Two Hearts Asunder (Djinn Empire Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  The middle-aged attendant’s eyes widened at the sight of the money. He took it and hooked a finger toward a set of swinging doors and started toward them. We followed him and entered a large, bustling kitchen.

  Several people dressed in white aprons and hats worked furiously, chopping, grilling, stirring sauces and soups. The temperature was several degrees higher and the aroma of herbs and freshly cooked meals impregnated the air.

  “This is cruel,” Abby said, ogling a metal shelf laden with scrumptious desserts. Faris paused, asked the maître-d’ something and after getting a quick nod from the man, snatched one of the plates. He handed it to Abby and said with a wink, “For later.”

  Abby eyed the treat, a large piece of chocolate cake with an inch of creamy icing, drizzled with red sauce and topped with a raspberry. “You’re my hero,” she said.

  We continued on, deeper into the kitchen. At the end of a long hall, our guide opened a door and let us out onto a dark alleyway. After the door closed, leaving us in the gloom of the cool night, we huddled against the wall in silence.

  “Let’s wait here for a few minutes,” Faris said in a low voice.

  We stood shoulder to shoulder, our agitated breaths audible in the quiet of the alley. Faris’s fingers found mine and brushed them tentatively. I seized his hand and looked up. His dark eyes glinted, catching what little light spilled from a streetlamp at the alley’s entrance.

  In contrast to my icy fingers, his hand was warm and comforting. He pressed his forehead to mine. “I missed you,” he breathed.

  There was a sudden clattering deep in the alley to our right. Faris freed his hand and stepped away from the wall, his stance menacing, his eyes scrutinizing the darkness. Two cats ran past underfoot, shadowy blurs with growling throats.

  “Christ!” Maven exclaimed, with a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sure there’s a pants store nearby. Don’t worry,” Abby teased him, though her quivering voice left some doubt as to who may be in need of new pants.

  “Let’s go. Two more streets,” Faris ordered.

  And so we followed him, the liveliness of the pedestrians we passed at odds with our fearful mood. The few Venetian sights we passed were left behind, ignored in our desperate desire to find safety.

  I wondered if from now on, I would only see glimpses of places, oblivious to their beauty and wonders, concerned only by whether or not I could get away from whatever danger lurked behind me.

  When, a few minutes later, we crossed the threshold of a wide wooden door and it shut behind us, I dared believe we had reached sanctuary. The plump woman who opened the door welcomed us effusively and ushered us into a small living room. She seemed to know Faris and smiled cordially as he spoke, telling her who knew what.

  I looked around, trying to figure out where he’d brought us. There were two worn, comfortable sofas facing each other, a low coffee table with travel magazines on top, a threadbare rug and prints of Venice’s breathtaking sights on the wall. It felt like someone’s home, but not quite. A bread and breakfast, maybe? No, not a B&B, a hostel, according to a brochure sitting on the coffee table.

  I looked at my friends. Abby had a chocolate mustache and was shoveling cake into her mouth at a prodigious rate as if she expected the dessert to disappear from under her nose at any second. The state of her face made me snort unexpectedly. Maven followed my gaze to witness the same ravenous abandon. I expected him to crack some sort of joke, but he smiled sweetly instead.

  Abby stared back from under her eyebrows, plate raised close to her face as she continued to stuff brown, creamy spoonfuls into her mouth. “What?” she mumbled but didn’t slow down.

  Maven laughed, if a little tense. It was hard to relax and feel one hundred percent safe. Would that even be possible ever again?

  Maven lifted a finger and tentatively raised it to Abby’s lips. “Um, you have . . .”

  Abby froze and stared at the approaching hand with wide eyes. Maven’s finger gently flicked over Abby’s icing mustache and came away with a bit of chocolate.

  Unexpectedly, he stuck the finger in his mouth and sucked on it. Abby blushed and set the spoon down, clearly taken aback by Maven’s suggestive and uncharacteristic behavior. I blinked, equally surprised. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying our shock.

  “In case we don’t get out of this alive,” Maven said, “I wanted to have a taste. It’s delicious.” It was clear Maven wasn’t referring to only the chocolate cake.

  For once, Abby seemed to be at a loss for words.

  I cleared my throat. “I think we’re safe now.” I searched Faris’s gaze for reassurance. He was still talking to the woman, but he met my eyes, smiled and gave a slight nod.

  “You can have the rest.” Abby offered the last bite of cake to Maven. He took the plate, but instead of eating it, he used the spoon to scoop every crumb and offer it to Abby.

  “It’s yours,” he said.

  I smiled to myself and turned away, letting them enjoy the moment.

  Maybe there was hope for these two yet.

  Next, my attention fell on Gallardo, who stood to one side, pressed closely against a bookshelf as if trying to hide. His gaze shifted from side to side, tight features revealing his concentration. He seemed to be listening intently, trying to catch any sounds of pursuit, I imagined. When he saw me watching, his expression changed. He looked, not exactly frightened, but preoccupied.

  “Do you think she’ll find us?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. I just looked him over, trying to decipher his mood.

  “She was . . . terrifying,” Gallardo said.

  I didn’t think he looked terrified, but I barely knew the man. Maybe his description of terrifying was equivalent to my mildly spooked. Who knew what other things he’d seen during his long life that could make this experience pale in comparison. For some reason, I suspected his life hadn’t been a box of chocolates.

  “I hope we’ve lost her,” he said.

  “It seems we have.” Faris stepped up and placed a hand on the small of my back. “Signora Gemma has only one room available, but there are enough beds for everyone. Bunk beds,” he said apologetically. “I think it’ll be safer if we stay indoors for a few hours. She will procure dinner for us and we can freshen up and rest. Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Please ask her if she has cake,” Abby said, licking her fingers. Food was her coping mechanism, sometimes boys.

  “Don’t worry, Abby. There’ll be some for everyone. Come with me. Our room should be at the end of the hall.”

  Faris intertwined his fingers with mine and guided me gently. The walls in the hall were decorated with hundreds of pictures pinned to corkboards. Youthful faces looked up from the glossy paper, most wearing wide smiles, happy and carefree. A quick glance at our group told me that, if Signora Gemma took a picture of us right now, she wouldn’t make room for it on the wall. We looked nothing like over-joyed tourists. If anything, we looked like besieged refugees.

  Faris keyed the lock and opened the door. He entered last, then closed the door behind him. There were two metal bunk beds, one on each side, their thin mattresses covered only by baby blue, fitted sheets. At the head of each bed, small pillows rested atop folded-up red blankets. The far wall sported double French doors, each of their glass panels a dark rectangle separating us from the night outside. Faris released my hand and strode across the room. With a quick flick of his hand, he slid a thick curtain over the doors.

  He opened another door in the far right corner and took a quick look inside after flicking on the light switch. “The bathroom is here,” he said. “I wish we could have better accommodations, but at least it’s clean.”

  “It’s nice.” I gripped one of the bed posts and looked longingly at Faris. I wanted so badly to keep him right at my side. As if reading my thoughts, he came and took both my hands in his.

  “Sit. You’re tired. I can tell.”

  I sat on one of the beds. Faris sat t
oo, facing me. His eyes searched me desperately, inspecting me as if I were a delicate piece of china that had been through an earthquake.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured him. “I’m fine.”

  I placed a hand to his cheek. He seized it, kissed the center of my palm, then pressed it urgently to his face. His dark eyes pierced mine. His lower lip quivered, and it was plain to see there was much he needed to tell me. Like me, he probably wanted everyone else in the room to disappear.

  Abby collapsed on the bed across from us. She hugged the pillow and drew in her knees. Her tiny, curled up body reminded me of a weary cat.

  “Please tell me we’re really safe,” she said, her words muffled by the pillow. Her large eyes peered at Faris over the edge.

  Maven, Gallardo and even I looked at Faris, waiting for an answer.

  He inhaled deeply and looked at everyone sternly. His lips didn’t part. If they had, it was clear that his answer would have been no.

  39

  Marielle

  The small hostel room felt oppressive. We sat in silence for several minutes, twitching at every minor sound beyond the thin walls. When a knock came at the door, Abby sat up and pushed to the back of the bed, still hugging the pillow. I tightened my grip on Faris’s hand as he and Maven stood.

  Faris gave a small laugh. “I don’t think Akeelah would knock. It must be the food.”

  He opened the door. “Ciao, Signora Gemma.”

  The heavy-set hostel keeper came in, pushing a two-shelf wooden cart with squeaky wheels. She exchanged a few words with Faris about the food, then left.

  A delicious aroma wafted from the cart, and quickly brought Abby out of the shadow of her bunk bed.

  “Anything decent to eat?” she asked.

  Maven snatched a canned drink from the bottom shelf. “Here, your favorite.” He handed Abby a Cherry Coke. She smiled and looked touched by the fact he knew her favorite drink.

  “There’s pizza—American style—pasta and hot bread. Also tiramisu.” Faris handed out paper plates and plastic forks to everyone. Gallardo waved them away and only took a bottle of water.

  I got a slice of pizza and was barely able to take a couple of nibbles. My stomach felt tight and ready to expel anything I dared put in it. Faris sat next to me and tried to encourage me to eat. I humored him by taking a few extra bites. Abby and Maven, on the other hand, ate with abandon, fighting over the pizza slices with the most cheese.

  Gallardo watched us, sipping on his water bottle. He remained on his feet, one shoulder leaning against one of the bunk bed posts. His cool blue eyes glided from one face to the next, but they always returned to Faris and lingered there, an odd smile playing on his lips.

  “The last hour has been . . . extraordinary,” he suddenly blurted out, as if he couldn’t contain the words any longer.

  Abby stopped chewing and blinked her big brown eyes. “Not exactly what I would call it,” she said, right cheek bulging with food. She looked in my direction, shrugged one shoulder and lifted a pencil thin eyebrow as if asking, “what is he doing here, anyway?”

  I shrugged back.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, since no one has thought to take care of this simple formality. My name is Miguel Gallardo, at your service.” He smiled at Faris and inclined his head. Faris did likewise.

  “You have no idea how delighted I am to meet you,” Gallardo continued. “I’ve always believed in fairy tales, now it seems I am the Mad Hatter after all, and I find myself in Wonderland.” He grinned with pleasure.

  Faris frowned at the comment and said nothing.

  Gallardo cleared his throat. “But just as Alice, I feel a bit . . . confused by the goings-on. It seems we’re in a—how do Americans say?—pickle. I hope to be of some assistance. Your young girlfriend came to me with a question for which I can provide an answer."

  Faris searched my face. “A question?”

  “Um,” I felt a certain reluctance to go into this conversation, not to mention let the doctor take the lead on it.

  “She and her friends wanted to know if there’s a way to destroy a Djinn,” the doctor said before I could organize my thoughts. “I told her there is a method on record, theoretical, as you can imagine.”

  Faris stood abruptly. “There is?”

  “Yes.” He turned to me. “I should apologize to you, dear girl. Sorry I didn’t share the details with you earlier as I’d promised. Forgive me if it seemed I was trying to deceive you. I hope you understand my reserve. I had to know more, had to confirm that your claims about Akeelah were true.”

  “Well, you’ve seen it now,” I said. “She’s a monster. She needs to die.”

  The doctor lowered his eyes, a troubled expression on his face. “I’m sorry, but all I have seen is that there is some sort of clash between you. She means you ill for reasons I’m not aware of. For all I know, I should be afraid of you."

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Abby exclaimed. She got up, glared at the doctor and stomped to the garbage can. Her combat boots clopped against the tile floor and her plaid mini skirt swung with each forceful step. With a jerk of her wrist, she threw her empty soda can in the waste basket, then crossed her arms and glared.

  “If there is a way to stop her, you must tell us,” Faris said. “She has murdered three men, attempting to transform them into Djinn, all with the purpose of creating an army that will help her take over the world.”

  “Oh, my God!” I pressed a hand to my mouth. So that’s what she was trying to do.

  The doctor wrinkled his brow. “Murder? To my knowledge, theoretical as it is, Djinn cannot harm humans.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Maven said, “if you’re so damn smart I take it you noticed her henchman? She’s found crooks to do her dirty work.”

  “Is that the case?” the doctor asked.

  Faris’s expression darkened. He looked upset for an instant, then, quickly, he composed his face into an unreadable mask, which I didn’t like in the least. I knew well the tempest was worse when he looked the calmest. It made me wonder what had happened to him while he was away. What had he witnessed?

  “Yes, that is the case,” Faris finally answered. “Akeelah has several criminals at her service. They are twisted men without scruples. Men who will do the unimaginable, in exchange for any other number of things Akeelah would have no trouble providing—no matter how wild their expectations.”

  I hugged my stomach and swallowed a lump in my throat. Faris’s low, measured words made me shiver. They sounded ominous, like the deep rumbling of a terrible storm.

  “I see,” Gallardo said, looking unaffected by Faris’s account of Akeelah’s cronies. “And you truly believe she’s trying to take over the world? That seems a bit . . . far-fetched.”

  Faris ran a hand through his hair, apparently getting frustrated with this conversation. “I don’t believe it. I know it, and if you are aware of a way to stop her, you must tell me before she goes too far.”

  The doctor put his hands behind his back and paced, the way he’d done in his study back in Spain. I bit my thumbnail and watched him from under my eyebrows. I kept telling myself that finding him had been a good idea. He claimed to have an answer, after all.

  “Trying to create an army of Djinn, huh?” Gallardo said to himself more than anyone else. “And you say all her subjects have died?” he posed the question in a scholarly fashion as if he was talking about a frog-dissecting experiment, not three human beings.

  Faris’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. The doctor watched this reaction closely. Gallardo’s eyebrows rose and his nostrils flared. His forehead became a series of deep grooves. He looked like a hound smelling his prey.

  What is he doing? I wondered. He seemed to have Faris under some invisible microscope.

  “They didn’t all die in the attempt, did they? She succeeded in creating at least one Djinn,” the doctor said, his tone ringing with certainty.

  Faris said nothing.

  “Oh, my God!” Abby
said. “You mean she’s already started her army? Shit, we’re doomed.”

  My eyes darted from Faris to the doctor. My heart hammered. It was impossible. Faris couldn’t have shown that evil creature how to turn men into Djinn. What could have caused him to do something like that?

  Gallardo shook his head like a wet dog. “I am missing something here.” He scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “What good would an army of Djinn be when they can’t hurt humans? Although . . .” He walked across the room in between the bunk beds. Cautiously, he tugged on one of the heavy curtains and looked out the French doors.

  “Please get away from the door,” Faris said.

  The doctor let go of the curtain. “Although,” he continued, turning around to face us. “Why would she need to make an army of Djinn? Why not try to gather one amongst her own kind? Unless . . .” he paused again, working on his lower lips with his teeth. “Unless half Djinn have the ability to hurt humans,” the doctor said, standing as if he were in classroom or symposium, divulging a momentous lecture to the colleagues he so hated.

  “Is that it?” Abby said, annoyed. “That’s no news to anyone.”

  “Yes!” Gallardo exclaimed, ignoring Abby. His blue eyes filled with something close to ecstasy. “Yes! I remember reading something about this somewhere.” He acquired a faraway look as he tried to recall what he had read.

  “You’re wasting our time here,” Maven snapped. “We need to figure out how to destroy that monster before—”

  “Before what?” Gallardo asked, coming back to Earth. “I don’t think humanity is in danger here. At least not yet. Akeelah has created a Djinn already. That much seems obvious to me. But he’s like you,” he pointed at Faris, “unable to harm humans. I noticed you couldn’t make that man’s gun disappear while he was shooting at us,” he pointed out in his oh-so-irritating academic way.

  Faris straightened and rolled his shoulders as if trying to pull himself out of the heavy weight of his own thoughts, and if I wasn’t mistaken, out of something that had all the markings of guilt.