The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  Maybe she did. From what Georgie could tell, Alma didn’t care a fig about the world’s approval.

  “Okay,” Jerry said. “Maybe we need time to cool off. I’ll email you tomorrow to schedule our next session.”

  Georgie nodded, relieved this wasn’t in doubt but not prepared to say so.

  “Hm,” Alma hummed as he too exited the barn. Per usual, she gave the impression she saw more than she let on.

  “Whew,” Tom said, swinging off the sawhorse. “All that drama made me hungry. I’m gonna set up lunch.”

  Still rattled by the argument with Jerry, Georgie let him go on his own. Titus pattered after him to the eating corner, probably hoping for a treat.

  “He seems . . . biddable,” Alma observed.

  “Tom’s all right,” Georgie said.

  “Just all right?”

  Georgie wasn’t sure what she was getting at. “He works hard, most of the time, and picks up things pretty quick. He’s a good assistant, everything considered.”

  Alma laughed softly. “I meant he’s attractive, and he certainly seems to find you appealing.”

  “He’ll get over that soon, I think. He’s got a couple other girls chasing him.”

  “And you don’t want to enjoy him first?”

  Georgie flushed. Alma could be direct about stuff like this. “I know he’s cute, but he doesn’t really give me a buzz. He’s kind of little brother-y to me.”

  “He’s your age.”

  Georgie shrugged. “I guess I’m waiting for something more. Not true love or stupid crap like that. Just a guy who sets off a few fireworks.”

  Alma tilted her head.

  “I’m not being prissy,” Georgie said defensively.

  “All right,” Alma said. “I just don’t want to see you miss out.”

  “I’m not ancient!”

  Alma smiled. “Of course you’re not. I do have a question before you share lunch with your ‘brother.’ Why did he mention people going off to college as if you wouldn’t be among them?”

  “I thought you might pick up on that,” Georgie said.

  “Well?” Alma prompted. “You seemed excited when UVA accepted you.”

  “I was. I am. But . . .” She gnawed her lip as she struggled to explain her reasoning. “The more I think about it, the more college feels like pressing the hold button on my life. I know what I want to do, and I don’t see why I should leave Black Bear for four years before I get started.”

  “You don’t want to leave Black Bear?”

  Someone else might not have noticed Alma’s attention sharpening. Georgie realized she’d genuinely startled the woman.

  “That’s part of it,” she admitted. “I know this town is a fly speck, but something inside me feels like I need to stay, like I’ll never work out my destiny if I cut and run from here.”

  “Your destiny,” Alma repeated.

  “I don’t have a better word for it than that.”

  Alma shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

  “I promise I won’t bunk with you forever,” Georgie assured.

  “That doesn’t worry me,” Alma said absently, which kind of surprised her. Alma had more of a personal life than most adults Georgie knew. She’d learned not to go near her wing unannounced. A couple times, she thought she’d have to boil her eyeballs over stuff she’d caught glimpses of.

  “Thanks for the offer to throw the party,” she added, aware she hadn’t been as excited as Alma hoped. “Too bad Manuel moved to Florida. He could have overseen the spread.”

  “Yes, too bad,” Alma agreed. Her striking gray eyes fastened on Georgie’s. “I know you miss him, but I’m sure he’s happy—and busy—running his new restaurant.”

  He was so busy he hadn’t sent a single postcard in the seven months since he’d left. Was it wrong that Georgie minded this more than Alma? She hadn’t been Manuel’s lover. She’d only been—so she thought—his friend.

  “Sure,” Georgie said. “He’s probably so successful he doesn’t have a minute free.”

  Alma patted her shoulder. “Your birthday food will be good. Don’t you worry about that.”

  “I just wish—”

  “No,” Alma said, cutting her off sharply. “No wishing. Wishing is for losers.”

  This was what she always said when Georgie used that word. Georgie couldn’t deny her point. Wishers . . . wished. Winners made things happen.

  THIS ISN’T GOOD, Luna thought. She hadn’t put her own path on hold—and for five years—simply to have Georgie fall into Iksander’s arms the instant he appeared in this dimension. Though she’d have preferred to interpret Georgie’s talk of destiny differently, she didn’t see how she could. Somehow, on some level, the human sensed what her life would have been without Luna stepping in.

  Georgie’s reluctance to enjoy the various males she attracted suggested the same grim message.

  No, Luna thought, her hands curling into fists. Georgie wasn’t going to be untouched when Iksander landed here. That was the sort of tripe men like him gloried in. Rumor had it Najat had come to him pure, and she’d been the tavern owner’s captive for quite a while. It seemed Iksander’s former wife had scrubbed floors and made brew spells while somehow not conceding her virginity.

  Not this time, Luna thought. Not. This. Time.

  She had three more years to take the romantic stars out of Georgie’s eyes. At the rate they were going, ten might not be enough. If she could have compelled her, she’d have long since handled the matter. Unfortunately, she couldn’t. Iksander would sense compulsion, and would—inevitably—try to rescue its victim. That wouldn’t suit Luna.

  Georgie was supposed to torment the sultan, not inspire him to heroics.

  She entered her rooms with a laugh that held more exasperation than humor.

  “Christ,” she burst out at the sight of Roger sprawled naked on her velvet-draped tester bed. She’d forgotten all about him.

  “Mistress?” he inquired warily.

  She considered working her aggressions out on him. He was ready for sex, fully erect and already close to panting. Though she liked his responsiveness, in her current mood, he might not escape her embrace alive.

  Manuel’s abrupt departure to Florida was enough for Georgie to swallow.

  “Darling,” she said. “Something’s come up. Besides you. I’m going to have to give you a rain check.”

  He didn’t like it, but she convinced him to leave. Once she had the suite to herself, she stalked to the sitting room.

  “Taytoch,” she called, sending a pulse of power into the summoning circle.

  He appeared in seconds. The only sign she’d caught him unprepared was that he faced away from her for his bow. The pattern of blue scales on his spine resembled DNA. His buttocks, she noted, were as firm as an acrobat’s. His genitals were tucked away the same as a snake’s would be.

  “Pardon,” he said, smoothly correcting his orientation. “Does Your Highness need something?”

  Of course she needed something. She didn’t summon him for her amusement.

  “A book from the library,” she said curtly. “The one your imp tempted Georgie with on her first night at Ravenwings.”

  “That would be Beautiful Male Nudes from the Italian publisher.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Please deliver it here quickly.”

  “Would you like the image that engaged her most marked with a Post-It?”

  Luna could magick out this information, but the bookmark would save her time. Not entirely liking Taytoch’s astuteness, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Your perspicacity is admirable.”

  He bowed again. “We aim to please, Glorious One. Will that be all for now?”

  “It will,” she said.

  The ifrit winked out before she could change her mind.

  CONNOR HAD ENJOYED his day meandering around Black Bear, watching people and learning things. He’d grown strong from stretching himself in the last few years.
Now he had so much consciousness he could have traveled farther and still kept watch on the empress’s mirror space. There was no need to wander more, however. This town was a universe—besides which he liked staying near Georgie.

  Having a preference was an interesting condition.

  He found her in her rooms on his return to Ravenwings. She sat on the pretty faded carpet, lifting her G-star medallions one by one before setting them aside. As she held each between her hands, she murmured a prayer that her furniture would feel nice and serve the people who bought it well. She’d devised the blessing herself, pulling together bits and bobs she’d gleaned from Ishmael’s books and the Internet. In another person’s hands the bits and bobs wouldn’t have accomplished much. Georgie had faith, though, even if it was altered from the form she’d followed when she first came here.

  Connor loved watching her send affection into the metal disks. She didn’t always like individual people, but humanity in general she seemed able to care about. He enjoyed knowing he and his favorite had qualities in common.

  “You are troubled,” he said, noting the pucker between her brows.

  She jerked. “Connor. Hey. I didn’t see you floating there. You’re right. I shouldn’t be doing this when I’m in a mood. I’ll probably curse things by accident.”

  “Your medallions are fine,” he said, checking them just in case.

  She shrugged and pulled a face. “I’m silly to think it matters. It’s not like I’m a great sorceress.”

  Her gift wasn’t infinite, it was true, but he saw no reason to denigrate it.

  “You are you,” he said. “That is valuable.”

  She smiled but worry still pinched her expression.

  “Tell me what is wrong,” he said.

  “I’m just wondering if I’m making good decisions.”

  “About what?”

  “Stuff. Life. I don’t think I want to share.”

  “But you can tell me anything,” Connor said. “You know I don’t judge. Plus I get smarter every day.”

  Her rueful laugh gave him an odd sensation, as if he had organs that could hurt.

  “You’re sweet,” she said, “but not this time. I need to . . . mull this over on my own.”

  “Don’t you like sharing things with me?”

  “Sure I do. Someday, though, I’m going to have to outgrow you.”

  Connor wasn’t used to being stunned unless it was pleasantly. He hadn’t realized that after all this time Georgie still thought she might be imagining him.

  “I am real,” he said. “The same as Titus or Ishmael.”

  She looked at him. Maybe he shouldn’t have used Ishmael as an example.

  “Doesn’t the imp eat your apples?” he demanded. “Doesn’t he give you books that answer your questions?”

  “There could be a way to explain that. Other people don’t have these encounters.”

  “That doesn’t mean you made them up.”

  “I’m almost eighteen.” Her soulful lavender eyes shimmered with moisture. “I’m too old to for nursery tales.”

  “Why do you doubt yourself?”

  Georgie shook her head, causing a tear to spill. “Some days I’m just not sure who I am.”

  Connor floated down to sit on her shoulder, to warm her with the loving radiance that came naturally to him, especially around her. He saw everything in her and loved her completely. He didn’t know why she couldn’t love herself the same way. “You are Georgie, and you are wonderful.”

  She stroked his light with one finger, the same as she petted Titus when she told the cat he’d always be her kitten.

  “I love you, Connor,” she said.

  To his dismay, the declaration didn’t sound one hundred percent happy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  —

  EMBODIED

  The spell Luna planned to cast was more complicated than most she spun these days. Her goal was almost too specific, requiring a demon intelligent enough to carry out her bidding but not so independent it would escape control. Whether djinn were light or dark, her kind made an art of sneaking loopholes into contracts. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

  Though revenging herself on Iksander mattered, she had more fish to fry than him.

  Determined to avoid missteps, she thought the business through from every angle she could conceive. She’d need to perform the summoning in her mirror space. Her sitting room wasn’t private enough for an invocation this involved. Luckily, thanks to her frequent “shopping,” she had extra stores of power. Though this work wouldn’t use as much as skipping back in time, it would take a good amount.

  Finally, the plan was organized in her mind.

  Energized by the challenge, she found it hard to wait till midnight, when her personal magic was most potent. She did wait, of course. She was no stranger to discipline. At precisely thirty minutes before the appointed hour, she tore the page she wanted from the Italian picture book, grabbed the larger of her rolling suitcases, and hied to Ravenwings’ dining room. A quick solitude charm banished possible watchers.

  Head high, skin tingling with excitement, she strode to the grandest of the portraits that lined the paneled walls. Before her ifrit slaves liberated it, it had hung in a Dutch museum. The subject was a curly haired, mustachioed, seventeenth-century human—brought to life expressively by Van Dyck. The richly garbed fellow posed, casual and haughty, beside a table swathed in red and gold brocade. Beneath his hand lay an object few would guess was a polished bronze scrying mirror.

  Luna stretched her arm high enough to touch her fingertips to its edge. Her heart beat faster as she murmured her open sesame.

  “A thing of beauty is a joy forever. It will never pass into nothingness.”

  A seam of light unzipped down the painting’s center. Within the slit in the canvas, a swirling darkness resembling a storm cloud seethed. The bottom of the gilded frame began at Luna’s knee level. Undeterred by the opening’s appearance of leading nowhere, the empress hiked her robes and stepped in.

  One more huff of effort pulled her suitcase through the cloud behind her.

  The vaporous barrier was only inches deep. The room beyond it imitated but didn’t quite match the one she’d left. The colors here were darker and more intense, the furniture and fabrics a grade finer. No longer made of wood, the floor was a seamless stretch of obsidian, its surface so highly polished stepping onto it was like walking on black water. The paintings here, though framed similarly to those outside, didn’t portray dead humans but Qaf landscapes she knew and loved.

  There was her City of Endless Night silvered by the moon, here the poppy field where she’d spent her childhood practicing magic spells. A moonlit playground was another nostalgic favorite—the one between the Church of the Holy Rood and the Street of Beggars. The play yard’s most popular equipment were its brass drum-go-round cages, ideal for spinning youthful djinn until they were so dizzy they either turned to smoke or threw up.

  Good times, she thought humorously. The intelligence that oversaw this mirror space seemed to know exactly what would please her. Though the room was silent as a tomb, the emotions it inspired in her were peaceful.

  I can do this. I can accomplish my ambitions.

  The ambition that had drawn her back in time in the first place suddenly seemed achievable. She could prevent her ward from becoming lily-livered Najat’s proxy. Better still, she’d fashion Georgie into the perfect knife to twist in Iksander’s heart. No one in the universe was better qualified to do that than the empress.

  She waved her hand in a gesture that slid the long dining table out of her way and against the wall. Another gesture dragged the cabinet with her supplies to her. Its drawers held candles, silver-infused chalk, plus a vial or two of old but perpetually liquid blood. Every enchantress had her favorite materials. In this, Luna wasn’t different. Her uniqueness lay in being more powerful than any practitioner before her.

  She smiled as she selected one perfect stick of c
halk. She didn’t need to draw the elaborate pattern for her spell. The sigil she called the Seal of Hani, which she’d invented for this task, was imprinted in her mind. She visualized the symbols as she crushed the chalk to powder within her fist. All she had to do then was blow on it.

  The chalk flew out, a nest of circles forming perfectly on the sleek black floor: rings and ritual symbols all in their proper place. She set and lit the dark blue candles by the same means, then bent to unzip her wheeled suitcase.

  Six heavy brass amphorae, used to store oil in antique times, accounted for its weight. One by one, she removed the soul-tight stoppers, pouring out the vital force of the humans who’d breathed their last during her trip to Virginia Beach. The pattern she’d drawn drank their energy thirstily. She tried not to mind that all six amphorae got sucked into the chalk.

  When the seal was full at last, icy white flames ignited along its lines. She snapped her fingers, and the photograph she’d torn from Beautiful Male Nudes winged neatly into her grasp.

  Standing now at the circle’s edge, she drew herself to full height. The power she contained with herself would support the next process.

  “I call a spirit to serve me,” she said boldly. “Keen of mind but obedient. Your task is to inhabit a human body and win a human’s heart. Love for you must fill this female so completely no other can wrest control of her. You alone must claim her adoration, which you must gain without coercion. If you are the one I seek, appear in this circle now.”

  Knowing further temptation was required, she tipped a vial of blood onto the photograph. With the drenching, the paper took on uncanny weight. Before it grew too heavy, she crumpled it in her hand. Uttering a word of power, she tossed the balled-up, blood-soaked picture into the spell circle. It landed in the pentagram at the center, a five-pointed star identical to the shape that encompassed Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. Like that paragon of physical perfection, Georgie’s ideal lover—or his body at least—shimmered into being in the iconic spread-limb pose. In seconds, the transparent, naked figure turned solid.