The Getaway

by Sonya Bateman

  Tethers were important to the djinn. They were personal objects, usually small and made of metal, that bound them to the human realm when they crossed over. And since the djinn were basically immortal, the only way to kill them was to destroy their tethers with a blood spell.

  Ian never brought his tether along on our hunts. For obvious reasons.

  I reached the wall without seeing anything shiny. From here, I could see about four feet in any direction before darkness bled into the light. Looked like a standard cave to me—not that I’d been in many caves.

  Only there was something on the wall that wasn’t standard. Marks not made by weather and water and time. Curves, squiggles, dots and hash marks arranged in slanting rows, drawn with something dark and maroon-tinged that was probably blood. I couldn’t make sense of it, but Ian could.

  It was djinn writing.

  “Ian, get over here.” I spoke low, knowing he’d hear me and hoping there wasn’t anyone else around to listen. A tingling sensation prickled the back of my neck, and I backed away from the wall. The marks weren’t recent—but they shouldn’t have been there at all.

  I blinked, and he was next to me. He noticed before I had to tell him. Cursing in djinn, he reached out and brushed fingertips across the nearest line. “Ward spells,” he said. “They are no longer active. And here...” His hand trailed down a few lines. “A warning.”

  “About what?”

  “It says, ‘Beware the deceiver’. I cannot make out the rest.”

  “Terrific. Who wrote it?”

  Ian gave me a dry look. “How should I know?”

  “Make a guess, then.” The tingling on my neck crawled down my spine, and a breeze whispered over me. A warm breeze. From the back of the cave. I turned and squinted into the blackness, saw shadows painted on shadows.

  One of them moved. Something flashed briefly, a yellow glint in the dark.

  Likely gold.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed. “Ian. I found it.”

  A figure oozed silently from the shadows. The bracelet wasn’t lying around the cave—it was on the wrist of the Morai who owned it.

  * * *

  Like all the other Morai I’d seen, this one was bald with pale white, almost scaly skin. His eyes were yellow, reptilian, with slitted pupils. But there, the resemblance ended. At least the rest had looked half alive.

  Filthy rags hung loose around a gaunt, wasted body only a few steps up from skeletal. He was barefoot, the nails on his toes and fingers way too long, and gnarled into thick yellowed curls. His lips and the sunken pockets under his eyes were an ugly bluish-purple, and the eyes themselves bulged from his head, glittering madly.

  He grinned around blackened, pointed teeth and rasped, “Gahiji-an.”

  When a djinn knew Ian’s real name, it was never good news.

  His burning gaze shifted to me. “Lo an riisal,” he said.

  Panic flooded me while I tried to figure out what spell he’d just cast, and how much it’d hurt. I couldn’t speak djinn too well, but I was starting to understand it better—through instinct, not because Ian taught me any of it. Except the spells I needed to help him out. Finally, my mind plucked a rough translation: and the apprentice. I stared back.

  The Morai hadn’t moved. He was still grinning.

  If he knew who Ian was, why the hell hadn’t he attacked? They all did, usually right before we found them. But this one had apparently been standing there watching us, and then revealed himself completely without so much as a threat. Maybe he was insane. I’d seen the same wild-eyed stare from people who lived in alleys and talked to shopping carts.

  The Morai shifted his gaze back to Ian. “Rayan. Ken-an ni—”

  Ian snarled something, too fast for me to understand, and definitely a spell. A tremor passed through the cave, and the Morai’s feet sunk into the ground. The rocky surface closed around his ankles. He blinked, glanced down, looked at Ian. The grin slid away.

  My brain worked out what the Morai had started to say. Prince, do you not know... Not know what?

  I actually started to ask, when Ian interrupted. “Donatti. Kill him.”

  “Christ, Ian. He didn’t do anything.”

  “He is Morai!”

  Before I could respond, a harsh cry tore from the trapped djinn. Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, he cast a hand out toward Ian and shouted something that was unpleasantly familiar. Ian dropped with a scream and writhed on the ground. I understood what happened seconds before the Morai sent the same spell at me.

  Crud. Why did all the evil djinn have to use flame curses?

  I had no way to stop it. The magic hit, and burning pain surged through me and drove me to my knees. I dragged myself back across the floor of the cave, inch by painful inch, hoping this one wouldn’t last long. My flesh had so far failed to erupt in fire, but it sure as hell felt like I’d drunk kerosene and swallowed a match. I could practically smell charbroiled Donatti.

  As I attempted to crawl into a shadow, hoping snakes didn’t have night vision, the Morai yanked free of the cave floor. He steadied himself, cried “Ela na’ar!” and gestured in Ian’s direction. I couldn’t see Ian, but I heard him shout in pain.

  My own situation forced my focus back to the sensations consuming me. I blinked against imaginary smoke and tried to forget that flame curses could actually kill if you believed in them enough. Screaming nerves, boiling blood, the faint crackle of fire...it was all in my head.

  Yeah, right.

  I heard one of them mutter something in the djinn tongue and really hoped it was Ian. An instant later, the false fire consuming me vanished. I gasped relief and twisted semi-upright to see the Morai doubled over and coughing up viscous black fluid. Ian had cast a soul drain on him. I’d seen him do it once—but unfortunately, it hadn’t taken the djinn he’d thrown it at long to shake loose.

  Speaking of Ian, where the hell was he? I glanced around, saw nothing in the light, then a flickering glow from a corner caught my attention. It came from Ian, who was executing a strange little dance while he smacked at the flames spreading across his torso.

  Shit. I’d never seen one of them actually set someone on fire before. This was bad.

  I heaved from the floor just as the Morai got himself under control and stopped leaking soul gunk. He glared at Ian, pointed up and snapped, “Yiiksar-en.” An alarming crack echoed through the cave.

  Ian threw a hand out and shouted something. The Morai went rigid and immobile. Ian must’ve locked him down to keep him from casting more spells. I knew how that one worked—temporary whole-body paralysis. He’d done it on me before. But only to shut my big mouth long enough to prevent us both getting killed.

  More cracks sounded, and a grinding groan announced hunks of rock breaking away from the edges of the roof vent. They fell straight for Ian.

  A soccer ball-sized chunk struck his back and knocked him flat. Another big piece landed on his arm, and I heard a bone snap. Smaller stones pelted his legs. Jagged shards rained on his head and sliced his face. He groaned, tried to drag himself away from the rubble.

  “Jesus Christ!” I stumbled toward him with no idea what I intended to do. Before I reached him, he glanced up at me and shook his head.

  “Get the tether,” he said through his teeth.

  Crud. I really didn’t want to do that.

  I shifted direction and lurched toward the stiff, furious figure. So much for him not doing anything. I guess Ian was right about them all being evil.

  I grabbed for his wrist. The Morai blinked. A hiss rose from his throat, like air escaping a punctured tire. Hoping there were no spell incantations that went “ssssss”, I wrapped a hand around the bracelet and pulled.

  It didn’t budge.

  Ian coughed. It was a wet, ominous sound. “Quickly, thief.”

  “What do you want me to do, cut his hand off? It’s stuck.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  My gut clenched and rolled. I didn’t think I could bring myself to hac
k somebody up like that—even if it was an evil djinn. I yanked on the bracelet again. It moved down about a quarter inch and stuck at the base of his thumb.

  The Morai’s hissing grew louder. This time, I heard a few vowels in there.

  “Blast you, Donatti, kill him!”

  Ian had pulled himself up to one knee. The broken arm dangled limp and twisted at his side. Sweat drenched his ashen face and mingled with blood from a deep gash on his forehead. If he wasn’t out of magic before, he had to be now, and there was no way I could fight this guy on my own.

  I grabbed for my switchblade, flicked it open...and realized that even if I could pony up the guts to lop his hand off, it’d take too long to saw through with a lousy three-inch blade. Time to improvise.

  A hasty mental inventory revealed I’d brought nothing useful. Cell phone, flashlight, a bag of trail mix. That’d help. I could temporarily blind him, force-feed him, and hope he had a peanut allergy.

  With my limited magic options, that pretty much left tether destruction—if I could get the damned thing away from him. I might’ve been able to destroy it while it was still on him, but djinn tended to explode when their tethers went, and if I didn’t move fast enough I’d finish myself along with him.

  There had to be another way to stop him. I scanned the cave floor, and my gaze lit on a crumbled spray of loose rock. Perfect. I dropped the Morai’s wrist, grabbed a fist-sized stone from the pile, and smashed it against his temple. He shuddered and collapsed.

  Magic didn’t solve everything.

  A sharp gasp from Ian drew my attention. I dropped the rock beside the unconscious Morai and rushed over to him. He’d staggered back against the wall, collapsed and slumped forward, barely conscious. Bright blood dripped from his mouth.

  “Ian.” I shook his shoulder. He stirred, groaned. “C’mon, man. You in there?”

  He raised his head and looked at me with piercing eyes. “Idiot. Destroy him.”

  “He’s out of it—”

  “Now.”

  “Fine.” I turned, palmed my blade and crossed over to the Morai. His closed eyelids twitched in erratic rhythm, and his open mouth had frozen in a sneer around his ruined fangs. The Morai could’ve looked more human if they wanted to—Ian didn’t resemble a wolf much, except for his eyes. Their appearance was a testament to their hatred. If they were smart, they could make it a lot harder for us to recognize them.

  The arm bearing the bracelet lay flung out from his side. I crouched as far from him as I could within reach of the tether, sucked in a breath, and sliced my finger open. Blood was an unfortunate necessity for most of the few spells I knew. At least this one didn’t require drawing a symbol, like the mirror bridge. My hands shook enough to ensure a lack of precision.

  I smeared a thick band of blood on gleaming gold and tried to concentrate. There were words I had to speak. I always had trouble with those.

  Before I could spit out the incantation, the Morai’s eyes fluttered open and found me. A cold smile wrenched his lips. He struggled to breathe and spoke in a guttural whisper. “Riisal’a gekki. Ken’an ni shea-wa. Fik lo jyhaad insinia de sechet.”

  A translation ripped through my head, and dull weight settled in my gut—then fingers seized my wrist. The Morai’s lips attempted to form words. More weird warnings...or a spell?

  “Ana lo ‘ahmar nar, fik lo imshi, aakhir kalaam.”

  My relief that the words had come from me didn’t last long. The tether glowed white-hot, and the Morai erupted in flame. I wrenched my hand free, but not before the fire singed my flesh. Real burns this time, turning my skin a ghastly, blistered white. I scrambled toward Ian, half-blind, the Morai’s dying scream chasing me like a wounded banshee.

  His explosive end shook the world and knocked me prone on the cave floor at Ian’s feet. I curled around my throbbing hand and waited for things to settle down. No need to witness the Morai’s destruction. I’d already seen plenty of them die.

  A gray haze settled over me, and I drifted on the edge of senselessness. Eventually Ian nudged me and said something. It took a minute for his words to impress on my brain.

  “Donatti. Your hand.”

  I tried to move. Pain sliced a ribbon up my arm. “Still there,” I gasped. “How ’bout a nap? Wake me up next week.”

  “We must get out of this place.”

  “Why? It’s a nice cave. We should camp here.” Though I intended sarcasm, I came across like a doomed Boy Scout in a horror movie. Using major magic always took a toll, and exhaustion weighed me down to the point of idiocy. I barely made sense to myself.

  I clenched my jaw and maneuvered onto my back for a look at the injury. It was a lot worse now. My hand formed a frozen claw, the flesh a deep and angry red where it wasn’t sickly white and threatening to burst. The sight of it threw my gut into full boil. I swallowed bile and turned away fast, before I could heave all over myself.

  “Close your eyes, thief,” Ian said gently. “I will attempt to heal you.”

  “Ex...forget it.” I took his suggestion. “What about you? You’re a wreck.”

  “That will have to wait. I do not have enough power left to transform.”

  “Oh. Right.” Djinn could only heal themselves in our realm by taking their animal forms. Ian happened to be an oversized wolf, when he wasn’t an angry, vicious, almost-seven-foot-tall human-looking bastard. This little bonus excluded me, since I wasn’t exactly a djinn.

  I sensed him move, knew he held a palm just above my throat like he always did when he healed me. The searing pain in my hand diminished to a deep, slow throb. Ian hissed through his teeth. “Not enough,” he whispered. “I am too drained.”

  I risked a glance and gave my fingers a tentative wiggle. They moved, so at least my hand wasn’t mummified any more, but the skin remained red and blistered, streaked with white blotches. The missing top third of my index finger wasn’t a result of the fire, though. I’d lost that a year ago against Lenka—and djinn magic didn’t cover regeneration, so I’d never get it back.

  “It’s fine.” I eased into a seated position, exhaled slowly. “I guess this is our cue to walk,” I said. “Want a hand up?”

  Ian nodded reluctantly. I knew he hated asking for help, no matter how much he needed it. He was a warrior, or at least he had been four hundred years ago, before he got banished to the human realm. And no self-respecting warrior would let a little thing like crippling injury stand in his way.

  His banishment was another reason we hunted the Morai. He couldn’t return home until he’d killed every last one of their clan—Akila’s father, the head of the djinn Council, had seen to that little condition. What a guy.

  I arranged his good arm around my shoulders and lifted. He came up slow, gained his feet and motioned me away with murmured thanks. After a beat, he said, “What did the Morai say to you?”

  “Um.” I hesitated. Wasn’t sure Ian should hear about it, especially the last part.

  “Did you not understand him?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “It may have been important.” Ian had that determined look in his eyes, the one that said he’d stop at nothing to destroy every last Morai in existence no matter what the cost—to himself, or anyone else. “Can you recall any of the words?”

  “Yeah.” I stared at the ground. “He said, ‘Foolish apprentice. He knows not what he sees. Die in service to your master’s madness.’”

  Ian recoiled like I’d gut-punched him. “You do not believe him...do you?”

  “No.” I sighed. “I think you’re right. We’d better get out of here.” The stench of burned flesh and spent blood hung in the dead air. If we stuck around much longer, I’d have to become a vegetarian, because the idea of cooked meat would stage a revolt in my stomach.

  Ian limped out the way we’d come in. I followed him, and tried to ignore the whisper that insisted the deceiver the Morai warned about could be anyone. Even Ian.

  MASTER AND APPRENTICE

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