The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

Whether the ifrits succeeded, Iksander didn’t know. A great falling wall of nothing smothered the last of his consciousness.

  DISCOVERING IKSANDER was gone when she got up was weirdly deflating. It was early yet. The shop didn’t open for an hour. Georgie had planned on making a nice breakfast: apple pancakes or maybe scrambled eggs and sausage. Probably it was stupid to be disappointed. Iksander wasn’t like a regular houseguest.

  “He’s left already,” Georgie said when Connor came out and looked around.

  “Huh,” he responded, scratching his stubbly cheek. “I was wondering if he’d like cinnamon toast.”

  Georgie laughed. Sometimes she and Connor thought alike. “I like cinnamon toast. If you make it, I’ll do coffee.”

  “Deal,” he said. “As soon as I feed Titus.”

  Hearing his name, Titus stopped batting the object he’d found to play with across the floor.

  “What have you got there?” Curious, Georgie stooped to pick it up. She’d thought his toy was chunk of glass, but once it was in her hand, she recognized Iksander’s big-ass diamond. This of all things he should have remembered to take with him. “I guess these do grow on trees where he comes from.”

  She tossed the gem jauntily and caught it, fingers curling around it securely. Some of the magic from the spell they’d done together must have lingered in the rock. A scene from somewhere else altogether unspooled before her eyes.

  “Whoa,” she said, staggering in the vision’s aftermath.

  Connor stopped pouring kibble to look at her. “What is it?”

  It was hard to answer. Her skin had gone icy all over. She swallowed and pushed ahead. “Is there a hot pink ifrit working at Ravenwings? If there is, I’m afraid she’s abducted Iksander.”

  AS HE RETURNED TO GROGGY consciousness, Iksander realized he was somewhere considerably more dangerous than a vehicle’s trunk.

  He lay on his back on a table of some sort. His head lolled to one side, his wrists and ankles manacled with iron chains in spread-eagle formation. That particular metal weakened djinn, thus worsening his lethargy.

  Since he heard no one else nearby, he opened his eyes. The room he’d been taken to was large and long and lit by candles. Despite the uncertain illumination, he recognized the paintings on the walls as scenes from the empress’s capital. Had he been transported back to the djinn dimension? In some ways, that would have been a favor. Finding a portal to return through was high on his to-do list.

  No, he thought, wrinkling his nose in doubt. This place didn’t remind him of the Qaf. He sensed enchantment, but it felt more like that of a mirror space.

  Could this be the mirror space Connor’s divinely-connected half ruled over? Iksander couldn’t perceive anything akin to the angel’s presence, just the more general air of magic.

  Needing more information, he rolled his head the other way and gasped. A gargoyle-style imp hunched a foot away from him on the table he was chained to, motionless but for glittering dark gray eyes. Sadly, it didn’t stay motionless long. It’s red mouth opened, its stonelike chest expanding on a breath.

  “Wait,” Iksander said, hoping to head it off crying out. “You’re Ishmael, aren’t you? The library imp?”

  Ishmael’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who told you who I am?”

  “I’m a friend of Georgie’s too.”

  The imp’s expression changed to a leer. “Heh. I know what sort of friend you’d like to be to her.”

  “I know you’re fond of her,” Iksander said with more sureness than he felt. “For her sake, shouldn’t you at least give me a chance to strike a deal with you?”

  Ishmael’s claws dug into the wood as he laughed. “Good try, sultan. Too bad you don’t have what we ifrits want.”

  Iksander got no chance to persuade him otherwise.

  “The sultan is awake!” Ishmael cried without more ado. “Time to start this party!”

  He leaped off the table, scrambling across the floor and partway up the wall with startling agility. Perched now on the gilded frame of a large portrait, he repeated his announcement into the antique canvas. “Iksander is awake! Notify the empress!”

  The painting had to be an entry into the mirror space. With leaden muscles, Iksander tried to struggle against his chains. He succeeded only in singeing his exposed wrists.

  “Might as well save your strength,” Ishmael said. “You’re not getting free today.”

  He certainly wasn’t getting free before the empress arrived. A new person swung through the portrait, obliging Ishmael to hop off the heavy frame and grovel on the floor.

  “Uch,” the person said, curling her lip when she spied the kowtowing creature. “You’ve done your job. Back to the library now.”

  She accomplished the transfer by snapping her fingers. The gargoyle disappeared with a flash and a wisp of smoke. Coupled with her haughty manner, the casual display of magic confirmed her identity. Though Iksander had been warned Luna possessed a human body, seeing her cloaked in a different semblance shocked.

  He looked the new her over warily. She was tall like before but curvier, with glossy black hair waving to her shoulders and striking dark-lashed gray eyes. More than her eyes were out of the ordinary. He deduced she’d done magic on her stolen body. Its aura radiated quite a bit of djinn energy. Her skin was pale and perfect, her pillowy lips painted shiny red. He believed her outfit was intended for riding horses. She’d tucked a loose white blouse into snug tan trousers, which disappeared into tall black boots. Gray gloves encased her hands, no doubt to protect against possible damage from his iron chains.

  Rather ominously, as she approached, she tapped the palm of one hand with a stiff riding crop. She stopped within arm’s reach of the table and looked at him.

  The smirk that curved her mouth seemed inevitable.

  “Like what you see?” she teased.

  Iksander was too tired to lie. “Your exterior beauty has never been in question.”

  She didn’t appreciate that answer. Her lips thinned with annoyance. “I see you’re not interested in exchanging pleasantries, so we’ll get straight to brass tacks. You have information I want you to share with me.”

  His stomach dropped, but he strove to respond blandly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Fine. Thanks to a certain feline’s fondness for pepperoni, I snuck a watch charm into Georgie’s apartment. Last night, you and my disloyal little ward tracked down some friends of yours. Evidently, you weren’t the only one to escape to this dimension. I want to know where they are and how you plan to meet up.”

  “You’re the glorious moon ruler. Why not spell up an answer for yourself?”

  “You know why not. You involved Joseph the Magician. The eunuch is a pustule on the Almighty’s butt, but he’s good at concealment.”

  Iksander shrugged as tranquilly as he could. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  He’d replied as Luna wanted, because she smiled creamily.

  “As you wish,” she said, drawing the horsewhip slowly along her hand. “We’ll do this the fun way . . .”

  TO GEORGIE’S RELIEF, Connor didn’t question her announcement. He believed in her gifts more than she did. “What did you see?” he asked.

  “An ifrit faking my voice to lure Iksander behind Black Cat. Then another ifrit injected him with a drug. Whatever it was paralyzed him. They were about to load him into the trunk of a car when the vision stopped, I think because he passed out.”

  Impatient with Connor’s delay in setting out his breakfast, Titus jumped onto the island. Connor petted him distractedly while the cat noisily crunched kibble. “They probably took him to the empress. Maybe she found out we helped him.”

  “Fuck,” Georgie said. “She’s going to hurt him, isn’t she?”

  “That does seem likely.” Connor’s mouth pulled unhappily as he leaned forward on his forearms. “I’ll go to Ravenwings and investigate. Luna still thinks I’m her double agent.”

  “We don’t kn
ow that for certain,” Georgie said worriedly.

  “Even if Luna doubts my loyalty, I can protect myself. Her compulsions don’t work on me.”

  “There’s still your other half to worry about. What will it do if you interfere?” She joined him at the island and gripped the nearer edge. “Sometimes you don’t know how to be afraid. It makes you less cautious.”

  Maybe she didn’t put this as diplomatically as she could. Connor leveled her with a serious, slightly annoyed look. “We can’t leave Iksander at her mercy. His safety isn’t all that’s at stake. His people need him to rescue them.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I just think I should come with you. As backup. I know my magic is peanuts compared to hers, but I do have some. You and I are a team. We need to face her together.”

  “I don’t like the idea of you being in danger.”

  “You don’t have to like it. Two of us have a better shot than one.”

  “I really don’t like it,” he insisted.

  In spite of the circumstances, he made her laugh. “Look, I’ll charge the protective symbol underneath my tattoo. We’ll go in as stealth as possible.”

  “You’ll stay behind me?”

  Loving him more than she’d known she could, Georgie smiled gently.

  “If it makes sense to,” she promised him.

  THEY LEFT WHAT GEORGIE hoped was a believable excuse for not showing up at work taped to Black Cat’s door. God forbid Jerry and Tom decided to look for them and inadvertently got into trouble.

  Once that was taken care of, her beat-up secondhand truck returned them to Ravenwings.

  This was her first trip back since learning the truth about Alma’s identity. Gooseflesh swept her arms as she parked and got out with Connor. She’d always known the mansion was quiet and isolated. Until today, she hadn’t seen that as sinister.

  Maybe she’d been calling the kettle black when she said Connor was incautious.

  She still had her key. Alma . . . Luna had never suggested she give it up. Because peeking in the windows didn’t reveal anyone inside, they went in through the front door. No one came to the main hall to confront them. Georgie supposed that was good, but it inspired a new troubling thought.

  How long had it been since she’d seen Luna’s butler-toy, Roger?

  She couldn’t worry about that now. She turned to Connor and spoke softly. “Any opinions on where we should search first? Luna’s rooms? The root cellar? I don’t think we should split up, everything considered.”

  “No,” he agreed. He rubbed his chin, his celestial eyes unfocused. “I think . . . The safest place to take a prisoner from Luna’s point of view would be the mirror space. No one can get in without her password.”

  “Don’t you know it?” Georgie asked.

  “I used to. I think.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I guess my other half got possession of that knowledge in the split.”

  “You can’t jigger the lock like you did at Hamilton Salvage?”

  He shook his head. “The other part of me would notice.” He stopped speaking and touched Georgie’s arm. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Someone’s here,” a voice corrected.

  The female demon was so short the railing on the steps in the entryway obscured her. Once she moved into view, her fuchsia hue was extraordinary—so deep and vivid she almost glowed. Unless there was more than one imp that color, she was Iksander’s abductor. Because she’d given them no time to conceal themselves, Georgie faced her with as much composure as she could.

  The ifrit’s mood was happy. She swung bouncily around the newel post.

  “Hey, weirdo,” she said to Connor. The way his brows rose implied this wasn’t a nickname he’d heard before. He did, however, seem to know her. Georgie tried not to be unnerved by that.

  “Pink,” he responded politely. “Are you here to help or harm us?”

  The ifrit looked to where he’d clasped Georgie’s hand protectively. “You really have thrown yourself into your role, haven’t you? Whatever. No skin off my hide. I thought you’d like to know there’s a back door into Her Majesty’s mirror space, one that’s been used before without setting off alarms.”

  “That does interest us,” he acknowledged.

  In her vision of Iksander’s capture, Georgie hadn’t noticed Pink’s hair. Here, it was hard to miss. The moussed-up tufts matched the hue of her skin, the choppy cut and arrangement unexpectedly similar to Georgie’s.

  Georgie’s attention toward it seemed to offend the ifrit.

  “Yes?” she said coolly down her nose.

  Responding with anything but calm seemed pointless. “Will you show us how to get in or not?”

  “Probably,” Pink said coquettishly.

  Georgie took that as a yes. “Does the empress have the sultan in there with her?”

  “Does she ever!” Pink chortled.

  This answer was even less reassuring when accompanied by a bloodthirsty grin.

  Pink rolled her eyes at Connor and Georgie’s failure to laugh with her. “Follow me, Boring Betties. The entrance is in the dining room.”

  She led them to the marble topped buffet for setting out hot dishes. Opening the last set of lower doors revealed a familiar bronze medallion screwed to the wood inside.

  “That’s mine!” Georgie exclaimed. “With our Black Cat G-star logo.”

  “Yes,” Pink said. “And it was very kind of you to bless it. Our captain twisted your human magic to suit a new purpose. You might say he upcycled it.”

  Her joke told Georgie the ifrits knew more about her business than Georgie knew of theirs. She hadn’t imagined her magic could be repurposed in that fashion. Probably, it wasn’t by accident that Ishmael neglected to inform her.

  “Does my medallion protect the secret door from being discovered? Because human magic hides more easily from Luna?”

  “Sh,” Pink cautioned with a scowl. “Best you don’t say her actual name. The entry is in the back of this cabinet. You’ll have to crawl through. Your hulking friend’s shoulders might be a squeeze, but I think he’ll fit.”

  Connor bent to look. “Where in the mirror space will we come out?”

  “Same as here. On the far end of the dining room. Our captain spun a thick shadow there. It will shield you from sight. Not from sound, though, so keep your gobs shut no matter how shocked you are by what you see.”

  Georgie’s breath went a little thin. “You know what she’s doing to Iksander.”

  “He’s alive,” Pink said nonchalantly. “Djinn heal faster and from more than humans. Mostly Herself is having fun with him. A bit of foreplay, you could say.”

  Georgie rather doubted she’d call it that. The gleam in the ifrit’s eyes said she knew this. For her part, Georgie couldn’t peg the ifrit’s emotions. Was she scornful of Georgie? Jealous? Would accepting her assistance involve them in more trouble?

  “Why are you helping us?” she asked.

  “Oh please,” Pink scoffed. “I’m helping me and my gang. Same as any ifrit would.”

  “Helping them do what?”

  Pink smiled creamily. “That’s for me to know, human. Do you want the password or not?”

  “Yes,” Connor interrupted, squeezing Georgie’s shoulder before she could look their gift horse harder in the mouth. “Please tell us what it is.”

  “The password is: ‘I’m Georgie McFadden. Open up, or I’ll kick your motherfucking ass.’”

  “Oh come on,” Georgie objected. “You don’t say that.”

  “We’re demons, Georgie McFadden. We can say anything we want.”

  Pink repeating her full name triggered a small shudder. Connor rubbed Georgie’s arm where her charged tattoo was tingling.

  “I’ll go first,” he said. “To test if it works.”

  IT WAS IMMEDIATELY clear to Iksander that Luna’s years in the human realm hadn’t lessened her rage toward him. She let the horsewhip fall as if a long-strained leash were finally snapping. She seemed to have forgotten
the idea of interrogating him. Each stroke she meted out was more frenzied than the last. The sultan’s clothes were soon in tatters, his skin stinging and bleeding in fiery lines.

  As a rule, djinn could withstand a lot of punishment, but he began to believe she’d kill him without meaning to. She seemed unable to stop, even if she’d wished. On the bright side, if she did kill him, Arcadius and Joseph’s whereabouts would remain secret.

  When she ceased whipping him, it surprised him . . . until he realized she’d halted on account of exhausting her semi-human arm muscles.

  Both of them panted loudly: Iksander from pain and shock, Luna from exertion. He wondered if her physical weakness could be exploited. He couldn’t imagine how at the moment. A flood of stress chemicals had temporarily short-circuited his thinking.

  He estimated five minutes passed while she beat on him ceaselessly.

  Luna worked her fingers, which must have cramped on the handle, then drew a lung-filling breath. “Captain,” she called, a deep vibration of power issuing from her vocal cords. “In the name of Iblis, I summon you to me now.”

  The air beside her shimmered like steam above a pot. A second later a genuflecting blue lizard man appeared. Iksander received a start when he recognized the demon as Taytoch the Ifrit. The sultan didn’t know him personally but by reputation. Taytoch and his crew were legendary among both dark and light sorcerers. Many tried to summon them, the same as humans tried to climb Everest. Only the most skilled succeeded. Fewer still enslaved Taytoch long. That Luna had—evidently—kept him under her thumb for years impressed and alarmed the sultan.

  “Beauty of Beauties,” Taytoch murmured, down on one knee. “How may I serve your resplendent self?”

  “I want you to whip this idiot. His need for discipline is wearing out my arm.”

  Taytoch rose to consider Iksander. Most ifrit would have betrayed excitement at his obvious suffering. The captain’s blood red eyes were wholly emotionless. “It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty. I shall proceed as soon as the sultan has recovered slightly from your excellent chastisement.”

  “Now,” Luna insisted.