Even Crazier

by Eve Langlais

  A time that had returned to find no one prepared for it. Tariq closed off those memories rather than allow himself to dwell on the slaughter and his failure.

  Azzam, chin tucked to his chest, snorted and snuffled before startling himself awake. He regarded Tariq through one eye, the one with the silver-sheened cataract. Azzam claimed it let him see things in the future. Let him see choices to be made for the greater good, that good being Azzam’s, of course.

  “Are we there yet?” grouched Azzam, shoving an elbow into Jamaal’s midsection, startling him awake.

  “No.” Tariq leaned against the far wall, the beds tucked away to give them a semblance of space.

  “We should have made the woman come to us.”

  Somehow, Tariq doubted that would have gone over well with the queen.

  Jamaal yawned, the movement stretching the skin still scarring the left side of his face. No amount of healing could fix it. Who knew a fire existed that burned hot enough to harm a djinn? “Don’t complain, Azzam. We’d be there already if you’d agreed to fly.”

  “Never!” Azzam grumbled. “Aeroplanes are unnatural. Only those with true wings should be able to fly.”

  “Then how do you explain the rug?” Tariq teased, the argument not a new one.

  Azzam tilted his nose. “The rug does not fly. It merely defies the laws of gravity.”

  “Hypocrite,” Tariq coughed into his fist and then bit back a smile at Azzam’s glare. “A plane would have had us at our destination three days ago.”

  “And we’d probably be dead,” Azzam spat. “Aeroplanes crash. They can also explode. We all know it doesn’t take much.”

  “We could have driven,” Jamaal interjected, “and cut the trip in half.”

  “Cars require a driver and are uncomfortable for long journeys.”

  Cars also didn’t have a bathroom Azzam could use every second hour. The more he lost touch with his djinn essence, the more human and old he became. The hair that only a few weeks ago had been thick and dark now crowned Tariq’s grandfather in silver. Creases lined his eyes and cheeks. Azzam no longer looked like an uncle to Tariq. He resembled a true grandfather. At last. And Tariq enjoyed taunting him with the title when it would have the most effect.

  “You should have let me transport you.”

  “Djinn can’t transport djinn.” An odd fact few knew. They could grab hold of anything and anyone else and bring it with them when they traveled the spaces between. But djinn? It was like they were cemented in place. They didn’t move anywhere.

  But grandfather was almost human. Would that quirk still apply? Tariq could see the magic core of him ripped and bleeding magic. In the battle that sent them fleeing their home, Azzam had lost a huge piece of it. The chunk of ragged core that remained couldn’t seem to heal or replenish itself.

  His grandfather was magically bleeding to death. Or, in this case, losing what made him djinn, which, in turn, led him into humanity.

  Tariq’s brother, Jamaal, wasn’t much better off. He had a bigger chunk left of his magic, but he bled as well and created a trail. One that Tariq worked hard to contain and disperse lest their enemies appear to finish them off.

  “We’ve almost arrived. We’ll be there by the end of the day.”

  “Taking succour with a vampire.” Grandfather snorted. It didn’t have the rakish elegance he used to employ with the ladies. It was more of a harrumph that shook his long white beard.

  “Where else would you like us to go?” There were no other djinn enclaves left that he knew of. The one in Italy found itself attacked as well. The two surviving djinn from that tragedy had fled to the European king, and disappeared en route. As far as he was concerned, the only ones left of his kind were Tariq, Grandfather, and Jamaal, and they were still in danger with no safe haven. Given their solitude, they no longer had any allies to call upon for help.

  “Damned elves. Still blaming us for the split.” There was a reason people used the expression “Be careful what you wish for.” In this case, the elves had made a wish to keep their Summerlands safe and hidden from everyone. However, they didn’t add the proper clauses.

  The Summerland portals disappeared from Earth, locking the elves out. No amount of yelling or wishing again could change that. Oddly enough, the spell didn’t stop people from leaving the Summerlands.

  They just couldn’t return.

  Of course, they blamed the djinn.

  “The vampire queen was the only one that did not ignore our request.” All his other notes were refused. She was his last hope.

  “Negotiating with someone who might discover our blood is the ambrosia they’ve never even dreamed of seems non-conducive to a prolonged future.” This from Jamaal. “Then again, I hear their feeding can feel better than any orgasm. Perhaps it won’t be so bad. I hear the vampire queen is attractive.”

  She was. Very. But not just because of her body. Bodies were so easily sculpted. The mind, though, the will and the power behind actual intelligence, that wasn’t something you could create. It either existed or it didn’t. And finding a unique flavor of personality, one not awed by his djinn genes, or immediately asking for favors, intrigued.

  “We are not seducing our only possible ally,” Tariq commanded.

  “Why not?” Jamaal asked. “Sex can be a powerful way to bind.”

  “Leave the queen alone.” Tariq might have barked the command a little more forcefully than necessary.

  Jamaal eyed him, but it was Grandfather who spoke. “The boy is hiding something.” Azzam focused on him, squinting his silvery eye.

  “Hiding what?” Jamaal inhaled, and his lips pulled into a smile, the scarred corner extending it into a parody of what it once was. “Is it me, or do I smell perfume in the cab? Dear brother, did you entertain someone while we slept? Which would be interesting given we bought all the available berths on this train so they’d remain empty.”

  Expensive, but it made monitoring for attacks much easier. They’d thought about hiring mercenaries upon starting the voyage cross country, however a problem with sailors coming over—namely those sailors trying to sink the ship—showed the danger in doing that.

  The issue with lying was he’d be caught. So he didn’t bother. “I might have gone ahead to scout.”

  “You left!” Jamaal accused.

  “Only for a short while.”

  “You shouldn’t have left at all,” Jamaal rebuked. “You are supposed to be conserving your magic.” Was that the real reason, or was Jamaal more concerned about the fact he hadn’t noticed Tariq’s departure? That he was losing his ability to sense? Did his brother fear being alone if something happened?

  “We’re close. It didn’t take much effort to pop in and out.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  Recalling the kiss, he said, “Yes,” without thinking, and must have shown a hint of his thoughts.

  “Sniffing at her skirts already. Thatta boy.” Grandfather slapped his thigh. “No sex, indeed. I knew you had to be joking. Plow her good and she’ll do anything you ask.”

  “I’m not plowing anyone.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Women are always wanting to rub me for luck.” Azzam winked.

  Quickly, Tariq barked, “Don’t you dare ask her to rub you!”

  “Then I’ll offer to pleasure her. This tongue knows its way around a woman.” His grandfather pursed his lips, and Tariq might have vomited if he’d had something in his stomach.

  Instead, he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Watch your language. You know you can’t say that. Especially not in America. You’ll get lynched.”

  “Since when is wanting to show appreciation for the female form a crime?”

  “Since they asked us to stop.”

  Jamaal smirked. “Does this mean they’ll stop pinching your ass and inviting you for drinks in their rooms later on?”

  “They’d better not stop.” It made figuring out who was willing easier if the woman made the first move.

  �
��Since you’ve met her, how is our hostess?” Jamaal leaned back, hands folded over his stomach.

  Cute and feisty. “Somewhat well guarded. House defenses were adequate against most threats.” Except the one they faced.

  “And the woman herself?”

  Off-limits. A thought that startled. He ignored it to instead reply, “Quick-thinking. I can see why she’s lasted this long.”

  “Think she can help?”

  Tariq shrugged. “Maybe. She at least has access to an army, and connections to the other groups that have shunned us.”

  “Bastards. See if we give them any wishes,” Azzam grumbled. “I’ll set them on fire myself and refuse to piss on them.”

  “No setting anyone on fire. We can’t afford any more enemies. If we lack allies, it is our own fault for being segregated for so long.”

  “I miss my bottle,” complained Azzam.

  They all did.

  The train, what had been chugging along at a steady speed, suddenly lurched before slowing to a stop.

  What was happening? They still had hours to go to their destination.

  Tariq immediately cast out his senses. Unlike his family, his magic was still intact and functioning. If a little depleted from his teleportation stunt.

  He could have cursed in seven languages and thirteen dialects when he saw the converging vehicles, their combustion engines bright orange flares in the esoteric field all around them. The humans were more of a blue-green smudge. At least two dozen of them, probably armed.

  “We’ve got company,” he grimly announced.

  “And I’ve got a Glock.” Jamaal pulled it from the bag he kept at his feet. He flipped off the safety and held it up with a smile.

  “Since when do you carry a gun?” Tariq asked.

  “Since I can’t conjure a sword out of my ass.”

  Not having magic put his brother at a disadvantage in a fight. “You can’t shoot them all before they manage to harm us.” Which Tariq could survive, but Grandfather and Jamaal with their broken magic? That kind of injury could be the thing that set them on the final path.

  Then Tariq would be alone. Alone to fight. The only djinn left to repopulate the world and avoid extinction. Him, a father?

  He’d best make sure his family survived to carry on tradition.

  “Maybe they’re here to escort us.” He put that ridiculous notion forward, knowing it would help focus his grandfather.

  “Idiot. Escorts don’t stop trains in the middle of nowhere. We are under attack. Send forth the centaurs.” Azzam waved his arm. Nothing happened.

  “We don’t have centaurs.” They’d actually gone extinct a few centuries ago. Human males hunted them down and slaughtered them all. The expression “hung like a horse”… Given their inadequacy, the humans felt a need to restore their masculinity by eliminating the competition.

  “Send out the dancers then. Let them hypnotize the enemy into putting down their weapons.”

  First off, that only ever worked once, on a tribe of lonely Titans. “We have no dancers. It’s just us, Azzam. And only I have magic.”

  “Which does us no good since you can’t kill humans with it.”

  Another djinn quirk. They couldn’t directly use their powers to kill. If the effect of something resulted in death, then so be it, but he couldn’t just toss lightning bolts at humans and knock them off their vehicles.

  He could, however, nudge a boulder off a cliff. He only needed to find a cliff.

  “What else would you like me to do?” Asked a moment before a hail of gunfire strafed the train car. They all hit the floor and huddled inside a shield cocoon Tariq spun for them.

  “I’ve got enough juice to pop out if you take him.” Jamaal angled his head to Azzam.

  “You can’t take me. I’m a djinn.” The claim emerged quavering and afraid. Over the centuries, Tariq had never seen the mighty Azzam afraid of anything. Then the enemy arrived and soundly defeated them. Now, the more Grandfather lost touch with his magic, the more human he appeared.

  Human enough to transport? Jamaal thought it might be possible, even as the idea obviously terrified his grandfather.

  Even if Tariq wasn’t able to transport Azzam, Jamaal needed to escape before he overtaxed what was left of his magic.

  More bullets peppered the train. Tariq’s shield absorbed the impact, but for how long? He couldn’t hold out forever.

  “Can you make it to the vampire enclave on your own?” he asked Jamaal.

  “I can, but”—Jamaal arched a brow—“you’re sure this queen can help us?”

  “She’s the only one who can,” asserted Azzam, the most vocal opponent of their meeting, and yet the one who also kept claiming the queen was needed if they were to survive.

  “Go,” Tariq urged. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Jamaal gave him a hard stare. “Don’t be a hero.”

  “I would never even think of it.”

  “Don’t make me yank your spirit from the netherworld for a beating,” Jamaal threatened. “I’ll expect to see you momentarily.”

  Closing his eyes, Jamaal appeared to clench and relax all at once. Tariq could see the strain and the ballooning of magic out of him as he pulled enough together to send himself elsewhere.

  Pop. The displacement wasn’t neat. He’d not seen his brother this sloppy since their days in the schoolroom. A long, long time ago. They’d learned finesse since then.

  “Our turn, old man.”

  “It won’t work,” Azzam claimed when Tariq turned his gaze on him.

  “We’re still going to try. Hold on to me.”

  “I am not a weak woman who needs you to rescue me.”

  “Another thing you can’t say,” Tariq announced with a sigh.

  “So many rules. They should have never let them leave the kitchen. Education and equal rights indeed,” Azzam grumbled.

  “We don’t have time for this. We need to try.”

  “If you insist. But I am not clinging to you. It’s undignified. You can hold me.”

  Tariq wanted to wrap his hands around his grandfather’s stubborn neck. How long since he and Azzam had been in such close proximity? Three centuries, four. It might have been more if they hadn’t been attacked.

  He grabbed his grandfather by the arms, closed his own damned eyes, and yanked on as much magic as he could find. Perhaps if he powered it enough.

  Nothing happened.

  Azzam snickered. “Still a djinn.” Said in an “I told you so” tone.

  “Would have been better if you weren’t,” Tariq snapped. Now he’d have to find a way to get them out of here and to safety. Without directly killing any of the humans with magic.

  “Conjure me a sword, and we’ll fight like our ancestors.”

  “You can’t use a blade against a bullet.” Nor did their blades work on humans. A gun would work since the bullet, once fired, was independent and not magic based; however, Tariq had never practiced, and his last attempt resulted in a hole in their ship. “What we need is a carpet.”

  Since they didn’t have one, he settled for a seat. Tariq rose to his feet, reshaping his shielding cocoon with him, trying to ignore the way it shuddered with the impact of the bullets. The humans fired round after round. The walls of the train were riddled with holes. Daylight streamed in.

  He gripped one of the seats and pulled hard. It didn’t budge. “Unbolt yourself at once.” He shoved the wish at the chair and a moment later, held it aloft. “Sit in it.”

  Azzam shook his head. “I am not flying in that.”

  “Oh yes you are.” Because spells didn’t work on djinn either. He couldn’t make Azzam fly, or even himself. Dissipate into a mist, yes, but that wasn’t practical for travel. Strong winds had been known to cause injury to djinn who weren’t careful. Carpets were considered a classic way to move around. But anything could technically be used: brooms, sleds, even beanbag chairs.

  He just needed an object to enchant. The chair hovered, and his g
randfather clung to its armrests, glowering. “This is undignified.”

  “A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice. Once you’re clear of the bullets, the chair should make its way straight to the queen’s home. Try not to fall off.”

  “How about you? I don’t see you sitting in a chair.”

  “I’ll be along shortly. First I need to cover your retreat.” Before grandfather could complain, Tariq sealed him in a shield. A soundproof one that also deflected sight. But it wouldn’t protect Azzam from stray shots. The limitations of magic.

  Which was why Tariq would provide a distraction. He waved a hand forward and peeled back the metal of the car, catching the attention of the ambush gathered. He waved at the gaping mercenaries drawing their fire—who surely, despite their possessed minds, must wonder at what happened. Magic was a thing for movies and books, not real life.

  With them occupied, he tore a hole in the roof of the train and sent Azzam rocketing into the sky.

  That left just him and the small army.

  He smiled amidst the gunfire strafing his shield and boomed in a voice that carried, “Who’s going to tell me who hired you?”

  When they replied with even more bullets, he responded with a reflective shield, bouncing the missiles back to their senders. Body armor caught the majority, but more than a few fell as well. Screams and groans took the place of the noise of combustion weapons firing.

  He boomed again. “Who hired you?”

  It wasn’t until only one attacker was left, lying on the ground, lips bubbling with blood, that he got an answer. Tariq knelt on the field of carnage. Not his fault the humans hadn’t learned their lesson after the first two rounds of gunfire. And who knew a rolling train engine would take down more humans than bowling pins?

  “Who do you work for?”

  With eyes sparking red in the center, the soldier’s bloody lips parted and whispered, “Your doom.”