As a result, Luna’s shopping was successful.

  God bless global warming, she joked.

  God had nothing to do with the changes in Georgie. Thanks to Luna, she was a different girl from the target of the bullies at Kind Shepherd. The hints of scrappiness she’d shown then had developed. Her goal of furnishing her suite from castoffs had morphed into a small business. With the help of her mentor, she was on her way to enlivening half her college-bound classmates’ dorms with her “upcycled” creations.

  This Sunday—as had been the case lately—Jerry was teaching her to weld.

  When Luna entered the barn, Georgie switched off the torch and flipped up her faceplate. The flush on her sweaty cheeks made her smile even sunnier.

  “Hey, Alma!” she said. “You’re back. We’re turning antique iron railings into bookcases.”

  “I see,” Luna said, not interested but willing to pretend. She exchanged a careful nod with Jerry. She and he had never warmed to each other, perhaps because Jerry harbored a little crush on his young protégé. Though he was married and had children, Luna suspected he viewed her as competition for Georgie’s affection. “Very practical.”

  Georgie snorted good-naturedly. “I know this is junk to you, but I predict these will sell like ice cream in July. The patina on the salvaged beadboard we’re using to make the shelves is money.”

  “Total money,” chimed the schoolmate who straddled a sawhorse nearby.

  Luna had seen him before. Tom, she thought his name was. He was a good-looking boy. Tall. Fit. Romantically shaggy hair the color of winter wheat. His attraction to Georgie was strong enough to overlook her less than seductive work outfits. Sadly, Luna’s ward seemed oblivious to any use for him besides helping her tear
apart falling down buildings.

  Ready for a break, Georgie tugged off her welding gloves. On account of the summery weather, she wore a snug white tank top under her farmer-style overalls. Her taut arms were bared, and the tattooed sleeve on her left glowed with color in the barn’s shifting light. The same sunbeam glinted off the double rings in her right eyebrow. Both the ink and piercings pleased Luna. Najat wouldn’t have been caught dead with either. For that matter, the kadin wouldn’t have been caught dead in overalls.

  The men had their own visual priorities. When Georgie pried off her helmet, their gazes zeroed in on her lifted breasts. Her tousled red hair fell free, and that caught their notice too. The sunset locks were only shoulder length at the moment, but they were still pretty.

  If Georgie was aware of the men’s attention, it didn’t show. She tucked the protective headgear beneath her arm.

  “So,” she said to Luna. “Did you come out here for a reason?”

  “Your birthday’s next week. Eighteen is a biggie. I thought I’d throw you a real party.”

  “I don’t know,” Georgie hemmed. “I have jobs I’m in the middle of.”

  “I said I’d throw it,” Luna countered. “All you have to do is wriggle into a dress and show up. I’m sure Tom can help me draw up a guest list. Doesn’t he know which kids you’re friends with?”

  “I totally do,” Tom said. “You gotta say yes, Georgie. It’ll be one last blast before people head off to college. Client list,” he added, when Georgie rolled her eyes. “Future, long-term clients you’ll want remembering you fondly.”

  “Fine,” she said. “A party would be nice, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  Hm, Luna thought, not exactly bowled over by her enthusiasm. She knew Georgie had friends, or at least acquaintances who were in awe of her. Though the secret to popularity had escaped her, she was—as far as Luna could tell—regarded with respect. Her transformation to apparent badass had improved her social standing, and it didn’t hurt that her guardian was mysterious and wealthy. Her devil-may-care style stood out, along with her entrepreneurial commitment. Bit by bit, Georgie had become a confident girl whose occasional clashes with authority Luna never criticized. In truth, Georgie had enjoyed every freedom a teenager could desire. What disappointed Luna was that she hadn’t taken her freedom farther in certain areas.

  There’s time yet, she told herself. Then again, best not to leave important goals to the last moment. Things she couldn’t spell into happening tended to take longer.

  Georgie’s large black cat cut her musings short by suddenly—and for no apparent reason—galloping full speed across the barn.

  “Titus,” Georgie scolded. “Stop being a lunatic.” Spooked by her voice, the cat veered and hit a chair, jostling the box that rested on its seat. One of the metal objects inside it fell and rolled to Luna’s feet.

  “That’s my logo,” Georgie said as Luna picked it up curiously. “I screw it to things I make.”

  The flat bronze disk was stamped with a raised G in the center of a seven-pointed star. This particular star was a protective symbol. It could be drawn in a continuous stroke, without lifting pen from paper. The effect was vaguely Masonic. Startled, Luna looked from the symbol to Georgie.

  “Seven is my lucky number,” Georgie explained. “And ‘G’ is for me, of course.”

  The welding helmet might account for the lingering pink on her cheeks. She spoke in an offhand tone. Nonetheless, Luna got the impression she wasn’t telling the truth. That was unusual. Luna was a lenient guardian. Georgie rarely had cause to lie to her.

  “Very nice,” she said, handing the disk over.

  Luna was aware G could stand for God as easily as Georgie. She supposed she was grateful the girl hadn’t used a star with six points. King Solomon’s seal—the one the human ruler used to enslave djinn—employed a hexagram. Georgie might have hit upon her design by accident. Humans frequently displayed a mind-boggling disregard for the meaning of the symbols they splashed on everything. If the girl were studying magic, Taytoch’s men should have sounded the alert.

  Reassuring Luna with her nonchalance, Georgie accepted the metal ornament and tossed it back in the box.

  “You feel like lunch?” she asked the others. “Those sodas should be cold by now.”

  Georgie had a fridge out here and an eating table. She didn’t have to interrupt her work if she were involved in a project.

  “I could eat,” Jerry said as Tom rubbed his palms together.

  Neither was going to get sustenance right then. A woman Luna knew she’d seen before stormed uninvited into the work area. “Jerry Reynolds, what the H E double hockey sticks are you playing at?”

  “I’m doing my second job,” Jerry said unflinchingly. “Like I cleared with Tobias.”

  “Your second job working for the enemy!”

  “Christ, Francine. Georgie is just a girl. I’m teaching her to build stuff safely.”

  “That ‘girl’ stole the St. Andrew’s job from us! This little . . . witch is going to salvage that beautiful old chapel.”

  This was news to Luna. Not to Georgie, apparently. Somewhat to Luna’s surprise, the girl smiled like a cat that had plucked and eaten a canary. “I didn’t steal the St. Andrew’s job. I just beat out Hamilton’s bid. And, Francine, if you’re going to call me names, please use ones you really mean.”

  “Witch is the name I mean!” Francine spat. “You and your hell spawn cat!”

  “Whoa,” handsome young Tom muttered. “Don’t have a coronary, Mrs. H.”

  The woman did look like she might have a heart attack. One big vein in her forehead pulsed. Luna identified her belatedly. Her hair hung in the same gray plait as before, but her face was gaunter than she recalled, the lines that rayed around her eyes deeper. She and her husband had saved—or rather would save—Iksander from the boys who’d want to thrash him when he arrived in the alleyway. This woman would have been Georgie’s adoptive mother if Luna hadn’t worked her magic at Kind Shepherd.

  How on earth had she and Georgie ended up at odds?

  “Francine,” Jerry said soothingly. “Georgie is entitled to bid on work, the same as anyone. And before you ask, no, I didn’t tell her what our bid was.”

  “She’s a snake,” Francine insisted. “And a kid. She can’t even handle it!”

  “If she can’t handle it, maybe she’ll invite us to go in with her.” Jerry looked hopefully at Georgie, who still appeared to be savoring her victory.

  “I’d consider going halvsies with Hamilton Salvage,” she said, “in return for an apology from Marianne . . . which I’d want her to give me in front of customers.”

  Who was Marianne? Tom snickered and muttered “good one” beneath his breath, so Luna guessed he knew the story.

  “Never,” Francine declared. “Marianne was absolutely right to follow you around. You’ve proved today you’re nothing but a thief!”

  Georgie shrugged. “Have it your way. I’d rather be a thief than a prejudiced idiot who assumes every person with a tattoo is a shoplifter. And FYI, if I were a witch, it wouldn’t mean I worshipped Satan, no matter if I own a black cat.”

  “Georgie,” Jerry said, unhappy with his pupil now.

  “I get it, Jerry,” Georgie said calmly. “To you, I am a kid. The thing is, I’m a kid who knows what your talent’s worth to Hamilton’s bottom line.”

  “Oh no, no, no,” Francine said, actually wagging her finger. “Don’t even think about poaching our employee.”

  Georgie’s amiable smile spoke volumes.

  It was a side of her ward Luna had only glimpsed before. Georgie reminded her of herself when she was a teenager. Never threaten and never get angry. If someone insults you, save your revenge for when you can pull it off. Luna jerked with the odd realization that she felt fond of her.

  Maybe Francine sensed this, because she whipped around on Luna next. “You should be ashamed of yourself, raising up a girl like this.”

  “I coul
dn’t be prouder if I tried,” Luna said honestly.

  This was too much for the self-righteous interloper. She let out an astonished huff and stomped off in short order.

  ALMA’S WORDS SHOCKED Georgie, not because she had Georgie’s back—that was how Alma rolled—but because she didn’t often show this amount of warmth. She was Connor’s opposite that way. He fell in love with butterflies for beating their wings. Weirdly, Alma’s support made Georgie uncomfortable.

  Should she have been that smart-assed to Mrs. H?

  Don’t second-guess yourself, she thought. Beady-eyed Marianne trailed her around Hamilton Salvage every freaking time she went in . . . and with Francine’s blessing. The few times she’d bought things, mostly to prove she could, Francine had counted her money as if it were dirty. Georgie knew she marched to her own drum, but none of Black Bear Mountain’s other businesses gave her aggro like those two did.

  Honestly, holier-than-thou finger-waggers were just the worst.

  Not Jerry, though, and she’d stuck him in the middle.

  “Sorry,” she said, scratching her temple in embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have put you in the soup with your employer’s wife.”

  “She’s my employer too,” Jerry said, which made her feel stupider. She’d assumed Francine’s husband was head honcho. “Look, Georgie, I know you’ve got a right to have your dander up about her and Marianne, but you shouldn’t yank Francine’s chain that hard. She’s got her blind spots, but there are reasons. She’s had disappointments in her life.”

  That was a step too far for Georgie, and her resentment rushed back again.

  “Haven’t we all,” she said, narrow-eyed.

  Jerry sighed. Though his big hand came up to clap her shoulder, his hold felt heavy rather than comforting. “Kiddo, smart as you are, you’ve still got things to learn.”

  Georgie was pretty sure he didn’t mean about furniture construction.

  “I expect I do,” she said coolly.

  He stared hard at her for a moment. His gaze cut to Alma, who was watching him with arms crossed, silently continuing to support Georgie. Georgie could almost hear Jerry thinking she was acting too much like her guardian. On the occasions Alma ventured into Black Bear, she didn’t go unnoticed. Her flashy looks, her money, and her revolving door for men saw to that. She exuded a kind of glamour the little town didn’t generally rub elbows with. When they whispered behind her back, she acted like she enjoyed it.