by J. C. Welker
For a second, Jezreel’s face became less amiable, less kind. “They told you a sacrifice is required.” His gaze flicked to Rebel’s. “What makes you think The Book will give you an answer you’ll agree with?”
“Can’t be any worse than what I’ve been through.”
“Oh”—he said each word with implication—“but it can.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The temperature of the room dropped.
Candles surrounding every available surface of the chamber dimmed and flickered. The magician walked around the summoning circle counterclockwise, drawing protective runes and chanting in the Jinn language, sounding like the crackling of embers.
Anjeline shivered at the uprush of magic. The Keeper’s dwelling was a repository of much of the world’s knowledge, and he kept the most sacred one hidden. He had led them into this chamber with steel doors, completely bare, save for the five-pointed star and ancient runes embedded on the marble floor within a summoning circle. As she watched beads of sweat trickle down his forehead in expectancy, she could hardly focus on anything other than the impending wolfish threat and the sensation of Rebel’s aura reaching out to hers in waves of anxiousness.
She glanced sideways out of the crook of one eye. “You’re brooding.”
“Well, I don’t like this.” Rebel shook her head, her dark hair falling into her face. “You should’ve stayed in the Court if those fur-covered demons are about.”
“The Book won’t offer an answer unless we’re together,” she said, but she noticed the appearance of dark semicircles under Rebel’s eyes. Every time she looked into them, she felt more and more dismantled. Not touching, brushing fingers together, felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. The truth was, she wanted to kiss her into calm. Kiss her until she didn’t know which breath was hers and which was Rebel’s. Until her essence felt whole again.
But she couldn’t.
Nor could she escape the feeling that this was a futile hunt, that no solution for her freedom existed, or that she should be focusing on Rebel’s heart. For both their sakes, she hoped The Book held answers. Perhaps, with Rebel, a wish wouldn’t end in doom or misery.
A crisp breeze of magic picked up around Anjeline, tickling the bridge of her nose and drawing her attention. Jezreel was now setting out the summoning candles, a white candle, then a red, and then a black one on each specific rune. Rebel shuddered, feeling the faint sensation, too, and asked the magician, “Is all this for conjuring The Book?”
Jezreel tutted. “Certainly not. You can’t leave a book like that lying around for any voracious hands to summon it…” With chalk, he drew several more runes.
The wings on Piran’s back trembled impatiently, creating a breeze, and Rebel waved him near. “He seems less eccentric and more morbid?” she whispered.
“Maybe he’s having a bad day,” Piran muttered.
Rebel rolled her eyes, but Anjeline grinned blandly. The magician didn’t appear to have overheard them, too involved in his ritual. Still, a frown marred Jezreel’s face. His mustache twitched and his kindly expression had turned severe, though his eyes remained clear and steady. There was something familiar about his demeanor she couldn’t place. Though having encountered a number of magicians, she might simply be merging his face with one of countless others.
More sweat trickled down Jezreel’s forehead as he went on. “Since your capture, things have changed. The candles are necessary for the summoning of the jinni who now detains the Book of Knowledge.” He peered up at Anjeline. “But then you’re acquainted with Sinvad, aren’t you, Wishmaker?”
Rebel’s brow wrinkled. “Isn’t he your…”
She nodded but with unease. “Sinvad is my Jinn Shaqiq. What you would call a brother.” Since her imprisonment, Sinvad must have advanced to a guardian. Worry worked its way through her as the magician caught her eye. She didn’t like it. What if Sinvad felt her connection with Rebel? How could one not feel it?
Jezreel cleared his throat for them to hush. He tipped back his bushy head and recited the ancient words for the incantation. The crackling language of the Jinn flowed from his mouth. “In the name of my Lord, I will the gate of the Jinn world to reveal itself unto me!”
The three candles flickered to life.
“I summon Sinvad,” he called, “guardian of The Book of Knowledge!”
Smoke flared within the summoning circle.
The vapors spiraled up to the ceiling, heavy with noxious fumes of rosemary. Something moved inside the haze, solidifying, and as the cloud dispersed, there hovered a hulking ifrit, one of the most powerful Jinn kind. Sinvad was all contrast, from his flaming red mane to his runes, and Anjeline missed him. The longing for her world hit like a punch to the chest.
Crimson eyes zeroed in on the magician, and Sinvad’s voice thundered against the walls. “Jezreel the Saher, what is it you seek?”
The magician bowed as much as his body would allow him. “Knowledge. They seek answers for your kin’s release.” He waved dust-covered fingers at Anjeline.
“Okhty?” Sinvad noticed her and a sizzling vapor wafted off him. He peered at the bonds encircling her wrist and reached out. “You’ve been bound for too long.”
“You have no idea.” Within two steps, Anjeline stood near the circle, trying to touch him, craving the feeling of the Other realm. Once her hand crossed the protective runes—the invisible shield keeping Sinvad within the circle—the marks on her cuffs glowed, burning. She hissed back. In a flash, Rebel was beside her, rubbing fingers over the tingling skin of her wrist, soothing her within.
Sinvad was silent as his gaze pivoted from Rebel then back to hers, perplexed at what he was seeing. “This human makes your essence vibrate?”
For the first time in his presence, Anjeline felt fear, yet he merely tilted his head and lifted one pointed brow. She flushed in embarrassment. He always said he didn’t need magic to know her thoughts, because her essence showed everything so plainly. “I’ve found a good soul to break my imprisonment,” she said.
“Okhty.” He sighed, but not in ridicule. “How can you trust them still when they have imprisoned you, violated your power for their own desires?”
“I don’t want her. Not like that,” Rebel uttered, then glanced away.
At the hushed admittance, Piran chuckled.
Sinvad did not falter. Instead, he gazed at Anjeline with that brotherly look, appearing just as enamored with Rebel as she was. It had been Sinvad who hadn’t judged her for befriending Solomon, who believed perhaps not all hearts of mankind were corrupt. But that was before Nero had ripped her from her kin.
“Defying Jinn rules is dangerous,” he finally said.
Anjeline came as close to the circle—to him—as she could. “When we were young Jinn, we were taught humans had no compassion, then too much emotion, that their hearts were never true. But I know now. At the moment they cast a wish, they are never more alive.” She turned to Rebel and was met with a gentle smile. “Some shine brighter than our rules.”
“You believe they deserve their wishes?” Sinvad asked, as though it were absurd. As he caught her gaze, an understanding passed between them, and he did not speak of the deeper emotions he saw stirring in Anjeline. Doubt and confusion shaded his expression, and still, the hope that perhaps she was right.
“We require The Book of Knowledge.” Jezreel interrupted their moment, looking annoyed. “Answers for your kin’s imprisonment.”
Anjeline nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before they strike again.”
With an agreeing bow, Sinvad said, “The human’s now the bearer of the vessel. She must speak to The Book in your honor.” In a smoke swirl, a book materialized in his palm. As he unbolted the bejeweled volume, purple sparks glittered on its spine, and an overwhelming sigh filled the room as though an invisible presence were with them. In his other hand, a quill appeared and he held it outward. “With blood comes answers.”
Rebel blinked, clearly confused.
“The Wishmaker must pierce you to put her mark on the quill,” Jezreel explained. “Then use your blood to question The Book.”
“Of course, blood.” Rebel sighed.
Anjeline took the quill and touched those lockpick fingers, smiling at the trustful way Rebel let her, even with this. Cutting her flesh. When she pressed the tip of the sharp quill to Rebel’s finger, the reaction was not what Sinvad had expected, or even her. A dribble of blood surfaced, but Rebel’s eyes remained locked onto hers. It was an offering to Anjeline. No hesitation in the sacrifice of blood, but complete surrender. Offered freely.
Then Rebel put a tentative hand over hers, stopping a moment. “Am I bad person for wanting you free but still hoping you’d be sad without me?”
Her smoky insides twisted. “Who says I’ll be leaving?”
Rebel smiled. “If you’re going to break my heart, do it properly.”
The invisible knife sank deeper. “No breaking. Only healing.” This time she didn’t stop herself, needing to touch Rebel’s cheek. After dabbing the end of the quill with blood, she pressed her mouth to Rebel’s finger, wiping it clean with a kiss. She shuddered, feeling Rebel’s aura do the same, and handed her the quill, giving everything over to her now.
With determined and bloody fingers, Rebel inscribed the question onto The Book’s blank page. By what sacrifice must I free Anjeline the Wishmaker?
The page remained clean, except for those words written in lifeblood.
As they awaited an answer, the idea of being released didn’t excite Anjeline as it should. Something else had surfaced. The thought of being bereft of Rebel flooded her with overwhelming fear. If she were freed, she might never see Rebel again. The thought disturbed her. Not even when the shackles had smothered her magic had she felt this sense of…loss. Freedom would mean she could depart this world that she had, surprisingly, come to adore.
Because of a human, Solomon. The one you said would come.
Every glance, every touch from Rebel had tipped her into feeling, into a new direction that Jinn wouldn’t normally allow. Anjeline was splintered right down the center, torn between being reunited with her kin and the yearning to remain here. The thing she’d wanted most of all was something she’d never thought of, not until Rebel had stolen her way into her life. A dangerous thing. But she liked how she felt with her. Like they were equals. As if human and Jinn could live together. Maybe, her heart flamed, in more ways than one.
At last, a curl of smoke rose from The Book.
Words seeped into the parchment. An answer.
As Anjeline read it, her spirit trembled and Piran gasped. “No,” she said. She’d imagined nearly every possible answer, even the darkest kind of sacrifice. But not this one.
“‘Freedom for the mortal’s wish.’” Sinvad read it aloud and shook his head gravely. “You have your answer. Choose wisely.” He glanced at her one last time and vanished.
This wasn’t an answer—it was a death sentence. Anjeline should’ve known Nero would put a mark such as this on the vessel. A sacrifice. She’d been so close to breaking free, but her imprisonment couldn’t compare to this. She felt a hand grasp hers.
“Freedom for a wish?” Rebel looked at her. “Isn’t that the contract we made?”
She peered into those eyes, remembering the first time she saw that hope-filled gaze. The moment she’d glimpsed the wild-spirited girl, whose aura seemed to call to hers, and how it had pierced her soul. She’d thought she was willing to take any sacrifice to be given freedom, but some things she simply couldn’t lose. She could not—would not—let her make such an offering. “No,” she uttered. “You don’t understand—”
“What?” Rebel asked. “What don’t I understand?”
“It means,” said the magician, “you must sacrifice your greatest wish to free her. One of life or death. I take it this wish is such as that? Important as your life?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rebel stood there, stunned.
Sacrifice. She would have laughed bitterly if she weren’t so mystified. Of all the solutions she might have considered being able to break Anjeline’s binding, she’d never imagined her wish would be it. She didn’t fail to see the irony. Anjeline now had an answer to her freedom, but to obtain it, Rebel must sacrifice her own in return. Which could mean death. It was almost poetic. The double-edged sword on which she was destined to fall, no matter how she tried to reverse it.
“A wish can’t release her,” Jezreel said. “But a sacrificed one of life or death can.”
A shaky pulse ticked in Rebel’s chest with such force Anjeline must have heard it, but both her and Piran had turned silent. “But why this wish?” She squeezed the words out.
The magician said his words slowly as though talking to a child. “To free a spirit bound by a dark magic, there must be an equal balance. Nero gave up part of his soul in order to obtain enough power to capture the Wishmaker. There must be an equal sacrifice to undue it.” He gave Rebel a long look. “A sacrifice of something great.”
“Couldn’t it be something else than that?”
“If it were easy to offer, it would be meaningless. The most powerful magic comes from sacrifice. Because it is a choice. A gift given. A gift of life.”
Rebel felt the weight of her pendant against her heart, its metal warming with her rising pulse. She looked at Anjeline, hoping there had to be another solution. Every lock has a key. “If I…sacrificed my wish and released you, then with your magic back in your control…you could heal me. Couldn’t you?”
Anjeline’s eyes watered. “No.”
“As I said,” Jezreel continued, “sacrificing your wish would mean it could take away life. And the Jinn can’t make alive the dead, can you, Wishmaker?”
Again, Anjeline turned silent, her nervous energy thrumming off her in waves of heat. Rebel considered the ramifications of a life that could be erased with one wish. Her expectation for that healing was quite possibly the only thing keeping her breathing.
“Perhaps you should choose the lesser of the evils,” he added. “Find Nero.”
Rebel rounded on the magician. “And lead Anjeline back to him? You’re completely off your head.”
“Let’s just think about this,” Piran said. His wings spasmed in nervous jitters.
Warm fingertips brushed Rebel’s arm, because now it seemed Anjeline couldn’t bear to not touch. “Maybe,” she said, “Jezreel is right.”
Rebel shook her head. “No. I refuse the idea.” But a little jolt in her chest objected.
“I won’t let you sacrifice this for me. If you give up your wish, you could die with it,” Anjeline said. “I’ll take another decade in the vessel if it means finding some other way. Nero might be the only key.” At her insistent touch, a calming buzz emerged between them as if this wasn’t the worst thing in the world and they weren’t pitting themselves against the thing Rebel had strived to keep her from.
“There has to be another answer.” Rebel grasped her pendant in her bloody fingers. It had served as guidance to her before, or so she believed. It would guide her now.
Jezreel squinted, pointing to the pendant. “What do you have there?”
At the change of subject, Rebel stared right back. “What does it matter?” she asked, then felt the pendant warm. Her skin pricked where the necklace radiated heat in her palm.
“You feel that?” Anjeline sensed it, as well.
Rebel rubbed it between her fingers and the pendant pulsed.
The magician studied it, clenching his jaw slightly. “That’s not yours. It’s a hidden Talisman. See the symbol.” As he pointed a finger at the pendant, its engraved rose shimmered, sending out pulsating waves in reply. “It’s marked by a magician. A beautiful one. One that seems to have been protecting you, child.” He said it so quickly she barely had time to see how close he was to her.
“Magician?” Rebel inched back. “No. It’s…my mother’s.”
“But that’s not w
hy it works.” He chuckled. “It works because of you.”
“Sir?” Piran spoke. “How exactly did you get rid of your guards?”
The magician’s gaze never left Rebel, and his face seemed less old, less kind now. “I’ve allowed you to come this far because I needed to make sure. I’ve seen your eyes before in another person.” He cupped her cheek. “Your mother’s little starbright.”
Rebel jerked away from him. “How do you know that?”
Something began tapping at the windows.
“Rebel…” Anjeline tugged at her hand.
“How?” she demanded. “How do you know my mother?”
“Because, dear.” The magician smiled. “I’m your father.”
His body blurred. He raised his hand to his face and pushed, shaping it like molding clay. White tufts of hair tinted jet-black and a widow’s peak keened to a knifepoint mirrored Rebel’s own. What stood before them was a roguish man, his mouth a harsh slash in an imperious face, and eyes as dark as an empty soul.
Anjeline stiffened like a trapped animal.
“Nero.” She gasped.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Father?
Nero?
Whatever Rebel had expected, it wasn’t this. She rocked back on her heels as shock dissolved to panic. The realization turned her heart to stone, sinking to the bottom of her stomach. Her mouth moved but no sound came. Hands quivered against her waist, Anjeline trembling enough for her to feel. Felt those cuffs blazing. And she understood, Anjeline the Wishmaker, Dalil of Prophets, was afraid of this man.
“It’s all right,” Rebel told her. Though she knew it wasn’t as all the accounts of this magician’s vengeful ways flashed in her mind. Piran’s wings tapered upward like a shielding bat’s, but around them, the tang of something heavy swelled.
Nero smiled, his dark gaze heralding no good, looking like some feral god in the form of a man. His jet-black suit was swathed in embroidery of different creatures like the magician’s garb, each one more monstrous looking than the next. “Isn’t this lovely?” He hummed, as though he’d turned up to a soiree. “A family reunion, here in the place that knowledge resides. Awful it’s come to this.”
