She was a woman dating a man so dedicated to his job he couldn’t even take her to the movies.
Yee-fucking-haw.
It sounded great on paper, but the fine print was a bitch. Especially when it came to her life. Her relationships.
“Say Brandon is trying to give me a break,” she grumbled after taking a sip of the deliciously smooth, faintly licorice-flavored liquid. “That doesn’t mean he’s perfect. You have to admit he’s got issues. Especially when it comes to Ram.”
Ram. He was one of the two Jinn assigned to watch over her—the one who’d tricked her into having sex with him to ignite her abilities. The same one who’d saved Aunt Penn from the Jiniyr, Razia and Harash, when they came after Aziza. He’d been exiled for his troubles, stripped of his powers and shunned by his people. He’d sacrificed everything for them. For her.
That sacrifice didn’t seem to matter to Brandon—he’d made his feelings about her protecting Ram clear. The only consolation he would give her was that he wouldn’t allow the Enforcers to take him in for questioning. Yet.
“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Greg nodded. “I can admit he’s been a dick about Ram, but Brandon may not be able to help it. He was raised to hate them. Enforcers aren’t exactly taught how to be politically correct when it comes to things they think are unnatural.”
Aziza lifted her eyebrow. “The nature-versus-nurture argument doesn’t get him off the hook.” Even if both told him to act on his hatred for Ram and he still seemed to be restraining himself for her sake. For the moment.
“No, it doesn’t.” Greg paused and studied his silverware for a moment, as if seeking answers in the shining utensils. When he looked up at her with a forced expression of cheer, she knew he hadn’t found them. “But other than your disagreements about Ram’s rights and Brandon’s wolfy work schedule, you two are doing great, right?”
“Other than those few giant red flags that I’m having a hard time ignoring today, yes, we’re great.”
Which made it more frustrating. In so many ways Brandon was almost too good to be true. Too sexy. Too perfect for her. Unless the topic of the Jinn came up. Or Ram. Or Brandon’s father, the Alpha.
Or her abilities and what they were doing to her.
Aziza rubbed her hand where the sand from not just one vial, but two—hers and her brother Tarik’s—had found its way under her skin. It was in her bloodstream now and taking her over bit by bit with each day that passed. Confusing her about what she was feeling, what she wanted…what it wanted.
If her visions were true, she still needed to find the last two portions that had been sent to her brothers Adam and Joseph. Needed to use them and take more of the mysterious power inside her.
“The Mayet could shape the sand, but no one knows how the sand will shape a Fireborne. No one can see into the soul.”
The words in Greg’s notebook haunted her. She had changed, and was changing a little more with every day that passed. Would accepting the rest of the sand transform her completely? Would Aziza Jane exist at all in the end? If not, who would she be? She was still trying to piece together what it meant to her, as well as to everyone else around her—Penn and Greg in particular. They were the only family she had left. She couldn’t let anything happen to them because of who she was, or what she might become.
Greg reached for her hand, stopping her restless movements. “About Adam’s box,” he began hesitantly. “I hope you’re not getting your hopes up too high about what’s in it before it gets here. I mean, Tarik was actually in the land of the Jinn myths when he was at your father’s place, so it made sense when we found things that related to your Fireborne side of the family in his personal effects. But Adam was in Colorado photographing snow bunnies when he…”
Aziza smiled compassionately at his hesitation. “It’s okay for you to say he died. I’m not that fragile anymore. And yes, knowing my brother, I’m sure snow bunnies were involved at some point. Maybe he was just doing a fluff piece for a magazine when Razia’s people killed him, but there could still be something useful in the box.”
Like a vial. His portion of the black sand that contained a power meant for her unique family line. Her inheritance from the father that she’d barely known, Zayid Ammu.
“And there might be nothing but a tube of toothpaste and pictures of nude women in hot tubs,” Greg countered gently. “You have to be prepared for that.”
“I am. But, Greg, Adam never believed Tarik’s death was an accident. Not completely.”
“He never said it directly, but I don’t think he did either. He was too skeptical of the official report from Bahrain about the house fire.”
Aziza rapped her knuckle on the table. “See? He honored Mom’s wishes by staying in the United States, but he was always emailing his journalist friends in Egypt—and he’d leave the room when he was on the phone with Joseph.” She leaned closer and gave him a penetrating look. “I think they must have known more about what was going on than I did, more than any of them wanted to tell me. Maybe they thought I was like her and couldn’t handle it.”
“That’s a theory you have no way of proving. If they did know something, they didn’t share it with me,” he promised. “I was close to all of them, but you know I would have told you.”
“I know.” But the little things she was remembering now made her more and more certain that her brothers, her mother…everyone had known more about what was coming than she did.
Their food arrived and Aziza instantly snagged a stuffed grape leaf and took a bite, chewing slowly. “Even if you’re right and the box is a dead end, it’s the only solid lead I have. God knows I can’t seem to get an answer out of the men Joseph served with. My blood isn’t telling me diddly right now, and my Qarins are no help at all—or I suppose I should say Qarin, singular, since Ram is still moping about losing his mojo and Shev is missing in action. That only leaves my Niyr to protect me.” She blew a stray hair out of her face and reached for another dolma. “Go, Team Te.”
“Letters to other countries, especially to military types, tend to take time finding their recipients,” Greg reasoned. “Plus, if anyone in his squad saw Joseph escape the blast and didn’t report it, they might not be in a hurry to admit that omission. Be patient.”
“Gregory Prophet makes a valid point, as usual.” Te’s voice had Aziza choking on the drink she’d just shot back. “And your singular Qarin is doing everything that consensus allows to aid you.”
Gasping from ouzo going down the wrong pipe, Aziza looked up at the Niyr as Greg laughed and got to his feet, his eyes wide with obvious appreciation.
“Look at you, beautiful. Are you taller? No?” He guided Te into the booth and waited for her to slide in before he sat down beside her. “There is something different about you, isn’t there? I just can’t put my finger on what it is this time.”
Aziza didn’t even try to hide her smile. “Try cup size, babe—it looks like she’s up to the third letter of the alphabet. And you really shouldn’t ‘put your finger on it’ in public.”
When Greg sent her a chiding look, her grin widened. Te’s breasts were definitely bigger, and Aziza was fairly positive the change wasn’t for her benefit this time. The Niyr had changed her form more than once since they met. She’d been a creepy boy in a school uniform, a quietly attractive woman in her twenties and a little girl attempting to escape Aziza’s wrath, and the only thing they all had in common was their coloring—pale skin, platinum hair and the black, bottomless eyes of the Niyr.
This was the body she’d had the last several times Aziza had seen her, that of a young woman with modest, fifties fashion sense and a fresh, innocent face. The look was still off, but far prettier than her previous incarnations. Angelic. If Greg’s suppositions were true, the Niyr were what ancient humans called angels. Only they weren’t really messengers from heaven—just emotionless brainiacs from a parallel world who thought they knew everything, and for some reason hated the Jinn as much as the werewolves di
d. There was nothing cherubic or heavenly about that.
“So, Te, what are you doing here?” Aziza asked. “Do your people have a fondness for dolmas you never told me about?”
Te held herself stiffly beside Greg and shook her head. “I don’t eat, Fireborne. I believed since the two of you were alone and the discussion was of some import, you would require guidance.”
Reaching for another bite-sized treat, Aziza smirked. “Since when did you think this topic was important? The last I heard you were against my plan. In fact, weren’t you the one who tried to trick us into giving you Tarik’s vial because of the one-portion-of-sand-per-customer rule?”
“I thought we were Team Te now.” Greg put his arm around the Niyr’s shoulders protectively. “Ignore her. She had another fight with her werewolf.”
“I know.” Te’s voice reflected no emotion, but the way she glanced at Greg’s hand was revealing. “She is antagonistic but not incorrect. The Niyr were not expecting her to attempt a retrieval of all the vials sent out by the keeper. As I’ve said before, the Zhaman’s allotment is exact. However, a consensus has been reached that while I may not aid the endeavor, I will also make no effort to impede the Fireborne’s chosen course.”
“I’m so glad you all agree on something you have no say in,” Aziza murmured, refilling her glass.
Te tilted her head. “As to the Enforcer, from what I’ve observed, the time you spend defending your exiled Jinn Qarin appears to be the primary source of friction between you.”
Ram again.
“No,” Aziza corrected with exaggerated patience. “Brandon’s insistence on treating me like a helpless female and breaking our dates without telling me why is the primary source of friction. Weren’t you paying attention? And are you advising me on my love life now, Te? The Niyr aren’t exactly known for their empathy. Now if my problem was statistics or taking over the universe—or if I needed Greg’s brain fried with bolts of crazy telepathic lightning again…”
Greg reached up to touch the single platinum strand hidden in his sandy hair, a direct result of said brain-frying. To be fair, Te had also saved him from Razia, so Aziza couldn’t be too hard on her.
Aziza sighed. “Okay, I’ll accept that you can’t help me with my search for the sand, but have you found Joseph? Have you and Shev had any private meetings in the center of some town about getting Ram reinstated that you haven’t told me about? Can you tell me what Brandon is up to with his Enforcers?”
“No.” Te made no effort to specify which question she was answering.
Aziza felt a vein pulse at her temple. “Then why are you here?”
There wasn’t much outward sign of it—Te’s large, dark eyes were unblinking and her body still—but Aziza could almost feel the Niyr’s reaction. Hurt. Insecurity. Confusion. Surely that couldn’t be accurate. Niyr didn’t experience emotions the way humans did. The way Jinn and werewolves did. She’d never felt or seen any sign of it before.
You feel it now.
Well, hell. Now she felt like a jackass. She only had one Qarin at the moment, and she was pushing her away. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated about…everything. I wasn’t expecting you to show up unless it was an emergency.”
“But it’s a happy surprise,” Greg chimed in. “Right, Aziza Jane?”
Te shifted subtly in the booth, away from Greg’s hand. “There is no need for fabrication, Gregory Prophet. I understand the Fireborne’s frustration. And my arrival must add to that since I would second the Enforcer’s warnings pertaining to the Jinn exile and the establishment he frequents. It may not be wise to spend much time there.”
Te’s shockingly dark lashes shielded her gaze and Aziza could hear—could feel—the care she was taking with her words. It suddenly dawned on her that they weren’t concealed, that Te was speaking with an audience of her peers listening in.
Oblivious to the undercurrents of the Niyr’s words, Greg groaned. “We’ve talked about this, Te, remember? Whenever you tell Aziza Jane not to do something, it has the opposite effect. Trust me on this.”
Aziza’s lips quirked, but her mind was full of questions she knew Te couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer. “Damn straight, Te. But I’ll tell you what—the next time we go to Underbridge, you should come with us. I know you’ve watched us from a distance—which, by the way, is considered a fetish in some circles—but maybe you need a personal experience to enjoy it. With those new breasts and your…demeanor? I know a few men and women with whips who would love the challenge.”
Surprise. Curiosity. Fear. Aziza could sense it all before Te attempted to remove herself from the booth. Unfortunately, Greg was blocking her escape. She glanced around furtively before nodding to Aziza. “Perhaps we should continue our conversation another time.”
When she disappeared from view Greg scanned the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed the abrupt, inhuman exit, while Aziza narrowed her gaze on the swiftly dissipating ripple of energy in the spot where Te had been. “Weird.”
Greg sighed heavily and lifted his arm, gesturing for their bill. “We should go and see how many people you can chase away with your mood by the time we get home.”
So much for catching up.
“You didn’t have to be so hard on her, Aziza Jane.”
Greg kept his arm around her shoulder as they walked down King William Street. They’d taken the light-rails from the restaurant to get to the underground subway station that would take them back to Penn’s place. The Tube, they called it here, but that made it sound more confining than it already was. As if she were about to be shoved into a narrow casing and then squeezed out the other end like a sausage.
They really needed to rent another car.
“I know I didn’t, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
“She was trying to help.”
“Bullshit.” Aziza laughed. “Did she ever give me a straight answer about why she was there? Did she give us anything new? No. She latched on to something Brandon said in our fight and used it as a reason to show up and test-drive her expanding cleavage. And you, horn dog that you are, were more than happy to notice it.”
“I’m a man, Aziza Jane. I’m wired to notice. But there’s nothing between Te and me, other than our desire for knowledge. Knowledge we need to help you, by the way.”
“What do you mean?” She glanced up at him suspiciously. “Have you…Greg, have you seen her when I’m not around?”
He looked guilty. “Only once or twice. We’ve gone through my notebooks, the ones I wrote after she zinged me and before all those facts disappeared from my mind. We’ve gone through the books Tarik sent to the Stewart house about the ruins in the desert. She’s not big on specifics—she really can’t be without being hidden—but I know she’s helping us as much as she can. She wants us to be ready, to be able to protect ourselves in case Razia and his cronies attack again.”
What did books about buried treasure and ruins have to do with helping her? Aziza thought about her dreams. She’d seen the tops of great spires sticking out of the sand. Seen the scorched earth around the buried cities. Was there something there she needed to find? But if there was, why was Te talking to Greg about it instead of her?
Greg is necessary.
Te had said that to her the night Razia almost killed Penn. But did his being necessary have to do with what was coming for Aziza…or with Te’s obvious attachment to him? “I think your creepy lost child is working on a crush.”
Greg grimaced. “And with that image, my night is ruined and I may need to bathe in bleach.”
Aziza opened her mouth to tease him but was struck by an anxious, sick feeling, a cold coiling in her stomach. Her throat tightened and she shivered. What the hell was that?
“Greg?”
“Yes?”
She saw the opening for the stairs leading down to the Tube and tugged her jacket closer in the damp night air as she turned to face him. “Why did they stop?”
He looked confused. “Why did who s
top what? What are we talking about?”
“You said she wants us to be ready for the Jiniyr, but we haven’t seen or heard from them since that night. Why did they stop coming after me? According to Razia’s overconfident villain monologue, they went to a ridiculous amount of trouble to make me the Fireborne. To make sure the broken girl who’d lost her family and hadn’t known anything about her father’s line was the only one left for the sand to choose. They needed me so the treaty between the Jinn and Niyr could be broken and they could have their psycho version of Utopia or whatever it is they want. If I’m so important, why all the radio silence? Brandon says there’s been nothing. No strange deaths. Nothing on the Enforcer radar. What are they waiting for?”
Greg shrugged, but she could see by the look on his face that he’d thought about it before. “I don’t know. You killed Razia’s partner. Maybe he’s in mourning. Or maybe your big pyrotechnic show combined with the werewolf posse in the Cotswolds scared him away.”
Or they were planning something new with which to torture her. Razia was still out there, along with the rest of his Jiniyr brethren, free to kill again, free to target her loved ones whenever they chose.
Aziza turned again and started for the stairs. “I have a bad feeling. I wish Ram’s punishment were lifted,” she said, raising her voice in case they were listening. “Or Shev would show her face so I could punch it, accept her apology and then find out what she knows. I can’t believe the Jinn are keeping her away from me when my Niyr Qarin has been on the job, potentially filling my head with anti-them thoughts and attempting to seduce my best friend with her breasts.”
Too bad Te’s presence hadn’t been more helpful tonight. Aziza had hoped it would provoke some response from the Jinn, who always demanded equal representation with the Fireborne. Maybe Ram, even as a powerless exile, was enough in their eyes. It was possible…but she didn’t think so.
Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 Page 2
