by Kelly Gay
I pulled a fifty-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to her as I sat down on a low stone, pulling my knees closer to my chest. “The story of Solomon,” I said, slipping my bangs behind my ears and settling in.
“Ah.” She nodded in approval, stuffing the bill into her coat. “That’s a good one, yes. The great king himself. The half-breed. Born of the jinn High Chief and a human mother, much like our Sian.” She laughed, poking the fire again and making it crackle. “But in those days, he was a god to the jinn. Male of two worlds, ya know? A king who wanted to rule the land, to break the yoke of the nobles, and bring the jinn to greatness.”
“I thought he captured the jinn, used them as his slaves, commanded them.”
Her white brow lifted and her lips thinned in a scolding manner. “Who tells this story?”
I held up my hands. “Sorry.”
She began all over again, and I had the feeling we were going to be here awhile as she started in on who begat whom. I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes later, Solomon was finally begat by the jinn High Chief, Malek Murr, and a human woman, Bathsheba, and was raised as a son of David and a prince of Israel. The story, once again, drove home the notion of truths lost in legends, and the fact that the off-worlders had involved themselves in our civilization for untold millennia.
The story continued with Solomon’s childhood with his half brothers, his young adult life, and, through the efforts of his mother and the prophet Nathan, his rise to the throne while David was still alive. He was cunning, ruthless, and ambitious, with a lust for magic and power. He reorganized the kingdom of Israel into twelve tribes and built the temple of Solomon.
It was an hour into Vendelan’s story that Solomon learned of the First Ones from a jinn Storyteller.
“Since the Great War in Charbydon, when the nobles comes into our land, and takes control of the tribes, makes us bodyguards and servants, many jinn tribes they leave, they make home in the human world. But the nobles, they refused the jinn to stay there, they don’t want Malek Murr to raise an army against them. Solomon reacted, ya know? So angry, he was, when the nobles call the jinn back to Charbydon. He learns of the First Ones. He sees, ya know, opportunity. Thinks that with this old knowledge of these great beings that he will set free the jinn, return his sire to the throne to rule over Charbydon, send things back to the way they was before the nobles come. ’Cause the nobles never belonged in our land to begin with, you see.” She waved her hand impatiently. “Everybody knows this. Solomon, he sets out to uncover this knowledge of the ancients. He makes a cult of powerful jinn and human priests. Some says he succeeds in finding this knowledge. Some says he fails. In the end, he dies anyways. The jinn returns to Charbydon under the nobles’ rule, and Solomon is dead.
“But”—her finger shot in the air—“he did great things. It is said he found a star, a star that shone its brightest at dawn. That he forged a ring of great powers to one day give this star life. Solomon’s ring, ya know? But who can tell.” She shrugged and laughed gleefully, her one eye going bright. “They just stories, right?”
“The star,” I said, sitting straight. “He found the star?”
“Oh, yes. And he worshipped it, you see, for the star was a First One. So he makes this new religion. And calls himself the Son of Dawn. They still believe, ya know.”
“Who believes?”
“The Sons of Dawn. Oh, they still around. Trust me. New members, sure, but still around.”
“What do they believe, Vendelan?”
She leaned forward. “What all us jinn already know and everybody else forgets. The Char nobles and the Elysian Adonai are from the same stock. All were once Adonai. They forget, you see. So much time has passed. Ancient time. But we know. We remember. The nobles, they ruled in Elysia first, but they were no good. No good, you see, so they were cast out into Charbydon. Into our land. So long ago,” she sighed, “no one remembers. Sons of Dawn want nobles to remember, you see, to rise up and take back Elysia for their own. And the star is their proof, you see. Not myth, but truth. She is ancestor.”
“If it got out that the First Ones were real, and nobles once ruled in Elysia …” I said more to myself than to her.
“War,” she said with a crazy gleam in her eye. And then she straightened and shrugged, going back to her fire. “Good for the jinn, though.”
“How so?”
“Char nobles leave to fight for Elysia. We return home, back to our land, and rule as we did in the old times.”
I didn’t bother pointing out the fact that Charbydon’s moon was slowly dying, that one day there wouldn’t be a home to go back to, and, instead, asked a question that I was pretty sure I knew the answer to. “If that happened, Vendelan, if the nobles went to reclaim Elysia, who would be High Chief over all the jinn tribes?”
She glanced over her hunched shoulder, her one good eye taking on a zealous violet gleam. “Grigori, of course.”
My stomach went light and cold. Despite the heat and humidity, I wanted to hug myself, to ward off the chill of her words. Even Vendelan, as old as she was, thirsted for war and vengeance against the nobles. If Grigori felt he had a chance to win, there’d be no stopping him. But why would he want to return to a land that was dying? Why fight to reclaim something already lost?
Unless he knew of a way to stop it …
Vendelan turned back to her fire and stirred her pot of chili. “My story is ended, girl.” She waved her spoon, but didn’t turn around. “All they wants is a story …”
I hesitated by the chamber door, feeling sorry for the old Storyteller. “Next time,” I said, “I’ll bring my uncle Walter’s chili and all the toppings. No story. Just food and company.”
She turned at that. Her white eyebrow lifted. A grunt rumbled in her throat. “We’ll see, Charlie Madigan. We’ll see.”
I opened the door and stepped back into the corridor where Tennin’s guard was waiting to escort me out of the Lion’s Den. This time, I didn’t pay attention to the chambers I passed or the uneven ground at my feet. My thoughts were on Llyran’s “cause” and his “star.” He had Solomon’s ring. By his own admission, he wanted to liberate the nobles, to start a war in Elysia. The very same thing the Sons of Dawn wanted.
And Grigori Tennin had a hell of a lot to gain if the myth of the First Ones was proven true.
As I stepped beneath the massive archway that led into the main chamber, I saw several things at once. The jinn still sitting around the fire. Grigori sitting like some kind of Conan the Barbarian king in his massive chair, dressed in his snug, triple-X T-shirt, his guards behind him, his booted feet propped up on the massive table set in front of him as he carved an apple with a dagger that was way too big for the job. And Rex standing to the side, facing Tennin.
I took several more steps before I realized what I was seeing.
Rex.
My Rex.
Here. In the Lion’s Den. With Grigori Tennin.
I drew up short, so quickly that the guard behind me bumped into my back. But all I could react to was the sight of my ex-husband’s body standing there, his profile grim, his hands fisted at his sides as his head slowly turned in my direction. White as a ghost and those stormy blue eyes struck with horror and loss, like he was floundering and disoriented. He blinked several times.
Tennin popped a slice of apple into his mouth and chewed loudly, not bothering to hide the grin on his pitbull face.
Rage flared inside of me, swift and immediate. I burned from the inside out. My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. The hum that tore through my veins drowned out everything else.
Finally Tennin removed his feet from the table, stood, and came around the edge of the table and parked his rear on the corner. Rex hadn’t moved. “What? No words, Charlie Madigan?” A deep chuckle echoed through the chamber as he cut off another chunk of apple and shoved it into his mouth. “No disrespectful curses? No insults?” He pointed his dagger at me. “Cat got your tongue?” He chuckled at that, a deep, reson
ant echo bouncing off the chamber walls.
I blinked slowly, my eyelids stinging. I drew in a slow, deep breath and forced a swallow down my throat. “Rex.” My voice broke. “What have you done?”
I expected some kind of excuse. Rex always had a comeback, an answer for everything. But this time he stayed quiet, completely stunned. I flicked my gaze to Tennin. “What did you do to him?”
Tennin shrugged his colossal shoulders and when he grinned, his teeth flashed white and wicked against the dark gray of his skin. He spread his arms and said with a dramatic air, “Opened his eyes.” He laughed again, looking down at his apple, tearing off one last bite with his teeth and then tossing it into the fire pit. “I bet you got that collection letter and told him to fix it, didn’t you? He comes here. He bargains. And you get what you asked for, Charlie. It’s fixed. Debt is paid.”
Sweat trickled down the small of my back. No, no, no. “Jesus Christ, Rex, what did you do?” I asked louder this time, hearing the panic in my voice, but unable to hide it, unable to sound strong.
He shook his head as though trying to come out of his fog. “I … was trying—” He shook his head again, closing his eyes and then opening them, his features taking on a harder, stronger expression, his gaze flicking to Tennin and the rest of the rapt jinn in the chamber, then back to Tennin. They exchanged grave nods and then Rex marched toward me, making me wonder what the hell Tennin had done to him, because the look on his face was one I’d never seen before. And it made me take a step back.
He didn’t stop, just hooked his hand around my arm and jerked me along with him and out of the chamber to the sound of Grigori Tennin’s booming laughter.
I stumbled several times before regaining my senses, and pulled my arm from his grasp, my ankle turning as I stepped into a dip in the floor. I cursed and fell back, behind Rex. “Rex! Goddammit, what did you bargain? Rex!”
He kept walking, up the stairs and straight out of the Lion’s Den and into Solomon Street.
“Rex!”
I ran, weaving through the crowd, the vendor carts, and around the fire barrels, until I caught up with him and grabbed his arm. “Stop! For God’s sake, just slow down for a minute.” He finally listened. My chest burned from the run and the large draughts of smoke that had entered my lungs.
Something had definitely changed. Rex’s eyes were filled with turmoil and though it sounded strange, they seemed to hold more depth, more knowing, more … force. Part of me wanted to rail at him, to put my hands on my hips and tell him what an idiotic thing he’d done by going to Tennin, but his grim expression and that look in his eyes gave me pause. “What happened? What did he do to you?”
“I remember, Charlie. I remember everything.”
He started walking again. I fell in step beside him, trying to understand exactly what he meant by that, my sense of dread growing with each step as I remembered standing in Bryn’s apartment two months ago, discussing the Bleeding Souls that were being used as an ingredient to produce ash:
You know why it’s called a Bleeding Soul? It was used in the Great War when the nobles first appeared in Charbydon and fought with the jinn for control. The nobles used it as a weapon, the biological warfare of their time. It forced the soul to separate from the body. Myth says that’s where the Revenants and Wraiths came from, that they’re really the souls of jinn warriors who have wandered so long that they’ve forgotten who and what they once were.
“Oh my God. You’re saying that’s true? That you remember?”
“Yes,” he said, looking straight ahead. “I remember everything.”
Rex was a jinn warrior during the Great War? I stared at his profile, before having to turn back to watch where I stepped. Our insane, goofy, sarcastic Rex was a jinn? A fighter? “You’re saying—”
“Yes, Charlie. And I was the best.” He turned the corner, striding out into the plaza and toward the steps to Topside. “You can close your mouth. It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility.”
My mind raced with all the implications, what this meant for him, for me and Emma. He was at the top of the steps before I caught up to him again and darted in front of him, making him stop. “Rex. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going home. I’m going to take a shower. And then I’m going to sleep.”
He went to sidestep me, but I jumped in front of him again. “But—”
“Just chill, Charlie,” he said tiredly. “The collection debt is paid. I’m not making any decisions right now. You’re fine. Em’s fine. Tennin doesn’t command me. I’m far older than he … if only in spirit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “What he gave me to make me remember, it’s made me tired. I just want a nap, okay?”
For some reason, I didn’t want to let him go. In fact, the urge to hug him gripped me hard, and I realized that I didn’t want him to leave us. But I stepped back, gave him an understanding nod, said, “Okay,” and then watched him walk away.
I wrapped my arms around myself as cold desolation settled into my bones, followed by a prickle of unease. I scanned the street, getting the feeling of being watched and wondering which of Pendaran’s nymphs was keeping an eye on me this time.
17
I shook off the paranoia and sat on one of the benches near the entrance to Underground, beneath a streetlamp, beneath the darkness overhead, and beneath what sure as hell felt like the weight of the world because I was pretty sure I’d just figured out how to get Rex out of Will’s body.
A Bleeding Soul.
The mythical Charbydon flower had been used in the Great War by the nobles to rip the souls from jinn warriors. Whatever mixture they used—however they made it and administered it—I bet it would rip Rex’s jinn soul right out of Will without Will having to die. And it was just a matter of time before Rex realized it, too, if he hadn’t already.
So why did I feel so empty? I should feel joy, triumph … something other than this bland, solemn acceptance. I pressed my cool palms to my closed eyelids, trying to reenergize myself. My cell rang, indicating a new text had arrived in my inbox. I shifted my weight and pulled out my cell, surprised to see it was from Emma.
I’m spending the night with the Motts.
I could hear that tiny, stubborn voice in my head and smiled. This kid was going to be the death of me. But at least she was “speaking” to me, and if I could’ve hugged her through that cell screen, I would have.
U ok? I wrote back.
Yes. srry 4 knockin u down this morning. A sad emoticon accented her words.
My fingers went slowly over the keys. I was not an expert in texting like Emma or Hank. Some power you got, kiddo. dont run like that again. you scared me to death.
Ok. mom? i feel weird. i don’t want u out tonite.
I tensed. r u sick? what’s wrong?
Not sick. it doesnt feel right. Im worried about u.
Apprehension stiffened my posture. ill be fine, kid. ill see you in the morning, k?
K. luv u.
Luv u 2.
I didn’t want to sign off, didn’t want to be working this damn case when I could be with my kid. I flopped back and instantly regretted it as my mark hit the back of the bench and sent a hot jolt through my wound. “Damn it,” I hissed, leaning forward and waiting for the sting to go away. It wasn’t long before the pain shifted to a tingling sensation that sent warmth easing through my system.
A shadow fell over me. I glanced up to see Hank standing there with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and a grave expression on his striking face. He was still pale, and his hair was still damp.
“How’d you find me?”
He shrugged, staring beyond me. “Wasn’t hard.”
“Let me guess,” I ventured, flatly. “You were going to Bryn’s to find me, but hit the plaza and then your new Charlie Sensor started acting up.”
“Something like that.”
Figured there’d be side effects to the mark. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and gazed at the to
ps of my boots. When Hank sat down beside me, the mark’s warmth increased. “I thought it was just a truth mark.”
“It is. I’m not an expert in markings. Is yours warm?” I nodded, not meeting his gaze. “Mine, too.” After a deep sigh, he asked, “You see the Storyteller?”
“Yeah. Solomon started a cult called the Sons of Dawn. They worshipped the First Ones. Discovered what I’m guessing is the remains of one, and called her the ‘star.’”
“And the star is inside of that sarcophagus.”
“That would be the logical assumption,” I said, not hiding the weariness in my tone. “Llyran intends to raise Ahkneri or gain access to her power or her weapon. I think Tennin is waiting. Waiting for Llyran to accomplish his task. If a First One is raised, if the nobles learn the truth that Elysia was once theirs, they’ll wage war to take it back. And that leaves Tennin free to take back Charbydon.”
“In a few decades Charbydon will be virtually uninhabitable,” Hank said. “All of the jinn tribes still there will have to evacuate. If he wants anything, it’s to carve out his own territory here.”
“Could be,” I said, not wanting to believe he’d go that far or be that stupid. “He did help Mynogan bring darkness to the city …”
“And now he’s somehow helping Llyran start a war.” Hank glanced at his watch. “The best time to perform rituals is at dusk and dawn. We have about eight hours before winter solstice dawns.”
“Llyran’s not going to show himself, he won’t risk it this close to his goal. And Tennin won’t do anything to compromise his position … No word from the guys on the warehouse?”
