The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0)

by Grace McGinty

  “Truck 61, Ambulance 34. House fire at 2240 Mayfair Street.”

  The whole house went into work mode. Striding to the truck, they stepped into their turn out gear and climbed in as the roller doors opened. The sirens went on and they sped down the streets. McAdams leaned across the backseat to Lieutenant Ryan, her superior. Lieutenant Ryan was a nice guy, if a bit on the gruff side. He took his responsibility to his team very seriously, and that was all anyone can ask from someone in charge. He wouldn't send them in to bad situations for possible glory, and they would give him their trust and loyalty.

  “Guess what I just found out about Nazemi here? Apparently she and Detective Reilly were doing the two man tango all night after that apartment fire over in Brownsville,” McAdams mock whispered

  Lieutenant Ryan raised both brows. “I thought you hated Reilly? Or is that only from the neck up?” he asked, a stupid big grin on his face. Apparently being gruff didn't exempt him from teasing her too.

  She just rolled her eyes as the rest of the crew ribbed her good naturedly. Joe laughed from the opposite side of the truck and she slapped his leg.

  “These guys are going to go on about this for weeks because you Italians only have one volume level; Sicilian!”

  Joe just gave her an innocent look that was ruined by his smug grin. They really were like one big family, equipped with far too many teasing big brothers. But she loved them all, and would never want to see anything happen to any of them. Especially not being burned alive by a massive fire demon.

  They pulled up to the call out address and already Azar could see the smoke billowing out of the front windows of the two storey house. There was a woman pacing the footpath, ringing her hands and Azar prepared herself for her orders. She let herself live in the moment. Everything else could wait until the end of her shift.

  Hours later, Azar stood out the front of Bast’s warehouse and tried to psych herself up to go in. The sun was beginning to set over the Coney Island boardwalk, and the tourists had thinned out. Azar had always loved Coney Island. She loved the sound of the squealing children going around on the old carousel and the smell of corndogs and sea salt that always permeated the air. It made her feel happy. She loved walking down the boardwalk, eating an ice cream and watching the waves lap at the sand.

  She had never even contemplated that perhaps Coney Island had been started by Djinn, or that she had been so close to detection all these years. Maybe she walked past this Moselle, or even Bast.

  She shook her head, a tiny smile curving her mouth. No, if she had seen Bast before, she definitely would have noticed him. He was not the kind of person you’d miss, even in the bustling crowds of Coney Island. It wasn’t just his height, or even the mesmerizing gold of his eyes. Bast had charisma, an energy that pulled at everyone around him. If she had seen him before, she wouldn’t have forgotten. He was the kind of man from which late night fantasies were made.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket, shaking her out of her daydream. “Azar.”

  “It’s Keenan. I dug up what I could on the family that lived in the apartment over in Brownsville. They were at their mosque when the fire started. They are a family of refugees; both parents and three kids from Syria, been in the States for about four months. The father is unemployed, but in Syria he was an engineer, the kids haven’t started school yet. I can’t see any connection apart from the fact they are from the Middle East.” His voice was all business, no hint that they had ever been intimate. Azar squashed down the feeling of disappointment; she had far more important things to worry about.

  “That doesn’t seem like much of a connection. I’m at Bast’s office now. I'll run it past him and see if he has any ideas. I’ll give you a call later on.” Azar ended the call before Keenan could start nagging about her meeting Bast alone and slipped the phone back in her pocket.

  She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back. She’d procrastinated enough. She ducked under the police tape and walked through the charred warehouse to the office. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

  “Come in.” Bast’s smooth melodic voice sent tingles down her spine.

  She pushed into the room. The foliage seemed more suffocating today. The plants shied away from her as she brushed past them.

  “Azar, it’s nice to see you. Don’t mind them, they don’t like your heat. It’s an instinctual thing.” Bast stood and walked around his desk toward her, his hand outstretched but she waved him off.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Bast. Excuse me if I don’t shake your hand. The last time had some undesired results.”

  Bast just laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Undesired? I think not. In fact, I think you desired it very much. There is a pull between us that I had to explore. But if our little kiss made you uncomfortable, then I humbly apologize. Won’t you please take a seat? No Detective Reilly today?” Azar shook her head and sat down on one of the antique chairs. She hadn’t noticed them yesterday, too shocked from the appearance of another Djinn, but they looked old, maybe Louis XVI. She rubbed her hand up the warm wood. It was spectacularly made and kept in immaculate condition. It sat on a genuine Persian rug that looked ancient.

  “Keenan is working on getting us info about the apartment block fire. The family who live there are refugees from Syria. They’ve only been here four months.” She chewed her lower lip as she thought. There had to be a connection there. Why that family? Were they Djinn themselves and if not, why target that family in particular?

  Bast tapped his finger against the map that was still spread out on his desk thoughtfully. “They must have been the pledge for my race. The Jann are the Djinn that provide an Oasis for those in need. If you’d lived in a war torn country your entire life, surrounded by genocide and mass bloodshed, constant wars and dictatorships, I imagine a little apartment in a shitty area of town would seem like an oasis of peace for such a family.”

  Azar nodded, it made sense. What didn’t make sense is why they were targeted specifically. How would the Ifrit even know about some family that had just got off the plane from Syria? It would have made more sense for him to hit Central Park or some other leafy area that provided a calm refuge in the normal chaos of New York City. She didn’t realize she’d been thinking out loud until Bast answered her question.

  “It would be very hard to light anything on fire in Central Park; too many witnesses and good Samaritans willing to extinguish it immediately. Besides, I don’t think lighting a trash can on fire would gain much favor with the Balraka, do you?”

  Azar shuddered when he said its name.

  Balraka.

  She hadn’t told Keenan the whole truth about the fire pledge. Apparently, when done correctly, the fire pledge raises the embodiment of the very first Ifrit, Balraka. It was apparently so ferocious and deadly that the other Djinn cast him into the pits of hell, chained in manacles of ice, for all of eternity. They created a failsafe so that his prison could only be opened by each race providing a tribute.

  A thousand years later, another crazy Ifrit discovered that if he destroyed something that was beloved by each of the races, he could temporarily release Balraka into the world, and Balraka would rain down fire and destruction upon everything he could reach. And his reach was long. Entire cities had burnt to the ground. Fiery destruction was like ambrosia to the Ifrit.

  However, the magic that had chained Balraka in the beginning would eventually drag him back down into his icy prison to wait until some other crazy Ifrit would try another fire pledge. Many of the Great Fires of history were due to fire pledges releasing Balraka.

  “We should tell the other Djinn. A fire pledge is in no one’s best interests and they need to keep their eyes open,” Bast continued. “Also, Azerasr is only six days away, and if I was doing a fire pledge, that is when I’d want my big finale.” Azar had forgotten about Azerasr, the Ifrit Day of Celebration.

  In the old days, the Ifrit used to burn whole villages to the ground to honor their race. But in modern days, the I
frit mostly just created big bonfires or torched a few cars. Well at least that’s what she had heard. She’d never actually celebrated it or met any other Ifrit. But she’d met an Eastern European werewolf in a bar once, and he’d known a lot about the Djinn. He’d happily told her everything he knew over a few dozen jugs of ale.

  She had to tell this to Keenan. She pulled out her phone and dialled Keenan’s number.

  “Keenan, it’s Azar. Do you want the good news or the bad news?" She heard him sigh on the other end of the line.

  “Give me the good news first. I need something positive at the moment.”

  “The apartment fire was the Jann pledge. So that narrows down the spots where we need to look for the next targets. But it was too specific. The other targets have been general targets, their correlation to the Djinn races clear. But the Syrian family must have been known to our Rogue, and on more than just a nod in the hallway kind of way. It was personal. He knew that they were refugees and he knew that the apartment was their oasis.” She could hear him scribbling notes down on the other end. “Now, for the bad news; I think he’s going to hit the next three places in the next six days to coincide with an Ifrit Fire Celebration.”

  “Way to hit me with a quick one-two.” He sounded more disheartened than he had at the beginning of the call. He was so out of his depth in this case, and there was only so much Azar could say to help him understand. There are some things that are difficult for even the most open minded human. A world full of other beings, of which the Djinn were only a small percentage. Azar honestly believed in that old human saying that ignorance was bliss.

  “Sorry about that Keenan. But hey, forewarned is forearmed, right?”

  “Right. I’ll call around to your place tonight to check on you.” He didn’t give her time to disagree, hanging up in her ear. It was almost kind of sweet that he wanted to check on her. Then she remembered he was a cop and probably just wanted to grill her for information.

  Bast was looking at her like she was an abstract painting he couldn’t quite understand. His intense gaze was making her a little warm in her own skin, like she was set to slow burn, and that was really saying something for an Ifrit. She lowered her lashes and cleared her throat. It was almost painful to look into his deep, golden eyes.

  Get it together, Azar, she chastised herself, there is absolutely no point to lusting after one of the Djinn, especially if you want to stay out of shackles for the next hundred years.

  She needed to break the sexual tension in the air before she decided to screw caution and do him right there on the desk. She didn't think he'd put up much resistance. “Well, we aren’t going to warn anyone sitting in your office. Do you know where we can find any other Djinn?” She couldn’t believe those words just passed her lips. She had spent years in hiding, and now she was throwing herself in the deep end.

  Bast’s lips curled into a devious grin that made her heart leap but her stomach sink.

  “Yes I do. But we are going to have to stop by your place. You’ll need to change.”

  She had a sneaking suspicion she was going to need that ice cream first.

  Azar looked at the black leather mini skirt in between Bast’s thumb and forefinger.

  “No, no, no, no!” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “There is no way I’m wearing that out of the house. Ever.”

  She bought the skirt to wear as a biker chick outfit for Halloween one year but she’d chickened out and gone as SpongeBob SquarePants instead. There was a good reason for that. The thing was miniscule. If she even leaned forward too much, it showed things that should never be seen outside the bedroom. She was going to throw it out but had never gotten around to it, a mistake she sorely regretted now. It was bad enough that Bast had already talked her into wearing her ex-housemates spangly gold halter. It had a plunge at the front that almost went to her navel and the back barely covered her slave mark. She’d been very adamant that Bast leave the room when she changed into it. He complied like a gentleman of course, but there was a sad little boy pout on his face as he did. If she wore the skirt as well, she may as well be naked.

  “You won’t fit in where we are going in jeans, no matter how delectable they make your ass look. This place has a definite 'less is more' policy when it comes to compulsory attire.”

  She sighed and snatched it out of his hand, then pointed to the door. He waggled his eyebrows as he left, his smirk both annoying and sexy as hell.

  She shimmied out of her jeans and slid on some lacy underwear. If she was going to flash everyone, she was going to do it in her good panties. She went to her ensuite and piled her hair on top of her head, added some dramatic eye makeup and a little bit of lip gloss. She looked like a high price hooker. She slid the skirt up over her thighs, sucking in a breath as she zipped up the back. Sitting back on the bed, she slid on her Houboutins. They looked like Louboutins, but with a few decimal places less in the price tag.

  Standing, she looked at herself in the full length mirror. She sighed and pulled open the bedroom door, startling when Bast was directly on the other side.

  “I was coming to see if you needed help with the zip,” he said huskily. His eyes felt like a caress as they took in every inch of her body. “But I can see you have managed just fine.” His words slid over her body and wrapped around her mind. Her heart began to thunder in her ears. She was sinking into the quicksand that was Bast and she wasn’t even smart enough to struggle. He pressed her up against the door jamb and lightly ran one finger down her collarbone.

  His lips followed the path he had just traced, and Azar gasped at the heat of his tongue touched her skin. “Why can't I resist you?” The whisper of his breath on the skin where his tongue had just been made her shudder.

  Azar let out a whimper as Bast’s mouth climbed up the side of her neck to the point of her chin. His hand roamed around the curve of her hips and his large body made hers feel small. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her like it was the silver screen. Her body slightly dipped back and with such passion that it threatened to overwhelm her completely. Her arms were around his neck, holding on to him because she knew her knees were like water. He lifted her, sliding his hands under her ass, pressing her back against the wall.

  “We’ll warn the Djinn tomorrow,” he murmured between kisses, his hands running over her lower back. She tensed as she remembered her slave brand. Even though she knew that Bast wouldn’t be able to feel it, it sent a cold rush of reason into her passion muddled mind.

  “Bast, stop. We can’t do this. Keenan and I have something going on and it just wouldn't be right.” It was a little white lie, but it was a necessary one.

  Like a perfect gentleman, Bast stepped back immediately. His eyes were still smoky with desire but he nodded once. Azar felt bad that she hadn’t stopped it earlier but she’d been bombarded with sensations that had disconnected her body from all rational thought.

  She straightened her clothes and touched her hair. “We should go.”

  Bast led the way out of the room, pausing to hold the door for her as they left the apartment. It was going to be a long night.

  Azar wasn’t overly surprised that they stood outside of Blue Smoke, a fetish club opposite St John's Cemetery in Flushing. Ghuls. She could almost smell them from outside the front doors. Bast was whispering something in the bouncer’s ear, and the colossus was nodding like a docile servant. Bast looked amazing in a black silk shirt that made his skin glow and his honey colored hair shine like spun gold. He wore tight black jeans that sculpted his thighs and butt. Until this day, Azar would have argued that no man looked good in skinny leg jeans, but just one glance at the way the denim hugged his hips made her mouth water and changed her opinion for life. The fact he looked so amazing just made her even more frustrated with herself. She had enough to deal with, she didn’t need to be panting after a Jann like he was water and she had been walking through the desert for a year.

  “Let’s go.” Bast reac
hed out and offered her his hand. She begrudgingly took it and felt a searing warmth run through her body. She made a mental note to touch the next Djinn that crossed her path. Maybe the reaction wasn't Bast specific and happened between all Djinn. And maybe pigs flew the Transatlantic flight path.

  They passed through the velvet ropes and the thump-thump of the music became almost unbearable as soon as they stepped through the door. The lights were dim, and Azar strained to see her surroundings. She could make out the dark outlines of the people that were writhing around on the couches and beds that dotted the room. The scent of sex and the steady pounding of the music made heat pool in her belly. People gyrated against each other on the dance floor in an animalistic version of the mating dance.

  A huge bar lined one of the mirrored walls and the overhead lights were encased in royal blue shades, casting the bar in an eerie deep blue light. Bast guided her towards the bar, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, buffering her from the people on the dance floor and the men that were eyeing her scantily clad body like she was a feast. Azar would have been more indignant about the sleaze-bags if she wasn’t so distracted by the feel of Bast’s hands on the bare skin and the curve of his body tucked tightly next to hers.

  Once they had reached the bar, Bast caught the barman’s attention. He was young, and the mischievous glint in his eye, as well as the tattoo’s, marked him as a bad boy.

  “Two double vodkas and orange.” The guy behind the bar just nodded and turned to make the drinks. Azar opened her mouth to protest, but Bast cut her off. “You need to relax. If you wind up any tighter you are going to go supernova and a Rogue Ifrit will be the least of our problems.”