She went over to the truck, hoping against hope that Margolis had been careless and had left the keys inside, since no one was around to steal the vehicle. But she should have known better. He was far too paranoid to have left them in the ignition, or tucked up into one of the sun visors.
God, she thought then. What if the keys were in one of his pockets when Qadim blinked his body right out of existence?
That would truly suck.
No, she wouldn’t allow herself to give up so easily. She hadn’t seen much of the house besides the bedroom where she’d been sleeping, the dining room, and the kitchen and adjoining family room. Margolis must have had his own space in there somewhere. She just had to figure out which bedroom was his.
It seemed that Qadim must have been here for at least a little while, because the master bedroom had several of his dark silky robes hanging in the closet, and the bed was rumpled, as if he’d slept there. Did djinn sleep, exactly? She had no idea, but this bed definitely looked as if it had been used. Looking at it made her shiver, though. Would she have ended up in there if she hadn’t been able to resist Qadim’s djinn glamour?
Recalling the sensation of his mouth on hers, she wanted to shudder. But he was gone — at least for now — and the worst hadn’t happened. She just had to make damn sure she was nowhere near here whenever he did decide to come back.
A small, square object sitting on the dresser caught her eye. She went closer and realized it was the device Margolis had taken from her wrecked Suburban. Apparently Qadim hadn’t trusted him with it. Well, she wouldn’t have, either, if she’d been in his position. She wouldn’t have put it past Margolis to use the device against the djinn and therefore be allowed free access to her. But Qadim had forestalled that eventuality.
And now neither one of them was around to keep her from using it. The device could come in handy if Qadim decided to return before she was able to vacate the premises. Going to the dresser, she picked up the innocuous-looking box, and then headed out to inspect the rest of the property.
The other bedroom upstairs looked completely unused, as if it had been left vacant even when the previous owners of the house lived here. Maybe it was a guest room. It did have a bed and a dresser, but the closet was empty, as were all the drawers in the nightstands and the one dresser.
So where the hell had Margolis holed up?
Julia descended the stairs and began exploring the ground floor. The only thing past the dining room was the living room, which didn’t look as if anyone had been in there lately. Dust covered everything — dust that was conspicuously absent in the other rooms she’d seen so far. Retracing her steps, she headed back to the family room, noting that a hallway led off the opposite side of the chamber.
That corridor led to the laundry room, and from there out to the garage. In the garage was a Porsche Cayenne SUV, covered in dust — and a set of stairs. Frowning, Julia went up those stairs. There must be an apartment over the garage or something.
Which was exactly what she found. It was also clearly where Margolis had been staying; the bed was unmade, and a pair of camo pants identical to the ones he’d been wearing were draped over one arm of the small couch tucked up against the window that faced out over the driveway.
A pair of rifles leaned against one wall. They would probably come in handy on her drive back to Santa Fe, provided she could find the keys to the truck. But there was also the Porsche SUV in the garage below her. Assuming the damn thing would even start, of course. It clearly had been sitting there a long time.
Then she looked over at the little dinette set on the other side of the couch and let out an exhalation of relief. Lying on the table was a set of keys. Those had to be the keys to the truck — or at least she fervently hoped they were.
She scooped them into her hand, then went over and retrieved one of the rifles. Shooting was not something that had ever appealed to her, but she’d learned how to use a rifle and a shotgun and a semi-automatic pistol over the last six months, knowing that she might at some point have to protect Los Alamos by force of arms. After slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she went back down the stairs and into the house.
Her first instinct was to go right out to the truck and drive off, but, looking down at herself in some distaste, she realized that the flimsy golden getup Qadim had made her wear wasn’t the most practical thing in the world, especially if she ran into any trouble on the road. So she hurried back to the room that had been briefly hers, and quickly stripped off the silk garments and climbed back into her own jeans and T-shirt and hiking boots. After slipping on her leather jacket, she retrieved the rest of her belongings from the bathroom, picked up the rifle, and headed out to the driveway.
She wanted to sob with relief when she slid the car key she’d found into the ignition and the truck started right up. The driveway was wide enough that she could turn around and point herself toward the main road. Although she wasn’t all that familiar with the area, she’d studied the maps at Los Alamos to give herself a general idea of where things were, just because she never knew when she might have to go out on a scavenging operation. Not that she’d actually ever ended up doing such a thing, mostly because everyone in the community seemed to agree that her talents were better put to use elsewhere.
Still, she knew enough to turn left, heading away from the sun so she could get back to the 285. From there it was easy enough to head back down into the heart of Santa Fe.
Only…did she really want to do that? At least one of the djinn there wasn’t to be trusted. For a few seconds, she worried about Miles and Lindsay, still working on the “mystery” of how Margolis had managed to escape. But then she realized they should be safe enough. They didn’t know anything of what had transpired with her and Zahrias and Qadim over the past day or so, and therefore couldn’t possibly be considered a threat by the spy, whoever he or she was.
Maybe she should be putting the pedal to the metal to get back to Los Alamos. That wouldn’t work, though. No one there would have the foggiest idea of how to break through to the plane of the djinn and rescue Zahrias. She needed the help of another djinn. But who, if she didn’t know who she could trust?
Then it came to her. Of course.
She’d been to their sanctuary once, that perfect refuge outside the djinn community in Santa Fe. True, Zahrias had taken her, in that eye-blink maneuver the djinn seemed so fond of, but Jessica had more or less explained where the house was located. Julia thought she could find it. Down into town, but then heading out on Canyon Road, up into the hills, and then off on a dirt road that wound even further into the wilderness, until you came to a walled house on a hill.
The house that Jace and Jessica now called home.
* * *
Zahrias opened his eyes. Every inch of his body ached as if he had been beaten with cudgels, but he supposed that was only to be expected after facing an onslaught such as the one Lyanna’s minions had inflicted upon him. He wondered what she was paying them, and then realized that they might not have requested any kind of monetary reward. After all, in the eyes of many of his people, he was a traitor, one of the One Thousand, a lover of mortals. Never mind that the elders had decreed that the Chosen and their partners were to be left alone. Those nominal rulers of the djinn world could not be everywhere at once, and did not see everything…although they tried to give the impression that they did.
He lay on a bed in a room with a marble floor and marble walls. Hanging on those walls were tapestries woven of a dull gray fiber, faintly metallic. Looking at them, Zahrias realized they were ni-khar, a substance that repressed the powers of all fire elementals. He would not be able to call his flames to him, or blink himself out of the chamber and thus away from this place.
Clever, Lyanna. But then, stupidity had never been one of her numerous faults.
The light coming in through the tall, narrow windows was constantly shifting, moving from red to green to amber and back again. That was the way of it here; on this plane,
there was no sun, no moon, only a light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. After spending so much time in the world of mortals, that light felt wrong to him, unnatural. But then, in many ways, this world was unnatural. It was a construct, a place where the djinn had been sent when they rebelled against God and were denied the Earth because of their defiance.
Fighting back a groan, he sat up and pushed the silken coverlet aside. Everything here — the silk to make the bedding, the marble on the floors and walls — had come from the mortal world. Nothing of any true use could be found here on the djinn plane.
Everything except the ni-khar. That accursed element had its origins on this plane. There were four such elements here, each one possessing a particular property that could repress the powers of each kind of djinn. Zahrias had often wondered if that was a cruel joke on God’s part, something designed to keep the djinn in check as they played their power games with one another.
In the wardrobe of carved and gilded wood that stood off to one side, he found several sets of fresh garments, all in the shades of gold and crimson and deep wine that he preferred. He pulled them on, knowing he must prepare himself for the confrontation that was soon to come. If he had been bloodied and dirty when brought here, he appeared to have been bathed in the meantime, for there was no sign of sweat or grime or blood on him.
Zahrias found that he didn’t want to think too closely about who might have done that bathing.
He had just finished running an ivory comb through his hair when a knock came at the door. Well, that was something. He hadn’t been expecting the courtesy of a knock.
Outside waited one of the jann, the lowest order of djinn, and as unlike them as apes were from humans. They had been pressed into service on this nether plane, although Zahrias had never employed any in his own house, as something about them always set his teeth on edge.
This one barely came up to Zahrias’ waist, and had the features of a wizened monkey. “Your presence is required in the mistress’s audience chamber,” the jann said in its gravelly little voice.
Ah, so now Lyanna had an audience chamber? Well, she always had been one to put on airs.
He followed the jann out into a corridor of marble, with more of the ni-khar hangings on every side. Clearly, Lyanna was taking no chances.
They descended a wide staircase and went down another corridor, one that ended in an enormous arched doorway. Within was another chamber, this one of pale marble veined with gold, and the ubiquitous ni-khar hangings on every wall. At the far end of the chamber was a dais, and on that dais sat a throne-like chair that appeared to be carved from pure gold. On that chair sat a woman.
She rose when he entered and descended the steps as he approached. Her long black hair lay in perfect waves against her shoulders and fell past her waist, and rings of gold banded her bare arms at regular intervals.
Some might have said she was beautiful. Zahrias had thought so, too, once upon a time. Her nose was long, but not overly so, and, unlike her brother, her mouth was composed of lush curves, promising all sorts of delights. Under the perfect arches of her black brows, her eyes were not dark, like Qadim’s, but a clear amber.
Once he had thought to drown in those eyes. Now he stared into them, hatred coiled within his breast.
“Zahrias,” she said. Her voice was as warm-tinted as her eyes, but he knew that warmth was a lie. Her heart was as cold as the frozen wastes at the Earth’s poles.
“Lyanna,” he returned. Off to one side, he saw someone move, and realized it was Qadim. Relief coursed through Zahrias. He might have been torn away from Julia and brought to this accursed place, but if Lyanna’s brother was here, it meant he was not back in the mortal world, tormenting the woman Zahrias loved. Julia would have time to get away, to be safe.
If she could be safe anywhere, since it seemed clear that at least one traitor lurked in the heart of his community. The best thing she could do was go back to Los Alamos and forget about him. For some reason, however, he did not think that was her plan. He had seen the look in her eyes just before he was torn away from that plane, heard the despairing cry she gave. That was the sound of a woman who had just lost the thing she cared for the most. He thought she would do a great deal to get him back, even if it meant risking herself.
Lyanna came closer, gaze greedy, and Zahrias’ jaw set. The scent of her perfume was cloying, seeming to stick in his throat and make him want to gag. Now that she stood nearer to him, he saw the faint traces of dissipation in her face, the lines that had begun to etch themselves around her large kohl-rimmed eyes and on either side of her ruby-tinted mouth. His people did not age in the same way that mortals did, but even so, the signs of hard living would eventually begin to show in their features.
“You are looking well, Zahrias,” Lyanna said once she had finished her inspection of his person.
I fear I cannot say the same for you, he thought, but he kept that opinion to himself. Provoke her at some point he must, but for the moment, he would attempt politeness, if only to gain himself some time to think. “I thank you for that compliment, Lyanna,” he replied, “especially considering the manner in which I was brought here. How long was I unconscious, so my wounds might begin to heal?”
Her lips pressed together in what she probably thought was a becoming pout. “As to that, I knew there was no other way to get you here. I told them not to be unnecessarily rough.” Reaching out, she laid a hand on his arm. Each finger was adorned with jewels in shades of blue and green, and those same cool shades were echoed in the clothing she wore. Unlike her brother, she was a water elemental, and her moods and tempers were just as unpredictable as the storms and tides of the sea.
Zahrias held himself still under her touch. It wouldn’t do for her to see his disgust, even though Lyanna’s overly painted appearance only made him think of Julia’s clear, unsullied beauty, which shone forth even when her hair was tied back messily and she wore the unattractive, almost androgynous clothing favored by so many mortal women.
“That was very thoughtful of you,” he said, and though he thought he had taken care to keep his tone even, there must have been an edge to his voice nonetheless. Lyanna’s dark-encircled eyes widened, no doubt in what she hoped was an expression of innocence.
“I only wished you to see reason.”
“‘Reason’?” he repeated. “What reason was there in bringing me here in such a fashion? Our lives have been separate for many years, Lyanna, so forgive me when I say I cannot understand why you would want to see me now.”
As they spoke, Qadim had approached. At those words, he let out a chuckle, eyes glinting with malicious intelligence. “Do not believe him, sister,” he said. “He knows all too well from whence this particular jealous rage has sprung.”
Her amber eyes glinted, and she glared at her brother. “I am not jealous. I only — ”
“You only wished to take back something that was once yours. It had no particular value to you…until you realized that someone else wanted it.” Qadim shrugged. “Not that I mind your intervention, for it has given me the opportunity to take the thing he wants most.”
His remark only seemed to anger Lyanna further. Mouth tight, she said, “That insipid mortal? Truly, I cannot understand what either of you see in her.”
“So you admit Julia is the reason for all this,” Zahrias told her. Yes, Qadim had said as much, back in the driveway of his borrowed house in Pojoaque, but Zahrias wanted to hear it from Lyanna’s lips.
“I admit nothing,” she retorted. She shot another narrow-eyed look up at her brother. “You disappoint me, Qadim. I thought you had better taste than that.”
“Better taste than to want someone who is beautiful and strong and intelligent? Perhaps that is a failing of mine, one you simply will have to learn to live with.”
What Qadim hoped to accomplish by goading his sister in such a way, Zahrias couldn’t begin to guess. Or perhaps his words had been intended as much for Zahrias’ ears as they had
been for Lyanna’s.
Whatever Qadim’s plan, it seemed to be working, for her brows drew together, and she planted her hands on her hips and snapped, “If that is how you feel, I am surprised you have not thrown your lot in with the One Thousand and claimed her as your own.” A crafty light entered her eyes, and she added, “Indeed, I think you should, brother. Then Zahrias al-Harith might turn his attentions upon someone more deserving.”
“Meaning you, I take it,” Qadim replied.
“Who else?”
Not if you should hold me here until the stars fall from the heavens, Zahrias thought, but he only said, “A thousand pardons, Lyanna, if I ever left you with the impression that we might one day rekindle the fires we once shared. Truly, it has been so very long — I had heard that you had found comfort in the arms of others many years ago, had moved on with your life.”
She flicked a heavy lock of hair over one shoulder. “Perhaps I thought I had. But a person may move on far enough that she eventually comes back full circle. And truly, I could find no one who could ever match you — just as I thought you had found no one who could erase me from your memory. Why else would you have lived such a solitary existence for all these centuries? This mortal you think you love — she can know nothing of what it means to share these passing years, to come to one another in the fullness of our existence. Her life is but a flyspeck to one of us.”
Yes, that was how it would seem to Lyanna, for she thought the same as the majority of their people, that humans were at best something to be used and discarded as it amused them, and now were only an obstacle to be removed so the djinn might enjoy Earth’s bounties for their own. But Zahrias knew that although a mortal’s life might seem fleeting and finite, it was also a thing composed of its own beauties, its own triumphs and tragedies.
If you had only made Julia your Chosen, her life would not be fleeting at all. It would have been something we could have shared unto eternity.
And she would not have been made a target by Lyanna, for the Chosen were supposed to be untouchable. There were some who had rebelled against those strictures, such as Khalim and his followers, but they had been punished for their transgressions. Zahrias doubted Lyanna would have ever thrown her lot in with them — not because she scrupled at killing Chosen, but because she enjoyed her life of luxury and would not have done anything to jeopardize it. Hunting and murdering Chosen violated the laws laid down by the elders, laws intended to keep those few remaining mortals safe, whereas bringing him here had her standing on much shakier ground. Her behavior might be frowned upon, but it did not violate any specific rules. Kidnapping was a time-honored tradition among his people, one with many uses, although Zahrias had never thought he would be made a victim in such a way.
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