The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  Curious to see the form in detail, Luna made it slowly rotate by spiraling one finger.

  She didn’t expect the shiver that ran through her. She’d done an outstanding job. The form she’d created was clearly flesh, complete in every detail and appendage. It matched the photograph Georgie favored with one exception: its eerie eyes were sightless. Frosted over and indeterminate of color, they betrayed that the body had no conscious inhabitant.

  Naturally, admitting she was creeped out wouldn’t have been good salesmanship.

  “See this vessel I offer you!” she cried. “Strong and vital and beautiful. Imagine the pleasures you’ll experience within it if you obey my summoning.”

  She repeated herself twice more then settled in to wait. The demon she sought was unique. She might have to be patient.

  CONNOR KNEW HUMAN HEARTBEATS were controlled autonomically. In a similar fashion, a portion of his mind continuously monitored the mirror space. This intelligence kept the area safe and stable, expanding it periodically. In addition to the dining room, he’d duplicated the entry hall, a storage room, plus half a stairway to nowhere. Crafting the extras tickled him—like knitting a warm sweater for a loved one. He enjoyed adding flourishes and hoped they would delight. Being a creator was pleasurable.

  Though he wasn’t fully in the space when the empress sent out her call, he couldn’t possibly have missed it.

  He willed the whole of himself there immediately.

  Connor was naturally curious—and naturally admiring. Luna’s accomplishment evoked awe in him. Her spell expressed her innate boldness, her astounding magical talent and cleverness. What a lovely form she’d fashioned! Connor saw at once it would function, just as if it had been born normally.

  Maybe better, he thought. No environmental glitch could knock the vessel’s programming from its ideal. Any spirit who accepted her offer would be lucky.

  Even as he realized this, unease touched him.

  Amazing as Luna’s achievement was, the idea of an ifrit claiming Georgie’s heart didn’t sit well with him. Assuredly, this was what Luna meant when she asked for a spirit to inhabit the body. Moreover, whatever demon accepted would be under Luna’s thumb. To call this lack of coercion was splitting hairs. Georgie would once more be steered and manipulated onto a path Luna chose. Connor didn’t want to judge. Most certainly he loved and respected both women.

  He simply loved and respected Georgie a little more.

  I have changed, he thought. Now I have free will myself. Preferences. A desire to direct my fate.

  He sensed he still had time to banish these traits, to be more what he’d been and less what he was becoming. He could choose to choose or not.

  Really, though, what chance was there a demon could fulfill Luna’s list of demands? Demons were interesting, but inspiring the sort of love she described wasn’t their forte. If Georgie had been less Georgie, maybe one might succeed. She was Georgie, though. She had more light in her than dark. More thoughtfulness. More will to be her own person.

  A love so encompassing might not be possible for anyone to inspire.

  I don’t approve, he thought. I don’t want her heart to become her shackle.

  If he’d had breath, he would have sighed. On the immaterial plane, dozens of ifrits in vapor form drew near, attracted by Luna’s offer. Their fear of trusting the mighty empress held them back. As an angel, Connor wasn’t compelled to obey her. He could take the body and pretend to do as she wished. Though she knew some entity supported her mirror space, she’d never guess the body’s soul came from it. Georgie would be safe. Connor’s friend could love him or not, as she preferred. Best of all—very much best of all—he’d finally be real to her. He’d be incarnate too. They would play on the same level.

  Would it be all right, just this once, to misrepresent himself?

  He knew his Creator wouldn’t hate him for the deception. Like him, his Creator was made of love.

  I’ll change more, he thought. I’ll move farther from that first light. What if he didn’t comprehend what that meant? What if it lessened him?

  He considered Georgie. Was she less? He didn’t think of her that way. He thought of her as wonderful. Maybe this choice would simply make him different.

  Luna waited by her burning circle beneath him, her image doubled by the black floor. Her beautiful face was lifted, her posture alert but calm. Though she couldn’t see Connor, she seemed to sense candidates gathering. One of the more powerful ifrit inched nearer, emboldened by its longing for Luna’s rich offer.

  While the demon’s nerve wavered, Connor made up his mind. He wanted this. He wasn’t a bit afraid.

  “I am the one you seek,” he declared.

  He was unprepared for the next few instants, nor was Luna’s magic the source of the changes that seized him. Though he didn’t expect them, he knew his decision caused every one.

  As if it had no more substance than a piece of paper, Connor’s spirit tore in two. He lost his perception of Luna’s mirror’s space. No tether now connected his multitasking bits. His other half was severed, and with that half went his buoyancy.

  Like a stone dropping down a well, the consciousness that remained plummeted into the shell the empress had made. Walls slammed against him from every side. Suddenly, he was cramped and shadowed. The body—his body—fell to its knees, streaks of pain coursing up bone and muscle he’d never had before. Fortunately, those muscles had reflexes. He caught himself on his arms, palms splatting the chalk design Luna had blown across the floor. The icy white fire snuffed out as he mussed the lines of her star.

  He was trembling—probably panting too. He wasn’t used to filling lungs with air. Despite these shocks, the most astonishing sense of ebullience rose in him.

  He was here. He’d made it. His next adventure was beginning.

  THE SWIFTNESS OF LUNA’S success startled her. She’d resigned herself to waiting, but suddenly a spirit was in the body, claiming it without so much as an interview. That was disconcerting, but perhaps the ifrit suited her needs so well the spell drew it in automatically.

  I’ll be the judge of that, she thought.

  She did appreciate that the creature was genuflecting.

  “You may speak,” she conceded.

  The being sat back and looked at her. Its eyes were a soft silken blue. Alive now, their expression struck her as both dreamy and intelligent. As it rubbed its palms down its powerful naked thighs, she congratulated herself on the excellent job she’d done. Obviously, the body she’d made had the right connectors for a consciousness to operate it effectively.

  “You are extremely clever,” the being said admiringly. “This is a marvelous vessel. Thank you for inviting me into it.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I still need to kick your tires. That’s an expression,” she added as the being tilted its head. “I hope you aren’t totally ignorant about the human world.”

  “I’ve watched humans extensively,” it said. “They interest me very much.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. With luck, you’re about to put what you’ve learned into practice. Tell me, what do you know of romantic attachment?”

  “Love is my favorite field of study.”

  The creature was being honest, so far as she could tell. “And lovemaking?”

  “I have no personal experience of that.”

  “Not even as an ifrit?”

  The creature shrugged. “I have always been spirit. This is my first physical form.”

  This wasn’t unheard of, especially for born ifrit. Sometimes they lived entire lives as smoke. Another potential danger occurred to her. “You’re not an incubus, are you?”

  “No, Your Highness.”

  She was glad to hear it. Incubi were notoriously difficult to control. Even when they meant to obey, their lusts overmastered them. “Do you have a name for what you are?”

  “I call myself Connor,” it answered her.

  She laughed, though she doubted the if
rit meant to be funny. “Very well, Connor, I hope you’re up for a stint at romance boot camp. We have some knowledge to stuff in you before your mission starts.”

  Connor rose with sufficient grace to please her. “I love knowledge, Your Highness.”

  He inclined his head prettily. In truth, he was pretty from head to toe—a living, breathing work of art. Luna was a little sorry he wasn’t meant for her. Then again, if she was this good at creating physical forms, perhaps she’d do it again later.

  He began to step forward across her wards.

  “Wait,” she warned, lifting a cautioning hand. “My sigil is still charged. You wouldn’t want to harm your new form by trying to break through without permission.”

  Connor stopped, his breath catching slightly in surprise. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize.”

  He’d disrupted the inner pentagram when he landed in the body. She supposed he hadn’t realized her wards included fallback protections. Even allowing for this, something in his manner gave her pause—a glimmer of a hint of duplicity.

  “Why don’t we administer your oath?” she said. “Just to keep everything tidy.”

  “Of course,” he said. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he went down on one knee and put his hand on his heart.

  Luna fought a snicker. Human girls would love him in that pose! He was a brawny golden knight waiting for a king to bless him with his broadsword. As to that, his own sword wasn’t negligible. It hung hefty and relaxed between his muscled thighs. She hoped the organ was capable of more vigorous activity. That, however, was a worry for later.

  “Repeat after me,” she instructed. “I, Connor, solemnly swear to honor and obey Luna the Enchantress. To the very best of my ability, I shall fulfill all tasks she assigns me. None but she shall have my full loyalty. I shall keep her secrets and adore her as long as I exist, in this body or elsewhere.”

  Connor repeated this to her satisfaction, without fumbling a single word. Apparently, he had a good memory.

  “Now,” she said. “If you’ve spoken true, I permit you to leave my spell circle. If you’ve lied even in a minute detail, my magic will incinerate you as you exit.”

  Connor’s sweet blue eyes went wide. “I understand,” he said, slightly breathlessly.

  Perhaps he felt a need to go over what he’d promised, to weigh whether he’d meant it completely. He hesitated long enough to fill his lungs with air before striding from the seal.

  He made it through. Not a hair on his glorious hide was singed.

  Luna offered him her hand, which he had the good sense to bow over.

  “Beautiful One,” he said, touching her knuckles lightly with smooth warm lips. “I shall never cease to be thankful for this opportunity.”

  He sounded so sincere that, for a heartbeat, the great enchantress was astonished.

  BEING IN A BODY WAS distracting. Connor felt as if a million messages bombarded him at once, every inch of him alive with pressure and sensation. Per Luna’s orders, one of her ifrit servants, a three-foot tall female imp with the most marvelous fuchsia skin, came to take him in hand. Pausing periodically to check if human staff were nearby, she led him to a servant’s apartment within the empress’s personal section of the Ravenwings.

  Though naked, Connor had trouble mustering concern over anyone spotting him. Being seen was as interesting as being physical, though the fuchsia imp didn’t seem impressed with him.

  “Bathroom’s there,” she said, waving a skinny arm. Connor noticed her fingers ended in impressive clear red talons. “Fridge and hotplate here. Bed. Television with human shows. I hope you know how to treat that body. None of us are going to spend eternity training you.”

  “I’ll figure out whatever I do not know. Might I ask, who will be in charge of Romance Boot Camp?”

  “Watch the TV,” the imp said impatiently. “Humans fall in love all the time on there. Or ask Ishmael from the library. He’s the book guru.”

  “Are you certain that’s what the empress meant when she said you should take charge of me?”

  The imp crossed her arms and scowled. “Let’s get one thing straight, new kid. Tattletales don’t last on Taytoch’s gang.”

  “I was asking,” Connor said. “Not implying a threat.”

  Her eyes, which were emerald, glowed warningly. “Fariel will bring you human clothes to cover up all that stuff.” She waved scornfully at his genitals. “I hope you realize you can’t take your smoke form. That corpus is human. You’re stuck in that shape.”

  That was interesting. The imp assumed he was a djinni too. Maybe no one would guess what he really was. Something else occurred to him.

  “You’re jealous. You wish you had a human body.”

  “Do not!” she huffed. “Why would I?”

  He smiled. “In truth, you shouldn’t. You are a marvelous being. Clearly, your spirit is as fiery as the fabulous color of your skin.”

  “Huh,” scoffed the imp. “Save the flowery crap for Herself. She’s the one who eats that bull-oney up. Thinks she’s still light, that one does.”

  She left before he could confirm that “Herself” was Luna.

  “Bull-oney,” he repeated, smiling at the exotic word. He touched his face to feel his cheek muscles shift. He could smile now, and laugh, and cry, and possibly dance a jig. He tried and nearly fell over. He did fall when the laughing fit hit him.

  He’d mostly recovered by the time Fariel arrived. This djinni was human in appearance except for a strange gliding walk. The fact that his legs didn’t move at all made Connor wonder if his lower limbs were damaged. But maybe Fariel just preferred to avoid exertion.

  “Your wardrobe,” the ifrit intoned.

  He must have had a lot of magic. He crooked two fingers and a long rack of clothes floated into the room behind him.

  “How did you create these things so quickly?” Connor asked, awestruck.

  “I didn’t,” the ifrit said, seeming pleased he could correct him. “I stole them off the Internet, just sucked them here from the warehouse. They’re the latest-greatest in menswear, and I promise they’re the right size. Shall I help you put them on? Sometimes buttons are tricky.”

  “I’d be grateful for instruction,” Connor said. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Fortunately, Fariel wasn’t as irritable as his hot pink colleague. In addition to helping Connor dress, he showed him how to operate the television with the remote, which he claimed worked as cleverly as a spell.

  “Pretty Woman,” he said, nodding sagely with a finger beside his nose. “The females go gaga over that movie, and not just the human ones. Watch it twice if you’re confused. There’ll be a test tomorrow.”

  Connor’s new jaw dropped. A test? How was that possible? No one had taught him anything of substance yet.

  Fariel wasn’t going to correct the oversight. He was moving to leave. “No wandering without permission,” he said sternly. “Empress’s orders.”

  The ifrit glided out and shut the door. Unexpectedly, Connor burst into hilarity again. Luna’s servants were demons. The last thing they’d do was play fair. As to that, he wasn’t playing fair himself!

  The paroxysm felt so good he flopped on the bed and kept right on chuckling until he ran out of breath. Warm all over then, he folded his new hands atop his ribs and relaxed. His latest-greatest shirt was comfy, its buttons done up straight. An interesting tingle swept him as he wondered if Georgie would like how he looked in it.

  He’d find out later, he supposed. For now, he had a pretty woman to watch and mysterious tests to pass.

  “Bull-oney,” he murmured and snorted in amusement.

  PRETTY WOMAN did confuse Connor, but he could only watch it once. How was this a romantic movie? He supposed Vivian was charming, but the rich man was dull and stiff—and not the good kind of stiff either. In the end, so far as Connor could tell, Vivian sold herself for a necklace. All Edward’s billions wouldn’t have made marrying him a good deal. His life would be a
horrid one to share—plus he told Vivian what to eat and wear and even like, as if she couldn’t choose for herself! Connor shook his head in disbelief.

  Maybe the ifrits were playing a trick by suggesting this as a role model?

  Determined to learn something useful, he flipped through channels. He recognized the building shows Georgie liked, but no one was falling in love on them. Curious to see what magic remained to him now that he’d been torn in two, he closed his eyes and focused. When he felt ready, he extended both hands toward the TV. Energy pulsed softly in his palms, which he thought promising.

  “TV,” he instructed. “Put on a lovemaking show.”

  The screen spat out static and reformed on the moving image of two moaning humans having intercourse to music Connor didn’t like at all.

  “That’s just porn,” he said, knowing this from the times Georgie flicked past it on her computer.

  A moment later, he squirmed on the chair his new body was sitting on. The porn show wasn’t entirely uninteresting. Given how he wandered Black Bear, he’d seen people have sex before, though he tended to turn away before he saw very much. Humans valued their privacy. These were the first he’d seen having sex for the purpose of being watched. They had, in essence, given Connor permission to spy on them.

  He rubbed his thighs through the trousers Fariel had helped him don. Certain parts of his body were doing novel things. His penis twitched, growing thicker and longer until—despite the trousers’ constriction—it felt as stiff as the one on the TV screen. Connor’s breathing became choppy, his heartbeat quickening, his skin gone warm and sweaty.

  I’m aroused, he thought, intrigued by this. The awful music didn’t seem to matter, or the unconvincing declarations the actors were making to each other. His body was inspired by the detailed shots of the humans’ activity.