by Pat Esden
“Chase?” I turned toward the bathroom. “I’m guessing the sheep aren’t supposed to be wandering around in your yard?”
“Crap!” He flew out of the bathroom and dashed down the stairs. His footsteps stopped and he called back up to me. “Don’t worry about the mess. I’m doing laundry later. And, Annie, I’m sorry about running off like this.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right down to help.” I made my own quick trip to the bathroom, then headed down the narrow stairs to find him. I didn’t know a thing about sheep, but I was sure he could use an extra hand with rounding them up or something.
The stairs came out in his tiny living room: a secondhand couch, a chair, some exercise equipment, and not much else. Through the front windows, I had a view across the sheep-covered lawn to where a black Jaguar had stopped on its way out the gate. Chase stood with one hand on its roof, hunched over talking to the person riding shotgun. My grandfather. It looked like my uncle David was driving and someone was in the backseat. My dad.
My shoulders tensed. Last night, Dad hadn’t mentioned going anywhere. He hadn’t texted or left a voice-mail message, either. For that matter, I’d never seen all three of them go anywhere together. What the heck was going on?
I found my cardigan on the coffee table next to our empty coffee mugs and Chase’s blue yarn and knitting needles. Snagging it, I shoved my arms into the sleeves and launched myself out the front door.
Undoubtedly, my early morning presence at the cottage would confirm Uncle David’s conviction that I had the morals of a sewer rat. Well, to hell with him. I was twenty, after all. Chase and I having sex shouldn’t get anyone’s panties in a bunch. But David would hassle my dad, who in turn would tell me to be more discreet and not to forget to use protection—and remind me that Chase was half-genie, as if that might call for some kind of magic contraceptive. That would make me blush and worry Dad might be right.
A knowing smile tugged at the corner of my grandfather’s mouth as I jogged between the sheep and up to the car. I put my hands on my hips and glared though the open front passenger window. “So, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Apparently, they’re going to Slovenia,” Chase said, folding his arms across his chest.
I let my glare dart past Grandfather and to my dad in the backseat. “Slovenia? Don’t you think you might have said something? What the heck’s in Slovenia?”
Dad’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “A bone flute, a twin to the Divje Babe. But more recently discovered and still in private hands at this moment. If our theory’s correct, it can be used to open the veil between realms. Interesting, wouldn’t you say?”
My pulse jumped at the possibilities and I nodded my agreement. My mother had been Malphic’s prisoner in the djinn realm since before Chase had been kidnapped and enslaved. The family had tried to rescue her, but failed when Malphic used a warding spell to seal the veil before everyone could escape. If this flute could do what they thought, then we’d be able to attempt another rescue—like as soon as they got back.
I tilted my head, studying Dad intently. “Are you sure it’ll work?”
“Fairly sure, but that’s where we need yours and Selena’s help,” he said.
Grandfather patted my hand. “Talk to your aunt Kate, she’ll tell you all about it.”
“We need to get going,” Uncle David grumbled.
The car rolled forward a few inches, but I held on to the window’s edge a moment longer. Acquiring a flute in Slovenia had to be safer than fighting a vengeful genie and his shadow-henchmen, and we’d all survived that. Still I didn’t believe for a second I was hearing the whole story. “Be careful,” I said.
Dad gave me a quick air-kiss and a wave good-bye. “Don’t worry. This is going to be easy.” His tone was light, but there was a catch in his voice.
I waved back, then hugged myself as the Jaguar glided through the open gateway and disappeared down the road beyond.
Dad wasn’t that sure about the easy part. Not at all.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Web sites included in this novel are intended to be fictitious. Any real Web sites with these domain names may not be connected to this series or the author.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2016 by Patricia A. R. Esden
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0005-6
First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2016
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0005-6
ISBN-10: 1-4967-0005-8
