by Pat Esden
I raised my chin and hurried past. What was I doing? This wasn’t about who looked the hottest. This was about all of us staying safe—about bringing Mother home.
As it turned out, Chase shouldn’t have teased Selena and me for ogling clothes. He had me use the signet ring to open at least a dozen showcases so he could check out this and drool over that. He finally ended up with a pile of weapons and straps, padded tunics, light armor, and a long russet scarf. Apparently, the djinn prized antique human weapons and clothing, and—though the proper attire for eunuchs and servants was strictly regulated—flamboyant excess was the norm for the wealthy and powerful, and warriors and performers, of course.
While Chase went into another room to look at pants and get changed, I took off my clothes and tried on a linen shift I’d found hanging with a bunch of extra-large undertunics. Lightweight and unisex, the shift didn’t disguise my figure. But it did protect my skin from the robe’s coarse fabric.
I heard the swish of Chase’s footsteps returning and my skin tingled. Sure, I despised the djinn for what they had done to him, but I was ungodly curious to see him dressed as a warrior.
He stepped through the doorway, and then stopped and dipped his turban-covered head at me.
My mouth fell open, and all I could do was stare. The only part of his face that wasn’t covered by the russet-colored scarf was his fierce ocean-gray eyes. The padded tunic and leather armor made his shoulders and chest look even broader and more muscular than they already were, and covered his branded collarbone as well. Studded leather arm bracers protected his sun-browned forearms. Leather bands encircled his biceps. A sheathed sword and scimitar were crossed on his back, and at least a dozen knives were stashed elsewhere. Everything about him, even his loose white breeches and tall boots, showed the perfect amount of dustiness and scuffs, like a victorious warrior who’d seen battle and lived to tell about it. He also looked terrifyingly at ease. If the Tibetan bride’s outfit was dazzling, then he was the masculine version of dazzling times a million.
“Yowza,” Selena said, swishing into the room. She set the carpetbag she was carrying down and gave him another once-over. “You’ve really got the whole Prince of Persia thing going on—big-time.”
“And then some,” I said, coming out of my trance. I frowned at him.
Unwrapping the scarf from his face, he looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
“That knife”—I pointed to the front of his waistline—
“you’re not going to wear Malphic’s knife to the realm, are you?” Even after five years and with his slave-brand covered, one look at that and most any genie would know he was Chase. After all, he’d taken it off Malphic after beating the snot out of him.
Yanking the knife out, Chase tucked it into the back of his pants, fiddled with his tunic, then turned so I could see that a leather flap now covered it. “Better?”
“I guess. But not as good as if you left it here.”
“It brought me good luck last time.” He nudged one of the bracers a bit higher on his forearm and met my eyes. “How about we find one for you?”
Selena scoffed. “A knife? A nice little handgun would be smarter.”
“No guns.” Chase leveled his gaze on her. “Human inventions don’t work in the realm. When they do, they’re unpredictable, more dangerous than useful.”
I lightened my voice. “Just as well, I don’t know much about handling guns.”
“What we need are weapons that look ceremonial,” Chase said. “That’s the whole idea behind these outfits: Stick to tradition, don’t draw attention, get in and get out before anyone notices.”
Bending down, Selena reached into the carpetbag. “Are you talking traditional like this?”
She pulled out a glittering leaf-green bra top. Actually top was the wrong word for it. It was tiny, more like two strips of embroidered cloth, glistening with strings of gold crystals. She scooped out a long filmy skirt with a waistband that matched the bra.
Chase’s eyes widened, a smile spreading across his face. “That’s—great. You sure it’ll fit?”
Selena dropped them back into the bag. “Of course I am. I’ve got to find veils and jewelry, then she’ll be all set. I just wanted to make sure you thought it looked right.”
I scowled. “That looks like an outfit for an exotic dancer. Isn’t she supposed to be a musician?”
“It’s all about the show,” Chase said. An edge built in his voice. “When we saw her play in Bar Harbor, she danced as well.”
A comeback hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I let it go. “You’re right. I just want to make sure nothing is off.”
Chase wrapped an arm around my shoulders, sending warmth through my body. “How about we get you that knife?”
“Does it have to be drab?” I asked, snuggling closer.
He laughed, deep and rich, and his hand brushed down my arm. “I know the perfect one.”
He walked me into the room where he’d changed and up to a showcase. Waiting there like an unwrapped gift was a dagger. It was petite, the handle oval-shaped instead of straight, and ornately filigreed with birds and dragons. The blade was both curved and tapered to a deadly slender point.
My throat choked as I picked the dagger up, my fingers closing around its handle. “It’s fantastic—and sharp, like wicked sharp.”
“It’s for show, that’s it.” Chase picked up a belt-like leather strap with a small holster. “Now, let me show you how this works.”
Still holding the dagger, I lifted my arms.
He slipped the leather strap around my waist and lowered it a little. “You want it snug enough to cinch up the robe, but not so tight that it shows off your figure. The holster should hang in the front, just off to one side, resting against your hipbone.”
Despite the thick robe, my body sizzled as his hands glided down my sides, hands that had cupped my breasts, that had followed lips across those same hipbones, that had . . . I swallowed hard, quivering as he cinched the strap, his fingers now lingering just below my bellybutton. Oh God. This was brutal.
I closed my eyes and clenched the dagger as desire knotted and surged beneath his whispering touches. I wanted so freaking bad to grab his head in both my hands, rake my fingers through his hair, pull his face against my body, his mouth. I wanted to—
“I think that’s good enough,” I said, my voice quavering.
He looked up, our gazes touching. His mouth twitched. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” He pried the dagger from my fingers and thrust it into the sheath or holster or whatever it was, hanging against my hipbone. “How’s that feel?” he said.
I giggled. “How can I answer that with a straight face?”
One of his hands scooped my chin. The other went around my waist, pulling me close. His lips were hot and moist against mine. Lips opened, mine matching his movement for movement. I explored his face with my fingertips as if it were a place I’d never been before and might never get to go again. His kisses warmed my eyelids, grazed the outline of my cheek.
“Annie,” he whispered in my ear, his smoldering voice sending shockwaves of longing to the very center of my being. We kissed again, as if in slow motion, his body pressed hard against mine, his hands gliding down my arms. A firestorm of heat pulsed through my body.
Then he stepped back, cold air coming between us. “Promise me something,” he said.
“Anything, as long as it doesn’t involve staying away from you forever.”
He took my face firmly in both of his hands. “Promise me you’ll leave the realm if I tell you to—without question. If something goes wrong, I couldn’t bear to have them use you against me.”
Icy sweat sliced down my spine and a feeling of foreboding lodged in my stomach.
“I promise,” I said.
CHAPTER 16
Yolk and shell, wax and dye,
Simple beginnings are where power lies.
—Egg-magic traditions
Olya Freemo
nt
It wasn’t raining anymore, but when I went back to my room after lunch it felt cool and gloomy.
I turned the overhead light on and slumped down by the window to check my phone. No texts. No e-mail. Except—
The old e-mail about Sotheby’s registration deadline stared back at me.
On the floor beside me, Houdini stretched. He wandered over and curled up in a faint stripe of light coming from the window. Not a care in the world.
I rubbed my neck, thinking. I wanted to say yes to Sotheby’s. But I didn’t want to leave Moonhill. Normally, I’d have talked it over with Dad. But the deadline was only a few days away. He wouldn’t be back from Slovenia in time, and his phone service was spotty at best. Going to London might help me decide if what I felt for Chase was real. And then there was Mother. It was impossible to predict how my life and Dad’s would change, if we succeeded or even if we didn’t.
To hell with it. It would be one less thing on my mind.
In less than five minutes, it was done. One short course. This fall. London. There, I was registered. I let out a shaky breath. If I backed out this time, they’d blackball me for sure.
There was a knock on my door, followed by a whisper. “It’s Lotli. Can we come in?”
I got up and opened the door.
She stood there in a muslin sundress, her thick hair plaited into two loose braids. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” What else could I say? “Come on in. Looks like you’re feeling better.”
“Our muscles are sore, but the headache is gone—thanks to Selena’s willow.” She lifted one of her necklaces off over her head. A tiny, egg-shaped pendant caged in silver wire dangled from it, no larger than the tip of my baby finger. She cupped it in her hand, like it was the most precious thing in the universe, and held it out to me. “We wanted you to have this. A token, for everything you did.”
“It’s beautiful. But you don’t have to. It’s enough to know you’re okay.” Maybe she was grateful, but she wasn’t in a position to be giving expensive gifts.
“We made it this morning. Special for you. It is a hummingbird egg—for protection and friendship.”
I gave it a closer look. It was a real egg, intricately decorated with minute petroglyphs in earthy colors. It was an amazing work of art. I touched it with the tip of my fingernail. “It’s gorgeous.”
She smiled, her whole face lighting up. “Put it on. We want to see how it looks on you.”
Taking it from her, I slid the necklace over my head. It was light and the egg rested just below the hollow in my throat, much higher than the chain with the signet ring hanging from it. It really was a thoughtful gift. “Thank you. I really like it.”
“We’re glad. And we are glad you’re going with Chase and us. We didn’t want to tell him, but we are scared about going.”
“It is a pretty crazy thing to do. But we’ll be fine.” I kept my voice upbeat. Scared was something none of us could afford to think about too much. Actually it was amazing she hadn’t insisted on going back to Zea, after what happened at the party.
“We hope so. Both of you know so much about genies and the realm. We know so little.”
“Chase didn’t tell you stuff—to help you prepare?”
“Some.” She glanced past me, to where Houdini was now sitting guard by my chair, his tail thrashing. “We didn’t realize you had one of them too. Kate has so many.”
“You can say that again.” I crouched down a little and motioned for him to come. “Here, kitty, kitty, come on.”
He hissed, then zinged under the bed.
I got back up, turned to Lotli, and rolled my eyes. “Not exactly the most cuddly pet.”
“Well, he is pretty,” she said.
“I guess.”
She rubbed her lower lip, as if working up her nerve to ask something. Finally, she said, “Selena told me that you and Chase are seeing each other.”
My backbone tensed and my pulse leapt into hyperdrive. Was this her way of admitting or apologizing for coming on to him? “Yeah. We’re cooling it a little, putting all our energy into the mission for now. But, yeah.”
“You are lucky. He’s a nice guy.” She scuffed her feet and looked down. “We are sorry for flirting with him. We didn’t realize.”
“That’s okay,” I said. I really hadn’t expected this.
She looked up. “After dinner, the Professor wants to video us playing for your grandfather’s cultural archives. We hope you come.”
“Sure. You can count on it,” I said.
“Great. We will see you then.”
I watched as she wandered off down the hallway, waiting until she reached the back stairs before I softly closed my door. Then I took the necklace off and walked to the window where I could examine it in stronger light. Lotli had to have the eyes of a hawk—or a hummingbird—to be able to draw that small, not to mention bending and twisting the tiny silver wires.
My mind flashed back to her playing in the gallery: the electric-eel slip and slither of her magic, the blast of cold, and the warding bowls exploding. She’d been so defiant, so confident, her words and playing. Not submissive at all.
I thought about her winding Chase’s yarn around her flute, caressing it. Just thinking back on that made me shudder. Still, neither my gut nor my bullshit detector had gone off this time about the pendant or the earnestness of her apology for flirting. I might have paid heed to Houdini’s shunning her, except he pretty much dissed everyone except for his Siamese girlfriends.
I closed my fingers around the egg and shut my eyes, focusing all my energy on it to see if I could sense anything, like Selena and Olya had done with the feather.
My eyes flew open. Olya!
That was my answer. If anyone would have an opinion about the pendant, she would. She was a practitioner of egg-magic, something Lotli might have failed to notice, since most of Olya’s spell-decorated eggs weren’t displayed where everyone could see them.
Apprehension prickled the nape of my neck. Olya had thought I was wrong about there being a spell on the feather Lotli gave to Chase—and she’d been right about that. She’d probably think I’d gone off the deep end of the paranoid pool or that jealousy had stolen my ability to think clearly.
No. I couldn’t worry about being wrong. I needed to show her the necklace. It was weird though, now that I thought about it, Selena had always told me Olya was the last known practitioner of egg-magic. But here Lotli was, making charms out of them.
After a little hunting, I found Olya alone in the basement research room, stirring a burbling copper bowl filled with dark-red liquid and purple eggs with lines etched onto their shells. The hot vapor fizzling off them reeked of vinegar and scorched hair.
“Phew, that stinks,” I said, fanning the air.
She wrinkled her nose and nodded. “The wards Kate and I made before, they were not as strong as we believed. These new ones will be very good. But potent magic requires potent ingredients and time to steep.” She wiped her hair back with her rubber-gloved hand, leaving a streak of red across her cheek. “These won’t reach full potency until tomorrow noontime at the earliest.”
I held out my fisted hand to her. “I know you’re busy, but do you have time to look at something for me? It’s an egg.” I relaxed my fingers, revealing the necklace.
She peeled off her gloves, took the necklace, and put it under a desktop magnifier. “Oh, my. Very meticulous.”
As she studied it, I stole a glance at the glass-fronted cabinet behind her. The Lamp of Methuselah was still inside it, just like Chase suspected.
Olya looked up, lips flattening into a knowing frown as she crossed her arms.
I raised my hands in surrender. “All right, Lotli gave it to me. I just—I thought it was smarter to be sure it wasn’t dangerous before I wore it.”
“Your fear and accusations are once again unfounded. There is no trace of magic.”
“None?”
“Only the goo
d energy of a beautiful egg, lovingly decorated.” She handed it back to me. “This is from a hummingbird, like the feather. The designs are similar to ones I have seen from the Canary Islands—where there are no hummingbirds. This lack of connection says the decorations are imaginative art. Not spells.”
Guilt settled over me, and my arms felt heavy and my fingers fumbled as I put the necklace back on. “I know it’s not an excuse, but ever since Dad ended up with a ring with the genie inside it, I’ve gotten paranoid about hidden curses and things.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right, too. I haven’t been giving Lotli a fair chance.” More like, I’d been a total ass.
Olya smiled, as proud as a mother whose kid just aced their report card. “That, Annie, is the first step. Chase is a good person. The hurt he saw growing up would break most men, make them vicious. It made him want to protect people. Her devotion and subservience to Zea reminds him of what he lived through. It pains him and he cannot turn his back on her.”
I touched the egg, its delicate shell cool against the warmth of my fingers.
“If what is between you and Chase is meant to be, it will be. But he will always care about others. If you try to stop that, you will drive him away. It is his heart.” Smiling, she tucked me under one arm. “Enough lectures. Let’s get these eggs taken care of and get out of this smelly dungeon.”
As I watched her ladle the eggs and broth from the copper bowl into a jumbo Crock-Pot like it was nothing more than beef stew, I thought about what she’d said and another woman’s voice and words came back to me: Chase’s mother, at Beach Rose House.
She’d set the blue and green skeins of yarn on her lap and taken my hands in hers.
“What do you fear?” she’d asked me, her voice hushed and as full of sanity as my own.
