The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3

by Emma Holly

  Her lover appeared at the top of the main hall’s stairway, his expression happy, as usual. “You’re back! We’re almost ready. Did you settle Titus?”

  “Tom agreed to look after him,” Georgie said.

  The angel seemed unsurprised. He didn’t comment, just chafed Georgie’s shoulder when she reached him and took her hand. Iksander wrenched his gaze from their fingers twining easily together.

  Resigned to his third wheel status, he followed the pair to Georgie’s former rooms. As soon as he stepped into the long, nearly empty space, he realized she’d worked spells here in the past. The scent of her personal power, faint but there, had seeped into the walls and floors like perfume.

  He gritted his teeth as his body tried to react to it.

  The little imp from the library was crawling around chalking out a pattern on the floorboards. The lights hadn’t been turned on, but here and there pillar candles burned. Though Ishmael appeared to know what he was doing, his boss stood behind his shoulder and supervised.

  “I think that rune goes on the other side,” he observed.

  Ishmael nudged his spectacles huffily higher on his nose. “Due respect, Captain, but who spent the last five years with nothing to do but read books on magic?”

  “Fine,” Taytoch said. “We’ll try it your way.”

  Ishmael rolled his eyes and got up to greet Georgie. “We’re set,” he told her. “All you need to do is activate the seal and say the formula I teach you.”

  “Great,” she said, though she seemed nervous. She waved her hand toward three musclebound gray ifrits—two females and a male—who stood by the tall front windows. Iksander presumed they were the demon version of bodyguards. “Who are they?”

  “The final members of our crew.”

  “Everyone’s here then? You’re not leaving anyone behind?”

  The gargoyle imp grinned at her. “Don’t like the idea of us running around your world unchaperoned?”

  “No offense,” Georgie said. “But no.”

  “This is everyone,” Taytoch broke in to assert. “You have my word on it.”

  “He is telling the truth,” Connor said. “I can read that much in his aura.”

  Taytoch blinked, seeming to find this unnerving. Iksander supposed he’d have been rattled too if an angel had just probed him.

  “You remember our backpacks?” Georgie asked.

  “Right there.” Connor pointed out the canvas bundles against the wall. To Iksander, the lumpy bags looked like something hobos would lug around. Six larger misshapen sacks held Luna’s amphorae.

  “Okay.” Georgie rubbed damp palms down her buckled black leather pants. “I guess I should start.”

  “You’ll need this.” Ishmael handed her an illustration torn from a book—probably SOP for demon librarians. “That’s your focus. It’s a picture of the City of Endless Night, painted from near the position we hope to land.”

  Georgie took it and nodded.

  Ishmael dropped a small cushion outside the seal he’d drawn. “You can kneel here. I hope you’re not squeamish. This ritual requires blood.”

  He pulled a toy-sized athame from the magical supply belt around his waist.

  “No,” Iksander interrupted before he could use it.

  The imp raised stony brow ridges. “I’m not planning to cut Georgie. My blood will work just fine.”

  “No,” Iksander repeated. “If she uses your blood to build the door, your crew will maintain a hold on it. Give me the knife, and she can use mine.”

  “Well, well,” the hot pink ifrit said. “Look who paid attention in spellcraft class.”

  Iksander ignored the taunt. Seeing he was insisting, the gargoyle handed him the knife, hilt first.

  “Would you hold the chalice?” Iksander asked Georgie.

  He knelt beside her as she lifted it. The cup was undersized like the athame, a magical tool for dolls. It would work, he expected. The imp wouldn’t keep supplies for show.

  More out of reflex than because it looked dirty, Iksander wiped the blade on his jeans.

  “Urgh,” Georgie said. “Do I have to watch you cut yourself?”

  “I think you do. I need you to catch the blood. I’d rather not drip all over and have to do this twice.”

  She grimaced, already wincing on his behalf. Her reaction surprised and touched him. Trying not to betray his pleasure, he readied the athame. He hadn’t done this often—light magic was vegetarian generally—but he’d done it before. He made a quick slice along his palm. Georgie hissed and flinched slightly.

  “Steady,” he said, squeezing red droplets from his fist into the small chalice.

  “Yummy,” Pink the smartass had to say.

  “All right,” Taytoch scolded. “Don’t forget they’re doing us a favor. And speaking of favors . . .”

  They must have had a talk about this already. Pink sighed and addressed Georgie. “Thank you for asking the weirdo to save my life. And for the party dress. And sorry about the fly.”

  “The fly?” Georgie asked.

  “The shoo fly? On your first day of school? I whispered— Oh never mind. If you don’t remember, it can’t be that important. That curly-haired girl disliked you on sight, anyway.”

  Georgie’s confusion distracted her from Iksander’s bloodletting.

  “That should be enough,” Ishmael said, tipping his sharp nose toward the cup.

  “Here,” Connor said, passing him a clean handkerchief.

  Iksander used the soft cloth to bind the cut, which was stinging a little. “Your bit’s next,” he told Georgie, rolling back on his heels to stand.

  “What do I say?” she asked Ishmael.

  The imp was a ham, he guessed. He flung his arms out dramatically. “We open, we enter, we fly. Swift and safe, we arrive. In the name of—well, you can say ‘God’—I create this door to the City of Endless Night. As you chant, picture a door appearing in the heart of the seal until it’s firm in your mind. Don’t worry. I’ll sense if it’s working. When I give the word, roll up the page I gave you, set its end alight in a candle, and sketch the door’s edges with the flame. Hold on a sec. I’ll set the chalice where it belongs.”

  He hopped into the chalk pattern, placing the cup nimbly in the center. Once he’d hopped out again, he nodded for Georgie to begin.

  She drew a slow breath and set her shoulders. Her body calmed, her features assuming a maturity Iksander hadn’t seen in them before. Connor and Ishmael seemed unsurprised by her practiced manner. They must have watched her in action more times than anyone.

  Georgie repeated Ishmael’s chant without the imp’s drama but with her own assurance. “We open, we enter, we fly. Swift and safe, we arrive. In the name of God, I create this door to the City of Endless Night.”

  Three times she said this before he felt power gather.

  “Light the page,” Ishmael instructed. “Draw out the door as you’ve pictured it.”

  She came to her feet, rolled up the page, and lit its end on the candle. With a grace that also seemed unfamiliar, she sketched a tall rectangle.

  “Repeat after me,” Ishmael instructed. “Blood of my friend: awaken a door for this good portal.”

  “Blood of my friend: awaken a door for this good portal.”

  Iksander’s blood flew out of the chalice in a mist of red sparkles. The twinkling cloud filled the shape she’d outlined. For just a flash, he saw the image she’d pictured—a handsome, human-style entrance with fluted stone framing. When the flash disappeared, a soft white-gold glow remained.

  “Is that it?” Georgie asked. “The door’s barely there at all.”

  Iksander choked back a laugh. Even allowing for the imp’s assistance, Georgie had performed a challenging feat of magic in less time than he’d seen anyone but his friend Joseph need. Hearing his cough, Georgie glanced at him, startled.

  “You did well,” he assured. “After the ifrits charge this with Luna’s power, I believe you’ll be more impressed.”
<
br />   GEORGIE WAS GLAD HE had confidence in her results. Doing magic in front of strangers was disconcerting—especially beings who’d been aware of her for years without her knowing they existed. Working in her old suite at Ravenwings didn’t help. Now that she’d moved out, its emptiness was surreal.

  Knowing Ravenwings wasn’t entirely genuine . . . well, that made her poor brain feel like it spiraled down a rabbit hole.

  She watched two of the hulking charcoal gray demons drag an amphorae bag nearer.

  “How many vessels do you think we’ll need?” one asked his superior.

  “A bag at least,” Taytoch said. “We’ll carry whatever’s left over through.”

  The ifrits uncorked the brass vases one by one, pouring the faintly glowing contents into Ishmael’s chalice. The little cup sucked in the energy, routed it around Ishmael’s seal, and then up into the door shape she’d established.

  Georgie gnawed her thumbnail and tried not to be freaked out. The energy in each of those vessels represented a dead human.

  At last, the door she’d pictured stood as clear in the room as it had been in her mind.

  Iksander was right. She was a bit impressed.

  “Do we walk through it now?” she asked.

  Ishmael opened his mouth to answer.

  “Almost,” Iksander cut in before he could. “You ifrits exit the seal. Georgie needs to set her password.”

  Their compliance surprised her. She guessed being a sultan counted for something with ifrits too. Iksander held out his hand, inviting her into the chalk pattern. Interestingly, no one’s feet had mussed it.

  “Choose any open sesame you want,” he said. “It should be memorable to you but not too simple. Once you’ve got it, place your hands on the door frame and repeat it in your head.”

  Words Georgie didn’t expect but felt at home with came to her. She closed her eyes and repeated them silently. A tiny ear pop informed her the lock was set.

  “Okay,” Iksander instructed. “Put you hand on the knob, think your code, and pull the door open.”

  The metal knob she wrapped her fingers on was solid.

  When I was a child, I thought as a child. Now, God willing, I see clearly.

  The bones of her arm tingled. Georgie turned her hold and pulled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  —

  THROUGH THE DOOR

  Cold wind rushed out at Georgie, followed by a strong scent of sodden stone. A sun the size of a soccer ball floated in the center of the opening she’d revealed. Beyond its heatless glare she made out a large, dimly lit building. Immense granite arches disappeared in darkness high overhead. She heard water dripping, but the puddles scattered on the worn floor were ice.

  The space felt monolithic but also industrial.

  Directly ahead, a pair of the towering arches framed a distant nighttime metropolis. Tiny lights shone from countless windows, the cityscape gently rising and dipping. Gleaming silver domes marked the highest points. Some reminded her of cathedrals, others the onion-topped buildings of Russia. The sky above them was clear and star-strewn, the white snake of the frozen river indicating a fresh snowfall.

  The beauty of Luna’s capital shocked her. Given the djinniya’s destructive nature, shouldn’t it resemble a pit of hell?

  Curious, Taytoch came to stand beside her.

  “Excellent,” the blue demon said. “You’ve connected your door to the spot we hoped. That’s the abandoned power plant.”

  “In the Neva District?” Iksander asked, apparently having heard of it.

  “Yes. The new one in Hodensk is more efficient.”

  “Well, the door looks sound.” Iksander leaned closer to peer at it. “Why don’t you take your crew through first?”

  “We’ve played no tricks here,” the captain said haughtily.

  Iksander smiled. “Nonetheless. We’ll wait to see you pass safely.”

  Despite acting as if he’d been insulted, Taytoch chose one of his foot soldiers to go first. As the ifrit crossed the threshold, the image within the doorframe rippled like a watery skin he was pushing through. Contrary to Georgie’s expectations, he didn’t immediately show up the other side. Weirdly, it took a few seconds before the scene inside the door refreshed. Then they saw him standing beneath the arches, looking stolidly back at them.

  “It worked!” Georgie exclaimed, which caused Connor to squeeze her arm and smile.

  Taytoch sent the other two bodyguards through, dragging Luna’s remaining amphorae bags. Fariel went next, then Pink and Ishmael. Each appeared on the other side after the same odd delay. Once the library imp arrived, he offered Georgie two thumbs up plus a congratulatory grin—something Georgie thought was nice of him. Taytoch wagged his head and possibly rolled his eyes before turning to bow to them.

  “See you on the other side,” he said.

  His departure left Georgie, Connor, and Iksander alone in her old room. She and Connor hauled on their backpacks.

  “I guess we’re next,” Georgie said, her pulse kicking higher with tension.

  “We can hold hands,” Iksander suggested. “From what I’ve seen of your abilities, I’m sure you’d make it fine by yourself. The only challenge is that the first trip through a portal is nerve-wracking.”

  “I’m not too proud to accept your offer,” she said.

  He smiled as she gripped his hand.

  “Me too,” Connor teased, though he least of all was prone to anxiety.

  When Georgie squeezed his hand as well, a laugh bubbled out of her. She had an angel on one side and a genie on the other. It should have been the start a corny joke, but the two men’s grips felt bizarrely right. Her blood practically fizzed with happiness.

  “What’s funny?” Iksander asked.

  “Me doing this with the pair of you. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I ought to be terrified. Instead, I feel as if I’m about to live the craziest, most wonderful part of my life yet.”

  Connor beamed at her. “I love seeing you like this, Georgie. Coming into your power. Being who you really are.”

  Was that what she was doing? She didn’t know, but evidently her elation was infectious. The sultan’s eyes gleamed as he chuckled.

  “Come,” he said, tugging both of them toward the door. “Let me show you my world now.”

  As you might have guessed, this trio’s adventures aren’t over! As happened with The Guardian/The Double, the story turned out too complex to fit into a single book. The sequel, The City of Endless Night, will be out very soon. In the meantime, here’s Endless Night’s first chapter.

  Chapter One

  Breaching the barrier that skinned the portal was like pushing through a combination of clammy Jell-O and prickly electric current. Instinctively, Georgie sucked in and held a breath. A second later, she didn’t have breath to hold. Everything disappeared: light, sound, even physical sensation. No hands clasped hers. No angel. No djinni. Panic seized her dimly, as if her brain were blurred. Was she spinning? Falling? Was she even alive?

  Connor! she thought.

  You’re all right, someone said. She couldn’t tell who it was. For all she knew, she was talking to herself.

  I’m all right, she thought, in case she actually was alone and had no one else to count on. I’m—

  She reappeared, abruptly so solid in her body she felt twice her normal weight. Her backpack had made it through the portal too, and its continued forward motion unbalanced her. Her knees smacked the ground, making her glad she’d chosen heavier traveling clothes. She’d have ripped anything less substantial than her black buckled leather pants. Connor and Iksander caught her from either side, their tandem grips preventing her from pitching onto her face.

  Neither man was unsteady from the journey. Not surprisingly, Iksander released her first.

  “Whew!” Connor said as if he’d found the trip exciting. “You okay, Georgie?”

  His grin of enjoyment was impossible not to respond to.

  “I think so
,” she said, smiling back. Her heart pounded crazily in her chest. She gazed around. Behind them, the door they’d come through seemed to have disappeared, its charge exhausted by the many travelers who’d just used it. Iksander glanced at the spot and nodded, so perhaps he sensed some remnant. Aside from that, their surroundings were interesting. Their scattered group stood on a broad covered portico. To her left was the abandoned power plant, the walls of which were black and featureless and curved. The giant columns she’d noted earlier didn’t block the arctic cold. Her breath came out in clouds, her muscles already shivering. Only the hand Connor held was warm. “This place is realer than I expected.”

  “Of course it’s real,” Captain Taytoch snapped. “As is our impatience to return home at long last.”

  Taytoch’s tetchiness would have stung if Georgie hadn’t wanted the demons safely off her hands. Back in her dimension, they'd have too many opportunities to cause trouble. Knowing how Luna treated them—no pay, no respect, not even a guarantee of their lives—reminded her to be tolerant.

  “I understand,” she said. “Do you want to go to the transfer point right away? I’m happy to help you unlock it if you’re ready to show me how.”

  “It’s this way,” he said, striding off abruptly.

  Georgie wondered if he’d expected—or maybe wanted—her to argue. She bit back a smile as, caught by surprise, his crew jerked into motion to follow him. The bags the bodyguards were dragging clanked over the granite floor.

  “Mind the ice,” her buddy Ishmael called cheerily over his shoulder. “Feet without claws can slip.”

  Iksander hissed as his skidded, despite wearing sturdy work boots the same as her and Connor. Georgie recalled that his Glorious City was warm year-round, more Miami than Moscow. The sultan's scowl didn't lessen as Taytoch led them off the portico and down an incline of knee-deep snow. Georgie wasn’t used to that herself. Virginia had the white stuff, of course, especially the Blue Ridge area where she lived. This, however, was snow on steroids. She had to drive her feet hard into the drifts to break the crust on top.