13
The female Djinn gave Grace a smile that looked eerie in the flashlight’s sharp beam, elongated shadows filling in the hollows at cheeks, temples, underneath her black starred eyes. “Very good, human,” Phaedra said. “How could you tell?”
“You choose a physical form that has something of Khalil in it,” Grace said quietly.
Phaedra walked close to circle Grace like a prowling cat. “My physical form has something of both my parents,” said Phaedra. “I do not want to forget anything they did for me or to me.”
Grace held very still and tried not to let her unease and sadness show. She might wish with all of her heart that it was not so, but dark, angry spirits really did tend to be dark and angry because they held on to things.
She said, “Khalil told me how your mother kidnapped and tortured you, and how he had to go to war with her to free you.”
As Phaedra circled around, she trailed fingers along Grace’s back and across her arm. “Did he tell you it took him five hundred years to free me?”
Khalil always felt hot when Grace touched him. By contrast, Phaedra’s touch was oddly cool. Goose bumps broke out over Grace’s chilled flesh. She cleared her throat and said softly, “No, he didn’t say. I’m so sorry.”
“I spent five hundred years trapped,” said Phaedra. “Five hundred years because he was too cautious to fight Lethe on his own. No, he had to take his time, build allies, create an army. Clearly it was not an issue of some urgency to him.”
Grace struggled to reconcile that information with the pained sadness she had sensed in Khalil whenever he referred to his daughter. She said gently, “I don’t know what to say.”
“I used to dread Lethe’s visits,” Phaedra said. “Then I looked forward to them, because as much as they hurt, anything was better than the dark, empty, airless hole she kept me in. Then I learned that was just a phase too, as I became the dark.”
Grace couldn’t imagine what such a lengthy, profound deprivation interspersed with torture might do to a mind, inhuman or otherwise. What would it take to recover? Djinn might not need physical food but they gained nourishment from Power and energy sources like the sun. Had Phaedra actually starved? Was there anything left of her that was salvageable?
“Khalil said he thought Lethe was insane,” she said.
“Did he?” Phaedra thrust her face close, black eyes blazing. “Then why did it take him five hundred years!”
“I don’t know,” Grace whispered.
Just like she did with Khalil, she felt surrounded by Phaedra, but this time there was no pleasure from a warm, male presence. She felt surrounded by razors, any one of which might cut her at any time. She knew Phaedra was trying to frighten her. It was crude and obvious, like playground bullying.
It was also working. She thought she had felt alone at times before, but she had never felt as alone as she did right then. She patted the thread that led to Khalil. The connection felt so insubstantial, it seemed like a mirage. She kept part of her mind focused on it tensely, but she did not tug on it.
Phaedra cocked her head, unblinking. The purity of her white face was pitiless, stark. “Why don’t you ask him sometime, since he apparently likes to talk to you?”
“How did you know to come here?” Grace asked.
“You mean, how did I know he comes to see you and your cute widdow famiwee?” Phaedra said. “His new human toys? It’s been remarked upon.” Phaedra opened her eyes wide and said in a pseudo-confidential tone, “I don’t have friends, but I do have sources.”
“What do you want?”
“Why do I have to want something to be here?”
“Because you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something you wanted,” Grace said. Her gut had tightened into a knot without her permission, as if her instincts knew to expect a body blow. She had no one to ask for advice and no backup. All she had was the training her grandmother had given her.
Phaedra lifted her head and looked around. “I like it here. It reminds me of old times. Don’t you like it here?”
Grace said, “I do.”
That brought Phaedra’s black sparkling gaze back to her, a quick glance that told Grace she had surprised the Djinn. Phaedra gave her a sarcastic smile. “Aren’t you going to offer to try to help me?” she said mockingly. “Like everyone who tries to find and talk to me?”
“Nope,” said Grace. “I didn’t try to find you. And I can’t help you.”
She had surprised Phaedra again. Phaedra’s expression grew ugly. “I thought it was your job to help people.”
“It is my job,” Grace said, as gently yet as firmly as she could, “to give people who ask the chance to consult with the Oracle. You have to want to help yourself. You have to make the journey here, you have to ask for the consultation, and it’s up to you whether or not you make anything good out of what the Oracle gives you. I’m not a doctor. I don’t make house calls. I’m not going to try to be your friend, and this isn’t therapy. I will not presume that I know what you need or what you don’t need. That’s on you. I’m sorry about what happened to you. I can’t imagine the horror you went through. I also can’t imagine all the gifts and talents you have, not least of which is immortality, and my God, just the sheer amount of time you people have to get over shit. You’re the one who owns your life. It’s your responsibility what you make of it.”
Halfway through, Phaedra turned her back and stood rigid. Grace finished speaking to that bloodred fall of hair. Even though her heart was pounding, the chill of the cavern was seeping into her bones. It was a strain to stand so long. Her muscles quivered with tiredness, and her knee ached like a son of a bitch.
Then Phaedra laughed angrily.
Well, what the hell, Grace thought. Let’s throw that useless little sanctuary law out there. Just for shits and giggles.
“And should this matter to you,” she said quietly, “if you do anything to hurt me, you violate inter-demesne law. I don’t know who would be sent after you then. I doubt it would be Khalil. So did you want a consultation with the Oracle or is this a social call?”
Phaedra turned to regard her, bloodred eyebrows raised. Phaedra’s expression was so cold, Grace shuddered. She staggered as her bad knee threatened to give. She might have fallen if she hadn’t worn the brace.
Along with the useless little law, Grace readied herself to throw what was probably a useless little spell—the spell of expulsion she used to get rid of a dark spirit. It felt like getting ready to throw a cupful of water on a bonfire, but she couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.
Phaedra was staring curiously at her legs. Then she looked up with a razored smile. “I will not be beholden to you for a consultation.”
Grace blinked. What a Djinn-like thing to say. Did Phaedra still have a shred of honor, a sense of what balance was supposed to be? Maybe Grace shouldn’t make too much of it. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
And she was so damn tired of worrying about the boundaries she wasn’t supposed to cross as Oracle. The Power was still roused from when she had called it up. She held on to it tightly as she said, “If that’s the only thing stopping you, you don’t have to owe me a favor. Really, it’s quite okay to send cash.”
A heartbeat. Then another.
Well, hot damn. The dark sea that filled her didn’t so much as even quiver when she mentioned money. It certainly didn’t give any hint of retreating or leaving her. Maybe the part where the Oracle was forbidden to ask for money had been just another legend.
Or maybe this was a whole new ball game, now that the ghost of the serpent woman wasn’t acting as a backseat driver.
Phaedra laughed. “Prophecy from a crippled Oracle. I might like that. I will think about it. Perhaps I will return.”
Grace held her breath as Phaedra stalked close. The Djinn trailed a finger down Grace’s forearm again. A moment later, Grace felt a sharp, slicing pain. She stared down dumbly. Her arm was bleeding. Phaedra had cut her.
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�Oh, don’t worry,” Phaedra whispered with a smile. “It’s just a small payment for your lecture. I didn’t really hurt you. Much.”
“You goddamn, freaky bitch,” Grace said, because, hells bells, it had been a righteous day, and all of a sudden, pow, her temper was done lost and gone.
She pulled on everything she had and threw the expulsion spell. She meant to reach for the Power she had been born with, but her anger got in the way. Both Powers jettisoned out of her. She felt the spell strike Phaedra full on.
The force of it lifted Phaedra’s physical form and hurled her across the cavern. She struck the wall and slammed into the ground.
“Oh, shit,” Grace said. Oh, shit. She limped over to Phaedra’s prone figure as fast as she could. The Djinn was sprawled on her stomach, dark red hair covering her face. “Are you all right?”
Phaedra began to laugh as Grace reached her. “The crippled Oracle has quite a punch. I didn’t see that coming.”
“I didn’t either,” Grace said. “You pissed me off and I lost my temper.”
Phaedra pushed her hair back. A champagne-colored liquid trickled from the corner of her mouth. As Grace watched, the liquid faded back into the Djinn’s skin. Awkwardly, Grace struggled to kneel on her good leg, as she said, “You’re not bleeding, are you?”
Phaedra came up on her hands and knees to face Grace, her expression mocking. “Don’t tell me you care.”
“Don’t confuse who you are with the rest of the world,” Grace snapped. “I do care. You’re the one who doesn’t.”
The mockery faded from Phaedra’s face. Grace kept her guard up and both Powers at hand as they stared at each other. As she focused on Phaedra, something roused in the dark sea. She held her breath and concentrated.
She said, “If you ever do want to petition the Oracle, there is someone who would like to see you.”
Rage and curiosity warred for supremacy in Phaedra’s expression. “Who is it?”
Grace said, “A ghost.”
She watched as the rage won. Phaedra bared her teeth and spat, “My mother?”
“No,” Grace told her. Balancing on her good knee was more tiring than standing. The muscles in her thigh began to tremble. “It’s someone else.”
Phaedra’s anger faded slowly, until what remained was feral and bewildered. “I don’t know any other ghost who would be interested in talking with me.”
“Suit yourself,” Grace said. “Just know the offer is there if you want it.”
The Djinn flowed to her feet with the same impossible grace as Khalil had, and Grace fought to rise. She couldn’t leverage with her bad leg. Phaedra watched her struggle with an unreadable expression.
“Come on, Freaky Bitch,” Grace said irritably. “Give us a hand.”
The last thing she expected was help. If anything, she expected her snark to be the impetus that drove the Djinn away, and really, by that point, good riddance. Instead Phaedra held out her hand slowly.
Grace stared at the outstretched fingers. Just as slowly, she put her hand in Phaedra’s grasp. She was braced for an attack. Instead, Phaedra pulled Grace to her feet. She muttered, “Thanks.”
But Phaedra dematerialized even as she spoke.
Grace found herself alone in the cavern. She stood with her weight on her good leg, straining to hear past her own stressed, noisy breathing as she cast her awareness out. Heavy, cool silence pressed against her eardrums. She could not sense the Djinn anywhere on the land. Phaedra had really left.
Tension leaked out of her quivering muscles. She realized the only light she could see was from the circle cast by her flashlight. The pale, diffuse sunlight that had streamed down the tunnel was gone. She sighed heavily, collected the mask from where she had dropped it, tucked it under her arm and braced herself for the upward trek through the tunnel. Climbing the uneven floor was more challenging than climbing stairs, and her muscles were already cold and tired.
The only way she was going to make it happen was to just fucking do it. She limped over, and with one hand she clutched the flashlight, while she used the other to brace herself against the wall. She started to climb, using her strong leg to go up, and she leaned against the wall and balanced on her bad leg on the opposite step. Inelegant, but it worked.
Or at least it did until a wild maelstrom of Power roared down the tunnel.
The Power blasted into her, and she staggered. She felt her precarious balance go, clutched first at the wrapped mask and cried out as she lost hold of the flashlight. The light careened wildly as the flashlight bounced down the tunnel. Then all illumination cut out abruptly, and she fell back into the absolute darkness.
Oh, shit, this was going to be a bad one—
She flashed on ripping out all the painful repairs on her still-healing knee, more expensive doctor’s visits, maybe even more surgeries.
Khalil’s warm, fierce energy enveloped her even as strong arms formed around her and broke her fall gently. The rest of his body formed next. He said, “Easy. I’ve got you.”
Her heart was racing like a crazy thing. Her feet still rested on the uneven tunnel floor, but lightly, for he had taken all of her weight. She grabbed him and said unsteadily, “Goddamn. Watch where you’re going next time!”
“I’m sorry.” For the first time since she’d met him, his voice sounded discordant and harsh. He drew her upright. “It’s late. I couldn’t find you, and I got worried.”
“All right.” It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for her to turn in his arms and lean against him. Some of the day had been good, but the bad bits had been downright rotten, and maybe if she had thought it through, she wouldn’t have chosen to do what she did. But she didn’t think; she never thought things through the way she should. She just put an arm around his long, lean waist and buried her face against the wide, steady support of his chest.
Mmm. He seemed bigger in the dark.
He stood quietly, holding her, one massive hand cupping the back of her neck. Something rested on the top of her head. His cheek.
“I sense blood,” he said. His voice had turned dangerous. “You are injured?”
She shook her head, her mind racing. “It’s just a shallow cut on my arm.”
“What happened?”
What should she tell him? She couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t had time to process Freaky Bitch’s visit for herself, let alone consider how he might react. She said, “Later. I’m cold and tired, and I really want to get out of here.”
His reply was to swing her into his arms and stride up the tunnel. His energy still remained edged and unsettled, but always with that addictive undercurrent that was powerfully male, uniquely him.
A small part of her couldn’t help but notice his long, smooth effortless stride. She could usually control that part, but it was harder to do when she grew tired and emotionally out of balance. She wished she could flip a switch and turn it off, because it was small-minded and whiny. It didn’t care that he was inhuman and there could be no meaningful comparison between the two of them and their abilities. It only took note of how strongly and evenly he moved and whispered poisonously to her, I could do that once.
She turned truculent. “I didn’t mean for you to carry me.”
“There is no reason for you to struggle when I can transport you with ease,” he said shortly.
“Whether I struggle or not is beside the point,” she said, just as shortly. She kept stiff in his arms. “The fact that I can and will do it is the point.”
“Do not be stupidly prideful,” he told her. “We both know you can do it. There is no reason for you to wreck yourself proving it.”
Was that what she was doing? She fought with her conflicting instincts. He must have moved more quickly than she had thought, for suddenly he strode out the tunnel doorway into the warm night.
The warmth was a welcome relief from the cavern. The western part of the sky was still tinged with color, although the sun had set. After sunset, the land got v
ery dark without streetlamps or neighboring houses to illuminate the night. In another half hour or so, it would be too dark to walk without a flashlight. Khalil’s ivory face looked edged in the shadows.
“Stop,” she said. Then, more sharply as he ignored her, “Khalil, stop!”
He shot her a sparkling look, his jaw tight, but he stopped. “What do you require?”
“I have to put this away,” she said, indicating the mask in its wrapping. “And shut and lock the door.”
After hesitating a moment, he carried her back to the cavern entrance and eased her to her feet. He waited with his arms crossed as she tucked the mask back into a Rubbermaid cabinet, locked the door and put the key in its usual place in the coffee can on the lintel.
When she turned around, he reached to pick her up. She slapped a hand onto his chest and stiffened her arm. He grabbed her wrist, so inhumanly fast, she jumped. But he did not pull her hand away. He just held her forearm in a gentle, unbreakable hold. She felt his Power probe along her skin.
“Where are you bleeding?” he asked.
His face was tight. Staring up at him, she held out her other arm. He stroked his fingers lightly along the cut. She felt a slight flare in his Power, and the trickle of blood stopped. The annoying nag of pain vanished too. She tilted her arm up, squinting in the last of the light. It looked like the cut had scabbed over. “Thank you.”
“I’m not a healer,” he said. “That’s the extent of what I know to do.”
“What you did is great.”
“Sorry,” he had said. And “worried.” She would never have imagined a week ago that he would admit to such things, let alone that he would say them to her. The wild agitation in his energy was calming down. She stroked his hand that still held her other wrist. His hold loosened, and as she turned to walk back to the house, he fell into step beside her.
The scene was so like, and yet unlike, her dream. The night was full of shadows, and the wind caused the trees to whisper secretively. She looked up. There was still the barest sliver of the waning moon. The Oracle’s moon must be to-morrow. It was an especially Powerful time to prophesy, if anyone knew to ask for it.
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