“Guys!” I barked. “Hash it out later. Right now, we need to figure out what to do with Zalaam.”
“Well, we can’t leave him on the loose like this, that’s for sure,” Raffe replied.
I nodded. “I was thinking we could put him in a charmed cage, or in that cell you use. Just until we can get a better idea of what he wants, now that he’s free of Levi’s suppression.”
“Or, we could consider him an ally?” Kadar emerged again.
I rolled my eyes. “You literally just said he should be locked up.”
“What can I say, I have a flexible mind. And that’s not the only thing that’s flexible.” He flashed me a wink.
“Kadar, pack it in! What have I told you about hitting on my friends?” Raffe shifted back.
“To do it at every given opportunity?” Kadar laughed. I really couldn’t keep up with their melding in and out of control. “Look, all I’m saying is, Levi has been powerful enough to hold Zalaam at bay for this long. All we have to do is wait until Levi comes to, and then he will more than likely take over again. Even if he is forever doomed to live under Zalaam’s will, we could utilize a djinn. He is powerful, and he is as wise as the day is long, gifted with the memories of all djinn who’ve gone before. He has probably seen and heard things that may be of use to us against the Queen of Evil.”
“You should listen to my boy! He has a very wise mind!” Zalaam’s voice bellowed out into the hallway. “It runs in the family!”
“So, there was no point in us coming outside, then?” I glanced at Kadar. “Thanks for the warning.”
“I didn’t know he could hear us,” Kadar protested. All of us were embarrassed. “I would have saved myself the walk if I’d known. I’ve got to take good care of these sexy thighs.” He patted them like they were the neck of a horse, which did nothing to help my churning stomach.
“Come on, we’re wasting time out here.” I led the way back into the infirmary, where we gathered around Zalaam. He smirked, an expression that he shared with Levi. Funnily enough, I felt the same urge to smack him in the face that I did whenever I was around Levi.
“I would’ve warned you that I would be able to hear every word you said, but I didn’t want to take your ‘storming out’ moment.” Zalaam grinned. “I have had so little time for personal pleasures, so you must forgive my small entertainments.”
I cast him a withering look. “Do you want to hear what we have to say or not?”
“I thought I already did.” He chuckled.
“What do you say we make a deal?” Kadar jumped in.
“Color me intrigued,” Zalaam replied.
This time, Raffe was doing the talking. “We won’t lock you up, if you promise to help us in the coming days. We need all the information on Katherine we can get, and with you being an older and wiser djinn, I’m sure you’ve got something in that head of yours that might be useful.”
Evidently, he agreed with Kadar, which gave me no choice but to agree, too. Couldn’t hurt, right? Plus, it might mean that the Rag Team had someone powerful to defend them while I continued on my mission alone.
“Or, I could just tear your head off and be done with it, Raffe.” Zalaam smiled darkly. I let my Empathy edge toward him, feeling out his true emotions. Instead of anger and bitterness, or a hint of malevolence, I felt nothing but sympathy and excitement.
“Quit it with the bravado, Zalaam,” I cut in. “I can sense your emotions. You’re full of crap. You want to help—you don’t want to rip off anyone’s head. And I think there’s been quite enough head-squishing to last us all a lifetime.”
Zalaam laughed. “You’re funny, Harley. Leonidas never gives you much credit for your amusing demeanor. I rather like it.”
“Does that mean you’ll help?” Raffe pressed.
He shrugged. “I suppose I have nothing better to do. However, I will need to dig through the annals of my mind first, and dip into the djinn repository, if I’m going to find anything that has to do with Katherine and her cult.”
“The djinn repository?” I replied.
“All djinns are intrinsically interconnected, as we are all the fruit of Erebus. Do they teach you nothing in these places?” Zalaam muttered.
Raffe frowned. “How come Kadar can’t do that?”
“He is much too young. As time passes, a thread of Chaos grows within us that connects us to the rest of the djinn—a collective memory of sorts. That may be the simplest way I can describe it, for your puny mind. Kadar’s thread is not yet matured, and so he is not yet able to connect.”
“He’s not going to like that,” Raffe mumbled.
“You’re damn right I’m not!” Kadar emerged for a split second, before Raffe pushed him back down.
“You’ll do that for us?” I focused my attention back on Zalaam.
He smiled. “As long as you do not lock me in a cage, I don’t see why not.”
After all the bad news I’d received lately, this was one slice of optimism that I could get on board with. It meant trusting a djinn, which was always a risky thing to do, but if Zalaam could really delve into this shared djinn memory and speak to other djinn across the globe, then maybe another djinn somewhere had witnessed something that might be useful to us in the fight against Katherine.
The Hidden Things spell was still my main goal, but it didn’t hurt to have options.
Twelve
Katherine
Ah, London. With my ability to portal where I pleased, at least I didn’t have to contend with the outright vulgarity of the Tube, with sweaty bodies cramped side by side and commuters tussling to get closest to the perilous edge of the platform. As if that would, somehow, miraculously get them to where they wanted to go that little bit quicker. I hadn’t been to London too many times before, but I’d always had the urge to shove one of those suited and booted idiots onto the tracks as the train was coming through the tunnel, just to teach them a lesson.
Deciding against that particular pleasure, I’d portaled into the middle of Grosvenor Square Gardens. It seemed fitting since, once upon a time, this area of London had been known as “Little America.” A slice of home away from home. If memory served, this part of Mayfair had been the HQ for US personnel during World War II. They’d even put up a statue of good old Franklin D to commemorate our part in that global catastrophe. With me in charge, nobody would ever have to worry about war again.
I was met by the usual British welcome of gray skies and spitting rain. The park was pretty much empty, though I didn’t care who saw me. I pulled the collar of my deep green trench coat closer to my chin—even fearsome operatives could always afford to be fashionable—and ignored the smack of the icy droplets on my face. Strolling to the east of the leafy park, I headed out onto North Audley Street, before taking a left into Lees Place. This was where I’d find that pesky Necromancer. Stupid, sexy Davin Doncaster.
His house was a sheltered, opulent building tucked away down an unassuming road, with white steps leading up to an arched doorway. It looked like something out of an Austen novel, but Davin was no Darcy. And I definitely was no Elizabeth Bennett, unless she’d had a secret penchant for world domination that we didn’t know about. A golden knocker lay ostentatiously—or, rather, austentatiously—in the center, just begging to be rapped.
I paused, collecting myself before I knocked. Davin Doncaster had been living in London as a Neutral, evading the gaze of the London Coven by keeping his head down. He was one of the five Necromancers still living, Micah and Alton included. And, if he played his cards right, he’d be one of a rather more elite group of four once I was done with the last ritual.
Naima had wanted to come with me, making some comment about Davin being an imp who couldn’t be trusted, but I needed her to retrieve the eleventh magical, sooner rather than later. I had an idea of who I wanted to be twelve, but the logistics of swiping Louella were currently a little sticky. Besides, it was always good to have extras. So, here I was, on my lonesome, about to knock o
n the door. The nerves, as I stood on the top step, were a new sensation. There was just something about Davin that got me all worked up.
I smoothed down the front of my trench coat, fiddling with the lapels until they lay perfectly flat. Underneath, I wore olive pants and a bottle-green blouse. I pulled the knocker and let it swing back, the clang echoing inside. A buzzer would be more efficient. But I guessed that was the Brits for you, clinging to tradition like nobody’s business.
My heart raced as I heard footsteps approach. The door opened, and there he was. Standing over six feet, with a casually tousled mane of autumnal hair. His piercing baby blues shot right into me. He looked me over with a pleased grin on his seductive lips. That face… ugh. My ovaries were about ready to blow. He walked the line between Esquire’s front page and rough-and-ready hero, with a fine graze of stubble across his jaw.
“Well, well, well, and here I was, thinking it was the milkman.” He flashed me a grin, his teeth perfect. His dentist needed a raise.
“Not quite.” I found my voice, determined not to show that I had a soft spot for him. “Though I suppose I am here to deliver.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then I imagine it would be rude of me to leave you out on the doorstep. Please, do come inside.” He spoke with a clipped British accent that made me think of boarding schools and Buckingham Palace. “Might you care for some tea? You must be parched if you came all this way for little old me. I believe I remember how you like it. The American way, if I’m not mistaken? I could rustle up some scones with jam and clotted cream, if you’re peckish. Sometimes, I like to think of you eating those as if there was no tomorrow, when I took you to Claridge’s the last time you were here. Smearing it all around that mouth of yours, with crumbs dropping… well, it wouldn’t be polite of me to say where.”
I fought to stop my cheeks from flushing. I’d forgotten about that. “I could eat, now that you mention it.”
“Then come through to the drawing room, and I will see to it that Mrs. Mason brings in some delights to tantalize your appetite.” He chuckled, the sound like a tender caress. Snap out of it, Katie! I was here for one reason, and one reason alone. I couldn’t allow myself to be sidetracked.
“Drawing room?” I smirked. “Who has a drawing room in their house?”
“You should get one. They’re all the rage, though I daresay I lack the opportunity to entertain worthy guests such as yourself. Mrs. Mason will be thrilled, for she’s starting to fear that I’ve become a eunuch.” He led me down a wide, grand hallway, complete with chandelier—of course he has a chandelier—and portraits of the Doncaster Dynasty on the walls. Even in oil paint, he looked stupidly handsome.
The drawing room itself was incredible. A piano sat in the corner, and the walls were lined with rows upon rows of leather-bound tomes. It was almost as impressive as my library, though on a far smaller scale. As I sat down on a velvet, emerald-green couch that probably cost as much as this whole house, he ducked out for a minute to speak to the mysterious Mrs. Mason, before stepping back inside. I knew why he’d done it—so I could get a better view of him, silhouetted in the doorway. He was dressed in a navy-blue, three-piece suit that would’ve put Tom Ford out of business, the fabric hugging him in all the right places.
“Do you play?” I nodded to the piano, aware I was gawking.
He crossed the room and sat down, beginning the first bars of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” “A little,” he replied, with a smile. A little? Who was he kidding? He played it as though he’d written the damn thing. “You know, I always imagined that Beethoven wrote this for his ‘immortal beloved.’ How remarkable is that, to have someone who has enraptured you so wholly that you would refer to them in terms of immortality—of a love that transcends the mortal world? Perhaps it is the Necromancer in me, or perhaps it is simply the romancer.”
“Must be,” I muttered. He continued to play, and my eyes were transfixed on the emotion on his face.
“You can hear the sadness and the longing in the tender notes, can’t you? The heartache of a tortured musician. Nothing so crass as today’s popular music,” he said. “This is love, right here. This is the artistic binding of two souls. It is poetry in motion.”
“Yes, well, I’m here for the Necromancer, not the romancer,” I said quickly. I needed to put my foot down with Davin, otherwise I’d end up… well, somewhere I didn’t have time to be.
He stopped playing. “Oh? Then you have my attention, Ms. Shipton. Although, you always do.”
“I suppose you’ve heard about the progress I’ve made?”
“I confess, it’s hard not to have.” He smiled. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind being under your intoxicating influence.”
“You say that, but you’ve yet to choose a side.” I called his bluff.
He laughed. “Is that why you’re here, to force me into submission? I think I have some cuffs lying about, if that’s your intention.”
“I would prefer it if you came voluntarily.”
His gaze held mine. “For you, always.”
“Again, you keep saying that, but when I asked you to join my cult the last time, you refused, giving me some BS excuse about not being into commitment.” I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve helped me before, and I was grateful for that, but it’s time for you to join the cult or suffer the consequences. You can’t be a Neutral forever, in any sense of the word.”
“I love it when you talk like that.” He showed no sign of being intimidated, which irked me even more. He was making a joke out of this, and it wasn’t a laughing matter. Why are the good-looking ones always so arrogant? Usually, I’d have found that a turnoff, but this was Davin we were talking about. He could’ve been waving a Third Reich flag and my ovaries would still have been screaming like groupies at a rock concert.
I had to keep hold of my position of authority over him. I wasn’t leaving this house until I had him on my side. He was an asset to the cult and, if he proved to be loyal and reliable, then he’d get his powers back when the time came. Those who obeyed wouldn’t have to suffer, and I wanted to make Davin obey.
“I see you didn’t bring the feline with you,” Davin observed. “You must be feeling particularly bold, to have come here without your loyal lieutenant. Although, I have to say, I’m glad to have you alone. Naima ruins the atmosphere somewhat, with all her snapping and snarling. I lay an innocent touch upon you in conversation, and she’s on me like a tigress, scratching at my hands until they look as though I had a disagreement with a coil of barbed wire.”
“Well then, you’ll be happy to know that she dislikes you as much as you seem to dislike her. She’s otherwise engaged with important cult business, so you don’t have to worry about fitting in a manicure for your precious hands,” I replied. “And I don’t need to be bold to come and see you. You don’t intimidate me, as much as you’d like to think you do. But you’re getting off the subject. Nice try.”
“Can’t we have some niceties before we get down to it?” His eyes glittered with mischief. “It’s been much too long since you were last on that couch. And I do so enjoy our little tête-à-têtes.”
I rolled my eyes. “What have you been up to since I last saw you? It doesn’t look like you’re strapped for cash. Weird, considering you’re a Neutral. They’re normally struggling to make ends meet.”
“I have taken to briefly bringing back the recently deceased for the wealthiest magicals in England. Non-magicals, too, if they manage to find me. They are so very eager for one last, precious moment with their passed loved ones, so they can get some closure, and who am I to rob them of that?” He chuckled.
I frowned. “The authorities should be on to you by now, if you were up to that sort of thing.” It was rule number one of the covens not to use magic for profit in the human world, but that was exactly what Davin was doing. I guessed it was a bit hypocritical to call him out on it, but it interested me nonetheless.
“Blackmail is a potent motivator, Ms. Shipt
on, as you well know.” He looked me straight in the eyes, holding me in that intense blue gaze. I knew he’d be trouble. “No one would dare to report me, lest I leak the more unsavory side of their lives to the magical press. In this day and age, people fear the media more than anything else.”
“Hey, it’s no sweat off my brow.”
“Coarsely put. I see you’re as American as ever.”
“It’s the land of hope and glory—you should try it sometime. My point is, magicals should be allowed to profit from wherever they want, however they want.” I smiled at him. “Wasn’t that what brought us closer, in the first place? Our shared belief in a world where you could do what you wanted, freely, without risking a life sentence in Purgatory?”
“But how can a man be truly free, if you want to put shackles on him?” A serious note edged into Davin’s pristine voice.
Because men need to be shackled? Because they’re only out for themselves? Because they don’t deserve true freedom? Davin was no exception to my generally bad opinion of men, but there was something about him that always sucked me in. I’d have said those things out loud if it had been anyone else, but I couldn’t find the words with him looking at me like that, like he wanted to throw me onto the piano and have his wicked way. I hated that power he had over me. Nobody should have had power over me. But I couldn’t resist him for much longer, not if he kept smiling like that.
“They aren’t shackles. Stop being dramatic, it doesn’t suit you,” I replied. Even if you do look like a movie star. “Once I ascend, you’ll be free to do what you like. Extort all of the magicals and humans you want. As long as you serve me, and don’t cross me, I don’t care. Speaking of which, it’s time you decided—are you going to serve me or not? I’m not feeling very patient today.”
Davin gave a wolfish grin that made me want him to devour me. “Need I remind you that I said I would, once you actually ascended? Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I have all the faith in the world that you’re the one for the job, but I like to be certain before I give my word on such matters. It wouldn’t do to back a horse who falls at the last fence, now, would it? I would look rather foolish. Not that you aren’t the finest filly I’ve ever seen.”
Harley Merlin 8: Harley Merlin and the Challenge of Chaos Page 11