by Emma Holly
“I don’t know where to start,” she said.
Georgie knew. “When did you and the me-you-remember meet?”
“An ifrit stole me from my home as a teenager. He held me prisoner in his tavern and forced me work for him. I hadn’t been there long when we met in a dream. Your mother had died and you’d been put in an orphanage. The other children were cruel to you. One day they beat you bloody. You were yearning for someone to care about you. I was too. I suppose our wishes met across dimensions.”
“That’s interesting,” Georgie said. “I was orphaned and the kids at the home did nearly beat me up one day. They didn’t though. Alma, my future guardian, came for an interview with the matron and interrupted them.”
Though he couldn’t have said why, her words made Connor uneasy.
“That isn’t how I remember it,” Najat said. “The people who adopted you came later.”
People? Connor thought. Luna was Georgie’s only caretaker that he knew.
“Never mind that,” Georgie soothed, because Najat’s agitation had returned. “You’re the one whose story matters. Were you able to escape the ifrit who’d enslaved you?”
Connor found most people’s histories interesting, but Najat’s especially absorbed him. As Fate would have it, she was a princess. A group of friends, including a handsome man named Iksander, rescued her from captivity. Unbeknownst to Najat, Iksander ruled a great djinn city. Without the least idea who they were, the princess and the sultan fell in love on the spot, very much like a fairytale. They married not long after and together ruled his people.
They hadn’t, however, quite lived happily. Though Iksander made Najat his kadin, or primary wife, when she discovered she couldn’t bear a child, she became insecure. To her mind—and indeed the minds of Iksander’s people—her primary duty was providing him an heir. If she couldn’t, Iksander had a harem of beautiful concubines with whom he could replace her.
One day, news reached Najat of a sorceress who could cure infertility. Desperate, the kadin went to her in secret. To create the necessary potion, the sorceress demanded a golden hair from her husband’s head, plus a strawberry Najat’s lips alone had kissed. This philter was supposed to triple the sultan’s potency. Instead, when Najat tested the potion on herself, in case it was poisonous, she discovered it was a lust spell for her.
One of her husband’s friends, a talented artist named Philip, suddenly became irresistible. Before Najat sipped the potion, she and the man had flirted harmlessly. Now Najat was certain if she didn’t sleep with him, she would die. Philip, unfortunately, also desired her. When Najat accosted him, he succumbed.
The pair was at the point of having sex when Iksander walked in on them.
“Why would the sorceress trick you that way?” Georgie asked.
The ghost wiped the glowing tear that trickled down her cheek. “She wanted Iksander for herself. She thought if he cast me off, she could marry him. I didn’t know it at the time, but the sorceress ruled a rival city. She wanted to annex our home to hers. She half succeeded. Iks . . . Iksander believed I betrayed him. Even when I tried to explain . . .” Najat shook her head hopelessly. “My beloved was angry and heartbroken. He had Joseph, the court magician, banish me to a convent so he’d never see me again. The sorceress tried to seduce him then. When she failed, she came to the nunnery in a fury and murdered me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Georgie said reaching out but inevitably failing to touch Najat. “That was a terrible thing to happen. I don’t understand, though, why would you think you’d go to hell? You were under a magical compulsion when you pursued Philip. Surely you don’t think God would punish you for that.”
More tears fell and Najat wiped her face. “I liked Philip,” she said in shamed whisper. “We only flirted as a joke, but I was a teensy bit attracted. If I hadn’t been, the sorceress’s spell would have had nothing to work on.”
“But that’s only human!” Georgie protested. “Lots of people find more than one person appealing. You honestly loved your husband. You didn’t cheat on him.”
“I sinned in my heart,” Najat confessed miserably.
“He should have forgiven you,” Georgie insisted. “Certainly he shouldn’t have banished you with no protection! You were his kadin. He knew you had an enemy. Plus, what are the chances he never, ever looked at another woman admiringly? Slim to none is my bet.”
Georgie’s fierce defense seemed to take Najat aback.
“I mean it,” Georgie huffed. “I can see you adored him, but only God is perfect.”
Despite the tears that sparkled in her eyes, Najat let out a breathy laugh. “That’s what we djinn say: Only God is perfect. Maybe you do remember me a bit.”
“So it’s settled then. You’re totally in the safe zone, and you’re not going to Hell—not that I necessarily think you would anyway. My former churchgoing days aside, I’m not convinced that brimstone stuff is real. Sometimes I think it’s just wishful thinking for revenge-minded folks.”
The djinniya’s smile turned wistful. “That may be true for humans. The Creator is merciful to you. For us, rules are different.”
Georgie frowned but seemed to understand Najat believed what she said. “Okay, well, I guess you need someone to cross you over to where you genuinely ought to go, so you don’t mistakenly end up in the wrong place.”
She looked at Connor hopefully. He was willing to try, but did he remember enough of his previous state to safely escort Najat? A heartbeat later, it occurred to him the separated part of him might.
“Let me . . . meditate,” he said.
Closing his eyes, he reached out to the half of his spirit still watching over the mirror space. Though their connection no longer was automatic, a sense of added warmth and well-being informed him they’d linked up. He’d forgotten what his awareness was like before. He’d questioned so little. Service was his reason for being, obedience his bliss. He felt that again but from a new perspective. As long as he didn’t think too hard, he knew exactly what to do.
“Give me your hand,” he said to Najat. “A friend of mine will summon a guide for you.”
He reached out and she complied. She inhaled sharply, but he wasn’t surprised to feel the energy that formed her fingers as if it were solid.
As soon as he pictured the mirror space, he and Najat astral-projected there.
“Where are we?” she asked, gazing in wonder around the altered dining room.
“In a place that straddles dimensions. Do you have friends or family on the Other Side? Someone you’d like to come for you?”
“My grandparents were loving people. I always felt safe with them.”
He didn’t have to do a thing. Najat’s own wish called their light to them.
“I see them!” Najat cried, her hands flying to her face. “They’re smiling at me and beckoning. Oh, they both seem so young!”
“You can go to them,” Connor said. “I’ll stay here until I know you’re fine.”
“I want to.” When she looked at him, joyous tears sheened her eyes. “Would you . . .” She hesitated shyly. “I feel different already, as if a weight has fallen from my spirit, and I can finally think clearly. Would you give Iksander a message from me?”
“If I get the chance,” Connor said.
“Tell my husband I know he loved me. Tell him all is forgiven, because there isn’t a wrong in the universe that could outweigh our love.”
Connor bowed his head in agreement.
“I’ll go then,” Najat said. She began to flit toward her relatives but turned back to give him a brilliant smile. “Empress Luna would be so annoyed if she could see me now! The sorceress was hoping my spirit would wander forever.”
Connor didn’t get a chance to do more than jerk at this intelligence. Najat had called her enemy “Empress Luna”—which meant his Luna was the enchantress who’d tricked and murdered her. He’d known Georgie’s guardian wasn’t a saint, but that was distressing, to say the least.
&n
bsp; He blinked and found himself back in the Hamilton Salvage attic with Georgie.
“Did it work?” Georgie asked. “She just disappeared.”
“It . . . did,” Connor said dazedly. “Her grandparents came to take her into the light.”
“Oh good,” Georgie said. “I couldn’t tell what was happening.” She pushed to her feet and stretched. “Wow, this has been some day. I guess we’re going to stumble across weird shit no matter where we live.”
Had she thought they wouldn’t? Connor got up as well. “Georgie, maybe we should talk.”
She rubbed her mouth. “You mean about me knowing you’re an angel? I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up before. I wasn’t ready to admit what you gave up for me.”
“Georgie, I’ve told you, I didn’t give up anything. I wanted to have a life with you.”
“I guess I don’t get why. Maybe I’m a little different from most people, but I can’t claim to be better. Angels are the embodiment of good. They’re high up and important. Even if you’re happy here, I’m not comfortable with the idea that you fell from grace for me.”
“Georgie!” He took her hands and kissed them. “I didn’t fall. I changed. I chose. I promise, nothing I did was forbidden. I didn’t cast myself out of anywhere. I think part of me is still in the peaceful place I began.”
“But you left it for me.”
“Because I love you. Because your essence called to me. We’re not so different. Inside, you and I come from the same source.”
“I guess.” She wrinkled her nose unsurely. “And if you’re a small angel, like you say, maybe it makes more sense. There are probably a lot of angels, right? Like too many to keep track of. God might not even notice you’re AWOL.”
Connor laughed. “Georgie, I think you just insulted me and the Creator.”
Since this made his beloved smile, he decided not to bring up his concerns about Luna. He’d given the empress his word he wouldn’t reveal her identity, which he’d have to do to explain much of anything. He did owe Luna, and he did care for her. To the part of him that was purely angelic, his conflicting loyalties didn’t matter. It loved everyone equally.
I’ll keep an eye out, he reasoned. If Luna threatens Georgie, I’ll reassess my choice.
It wasn’t a perfect solution, but he could live with it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
—
CAUGHT
“Hey, Ishmael,” Georgie said, placing a bushel of freshly picked orchard apples on the library’s round table. “These are for you. Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get here till after work.”
Ishmael didn’t answer, but that didn’t worry her. Probably he was asleep on his favorite shelf. Over the years, her and the imp’s interactions had gotten casual. He didn’t hover when she read anymore—or reshelve books he thought weren’t appropriate. If Georgie could find a volume behind the library’s magical protections, he let her study it.
Tonight, she regretted the lack of a standard card catalog. Researching her latest weird-ass encounter would have been easier with one. Resigned to winging it, she stepped into the alcove that housed the camouflaged supernatural tomes.
She put her hands on her hips. “Listen up, Actual Library. I want information on Iksander and Najat’s romance, the most up-to-date you’ve got. I’ve noticed you’ve grown lackadaisical about my cursing, so I brought a new motivator.” She drew an implement from her back pocket and displayed it to the shelves. “This is a ruler from St. Andrew’s Catholic School, which my company salvaged. Genuine nuns rapped children’s knuckles with it for years. If you don’t show me what I’m looking for, I’ll wallop every speck of dust from every supposed edition of Trollope.”
Her threat proved effective. She’d barely drawn back to swing when a scroll she’d never seen on the shelf before edged out between two novels and dropped to the carpet.
“Damn you very much,” Georgie said, since thanking the library sometimes had undesirable results.
Curious, she picked up the fallen parchment and took it to a wingchair to read.
Unrolling it revealed a new-to-her publication. DAILY DEMON MIRROR was emblazoned on the masthead. The date didn’t translate, and some of the photos showed extremely strange creatures. Other than that, the paper resembled the gossipy tabloids grocery stores stocked in checkout lanes.
The largest headline was the one that interested her.
SULTAN LOSES SPOUSE. EMPRESS OFFERS MARRIAGE.
EVIDENTLY, THE RULER of the Glorious City doesn’t have a glorious life anymore. Following her banishment for adultery, Sultan Iksander’s no longer spotless wife has been murdered. Reports from well-positioned sources indicate Najat’s death was both painful and terrifying. Person or persons unknown but most likely an agent of a—shall we say—nocturnal monarch held the kadin’s face in a basin of distilled seawater, resulting in her skin blistering so badly that it boiled off her skull. (Note: For an additional fee, artists’ renderings are available behind the paywall.)
As MIRROR readers will recall, the comely sultan responded to his wife’s betrayal by shagging not only his neglected harem but also numerous lowborn females in his smoke form. While free ifrit like ourselves laud erotic license, practices of this sort are unheard of among light djinn—and scandalous for the upper ranks. Reports claim the sultan left his partners supremely pleasured, though he never sampled them more than once. This reporter has to wonder if his unnaturally monogamous marriage left him starved for variety!
Rumors that a certain silver-haired enchantress vied for and failed to receive a longer dalliance suggest she perpetrated Najat’s delectably macabre demise. Regrettably, evidence of the beauteous monarch turning dark—as she certainly would if guilty—is inconclusive.
That question aside, we can confirm Empress Luna sent a delegation to the sultan demanding he marry her. We have no word yet on his response, but will update loyal subscribers the instant events unfold. (To sign up for push notifications to personal scrolls, click HERE!)
GOOD LORD, Georgie thought as she finished the disturbing article. The picture that accompanied it—and over which the headline was printed—showed Najat and the sultan in happier days. It appeared to be a paparazzo photo of the pair feeding each other sweets in a breathtakingly lush garden. Surrounded by walls they must have thought shielded them from prying, they sat on a blanket laughing, their gazes reserved completely for each other.
The sultan was indeed strikingly good-looking. His thick hair was long and golden, his expressive eyes so intensely green the color nearly jumped off the page. The nobility of his features made it seem he’d been born to rule. His mouth was full and sensual—self-indulgent, Georgie thought.
“Bastard,” she muttered, remembering the tears Najat shed for him.
She flipped the scroll to its other side, but the story didn’t continue. Would Ishmael know more about it? Maybe she should consult him before she tried to bully the shelves again.
Lost in thought, she rose absentmindedly. Empress Luna sounded like a dangerous character. Georgie remembered reading about her on her first research trip, under the M is for Moon Ruler listing in a kid’s book. She was glad the monarch lived on the djinn side of their two dimensions.
Georgie’s reality didn’t need any more murderous tyrants.
“Ishmael,” she said as she came around the alcove’s book-lined wall. “Where can I find—”
She bumped into something blue and hard. Her breath sucked in as she realized it was a person . . . or a sort of person, anyway. A five-foot-tall, cobalt blue, lizard-skinned being was staring straight at her, and not looking pleased at all. Vertical black pupils pulsed at her from deeply scarlet eyes. The fact that the being was slightly shorter than her didn’t lessen her fear response. Her face went cold as blood drained from it.
Considering how cute Ishmael was, she sometimes forgot he was a demon. With this creature, that association was impossible to ignore.
Though her vocal chords longed to emit a shrie
k, she decided hiding her terror might be a wiser course. She took what she hoped was a composed step back.
“Um,” she said. “Pardon me for not watching where I was going. You must be a friend of Ishmael’s.”
The being’s scaly brow ridges rose. “I am not a friend of the imp, I am his superior. More to the point, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“Well, I live here,” she said, calming slightly since she wasn’t being outright attacked. “Or I did until recently. I’m the owner’s ward, Georgie.”
“I know who you are,” the being returned coolly.
“Then you know I’m allowed in here.”
“You’re not allowed this,” the being snapped, snatching the scroll from her. “You shouldn’t have been able to find it.”
“Ah, that.” Georgie wondered if she could avoid getting Ishmael into trouble. “I, uh, seem to have an accidental knack for magical cursing.”
The lizard man began to splutter in a language she didn’t understand. Was he cursing her or simply too angry to use English? Just in case, she wrapped one hand over her arm tattoo. Hidden under the rainforest scene was an elaborate protective symbol—an eight-pointed Solomon seal with various angel names scattered among the star’s sections. She’d only invoked it a couple times before. Its effect wasn’t dramatic; mostly it just steered trouble away from her or vice versa.
To her surprise, the lizard man noticed she’d activated it.
“Stop that,” he ordered. “I haven’t done one thing to injure you.”
“Nor I you,” she returned, dropping her palm but not shutting off the protection.
The blue lizard man glared at her furiously.
Their argument must have woken Ishmael. Georgie spotted a familiar gray-white blur. When it stilled, the imp groveled facedown on the carpet. Perhaps to protect them, he pulled his batwings close.
“Captain Taytoch, sir,” he said from his small tucked ball. “Please don’t harm the human female. Her ability to access the private collection is my fault.”
