“Do not answer that,” Khalil said between his teeth. “It is none of his business.”
Grace had, in fact, been about to answer Cuelebre’s question. Her mouth hung open for a moment before she shut it with a snap.
According to the database article she had read, the House Marid was the most Powerful of the all the Houses of Djinn. So Khalil was a prince? The article hadn’t mentioned anything about royalty, just that the Houses used consensus in decision making. She filed the observation under “irrelevant at the moment but interesting enough to pursue at a later time.”
“Hungry kids,” she said to Cuelebre. “Ticktock.”
This was the second demesne ruler that she had been rude to in as many days. Clearly she was on a roll. She had just five more demesne rulers in the United States to go. Give her to the end of the month, and she would have plenty of time to piss off everybody. Probably the confessional booth she would soon call home should be in a foreign country where no one knew her name.
Underneath her fingertips, laughter danced through Khalil’s energy. She glanced up and was startled to discover his expression was as stony as ever.
Cuelebre said, “I do not consult with Oracles.”
Her attention returned to the dragon’s brutal, impenetrable face. She thought, I bet you don’t. You would not let yourself become that vulnerable to a stranger.
Cuelebre continued. “I came to find out what happened between you, Carling Severan and my First sentinel yesterday.”
“Funny how many people want to know about that,” Grace muttered. Even though Rune had made his resignation clear yesterday morning, apparently Cuelebre was still not acknowledging it.
Khalil said coldly, “You should have told me what you wanted when I asked why you were here, dragon. I could have told you the Oracle doesn’t remember anything from that consultation.”
Cuelebre’s gold gaze did not waver from hers. “Is this true?”
She sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business—it wasn’t any of the Nightkind King’s business either—but yes, that’s true. I don’t remember what happened.”
Just as Julian had reacted, something flickered over Cuelebre’s face, only this time Grace fancied she understood a little of Cuelebre’s expression. There was a touch of weariness, perhaps, or maybe disappointment. Cuelebre’s broad shoulders might have sagged a fraction of an inch.
Of all the challenges the Lord of the Wyr faced, he had chosen to take the time to come here and to ask her this question. She wondered if he would miss his First. She thought maybe he would. Or maybe she imagined all of it.
Ignoring Khalil, Cuelebre gave her a curt nod and turned to go.
Something stirred deep inside, a familiar, Powerful leviathan. Shocked, she sucked in a breath and called out, “Wait!”
Cuelebre had reached the path. He pivoted on one heel, inhumanly fast for someone so large.
Grace said to Khalil, “Stay with the kids for a few minutes? Please?” Her own voice sounded strange and disconnected from her.
His eyes narrowed on her, but he said, “Very well.”
She unlocked the screen door and walked down the porch steps toward Cuelebre.
As she approached him, a shadowy, ancient tide welled. It came from an endless ocean that touched everything, flowed everywhere. Even though the bright morning was sunlit all around, this tide came from the dark of the Oracle’s moon.
Part of her remained astonished. She had been taught that the Oracle’s Power was something so deep, they must access it from the recesses of the Earth. The most ancient traditions from Delphi held that the Oracle must speak from a temple in a cavern. Of the seven Elder Races gods, Nadir was the Oracle’s goddess, the goddess of the depths. Grace had never heard of the Power rising, uncalled, in the full light of day.
The tide filled her up, covered her eyes, spilled out of her mouth. She heard words and knew she was talking, but she could not focus on what she said, because someone else was speaking quietly. That quiet voice grew in strength until it became a gigantic noise, like the roar from an invading army.
“Nevertheless, the question remains unanswered. Do the stars feel pain? When the sun flares to its death, will it do so in agony? We must choose to believe it will, for the Light is a creature just as is the Dark.… It is impossible for those living to look upon me and not to speak of the nature of evil, for the living cannot grasp the true meaning of who I am. Lord Death himself has forgotten that he is but a fraction of the whole, for I am not form but Form, a prime indivisible. All these things were set in motion at the beginning, along with the laws of the universe and of Time itself. The gods formed at the moment of creation, as did the Great Beast, as did Hunger, as did Birth along with Finality, and I am the Bringer of the End of Days.…”
Then a vision came hurtling out of nowhere, and a vast scene slammed into Grace. She vaguely sensed her body tilting as she lost her balance, but it felt as though it happened from a great distance.
She saw an exquisite infinity of stars, strewn across unimaginable distances, colossal shining clusters of galaxies spiraling with outstretched arms. As the voice spoke, one by one the stars vanished, swallowed by a black figure that walked a scorched land. The horror that washed over her was indescribable. She tried to scream, but she had no voice of her own, drowned into silence by the words that were spoken in a cadence that drummed the world out of existence.
Stars.
Two ageless, shining stars, crowned by raven hair and surrounded by a corona of sunshine. The purest Power she had ever known surrounded her, scorching and fierce, and finally, finally the dark, inexorable voice was extinguished. She could have sobbed from the relief.
Her world rattled. Gradually she became aware that she lay on the ground, looking up at Khalil, who bent over her. He held her in his arms and blocked out the sun with his body, just as he blocked out the voice with his presence. He shook her and said her name. She received the impression he had been calling her name over and over.
Cuelebre knelt on her other side, staring at her. His rough-hewn features looked bloodless, his gold eyes molten.
“Stop,” she croaked to Khalil. “I’m here. I’m back.”
Looking wild-eyed, he stopped.
“What the unholy fuck was that?” Cuelebre asked. He sounded quite calm and utterly terrifying.
Grace shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “All I know is that the Oracle’s Power roused for you, and that just doesn’t happen, unasked in daylight.” She shuddered. “Did you hear a…really bad voice?” Khalil’s arms tightened, and the two males exchanged a glance.
“We both heard it,” said the dragon.
“I was in the kitchen with the children,” said Khalil. His own voice did not sound pure in that moment. Instead he sounded rough and shaken. “And I still heard it.”
Grace sucked in a breath. “They didn’t, did they?”
Khalil shook his head. “No. They were unaware.”
Cuelebre looked at Khalil. “I must get back to my mate. You are staying?”
“Yes,” said Khalil.
Cuelebre dug into his shirt pocket and handed a heavy white card to her. She turned it over to look at both sides. There was no name, just a phone number printed in heavy, embossed black. Cuelebre said, “That’s my personal cell number. Call me immediately if you see anything else.”
She nodded numbly and tucked the card into the pocket of her cutoffs.
As Grace and Khalil watched, Cuelebre stood and walked away without another word. Several feet away he shimmered into his dragon form and launched into the air.
Grace shuddered again. She whispered, “I can never let this Power go to Chloe. She can’t ever know anything as horrible as that voice.”
If anything, Khalil looked even wilder. He picked her up in his arms, stood and with long, swift strides he carried her into the house. He said, “So be it. We protect the child from whatever that was at all cost.”
When they were
in the living room, she said, “Stop.”
He stopped instantly.
“Please put me down,” she said.
He didn’t move. He said slowly, “You fell.”
“I didn’t hurt myself,” she told him. “I just lost my balance in the vision. And I will not frighten the kids because you’re carrying me, and it looks like something might be wrong.”
He stared at her, his mouth tight. After a moment he let her legs slide to the floor but kept his arms around her. When she straightened and pulled away, he let her go and followed her into the kitchen.
They found Chloe on her hands and knees. A plastic gallon milk container lay on its side on the floor, in a lake of white liquid. The lid had been removed, and the container was nearly empty. It had been almost full at supper the evening before. Sodden paper towels lay in heaps everywhere.
Grace stopped in her tracks so suddenly Khalil ran into her. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“Oh, Chloe,” Grace said. “That was our only gallon of milk.”
Chloe looked up, wide-eyed. “I didn’t do it. I found it this way!”
Max turned around in his seat. He was sucking on one of the Lala Whoopsie doll’s feet.
Khalil muttered something under his breath in what sounded like an alien language. He said aloud, “I only left them for a few minutes.”
“I will clean up the floor, honey,” said Grace in a strangled voice. “And then I will make you those pancakes I promised. I swear it. Just please, pretty please with sugar sprinkled on top—please let me have a cup of coffee first.”
6
“No,” said Khalil.
He surprised himself. He hadn’t meant to speak, but he looked from Chloe, who was trying not to cry, to Max in his high chair. The baby wore a worried, confused expression. Clearly Max knew something was wrong. Khalil still gripped Grace’s slender shoulders. He could feel her muscles quivering, and somehow the word just fell out of his mouth.
He released her as she turned, and all three of them, Chloe, Max and Grace, stared at him. He said to Grace telepathically, You asked me to stay with the children, and I didn’t. This is mine to address.
She looked at him gravely. He noticed again the rich flecks of azure, jade and honey brown in her eyes, and for the first time, he realized with surprise that she was actually beautiful.
The fear she had shown outside still shadowed her gaze. He added, more gently, We will talk of what happened at a later time when the children are not around. Yes?
She nodded hesitantly. All right.
For now, sit, he said. Take time to recover.
She did not protest, and he thought it was a measure of how the vision had shaken her. He looked at Chloe. “Come over to the table. Sit with your aunt. I will clear away this mess and…I will achieve pancakes.”
Grace’s lovely, tired face wobbled with what looked suspiciously like mirth, but she had been under so much stress he decided his first impression could not be correct. “You’ll achieve pancakes?”
“I do not see why not,” he said.
“Have you ever achieved them before?” she asked. A touch of liveliness came back into her vivid eyes, and they sparkled.
“That question is irrelevant,” he told her, while his eyes narrowed in suspicion on her tired face. On a Djinn, her expression would definitely be laughter. “I will achieve pancakes now.”
Grace turned to Chloe. “I’m the one who made the promise. Is it all right with you if Khalil cooks pancakes instead of me?”
“Uh-huh,” Chloe said. She hopped to her feet and splashed through the milk puddle to reach Grace. Liquid soaked the hem of her nightgown.
“You are both getting another bath after breakfast,” Grace said. She picked up Chloe and set her in her booster seat then tiptoed around the milk to pour a cup of coffee.
“I never said I was going to cook,” Khalil corrected.
Two sets of dismayed female eyes turned to him. He was at a loss to pick which of them looked more betrayed, and he had to bite back his own smile. He told the youngest female, “Do not jump to hasty conclusions. Just watch. You will get your pancakes. I have said it.”
He was unsure whether the little girl understood either “hasty” or “conclusion,” but she seemed to get the gist of what he had said, for she smiled and looked eager. Grace looked much more skeptical. Out of the corner of his eye, Khalil watched as she quickly prepared a bowl of something that looked sticky and white, like porridge. The baby began to bounce in his high chair and squeal. Grace took her coffee and the bowl to the table, and began feeding Max his breakfast.
Khalil wanted to tease Grace awhile longer and watch her too-pale face flush with temper, but he could not bring himself to put Chloe through any more waiting. He turned his attention to the vast, invisible web of connections that surrounded him. Reckoned in Djinn terms, his wealth was immense. Many Djinn from all five Houses owed him favors, and many creatures other than Djinn did also.
He chose one of the oldest connections in his web. It led to Mundir, an elder in House Gul who had owed him a favor for millennia. Khalil plucked the strand politely. He sensed the other Djinn in the distance, bristling in surprise, but Mundir streaked toward him at once. The other Djinn co-alesced in front of him. Mundir’s physical form looked like a slender human male teenager, with blonde hair and arrogant, starred eyes that revealed his inhumanity.
Khalil disliked Mundir. He asked, “Are you able to pay your debt?”
Mundir curled his lip. The dislike was mutual. “Of course.”
Khalil smiled at the other Djinn. The debt had been a long inconvenience for Mundir, and holding it over his head had been most enjoyable. Now it was time for another pleasure. “You will clean this kitchen floor with…” He looked at his small nest of human birds, who were staring openmouthed at the new arrival. Khalil asked Grace, “What does one use to clean a kitchen floor?”
She gave both him and Mundir a wary glance. “A mop and bucket?”
Khalil waved a hand and finished giving Mundir his order. “For what you have owed me, you will clean this kitchen floor as humans do, with a mop and bucket, and I suppose that means soap and water as well.” He added telepathically, And you will go gently as you do so, House Gul, for young ones live in this place, and they are vulnerable.
The tight, incredulous expression on the other Djinn’s face alone was worth the cancellation of his ancient debt. Fury shook in Mundir’s voice as he hissed, “This will pay in full what I have owed you.”
Khalil opened his eyes wide. “Of course.”
He caught sight of Grace shaking her head slowly, her gaze wide. He gave her a gleaming smile. Associating with this young Oracle was proving to be beneficial on many levels. So far this morning he had quite virtuously obstructed the path of the Great Beast—an opportunity that did not come around often—and he had also provided a great source of irritation to another Djinn whom he had disliked for countless years. Now he saw that he had rendered the Oracle in a rare state of speechlessness. Aside from her disturbing and mysterious vision, the subject of which he intended to pursue as soon as the little ones were not present, this morning was turning out to be truly fine.
It put him in such a magnanimous mood, he felt like splurging. What the hell. He plucked another connection, and another startled Djinn appeared. This one was Ismat, of the House Shaytan. The form she chose was pleasantly rounded and dark skinned, with hawkish features.
After verifying she was available to pay her debt, Khalil said, “You will go to a respectable restaurant.” He tried to think of a good one. He didn’t know very many restaurants. Finally he said, “The Russian Tea Room in New York will do. You will bring back pancakes for these humans, along with an assortment of other breakfast dishes, and you will create a fine table from which they will dine. The small female has been waiting some time for her breakfast, so do this quickly.” His thoughtful gaze fell on an infuriated Mundir who mopped the floor, and he added, “Oh yes
, and bring back a gallon of milk while you’re at it.”
Ismat looked around the kitchen. She grinned as she caught sight of Mundir with a mop and bucket. Eyes twinkling, she said to Khalil, “I see you have finally loosened your tight fist on all those many debts you own. This will pay in full one of the favors I owe you.”
“It will indeed,” he said.
Ismat vanished.
Khalil turned back to his audience at the kitchen table. Excited by the comings and goings, Chloe climbed out of her booster seat and hopped around, squealing. Grace had taken Max out of his high chair to cuddle the baby on her lap. She looked dazed. “I think I’m beginning to see how pancakes could be viewed as an achievement.”
Khalil nodded. He noticed her coffee cup was empty. He fetched the carafe of dark, steaming liquid from the apparatus on the counter. On impulse he searched cupboards until he found a collection of mugs, and he took one for himself. Then he strolled over to sit at the empty chair at the kitchen table and enjoy the fruits of his labor. He poured coffee, first into Grace’s cup and then into his own, and he stretched out his legs.
“I was going to fetch breakfast myself,” said Khalil. “But I decided to drink a cup of coffee and enjoy watching Mundir mop instead.”
Grace had studied the children carefully when she had returned to the kitchen. Aside from Chloe’s upset at having spilled the milk, they acted normally. Khalil was right; they hadn’t heard the voice. She relaxed somewhat, but she hadn’t thought she would be able to set aside the disturbing vision and eat anything. Then Ismat arrived with the food and set a feast of exotic dishes on the table.
Pecan-studded pancakes with macerated strawberries and maple syrup. A superb quiche, cooked with bacon, leeks, black truffle, potato and Gruyère cheese. Russian yogurt with fresh berries and spiced roasted almonds. Cherry and cheese blintzes, and apple smoked sausage. Smoked salmon with chives, creamed goat cheese and a cherry tomato, and micro green salad.
Linen napkins. And milk.
The bounty from the famous Tea Room was so rich, strange and plentiful, even Chloe fell silent.
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