“Charlie,” I said, straining to keep my voice calm. “We’re here, honey. It’s okay. You’re safe. The magic’s gone.”
His chest rose and fell, but he didn’t respond.
I kept murmuring to him, as did Rachel. But when Charlie didn’t answer for a few minutes, Oz looked between Rachel and me. “Should we try to wake him up?”
The jinni inside me said no. He was better off resting.
“Just let him sleep,” I said. “He’ll wake up when he’s…”
A huge gasp of air left Charlie’s lungs and he sat bolt upright, blinking and shaking.
“… ready,” I finished, pushing back gently on Charlie’s shoulders to get him prostrate again.
“Charlie, baby, you okay?” Rachel murmured, stroking a dark hand along Charlie’s stubbled jaw. “Charlie?”
His eyes were still open, but I wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Something told me it wasn’t the night sky above us.
“Red,” he said, quite calmly, at nothing, before shutting his eyes again.
I swore. “Let’s get him home. Put him to bed. Hope he remembers something in the morning and didn’t just risk his life for nothing.”
Oz and I bent to lift Charlie, but when I touched him he jolted, grabbing my hand.
“You,” he said. “He’s coming for you.” And then he passed out, his head lolling back on his shoulders.
“Fucking hell, Charlie,” I said. “Way to give me a heart attack.”
It took all three of us to get Charlie back into Rachel’s SUV. He was dead weight, although his quiet snores kept us content that he was sleeping, and not actively dying on us.
We drove straight back to Highland Park, where Yulia used her wisps to help us carry our lifeless burden. We laid him on the chaise, and before we could lift a finger to stop her, Yulia smacked Charlie hard across the mouth.
“Wake up!” she yelled, causing us all to jump back, and then rush toward her.
“What are you doing, you lunatic!” Rachel yelled back at Yulia, grabbing her long-fingered hands. But Rachel couldn’t then stop the wisp Yulia sent to smack Charlie again, and then a third time.
“He needs to wake up!”
“Yulia, stop,” I said, but a moan from Charlie cut me off. He was stirring, rustling weakly under the throw rug we’d draped around him before putting him in the car.
“See, he wants to wake up,” the will-o’-the-wisp murmured, her Slavic accent making her voice sound extra smug.
Rachel shot Yulia a dirty look before turning to Charlie. “Baby, you coming back to me?”
He moaned, a low, dry sound, raising a hand to his lover.
Without being asked, Oz headed into the kitchen we’d passed. I heard cupboards opening and closing, then the sound of running water. Oz returned a few seconds later with a glass he passed silently to Rachel. She accepted it with a low murmur, not looking at him, and helped Charlie drink.
After a few gulps, he’d drained the whole glass.
“Another?” Rachel asked, holding out the glass, but Charlie opened his eyes at that.
“Something stronger?” he asked, his voice breathless and weak.
Rachel gave the glass back to Oz, nodding at the little bar cupboard that stood in one corner of the room. Oz opened it up, then looked inquiringly at me when greeted with its shelves of bottles.
“The Glenfarclas,” I said, after glancing at the contents. It was the most expensive Scotch on hand, and I figured Charlie would rather live than see it go to waste.
Oz filled the glass with what was probably a thousand dollars’ worth of whiskey, and handed it to me. I held it up for Charlie.
“Here you go, brother. If you die on us, we’ll guzzle this as if it’s swill, like the Philistines we are,” I reminded him. He gave me a sour look, but drank deeply when I held the glass to his lips.
When he was finished, he leaned back with a sigh. “Nectar of the gods.”
“And you should know,” I murmured, running a knuckle over his cheekbone.
“Those were the days.” He gave a dry cough, then looked expectantly at the glass in my hand. I gave him another long draft.
“Do you remember what you Saw, Charlie?” Yulia asked. Rachel gave her a chilly look.
Charlie looked at the wisp, then at me.
“I do,” he said. “But I think I need to finish my drink first.”
He was strong enough now to take it himself, and drink he did. The entire glass, in long gulps that made me feel a bit nauseous. I would have been under the table with all that booze in me, but it only seemed to steady Charlie. He set the glass on the table next to him, then scootched up into a sitting position on the chaise.
“What I Saw wasn’t good,” he said.
“It never is. I’m sorry.” I just hoped he hadn’t Seen his own death again.
The look he gave me was pained. “It wasn’t about me, this time,” he said, taking my hand. “It was about you.”
I blinked at him.
“What did you See?” Oz asked. I felt his hand, heavy and strong on my shoulder, gently kneading my muscles. It felt comforting. I should have twitched it off, but seeing the worried look on Charlie’s face made me leave it be.
“Red eyes,” he said. “Red eyes that were waiting for me.”
I shivered, remembering seeing red eyes waiting for me, in another time, another room.
“Okay,” I said. “What else?”
“I Saw a cage. With something inside it. Something that wants out. And it wants you, Lyla.”
Oz’s hand on my shoulder tightened almost painfully, but I welcomed the distraction.
“What do you mean, it wants Lyla?” asked my Master, but Charlie’s eyes stayed on mine.
“I Saw you,” he said. “You were pregnant.”
My whole system screeched to a halt at that, like someone dragging the needle of a gramophone over a record.
“What?” I asked. “That’s impossible.”
And I should know. They don’t make birth control for jinn, let alone jinn-who-were-once-human. But despite a millennium of sexual escapades, I’d never gotten pregnant. And after a few hundred years of not getting pregnant, I’d decided that, like all the best genetic crossbreeds, my hybrid jinni-human nature had left me like a jackass: infertile.
“I Saw it,” Charlie said. “You were pregnant. Giving birth.”
My hands went to my stomach. Charlie pulled them away, holding them in his.
“What you gave birth to. It was… it was strong.”
“What was it?” I asked. I had to. I didn’t know what I was, ferchrissakes. What would I give birth to? But I guess that would depend on the father…
“It wasn’t anything I’ve ever Seen before,” Charlie said. “It was just… power.” He took a deep breath, squeezing my hands. It was like we were the only two people in the room. Just me and my oldest friend, about to tell me something he knew might break me.
“It ate the world.”
“It what the what?” I said, my voice remarkably calm considering how I was feeling inside.
“It ate the world,” he said. “I Saw it. It ate the world.”
“But how? What can do that? Nothing can do that.”
“There have been things,” Charlie said. “Old things. But there have been things.”
“How can I give birth to an old thing? This makes no sense. What was it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But its eyes… they were red.”
“Red eyes,” I murmured, remembering red eyes blinking back at me, the hot talons around my heart, the Fire that consumed me…
Suddenly it was like no time at all had passed between the moment of my curse and now. I was back in that overheated room near the harem, feeling my own heart burn in my chest and every atom in my body scream in pain as it turned… Other.
My voice choked on a silent scream as my lungs refused to expand, to give my body the oxygen it needed. My vision blurred.
And for the second
time that evening, I passed out. But I did so quite decorously, drooping across Charlie’s lap like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
My last thought was relief we’d wrapped him in a blanket, or I would have nuzzled his junk.
Chapter Fifteen
My eyes felt gummy, hard to open. But when I did manage to pry them apart, I slammed my lids back down, gritting my teeth against the pain.
Some animal was making a low whine and it took me a second to realize it was me.
“Here,” said my Master softly, his deep voice pitched even lower. A strong hand slid under my head, lifting it gently. I felt the nudge of a capsule against my lips and I opened my mouth obediently. Oz popped four of something—hopefully ibuprofen, but at that point I didn’t care if it was rat poison—into my mouth, then held a water glass to my lips so I could drink.
“Thank you,” I said, after I’d swallowed the pills. I kept my eyes shut, but the hand on the back of my neck gave me a gentle caress in response.
“Keep drinking,” was all he said. “You’ve got to be dehydrated.”
I did as he commanded. As I drained the glass I finally risked opening my eyes again against the dim sunlight coming through the curtains I recognized as those in one of the big house’s guest rooms.
“What happened?” I asked, when I’d finished my water and he’d moved the glass away. He lowered my head back to the pillow.
“Charlie said something about red eyes and you giving birth, and you went purple and collapsed. You’ve been out all night. Everyone said you were just sleeping off using all that power, but I was worried.”
I felt my skin grow cold when he reminded me about the red eyes, and I was glad I was still lying down. Oz’s face hovered over mine.
“You look like you’re going to pass out again. Lyla?”
“I’m okay,” I said, after a breathless few moments. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to punch me?”
“I’m not allowed to punch you,” I reminded him, giving him a rude side-eye but staying still, trying to calm my breathing.
“Well, I can tell you what’s wrong with you, but you’re not going to like it. You’re having panic attacks.”
I snorted. “Bullshit.”
“Red eyes,” said Oz.
I hyperventilated, turning away from him onto my side in a fetal position. I crushed my eyes shut.
A big hand stroked gently over my hair, calming me. He made gentle, nonsensical noises until I had myself back under control.
“Like I said…,” he began. I opened my eyes to give him a baleful glare. “Panic attacks.”
“That’s so… Dr. Phil,” I snarled, forcing myself to sit up.
The smile he gave me was sweet and sad. He stood to help me sit up, plumping the pillows so I could lean back comfortably.
I wanted to punch him. I also wanted to curl up in his lap and tell him to keep stroking my hair.
It had felt good.
When I was situated, he asked if I wanted more water. I shook my head. He got some for me from the en suite bathroom anyway, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts.
“So,” I said, fiddling with the glass he handed me. “Panic attacks.”
He nodded, sitting back down. “Yup.”
“And you know this how?”
He cocked his head at me. “Because I had them, after Afghanistan. The work was really… intense. The people we met, they’d lived through some shit. Collecting their stories was harrowing. Then Tamina’s disappearance tipped me over the edge. I just kept imagining her going through the same things as the women we’d talked to… my mind was a pretty bad place for a while.”
“Oh.” That was a new spin on his need to find Tamina. He’d told me he researched violence against women, but I hadn’t hooked the two together. I also realized I hated the thought of him hurting that much. I shook my head, clearing away such rubbish.
“So why am I having stupid panic attacks?”
He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. He was wearing that same button-up he’d had on earlier, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing an impressive array of tattooed muscular forearm. “You tell me, Lyla. It’s obviously to do with red…”
“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, feeling my breathing hitch.
He frowned. “But don’t all jinn have… the words I can’t say, don’t they? That was one of the first things Tamina’s grandmother told me. Jinn are made of black smoke, with red you-know-whats and red mouths.”
“They’re fire inside,” I said, in response.
He looked at me curiously. He’d seen my tummy split just a tiny bit open, and knew I was anything but fire inside.
“I’m a horrible example of a jinni,” I said in explanation.
His lips twitched at that. “So why would red eyes be special for you?”
“They’re not. I mean, they shouldn’t be. All jinn have red eyes, except me. But it’s still what… it’s what I dream about. When I dream of… the thing that made me.”
“The jinni that cursed you? Kouros?”
I nodded.
“Can you tell me about it?”
I shook my head.
He leaned forward, taking my hand. I resisted, then let him fold my little paw in his giant one. “Lyla, listen to me. I know the last thing you want to do is talk about what happened to you. I know, because I felt the same way about what happened to me. But the only way to start healing is to talk.”
“You are Dr. Phil,” I accused.
“You can call me that, if it helps. Because I’m serious. You need to talk about it.”
“Oz,” I said, sitting up again as if propelled. “I’m like a gajillion years old. I’ve talked about it. Roughly a gajillion times.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said, sounding eminently reasonable. “Charlie and your friends obviously know the details about your curse.”
“Exactly. See?” I tried to pull my hand back.
He kept it. “But I bet,” he said, “you haven’t really talked about it. About what really happened. What it felt like.”
That made me shut up. My hand went limp in his and his thumb caressed my wrist gently.
“You might be right,” I admitted, eventually.
“And that’s the kicker. You have to talk about that stuff—the stuff you don’t want to talk about. I told roughly a gajillion people, as you put it, about my research. But it was just the facts. It wasn’t until I confronted how I’d felt about what I’d heard that I started to come to terms with everything.”
“And how did you feel?” I asked, knowing my voice sounded challenging.
It was a challenge Oz was happy to accept.
“I felt helpless. Useless. Everything my father had told me about being a man—about fighting your own battles, standing up for yourself, being strong… well, that all went out the window when I was confronted with these people who’d not had any choices. And I couldn’t help them. All I could do was nod and write down what they told me. There wasn’t going to be any justice for them, ever. And now the country’s even more dangerous, so we can do very little to implement the changes we think would help…” He took a deep breath, letting me know that despite the blasé delivery, his words had cost him.
“I couldn’t save anyone,” he continued. “I couldn’t help anybody. I couldn’t fight. All I could do was scribble down ideas and hope those things weren’t being done to Tamina.”
I flinched. When I spoke again my voice was husky. “I’m sorry you experienced that.”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “I experienced very little compared to the people I was talking with. But to get back to the panic attacks, it wasn’t the facts I had to admit, it was the emotional truth of the situation. That I’d had my vision of the world and my place in it totally rocked. Which wasn’t an entirely bad thing, by the way. But I had to acknowledge it and make adjustments.”
He fell sile
nt, letting his words soak in. My eyes fell to our still-clasped hands. I knew I should pull free, but his hand in mine felt good, like an anchor.
“You can tell me about what happened to you,” he said. I sat, mute, staring at him with tears in my eyes.
“Is it your curse?” he asked. I nodded.
“What if I were to command you to tell me?” I shrugged. I didn’t know what was more powerful, the curse or my Master’s commands. I’d never had a Master care about my story enough to demand it, after all.
“Tell me your story, Lyla. As your Master, I command you.”
I felt the clash of the magic inside of me, an odd feeling of disorientation that left me nauseous and sweating.
But able to talk.
“I was born in what later became Persia, then Iran. Then, it was the Sultanate of Rum. Like all of our region, we were conquered by the Mongols.”
Oz’s eyes bulged, but he kept any comments to himself.
“My father was a wealthy merchant and I, as his daughter, was one of his most prized possessions. So when he wanted to get the attention of the new Mongol administration, he offered me to the warlord in charge.
“This man had dozens of wives and a reputation for brutality. I was a girl who, up to that point, had been spoiled… treated like a beloved pet. I couldn’t believe my father would do that to me.”
Oz’s fingers continued to grip mine, his eyes never leaving my face. My story kept coming, the words falling from my mouth as if eager to greet him.
“My father kept a Magi. He’d been one of the most powerful Magi of his day, but he was very old by then, and very addicted to opium. But he had Bound one of the most powerful jinn in history, Kouros.
“Our family knew the truth, of course… that the jinni was Bound only in theory. The old man hadn’t been in control for years… if he ever was. But Kouros seemed pleased to serve us.”
“Wait, what?” asked Oz. “How could that be?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. None of the normal rules applied to Kouros, ever. He could do things no other jinni could. And he loved meddling, which is why I thought he might be willing to help me.
“So, when I discovered the truth of my upcoming nuptials, I went to Kouros. I was furious. Terrified, but mostly furious. I was young, and dumb, and so angry… I didn’t think. I didn’t want to be a woman, if it meant I had to marry the warlord. Would he help me?
Jinn and Juice Page 13
