“Help me gather these,” Faris urged, bundling up my discarded chute.
I limped toward the car while they gathered the parachutes and stuffed them in the back in a messy tangle of fabric and cords.
Wincing, I opened the passenger door and got in the SUV. My pain was slowly subsiding to a dull throb, a good sign. Abby and Maven hurried into the back seat, looking anxiously toward the gigantic building we had just leaped from. The whole maneuver had taken a matter of minutes. Maven arched his body against Abby’s back to look past her as they both peered open-mouthed through the same tinted window.
“I don’t see her,” Maven whispered close to Abby’s ear.
Abby shuddered and gave Maven a sideways glance. “Me either,” she said.
Faris started the engine. It was quiet, electric from the looks of the dashboard. We clicked our seat belts into place. Faris pulled out very slowly and drove away, the speedometer never reading more than twenty miles her hour in the first five minutes. He drove, gripping the wheel, jumping at every little movement that caught his eye.
“I think we made it,” I ventured after fifteen minutes had passed.
Abby sighed. “Yeah, I think so, too.”
He said nothing at first, eyes darting repeatedly from left to right, then to the rearview mirror. “She didn’t follow us.”
It was true. She hadn’t attempted to go after us, and the reason was too frightening to contemplate. The car filled with a heavy silence.
She was with Gallardo.
Just as the silence became unbearable, Maven asked, “Where in the world are we?”
“The United Arab Emirates,” Faris said.
“I knew it!” Abby exclaimed. “That was the Burj Khalifa Hotel, wasn’t it?”
Faris nodded.
“That’s, like, the tallest man-made structure in the world. Any self-respecting BASE jumper would kill for that chance. We can’t even call ourselves beginners, and we pulled it off. That has to be some kind of record.” Abby’s voice was shrill, her excitement clearly a way to mask her fear, a way to cope and not entirely lose it.
“It was something, all right,” Maven said. His tone wasn’t sarcastic, the way it might have been a few days ago. It was, instead, sobering. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought spots in the Guinness Book of Records are mainly reserved for idiots who don’t get the Darwin Awards."
Abby laughed nervously. “So glad we didn’t get one of those. Man, I’m hungry again!”
We all laughed nervously.
After a short silence, Maven asked, “Did she follow us?”
“I don’t feel her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t merely keeping her distance.” Faris said.
“I’m confused. Can’t you just check somehow? You know, with . . . magic?”
Faris drove straight ahead, passing one ultra-modern building after another. “No. That would give us away. She’d be able to trace our location the minute I use magic.”
“Yeah, Elle told us how that works. It really sucks. We could have used some help with that lunatic,” Abby agreed.
“I know. I’m sorry.” Faris lowered his head.
Maven gave an exhausted sigh. “What now?”
“Lay low for a bit, rest, then decide what to do after that,” Faris said.
Abby slumped, her head against the window. “Yeah, rest. I’m all for that. I can’t take any more excitement. I think I’m suffering from triple jet lag after all that bouncing around the globe. Unprecedented!”
“Yep, The Guinness Book of Records would love us,” Maven joked.
Rest did sound like the one thing we all needed. My eyes burned, my whole body ached and, with all the adrenaline gone from my bloodstream, the events of the last few hours were beginning to take a horrific shape that I wanted to shut out of my mind, if only by burying my face in a pillow.
While we had been running for our lives, I’d only thought about how to make it through the next minute, fully relying on my survival instincts and, more accurately, on Faris. Now though, trying to think of our future, things ironically looked much darker. Facing the threat of Akeelah’s ongoing schemes needed more than just adrenaline. A shrink, maybe?
No. What I needed was hope.
“Faris!” I exclaimed, suddenly aware he hadn’t managed to get us the hope we needed. “The book and the backpack! We have to get them.” This is what I’d whispered to him back in the courtyard. We needed Gallardo’s book and all our fake documents, not to mention Zet’s stone. I couldn’t believe I had been so careless with it.
Faris looked at me and smiled, finally starting to look relaxed. “I got them,” he said.
“You did?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“But how? We didn’t . . .”
We hadn’t gone back to Spain, where those items had been left behind. Or had we? Everything always moved so fast under Faris’s spells.
“They’re here. Maven, could you . . . ?” Faris looked toward the rearview mirror and hooked a thumb toward the back.
Maven unbuckled himself, knelt on the seat and dug in the back. The parachute fabric rustled as he pushed it aside. First, he came up with our backpacks, which we’d left in the BMW when Maven dared Abby to ride the sheep. Lastly, he pulled out a heavy, leather bound book.
He turned and placed the book on his lap. “Is this . . . ?”
At the sight of the heavy tome a bit of the heaviness in my chest lifted. “Hope,” I answered. “What you have there is hope.”
42
Marielle
I closed the door to the master suite, leaving Abby and Maven in the living room area. They didn’t need me there while they fought over who would get the guest room. They could kill each other over that one, for all I cared at the moment.
Faris had rented the biggest suite available at the Burj Al Arab hotel, a luxurious, seven-star place built atop an artificial island in the Persian Gulf. Still, there were only two beds available, even if they could each accommodate ten people.
“This place is something else.” My words felt hollow, but I didn’t know what else to say. Faris had seemed so distant and preoccupied in the car and while we checked in.
He sat at the edge of the silken bed, head between his hands, eyes on the plush gold, auburn-trimmed rug. For a long moment, he didn’t acknowledge me. My gaze wandered about the room, taking in the red and gold wallpaper, the matching coverlet and tasseled curtains, the gilded paintings on the wall.
My attention came back to Faris. The huge bed made him look small, almost like a child. I swallowed and opened my mouth to say something just as his hunched-over back straightened and his dark eyes lifted to meet mine. He stood then, took a deep breath and walked in my direction. With each step, the darkness in his expression seemed to soften, even if just a little. He also seemed to grow taller as if the closer he got to me, the lighter his load became.
When he reached me, he stopped, the tips of his shoes almost touching mine. He inhaled deeply as if trying to breathe me in. Then, with a suddenness that caught me by surprise, he slid his arms around my waist and crushed me to him, burying his face in my neck.
“You’re here,” he said, repeating the words several times until they became unintelligible. His breath was hot and moist against my collarbone, and soon the words morphed into kisses. I flung my arms around his neck, feeling the same relief, the same joy he felt which translated into hungry lips and desperate hands.
We fell to the bed, our arms vice-grips around each other. For a while there were no words, only fingers tracing skin, lips touching, hearts shedding the hardened exteriors that had allowed us to get through this without falling to pieces.
When we’d exhausted our desperate need to trace each other, we lay on our sides, gazes locked. We smiled at intervals and marveled at being together again.
He caressed my cheek with the back of his hand. I shivered, wished to never be apart from him again, wished to start our lives together right then and there. I
wanted to hold on to the moment forever, without worrying about anything else.
But outside were my friends, Dad, the whole world—a world I had probably condemned to a terrible fate.
“It’s my fault,” I said, feeling the awful taste of shame in my mouth.
“What is?” Faris asked, running a finger along one of my eyebrows.
“That Akeelah will now be able to build her army.”
His caresses stopped abruptly, and he stared at me in surprise. He sat up, shaking his head. “Your fault?” he asked incredulously. “No, it isn’t your fault.”
I got to my feet and walked away from the bed. “I was the one who went looking for that madman. I led him to Akeelah. I never imagined . . . All I wanted was to find you. I didn’t care about anything else.” I made my confession quickly, but the bittersweet taste of what I’d done was still hard to swallow.
Faris laughed. It started like a low chuckle then built to a full hearty laugh. I looked at him, confused. He walked up to me, still laughing and shaking his head.
After taking my hands, his laugh dimmed to a lopsided smile. “Sorry. It’s just ironic, because I’ve done much worse, and for the same reason. If it is anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”
“What happened, Faris?” His sober expression and sardonic tone made me realize how truly guilty he felt.
“I can tell you about it later. For now, I want you to rest.”
He pulled me in. I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes. “Promise me we’ll never let anything drive us apart again. Promise me,” I said with intensity, my hands grabbing handfuls of his shirts as if that could keep him by my side forever.
“I promise you,” he said.
I held with me two of his promises now. The first one, he couldn’t fulfill without risking everything; he had to remain a Djinn if we wanted a chance to stop Akeelah. The second one, I feared he would break without hesitation if it meant keeping me safe.
“No matter what happens?” I pressed him.
He thought for a long moment. “No matter what happens,” he repeated, and his tone was so clear and strong that I believed him.
“I love you,” I said. The silence that followed hurt more deeply than ever before, but not because of my own selfish desire to hear him say those words. This time, it pained me because his lips trembled with the need to reply.
“There’s hope,” I said to console him.
He nodded.
“And you will always be enough. No. Matter. What.”
Faris inclined his head in acceptance, then said, “I always keep my promises.”
43
Akeelah
Andy’s lazy eye was, for once, straight as he regarded Akeelah with the deepest hatred she’d ever seen in a human gaze. It made her proud to be the one to inspire such unadulterated emotion.
Her very unwilling pet was strapped to the metal table, awaiting his fate.
“It will be glorious, Andy. You must see that,” she said to him.
In spite of feeling proud of earning his hatred, she wanted him to understand the opportunity she was giving him.
Gallardo—the greedy Dross she should have met a thousand lifetimes ago—had chosen to stand several paces away from the metal table, regardless of his obvious eagerness to witness the unprecedented event. He was clearly another coward, far worse than Faris. But at least he was a useful coward.
Andy fought his restraints. “You can’t do this. Not after everything I’ve done for you!”
Akeelah shrugged, finding the human gesture terribly appropriate under the circumstances. Whether he liked it or not, Andy made the perfect subject. He was the only one whose unwillingness was a certainty in her mind. He loved his decadent, human life too much to give it up—much less for an immortal existence without the pleasures of the flesh.
True, Andy or Vic could have found someone else, but that would require time, and she was done with waiting.
“I have the knowledge you seek,” Gallardo, the traitorous Dross, had said in a tone she’d found impossible to ignore—so much that she’d forsaken the pursuit of her nemesis.
Gallardo had been with Faris and his pet, and had betrayed them for a chance to be part of Akeelah’s plan. He had demanded immunity, riches, the eradication of a number of his enemies, and unlimited wishes. She had obliged, fully cognizant that he was never to be trusted.
Now, it was time to test the knowledge he’d shared.
“Vic,” Akeelah said, “are you quite sure you can do this? We could find someone else if Andy is too close of a friend.” The caring words coursed disgustingly through her essence. She couldn’t care less about Vic’s feelings; she just wanted to test Andy.
To her satisfaction, the hopeful look in Andy’s eyes confirmed he had no interest in becoming a Djinn.
Yes, the perfect candidate!
“I don’t suffer from such sentimentalities,” Vic said, picking up a sharp scalpel. “Just tell me when.”
And she did, but not before ensuring she had the right words for the binding part of the spell. She couldn’t risk creating a less than stellar soldier. Once she bestowed the power of magic on him, Unwilling Andy would have to be perfectly servile, unable to disobey her commands.
She thought carefully and, when she was sure, gave the order.
Without as much as a twinge of remorse, Vic sliced Andy’s wrist.
Blood flowed yet again, but this time, Akeelah could taste victory.
Her Djinn Empire would soon be a reality.
;
Three Words Promised
Ingrid Seymour
PenDreams • BIRMINGHAM
1
Akeelah
MILLENNIA HAD NOT CHANGED MEN. They always had, and always would, enjoy a good show. And that, Akeelah could give them. Better than the one these drunken masses had come here to see.
The Djinn watched from behind the veil that separated her realm from the human world. Multicolored laser lights crisscrossed above a large stage. Green, red, blue beams of lights weaved a tapestry against the dark domed ceiling, forming an intricate fabric of geometrical patterns.
The main act was announced. Suddenly, the laser lights abandoned their straight lines and exploded into stars, organic spirals and all manner of psychedelic shapes that pulsed at the rhythm of a decibel-defying song.
Dark figures ran up a hidden set of steps and took the unlit stage. Guided by small track lights on the floor, they found their positions behind microphones and musical instruments. The roar of the crowd rose above the pounding drums and strident electric guitars from the pre-recorded music.
The drummer began pounding a steady rhythm. The introductory music died down, leaving behind only the cries of the incensed fans. The rest of the band joined in one by one, and finally the enticing voice of a male vocalist rang clear and powerful.
Impossibly, the crowd grew wilder still. Females shouted in near ecstasy. Males pounded their chests and pumped their fists into the air as warlike cries erupted from their throats.
In her assorted memories, Akeelah saw a distant past in which men and women bestowed their delirium upon a different kind of performer, where even similar amphitheaters as this one had housed the feverish masses. At least then, their blind admiration had been easier to understand. It hadn’t been totally unwarranted, at least, like it was at the moment.
Gladiators had battled for their lives, a worthy and admirable reason, if there ever was one.
These musicians, these lip-synchers, these modern puppets battled for nothing, except for the right to sell their meager talents while someone was still buying.
For the sake of comparison, Akeelah let the poor devils enjoy a third of the uninspired, half-synthesized song. They needed a point of reference to fully appreciate the quality of the entertainment she was about to provide.
Her entrance required silence, however.
She slipped into the physical world, accompanied by her small, but powerful army. They materialize in
different unseen spots. She took a few steps into the open. Her seven-foot-tall frame towered over the V.I.P. fans who were crammed together close to the stage at ground level.
She wrinkled her nose at the offensive smell of their perspiration and pushed forward. Those around her staggered, unsettled by her unexpected presence. They arrested their shouting and clapping, objecting indignantly at being pushed aside, though their protests died out as soon as they caught sight of her, necks craning, mouths agape.
For good measure, Akeelah let her cold hatred pour out of her. It crawled underfoot, like invisible ivy searching for a foothold. Within a twenty-foot radius, people shuddered and went quiet, their mouths suddenly filled with the taste of impending danger.
A path parted before her.
Akeelah’s bare feet padded forward. Her skin shone as if with sweat, but it was dry and smooth, the black of ebony and obsidian. She wore little clothing. Her sinewy stomach and thighs were naked. Her breasts and loins covered with sheer silks adorned with jewels in all the right places. White hair fell down her back in a thick braid that touched the back of her knees.
The Djinn extended her arms to the heavens. Her crimson-tipped fingernails were claws eager to tear innocent flesh. A piercing shriek of feedback escaped through the speakers. Then all sound ceased. The performers on stage tapped their microphones. The crowd in the stands promptly began to “boo.” But not those close to Akeelah. No. They remained tight-lipped, backing further away from the dark giant and her trailing entourage.
In one great leap, she took the stage and snapped her fingers. Every spotlight swiveled in her direction. The jewels in her warrior princess costume sparkled. Her long muscles gleamed even more.
“Who the hell are you?” the leather-clad singer demanded. He looked livid, small fists tight at his side. “Get off my stage. Security! Security!” he yelled.
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