by D. R. Perry
Djinn And Bear It
Providence Paranormal College Book Five
D.R. Perry
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2016 D.R. Perry
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Version 2.0 May, 2021
ebook ISBN: 978-1-64971-716-0
Print ISBN: 978-1-64971-717-7
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Connect with the Author
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Chapter One
Jeannie
I’d been hanging around in a park by the water, minding my own business, which sucked. Staying in Newport after finding out my ex-boyfriend Dale cheated on me wouldn’t have been possible if a friend hadn’t paid for me to have a new room. And then, I’d found out his stepfather died in some kind of freak accident. So there I was, killing time until another friend picked me up for a jaunt by the Newport Police Station and then the funeral. So I sat there mentally preparing myself for the worst day ever. Unlike police interviews, I was used to funerals but hadn’t ever been to one for a dragon shifter.
My suitcase and most of my clothes had bullet holes in them. Olivia Adler was bringing me something more appropriate for both occasions than retro pink acid-wash leggings with two suspiciously round rips and the old Night Creatures concert tee I usually slept in. I looked down at the shirt with its fanged design surrounding the letters “NC.” Dale had bought me that shirt during better days in our relationship, before I’d gotten the acceptance letter to Providence Paranormal’s first open admissions and he didn’t. He’d begged me not to leave, said he’d go crazy with me out of town so much. If only I knew at the time that meant he’d go crazy banging other girls until he knocked one up.
I sighed, putting my head in my hands. When Dale’s girl on the side showed up in Newport to show me her baby belly in person, that was the end. I glanced out at the ocean, but couldn’t bear looking at it and cast my eyes down instead. And that’s when I saw the green thing on the other side of the rail. It looked like maybe copper or brass and wedged between some rocks on the shoreline. I leaned over the side to get a better look. Yup, it had to be some kind of metal, pretty badly tarnished, too.
Ducking under the rail was a much better idea than hopping it. I wore my least damaged shoes, white patent pumps with inch and a half heels. Even in flats I’d have had to tread carefully. With these shoes, getting over the rocks to snag whatever lost treasure waited among them was almost like trying to get around in those four-foot snowbanks we’d had over the winter.
“Ow!” My ankle strained as I snagged the handle on the back of the metal thing. I tiptoed back to the rail and under it again, glad I hadn’t broken my neck. And finally, I had time to get a good look at my prize.
Well, not really. I held an old lamp, the oil-burning kind. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I’d seen it before when I toured The Academy and then again more recently. Yes, this could be the lamp I’d seen in the basement lounge during the Winter inter-session, but it was hard to be sure. Seawater only made green tarnish on certain metals, but was the lamp copper or brass? I figured there was only one way to find out.
I used the hem of my shirt to rub some of the tarnish off, and the lamp instantly warmed in my hands. I almost dropped it. A piece of metal washed up in mid-March should be cold, like it had been when I’d picked it up. And it shouldn’t be spewing deep purple smoke from the end the wick’s supposed to go in either. I took a deep breath and set it down on the bench next to me instead of dropping the dang thing. Good thing I did, too. The smoke coming from it got so thick that I couldn’t see.
Even before the smoke cleared, I felt the presence beside me on the bench and knew I’d be meeting a Djinn. When I could look at the person who’d materialized to my right, the first thing I noticed was that the mostly tarnished lamp squatted between us like the world’s weirdest chaperon. I almost giggled at that. I was nearly twenty-five and hardly qualified as the kind of girl who needed supervision. As a Resident Assistant, usually, I was the one doing that job.
“Ismail, at your service.” He had a swarthy complexion that made the whiteness of his teeth stand out, and his hair was a smoky black. His dimple-framed smile was almost too bashful and cutesy to be traditionally handsome. “In case you weren’t aware, I’m a Djinn, and you have claim to my lamp until I’ve completed three tasks for you.”
“Hi, I’m Jeannie. Jeannie La Montagne.” I stuck out my hand, wondering why I’d given him the lame Dorothy-Gale-from-Kansas self-introduction. Lamer than if I’d broken the heel off one of my pumps on the way over the rocks.
“Well, Jeannie Jeannie La Montagne, it is good to meet you.” A different kind of man might have sounded like he was mocking me. Not Ismail. His big brown eyes held nothing but formality, so why did I have goosebumps? Could it be him?
“It’s good to meet you, too, but I honestly don’t think I need a Djinn.” I winced a bit even though Ismail didn’t seem unhappy to hear that. “I mean, I’m only a college student. We don’t have too many life-or-death situations that we have to wish our way out of or anything.”
“Coincidence never chooses wrong.” Ismail’s smile dimmed down into something more like a gentle grin. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t heard the crunch of shoes on gravel as Olivia approached. “Was I interrupting? It’s just that we’re already going to be late for your interrogation, and you still have to change. And then, there’s the Air dragon's Mourning Day ceremony.”
I sighed and shook my head, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. I’d just gone on about having no life or death problems, and Olivia had walked up and mentioned a dragon funeral. I should have expected as much. The owl shifter was helpful to a fault, but also unflinchingly honest. That was just peachy for her future career in Extrahuman Law but not so amazing for people like me. I wondered whether she’d ever heard of little white lies or even the concept of putting things delicately. Or maybe I was oversensitive because I’d had a rough week.
“Okay.” I gazed out at the little parking lot, noticing that Olivia’s car was one of those tiny Smart cars. Not the best vehicle for driving around with a woman who turned into a half-ton bear, or for carting extra Djinn passengers. Was Ismail solid when he came out of his lamp or more like a visible ghost? I wondered whether he’d need a seat belt.
“There can only be one air dragon having a Mourning Day in Newport.” Ismail
blinked gravely at me. “If you think it is appropriate, mistress, I would like to emerge from the lamp to pay my respects to Wilfred Harcourt.”
“Um, okay.” I winced inwardly at the term he used to address me, but the Djinn wouldn’t know I’d been cheated on recently. Besides, his clothes and mannerisms told me he’d been in that lamp for a long time. Maybe “mistress” didn’t mean the other woman back in his day. “But I think the car’s too small for all three of us.”
“I will return to my lamp for the drive, then, if that’s acceptable.”
“Look, Ismail.” I stood up, smoothing out my t-shirt. “I don’t want you to think you have to take my orders about something like that. I don’t know much about claiming Djinn lamps, but I’m giving you permission to go ahead and decide for yourself when to come and go from your lamp. Also, I’m not a primary school teacher. You don’t need a hall pass to use the restroom. And call me Jeannie, please.”
“Thank you, Jeannie.” He gave me a slight bow. “I will see you once we get to the Mourning Day ceremony.”
Olivia and I watched him go back into his lamp. It was like the time in Chem lab when we did an experiment. The indigo beads of iodine in the flask turned into purple smoke, a reaction the professor called sublimation. Ismail did that. He went smoky, except that it was blue smoke instead of iodine’s purple hue.
“Hoo, boy.” Olivia flipped her hair over one shoulder. “Looks like you got yourself an Unseelie Djinn, Jeannie.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” I picked up the lamp in one hand and my bullet-scarred suitcase with the other.
“Believe it or not, the Unseelie kind is easier for folks who aren’t used to dealing with Faeries.” Olivia’s trivia-filled chatter was one of the reasons I liked her.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She opened the driver-side door and got in. Olivia’s obliviousness when on one of her tangents was one of the reasons not everyone liked her. “Unseelie Fae go by the spirit of the law, not the letter. They can give you a pass if they like you. And I think this one does. Like you, I mean.”
I tucked the suitcase behind the seat and got into the car. Ismail’s lamp went on the floor between my feet. Olivia drove us down the road to a gas station. When I went to the restroom to change, I left the lamp with my friend. I had no idea whether a Djinn could see me from inside his lamp if I brought it to the bathroom with me, but I didn’t want to find out.
Once dressed and back in the car, I put the lamp in my bag and we rode along in silence. Olivia seemed to be on one of the ultra-focus trips her Adderal induced. Supposedly, the owl shifter took that so she could be diurnal. Whatever the reason, I always wondered what she’d be like if she kept to a night schedule like other nocturnally inclined Extrahumans. And then, I wondered why. It wasn’t her Extrahuman Law major. PPC ran that one on both day and night schedules.
When we pulled up to the police station, I wiped my clammy palms on the rumpled t-shirt in my bag. Olivia noticed and tilted her head as she focused her eyes on me.
“It can’t be that bad, Jeannie.” She blinked big amber eyes. “If something were wrong, you’d be meeting Weaver and Klein at night when they’re both powerhouses.”
“Thanks.” I got out of the car, leaving Olivia to wait as I tried to let her words comfort me. They didn’t do much. Not that I didn’t believe her, but spider shifters were scary. Most vampires, not so much.
The desk Sargent waved me along, gesturing down a hall. Detective Weaver stood there, six-foot-nothing and spindly. I looked up, not sure whether I should smile. I did it anyway and felt like an idiot when she brought me into the basement and then to an honest-to-goodness interrogation room.
Detective Klein ruined the effect by waving at me from the chair. He got up, pulled it out for me, and gestured at the cup of coffee within easy reach. Even though his smile bared his fangs, I could tell Klein was the good cop. I figured I’d better sit, so I did. When I took a sip of the coffee, my eyebrows felt like they’d actually go into my hair.
“We heard you liked mocha, so here it is.” I almost gave myself whiplash turning my head to look at Detective Weaver. The dour expression she’d worn the night of the shooting and all the way down into the basement got replaced by a thread-thin smile.
“Wow, thanks.” I sipped again, less tentatively this time. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but this wouldn’t have been on the list.”
“We’re the Newport PD, not the Spanish Inquisition.” Detective Weaver shrugged. “And don’t tell anyone I spouted off a Monty Python line, or I’ll take that mocha away.” She actually winked. “I want to know why you think you’re here.”
“You have more questions for me.” I blinked, not sure why what I thought about police procedure mattered.
“That’s only part of it.” Detective Klein half-sat on the table. He still wore the dorky orange puffy vest that looked like something from a cheesy 80s movie. I wondered whether he might actually be from the 80s, especially with his majestic mullet.
“Okay, then.” I leaned back, cupping both hands around my coffee cup. My handbag strap caught on the back of the chair, and I almost tipped it over. “Woah!”
In a flash, Detective Weaver was there catching my chair. I knew spider shifters were fast but hadn’t actually seen one in action. And then I realized she hadn’t caught it with her hands. A handful of gossamer strands led from her fingers to my seat, steadying it.
“Thanks.” I let out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Is it national bear klutzes day or something?”
Klein unleashed a belly-laugh. I felt like I was on campus with the other students instead of a police station. This wasn’t supposed to happen, was it? I must have looked as confused as I felt because Weaver snapped her fingers at the threads, then put the serious back on her face.
“Look, we’re mainly bringing you here to tell you things are still dangerous out there.” She leaned against the wall by the doorway. “We’re almost sure the shooters were part of the Gatto Gang. What we aren’t sure about is who was the target. And that’s where the questions come in. So, along the lines of why you think you’re in here, why do you think a big cat shifter Mafia would want you dead?”
I froze for just a split second, nearly twenty years of guilt stopping me cold. And then it lifted, like it usually did. Too late, though. Both Weaver and Klein had noticed my reaction. I’d have to tell them something. I wracked my brain, knowing they’d think I was really a dumb blonde, despite being one of the first shifters accepted to PPC.
“Well, I was in the Boston Internment. That’s pretty common knowledge since I let my classmates interview me about it for projects.” I looked at Klein when I spoke, knowing he’d be the one checking the physical signs of lying. Vampires were good at that, of course.
“So you don’t think it’s got anything to do with the fact that you’re friends with the Harcourt kid?” Klein had his hands in the pocket of his goofy vest.
“No. I mean, I’m the Resident Assistant in the dorm at school. It’s not like we’re bosom buddies.”
“We know he paid for you to stay in Newport after the er, altercation with Dale Parker.”
“Yeah, but that might be because I lent my room to one of his packmates a few weeks back.”
“Huh.” Klein pulled a ball-point pen from his pocket, the kind where the tip pops in and out with a button. He pressed it a few times, slowly. “Yeah, that checks out. He’s in the Dennison kid’s pack. Shifters with Hats or something like that.”
“Tinfoil Hat,” Weaver corrected. She eyed the pen warily. “So, can you think of anything else besides the Internment?”
“Actually, there is one thing.” I shook my head. “I couldn’t have been the target at all.” I stared into my coffee, unable to block out the sound of Klein’s pen clicking.
“And why is that?” Detective Weaver reminded me of Professor Watkins all of a sudden. I wondered whether they might be related.
“That car wasn’t parked. It couldn’t have been waiting for me.” My explanation was peppered with Klein’s noisy pen clicking habit. “I heard the engine, and it was active, not in idle. There’s no way big cat shifters could have predicted the exact moment I’d be storming out of the bed-and-breakfast. But Blaine and his lady friend were walking to a dinner reservation. That’s information someone could have gotten, nice and predictable. The shooter had to be after one of them.”
“See, I told you.” Weaver strode over to Klein and snatched the pen right out of his hand. “She figured it out. You owe me twenty bucks.”
“Who'd have thought, huh?” Klein shook his head and produced a wallet from his back pocket. “On the same night, I met two ladies who could be detectives someday.” He handed Weaver a twenty, then put the wallet away.
“Not me, I’m going into Social Services.” I grinned. “I use my powers of deduction to help elderly Extrahumans. They can be a dodgy bunch, so there are probably some transferable skills there.”
“Well, I look forward to seeing you in a more professional capacity in the future.” Weaver smiled her thready smile again and opened the door. “You’re free to go. Thanks.”
I stumbled on the way out and spilled my mocha coffee all over the floor in front of the desk sergeant. If I didn’t get it together, the Gitano Gang might just try to take me out for being a clumsiness menace in their territory.
Chapter Two
Ismail
