Reach for You

by Pat Esden

  Thick gray smoke spiraled out of it, widening and narrowing as it curved downward and solidified into a tall, willowy woman in a deep crimson sari, golden skin, full lips. A ribbon held her hair up in a tousled twist. Mother.

  She stared at Dad and he gaped at her. As we hurried toward them, I wasn’t sure if they were going to embrace or simply stand there forever.

  Suddenly an oily black puddle of darkness skimmed across the floor toward them.

  “Look out!” I screeched as the puddle rose up, a shadow-genie as brawny as Malphic’s most vicious spies.

  Dad flung the bottle onto the divan and dove at the shadow, a salt shank in his hand. There was a wet thwack. Black goo flew from the shadow’s arm. The shadow staggered backward, yanking the shank from his flesh. Dad pulled a knife. The shadow charged, a trail of dark ooze spewing out from his dissolving arm.

  I grabbed my flashlight, pinpointing its beam on the shadow’s face. He swung toward me and Jaquith, his face a whirlwind of anger and pain. I pocketed the flashlight and went for my bags of salt. He rocketed at us. I shot forward, throwing all my bags at the same time.

  They hit him square in the chest, salt spraying out. His body exploded, a million black sparks. They splattered to the floor in an oily mass, then sucked back together, distorting into a gyrating version of Edvard Munch’s screaming man.

  Mother’s face went white, her gaze flitting from the writhing shadow to me and back.

  “We need to get him confined,” Jaquith said.

  Dad’s eyes darted to the sapphire bottle. “Too bad we can’t put him in that.”

  A bottle. An image of Selena flashed into my head, her standing in my bedroom not long before we left. She’d tapped a finger against the side of her head. “Magic is partly about focus and accessing energy, about self-control. But it mostly involves discovering spells and remembering words. . . .”

  My ears rang, my thoughts jumbling as two other memories fought to find their way to the surface at once. I snatched the bottle from the divan, my breath coming in short pants. Somewhere in the background Dad said something, so did Mother and Jaquith. But their voices hummed like bees in the soundproof room and beneath the roar of the memories that vied for me to recall them and understand.

  I circled my finger around the bottle’s gold rim, focusing with every ounce of my being. Guide me, Hecate. Keeper of the Gateways, show me the path, I prayed.

  A strange tightness played behind my ears and they began to ring. That sound transformed into words I didn’t understand. It was an incantation I’d heard spoken twice before: once when Grandfather used it to return Culus to the poison ring, and again when Malphic commanded my ethereal body into the decanter the last time I was here. I didn’t know the language, but the words formed on my tongue, readying to be made audible by my lips.

  I closed my eyes and raised the bottle. My mouth filled with the taste of salt and mushrooms, and the incantation flowed out, a living thing slithering into the air with an electric prickle. The scent of sandalwood, like Mother. The smell of roses, like Vephra. The rhythm of the incantation spun my thoughts into a fine thread, a single, focused line pulling the shadow-genie’s writhing body toward the bottle’s mouth, an irresistible tug and as strong as spider silk, a single pulsing vibration plucked on the string of a violin, a whistle in the dark, a ringing in my ears—

  Every sensation vanished: the prickle, the sounds in my head . . . everything. Numb and overwhelmed, I stared at the bottle in my hand. Oily darkness circled the bottom. It spun into blue threads of flame, spiraling toward the open top.

  Dad whipped the bottle from my hands and corked it with its stopper. He shook his head at me. “I don’t know when you learned that trick. But I’m impressed.”

  Jaquith’s eyes were wide with amazement. “You know the old language?”

  “Ah—” Know wasn’t exactly the right word for it.

  Mother took me by the elbow. “This way. We need to hide the bottle and get out of here.”

  That brought me back to my senses. I wrenched my arm from her grip, refusing to budge. “We have to get Chase and Lotli.”

  “After we go to my chambers,” she insisted.

  Heat flooded through me. Who was she to suddenly take charge? This wasn’t her rescue plan. Come to think about it, why hadn’t she tried to escape on her own? “No,” I said tartly. “There isn’t time for side trips.”

  She flinched back as if I’d physically assaulted her. A pained look hovered in her eyes.

  “Annie,” Dad said. His voice was hushed, but stern. “We’ll do as she says.”

  I shot Dad a hard look. “Seriously, we don’t have time,” I mumbled. But as Mother headed across the harem gallery, I followed with everyone else. I should have been excited to see her after so many years, and I was. Sure, her stubborn abrasiveness rubbed me the wrong way and it made me wary. But the resentment I harbored toward her surprised even me, and I hated myself for it. She was my mother. We were together again, finally.

  Mother reached the farthest wall and stopped in front of a curtained doorway, her stance once more confident, her composure regained. “Wait here,” she said to the men. “Annie, follow me. We need to adjust our outfits.”

  My anger returned, blood boiling. But I kept my voice calm. “You go on. I’m fine just the way I am.”

  Dad pressed his hand against my spine, propelling me forward. “I’m sure your mother has her reasons.”

  “I suppose,” I said, exasperated. Saying no would only delay us longer.

  On the other side of the curtain, Mother and I entered a small vestibule. From there we went into a massive bedroom, heavily draped in crimson silk. A wide doorway shielded by a beaded curtain opened onto a terrace piled with tasseled pillows. Everywhere crystal bowls held single water lilies.

  I folded my arms across my chest, standing back and watching while she opened a curtained wardrobe and stashed the bottle behind the line of clothes. As she yanked out veils and sarongs and flung them over her arm, a deep sadness began to replace the resentment and wariness inside me.

  The moonstone knife embroidered on all the curtains and pillows, and carved into the headboard made it painfully clear who shared this room with her. I also now suspected she hadn’t ordered Dad and Jaquith to wait outside for modesty’s sake. It was more out of habit or perhaps it even was a djinn law. Only one man was allowed in this room—and maybe others he favored.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. The last fifteen years had to have been hard on her in ways I didn’t even want to imagine. Ways that perhaps had made her feel unworthy of freedom, even when she’d had the chance—like when she chose to stay behind so Chase could have his freedom. Perhaps Dad’s love for her was beyond the borders of sanity. But after everything that had happened to her, how would she feel toward him or any man?

  I gathered my nerve. It had to be said. “Dad realizes it’s not going to be easy once we get back home. He knows . . . Well, you’ve been separated for a long time. He feels horrible about not helping you.”

  Mom glanced over her shoulder at me. “None of us can afford to live under regret’s shadow, Annie. No guilt. No remorse. Love—even if it’s just a memory—that’s where we’ll have to start.”

  The sadness swelled inside me, extinguishing what remained of my anger and resentment. I nodded. She was right. And I was glad it was out in the open. If nothing more, it would make things easier between us. “I’m sorry I was an ass out there,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  She turned back to the wardrobe, her shoulders rising like she was taking a deep breath or biting back tears. Then she plucked out a pair of slippers and carried everything to the bed.

  “Both of us need to change our clothes,” she announced, laying out two jeweled sarongs.

  I eyed the fancy clothes. This was her idea of adjusting our outfits? “I’ve got a woman-warrior’s tunic on under this robe. It would be faster than changing into all that.”

 
“Are you built like a warrior? If not, you’ll get us all caught.” She set a silk head mask on top of each set of clothes.

  My stomach lurched. She wasn’t laying out just any kind of outfit. These were the robes worn by the human concubines, to give their ethereal bodies form when they appeared in public or serviced their masters.

  I scowled. I could lie and claim that changing clothes would mess with the Methuselah oil’s effectiveness.

  Mother rested one hand on her hip. “Beyond the walls of the harem, women are required to have two escorts: a eunuch and a guard. One woman with three eunuchs or a woman with two eunuchs and a scrawny warrior would be instantly detained. Two robed women with two eunuchs is inappropriate—but it will most likely be overlooked, especially since our party will include me and the head eunuch.”

  My skin crawled as I picked up one of the head masks. It was creepy. But once I pulled it on, instead of my normal features all anyone would see was smooth silk with hollows where my eyes should be and rises in place of my nose and cheekbones. It was the perfect disguise.

  “You can keep your underwear and jewelry, but remove the tunic and mitts,” she said.

  I shut my brain off and dressed quickly. In truth, the sarong and silk head mask fit more comfortably than the brown eunuch’s robe with its rough fabric and massive hood. I could see better, too.

  Mother helped me drape the veils over my head. The scent of her sandalwood perfume drifted off of them and from the sarong, enveloping me in its embrace. I closed my eyes, breathing in her smell. Once she was done, I adjusted my necklaces to make sure the egg pendant was as hidden as the flashlight and dagger that were tucked into the folds at my waistline.

  “Perfect,” she said. Her voice gentled. “If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have asked you to wear this. I’d have acquired an herbalist’s or a weaver’s smock for you. That’s what I wear when I slip away to tutor the boys. Chase was one of my favorites, bright and always caring for the others. A little hardheaded, though.”

  My face heated and I smiled at her. “I really like him, too.”

  Her gaze trapped mine, her expression hardening. “You do realize it might be too late for Chase?”

  A sick feeling twisted inside me, but I kept my head raised and my voice inflexible. “No matter what, he’s coming home with us.”

  She smiled, a reaction that took me by surprise. “You certainly do remind me of your aunt Kate.” A glint of pride touched her eyes. “But not just her, you’re very much like my grandmother. If she’d ever been attacked by a shadow, she’d have handled herself exactly like you did. You’ve heard the story about the blacksmith and King Solomon, right?”

  I nodded, vaguely recalling something about the blacksmith being a toolmaker and sitting at King Solomon’s right hand, though I couldn’t understand why she’d bring that up right now.

  “We descended from that blacksmith, you and I. Did your father ever tell you that?”

  “No,” I said. But maybe he had and I’d passed it off as one of his made-up stories. I’d only recently discovered that those wild stories were in reality true.

  She looked straight into my eyes. “One of Malphic’s favorite stories is about how Solomon’s genies bestowed a gift upon the blacksmith in honor of his bravery and cunning, a gift that allowed him to instill his magic into the tools and knives he created.”

  I blinked at her, my head whirring from what she’d said. Our ancestor. His magic. His knives. Malphic’s favorite story. I longed to ask her what it all meant, but this wasn’t the place or time to get into it.

  She touched my arm. “I wanted to make sure you knew. In case something happens.”

  I glared at her. “Don’t even say that. We’re all going to be fine.”

  “I hope you’re right, Annie. I really do.”

  As she turned and began pulling on her robe, I hugged myself against a sudden chill. Maybe I’d sounded confident, but fear had gripped me until I could barely move.

  Please, Hecate. Please get us all out of this alive.

  CHAPTER 24

  Lost in darkness, your touch I cannot feel. Copper closes over my eyes. I cannot taste. I cannot hear. Oblivion offers a glistening star, relief from a prison with no bars.

  —From “Lost in Darkness”

  www.NorthTunes.com

  Once Mother was ready, the two of us joined Dad and Jaquith in the harem gallery. Dad cleared his throat as if startled by our strange appearance, but none of us wasted time on questions or explanations. We just took off, racing out of the harem and through the reception hall.

  When we reached the weaving room’s curtained doorway, Mother slipped inside. We swept after her into the room’s dim red light, zigzagging between looms, around baskets and stacks of carpets. She ducked behind a machine covered in spikes and into a slender doorway, all but invisible unless someone knew it was there.

  At that point, Jaquith took over as the lead, down steep staircases, out into a palm-sheltered courtyard, and down again to the lower levels of the palace and into a narrow hallway. This might have been the route Mother used when she snuck off to teach the slaves, but clearly Jaquith often took it as well. Mostly I was grateful that his feelings for Chase had made him an ally instead of our enemy.

  Servants appeared. First one and then more of them, rushing back and forth with slop buckets and baskets of laundry in their arms. Zenith, or whatever they called their siesta time, had to be over, at least for them.

  Ahead the hallway opened into a wide chamber. Banners and shields decorated its walls. At its center, a ceiling-high cage held a massive black eagle. Near the cage, an elderly guard slouched in a chair. He snapped to his feet as we entered, his gaze darkening as he studied Mother and me.

  Sweat drizzled down my temples, sticking the silk head mask against my face. This wasn’t good. Not at all.

  Mother flicked her veils back, left me behind, and strode straight at the guard. “We’ve been waiting since before the zenith for our escorts. What’s going on down here? Stuffing your bellies instead of following orders? Malphic’s going to be furious.”

  “I—I just came on duty, Mistress,” he stuttered, scuffing backward.

  Jaquith swaggered forward, his hand resting on his whip. “Aren’t there supposed to be two guards at this post? Where is your partner?”

  “He’s in the latrine. He ate some bad meat, sir.”

  Dad scoffed. “More likely he drank too much wine.”

  I slipped up next to Mother. It was time to top off this bit of playacting and move on. I tugged her arm. “We need to get going. I’m dreadfully late and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Yes, come along,” Mother said, ushering me past the guard. It was easy to guess what he might assume: two concubines in robes sent to meet a man, most likely a favored guard or officer since we had to be near the barracks by now.

  Mother and I swished down another hallway, veils flying out, silk slippers shushing against the floor. Dad and Jaquith trailed behind with heads bowed like humble eunuchs. We kept on going, moving quickly. It wasn’t until we came to the top of a rather bleak circular stairwell that Mother slowed and stepped into the darkness at the edge of the hallway.

  She leaned close to Jaquith. “This is the staircase, right?”

  He nodded and drew us into a huddle. His gaze went from Dad to me. “Below are the berserker quarters. Its cells lie within the outer wall and run its entire length, interspersed with stairwells. Chase will be in one of these cells. Once his change is complete the cell will become his home, unless by some miracle he comes out of it sane. If he becomes uncontrollable, it will be his tomb.”

  His home. His tomb. I shuddered at the thought. The staircase already reminded me of the bone-laden catacombs I’d seen in Paris, forbidding and unnervingly ominous. No matter what, I wouldn’t leave Chase in a place like that.

  Dad rubbed his hands together. “All righty, then. How are we going to get in these berserker quarters? I’m
sure there are guards. But what else is down there?”

  “Getting in isn’t the issue,” Jaquith said. “It’s getting out that’s the problem.”

  Human howls reverberated up the stairwell, followed by manic laughter.

  My heart leapt into my throat. We all looked at one another. Chase. Oh my God. That couldn’t be him.

  I toughened my voice. “But there is a way to escape, right? You wouldn’t have brought us if there wasn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t have let Chase get trapped in the first place, if I could have prevented it.” He lowered his voice. “There are wards on the stairwells. Anyone can walk down them, but going up them is similar to crossing the veil between realms. As long as we have your flutist, she’ll be able to get us out—” He stopped abruptly, smoothing his hands down his sides.

  Dad pushed his hood back. “But they wouldn’t just leave a eunuch in a cell with a warrior on the verge of going berserk—that’s the problem, right? We’re going to need to figure out where Lotli is as well.”

  Jaquith shook his head. “No, they would do exactly that—whether the eunuch was willing to care for the warrior or not. One live berserker is worth hundreds of our lives. And, if Chase makes it through the change with his mind intact, then no cost would be too high in Malphic’s eyes. Chase would be a Death Warrior, a rare half-ifrit survivor, a victor as well as his son.”

  “So what’s the problem, then?” Dad asked impatiently.

  “It’s not exactly a problem. There is another way to escape. The berserker cells have exits into the desert, so they can patrol the perimeter of the fortress. It would get us stranded outside the walls—and it’s harsh out there, beyond Malphic’s protective spells and wards. But it is another route.”

  “Shush.” Mother raised her hand to silence him.

  The far-off clip of boots sounded, coming toward us down the hallway. More than one pair. Maybe more than a dozen.

  We bolted for the forbidding stairwell, fleeing downward as quietly as we could. Shimmering silver symbols coated the dark walls. Under my feet, the stone treads vibrated. A creepy-crawling sensation prickled up my legs, but disappeared when I reached the bottom.