by Sharon Joss
CHAPTER 14
I paused in a musty entry hall decorated in early bordello. Dark wood-trimmed burgundy walls surrounded the doorways and stairs. Across the foyer, a framed proclamation of some sort hung above a red velvet settee flanked by ornate sconces. To the right, an archway led into a lavender living room. An oriental carpet paved the floor, and a pink camelback sofa faced the soot-stained fireplace. The room appeared unused. I turned my attention back to Rhys.
“This way.”
I licked my lips and followed him through a wide doorway to the left, which opened into a circular, high-ceilinged parlor, painted in the most garish colors imaginable. Flocked paisley wallpaper flecked with maroon, orange, and purple covered the walls. A border of hand painted gold stars and other hieroglyphs encircled the windows and baseboards. Faded photos, framed certificates, and yellowed newspaper clippings festooned the room like bonbons. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling; dusty strings of old spider webs stretched between the prisms.
The tiny woman sat at a low table in the front window. She must have seen us come into the house, but she did not turn her head to acknowledge us. I blushed to think she had watched me kiss Rhys.
Rhys tapped her shoulder, and she swiveled in her seat to face me. Her eyes were her most arresting feature. The irises were a chalky copper color, with a fiery halo of yellow-gold around her pupils. Like a bird, she cocked her head and inspected every detail of my appearance from head to toe. I shifted uncomfortably; self-conscious in the power of her gaze. Her penciled-in eyebrows and rouged cheeks gave her the appearance of an ancient marionette. She grinned up at me through nonexistent lips. I was both repulsed and inexplicably fascinated by her.
“Madame, this is Mattie Blackman.” Rhys spoke with reverence and careful diction, presumably so she could read his lips. “Mattie, this is Madame Coumlie, the Hand of Fate.” He motioned me closer.
Had she been standing, she would have come only to my waist. She held both her blackened hands out to me, and I hesitated. Pale runic scars disfigured the soot-stained skin of her bony hands. An incised crescent moon had been carved into each of her palms. What kind of person does that to herself, I wondered.
“What do you think, Madame? Who does she remind you of?”
Her pale eyes washed over me, and stared back at her. I couldn’t have been more intimidated if I’d been facing a cobra. She’d dressed as for a special occasion, although she couldn’t have known we were coming. Beneath a quilted vest of Persian blue, she wore a crisp white blouse. Ropes of polished silver and turquoise beads wound around her spindly neck. Thin white hair wrapped her skull in a tidy French twist. She gave the impression of fragility, but her eyes were flinty sharp. My determination wavered.
“You are not my Oleanna, but there is no doubt you are of my line,” she said, in thickly accented French. She motioned me to a seat, opposite her at the banquette.
“Tell me, mage. What do you think of her?”
His eyes settled on my mouth as he answered. “I find her irresistible.”
I blushed at the compliment. The old woman coughed, and horked something substantial into her cupped hand. I couldn’t keep the revulsion off my face, and even Rhys looked disgusted. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, and wiped her hand. The spasm passed and she folded the whatever it was back into the pocket of her slacks. When she’d composed herself, I realized she’d been laughing.
“Yes, well our line always affected those such as yourself in that way. But look at her and tell me what you see.”
“She’s like you, only more so.” Rhys put his hands out, as if he were warming himself before a bonfire. “Even in here, she is hot with it.”
I wondered what he meant. Hot was good, right?
“What you are sensing, mage, are her djinn. As my powers fade, hers grow stronger.” She closed her eyes and appeared to inhale my essence. “Who could imagine such strength in one like this! She is a beacon to the djinn. Several hover in her aura.”
Djinns? In my aura?
“And two named djemons.” Her eyes widened, and she looked directly to Blix and Larry. “What have you done, chere?”
“I didn’t do anything.” What’s a djnn?
She snatched my sweaty left hand between her cool bony fingers and I gasped. I attempted to pull away, but claws tightened into a vise around my wrist. Her fingernails dug painfully into the flesh of my palm. She had me in a grip of stone, as immovable as iron. Regardless of her appearance, she was stronger than me. The sensation of being trapped was overwhelming. I wondered if I would be able to get away with my dignity intact.
“Don’t you know? Naming them gives them power. They cannot harm anyone if they aren’t named. Even your silly FBI knows that.” In spite of my resistance, she pulled me closer to her.
“You didn’t tell me you’d named them.” Rhys stroked his moustache, his face grim.
“Let go.” I kept my voice calm. She replied with a lipless smile.
“You’re hurting me.” I jerked my hand as hard as I could, but the old witch didn’t move a muscle. I gritted my teeth and wished I’d never come here. I should have listened to my instincts about this house when I had a chance. Alice in Wonderland would’ve run screaming from this place.
“I said, let go of me!”
She loosened her grip, finally, and I snatched my hand back, scared and humiliated. My palm seeped blood where her fingernail had dug into me. I wanted to leave, but for some reason, couldn’t force my legs to move.
“That’s not important now, mage. You found her and we don’t have much time. I had all but given up hope. You have done well.”
“What are you talking about?” I held my throbbing hand to my chest.
“Listen to me, chere. Time is short. You are unprepared for what is to come.”
She’d given my wrist some sort of a burn. I flexed my fingers and stared at a shiny black crescent mark now centered on the palm of my left hand. She held up hers, and showed me she had one just like it.
I rubbed my palm against my shirt, trying to rid myself of the mark, but it didn’t even smear. “What did you do to me?”
“I knew it,” Rhys said. “Her resemblance to Oleanna is uncanny.”
Madame Coumlie merely nodded. “You should be proud of your heritage. We are the last of the Fates, you and I, descended of the gods themselves. Our ancestors were born a millennium before the dawn of Christianity. Our bloodline has survived for thousands of years. When I die, all the powers of prophesy, destiny, and death will come to you, the only surviving woman of my line. The transfer of power has already begun.”
“No.” I got my legs working again and stood. “I’m not listening to any more of this. I am not what you say. I came here to get rid of these things. That’s the only reason I came.” I glared at the mage. “You were supposed to help me.”
“This has nothing to do with what you want, chere. This is your destiny. When I die, my powers will pass to you and you will become the next Hand of Fate. It has always been this way. It is a great honor and responsibility. Even now, as I sense my powers waning, they bloom in you.”
“Listen, lady I’m a parking control officer for the City of Picston. You’re talking crazy.” I had lost complete control of the conversation.
“Hear me, mage.” She waggled her finger at Rhys, ignoring me completely. “The situation is clear to me now. Someone has unleashed the djinn from their sealed cavern beneath Sentinel Hill. They must have been loose for some time. They will attach themselves to sensitives, such as young Mattie here. With every passing moment, she is attracting more djinn to her, but she is not the only one at risk. There are many unsuspecting people in Shore Haven who will be tempted to name their djinn when they appear.” She turned to me and continued.
“Once named, a djinn becomes djemon, servant to their human master until released. By your laws, anyone with a named djemon becomes a demon master. Under the new anti-terrorism a
ct, anyone proven to be a demon master may be sentenced to death. I cannot imagine what your government’s actions would be if they discovered an entire community of demon masters here in Shore Haven. You understand the threat, no? The anomalous community cannot risk exposure. The djinn must be resealed inside the cavern quickly.”
“How many are we talking about,” Rhys asked.
I fought to keep my rising panic under control. “Hey, what exactly is a djinn, anyway?”
“A djinn is a spirit without a master.” Rhys said. “It is not a creature of the flesh. It resides on the astral plane, imperceptible to most humans. They are attracted to paranormal activity, and can, on occasion, be perceived by humans with certain extrasensory gifts such as yourself. They possess no inherent qualities for good or evil. They exist to serve a master.”
A missing piece clicked into place for me.
“So these things I’m seeing are djinn? How come it didn’t show up when I took the FBI test?”
Madame Coumlie convulsed into a new phlegm seizure, and I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or coughing this time. The handkerchief reappeared, and she was able to get control of herself.
“The FBI doesn’t know everything, Mattie.” Rhys smiled, and his features softened. “And we’re not about to correct them.” In the back of my mind, I guessed the old lady had been laughing.
“Once a djinn is named, chere, it becomes a djemon. The first time a named djemon is given a command by its master, the creature materializes on the physical plane. Once a djemon attains physical form, it becomes most dangerous. The djemon gains power and strength and grows by obeying its master’s commands. Over time, a djemon can become extremely powerful; even more so than the master. This is the reason your FBI wishes to regulate psychics, no?”
“How do you get rid of them?” Now we were getting somewhere. “I mean, after they manifest?”
“You die.” She started to laugh, and the choking horking spasm drowned out the rest of her words.
“She means to say djinn and djemons can’t be killed,” Rhys said. “They’re not alive. They don’t eat or sleep as you would expect. They don’t breathe. All they do is wait for the next command from their master. A djinn is harmless, but once manifested, a djemon made flesh can become a powerful creature.”
The import of agent Porter’s words came to me with a chill. “They’re a loaded weapon.”
Rhys nodded. “They defy the very laws of nature. Tell me, Madame, how many djinn we’re talking about here?”
“In 1930, I returned four hundred and twelve into to the cavern, but thousands more never escaped. If the portal is open again,” she shrugged. “Perhaps only a few have been named or made flesh.”
“I’ve got six trapped already.”
“If the seal is broken, mage, you will need to repair it. Take the girl with you. She must be the one to fix things.” Madame Coumlie’s face had gone ashen. Her fit had taken a lot out of her. “My time grows short.”
“No way,” I said. “No can do. I don’t want to get involved in any of this. As a matter of fact, I’m leaving. Right now.”
Rhys and the old woman looked at each other and she grinned that creepy, lipless smile at me again.
“Oneiri,” she called. “I summon you.” She clapped her hands.
Out of nowhere, Madame Coumlie’s djemon materialized out of thin air into the middle of the room. Charcoal in color, Oneiri appeared to be about the size of a large pony. Heat radiated from its solid body like a furnace, and the floor reverberated with the echoes of its fury as it snarled at Blix and Larry.
I gaped in disbelief as adrenaline surged through every fiber of my being. “What the hell is that?” I already knew the answer. Oneiri looked like Blix on steroids. Madame Coumlie’s djemon was unmistakably a sphinx.
