by Emma Holly
She’d heard this claim before. The story went that God created angels from air, djinn from smokeless fire, and lastly humans out of clay. Up until her race’s appearance, djinn were God’s favorites. For whatever reason, He moved the Johnny-come-latelies into the number two spot, demoting genies in the process. Angels agreed to the new pecking order but not djinn. For their stubbornness, God revoked their ability to speak to his winged choirs. More galling, humans who knew the right rituals and possessed sufficient faith could now command the djinn—King Solomon being the foremost example.
Knowing this would have been more helpful if Georgie could remotely imagine herself as that king’s equal. To her mind, she was basically a normal person. Luna, her former guardian and a supposedly inferior genie, had exercised more power than Georgie could wrap her head around. She’d turned the entire population of Iksander’s capital into statues. Hell, she’d freaking gone back in time to alter Georgie’s past! Georgie didn’t see how she was going to break a spell the empress set without assistance.
Ishmael’s small upturned face caught her attention. The gargoyle smiled calmly at her, his wire-rimmed spectacles glinting with starlight. He’d been a mentor of sorts when he’d run Luna’s library.
“Could you teach me a chant that would work?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “My knowledge is irrelevant. You must speak from your heart. From your faith.”
That word always made Georgie think of church, and she was no pew warmer. Unsure, she rubbed her upper lip with a gloved finger.
“You’re not that different from the other you,” Iksander interjected, referring to the alternate timeline Luna had erased in order to—so she’d hoped—prevent Georgie from allying with Iksander. The strategy hadn’t worked, but Georgie no longer remembered the more traditionally spiritual person she’d been before.
“Iksander is right,” Connor said, giving her puffy coat sleeve a supportive rub. “Belief is part of you, and impossible to remove. Ishmael could teach you all the chants he knows. It’s your conviction that makes them work.”
The confidence in his eyes almost persuaded her.
“Oh fine,” Georgie surrendered.
Resigned to trying, though hardly brimming with self-assurance, she shrugged off her big backpack. That weight gone, she stepped to the edge of the silver manhole. Magical symbols marched in relief around a central glyph: Luna’s slender crescent moon. Under her coat, Georgie broke out in nervous sweat. Christ, she hated improvising. If she’d had her laptop, she could have cribbed something that sounded faith-y off Google.
Then again, she could look faithful if she wanted. Fake it till you make it, like people said. She knelt down, folded her hands together, and brought them to her mouth.
“Heavenly Father—” she began.
Though she hadn’t meant to alarm them, every one of the gathered demons took a step back.
She couldn’t help it. She coughed a short chuckle. “Sorry,” she said, trying to control her amusement.
“That’s all right,” Ishmael assured her. “You go ahead. We’ll keep a safe distance.”
Georgie felt Connor move beside her, his hand falling briefly to stroke her knitted cap. Connor was an angel. If he didn’t laugh at her half-assed attempt to pray, probably it was okay. She closed her eyes and quieted her thoughts.
“Heavenly Father,” she repeated. “Please look down and bless these demons You also created. They’ve been in captivity a lot of years, the same as other folks You helped out a time or two. They don’t want to cause trouble, only to go back home. I think they should be allowed to. If You’re okay with that, please help me unlock this door for them.”
She didn’t feel anything in particular, but pulling off her gloves seemed like a good idea. Hands bare, she bent forward to place her palms on the outer rim of the manhole cover. The icy metal warmed instantly, which maybe was a good sign.
Unexpectedly, she recalled something Luna said in her role as Georgie’s fake guardian. There are two kinds of people in the world, she’d observed. Bosses and sheep. Georgie was a boss. Back home, she ran her own business. Black Cat Upcycle might be small but it was hers, no question.
I’m the boss, she thought. Fair to the djinn or not, God made me the boss of this.
“Open,” she said more commandingly. “I am the instrument of justice. This barrier to passage has no right to exist. Break now and make a way.”
She pushed the edge of the manhole with all her might, picturing it as a cracker snapping in the middle. She felt something then, a flash of heat streaking from her center and out her hands. A fissure of light crazed across the metal, whining like a mosquito. When the fissure hit Luna’s symbol, the cover cracked into two pieces.
“Whoa,” she said and sat back on her heels in shock.
Connor laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “Georgie, you have to stop being surprised by your successes.”
The ifrits weren’t surprised. They’d already sprung into action to perform the next task for their departure.
“Thank you,” Taytoch said, gesturing for his crew to drag the lumpy amphorae bags closer. Sensing she was no longer needed, Georgie moved out of the way to watch.
The ifrits must have thought time was of the essence. The bodyguards began uncorking vessels with great efficiency, pouring one glowing stream after another down the crack Georgie had opened. A faint frame of light shimmered into being above the manhole, soon topped by a graceful Moroccan arch. The arch grew brighter as they fed in more energy. Ghostly ornaments appeared around it: colored tilework and stone carving.
As soon as the first canvas bag was flat, the guards yanked open the second.
“Wait,” Taytoch ordered.
“We’re not done, Captain,” the female objected, her face dismayed. “The portal is barely three-quarters charged.”
“Wait,” Taytoch repeated.
He turned to Georgie and Connor. His expression said he didn’t want to delay any more than his underlings.
“Yes?” Georgie asked, wondering what the hang-up was.
Taytoch lifted his naturally haughty chin. “I feel honor bound to warn you that if we continue, insufficient energy will remain to power your journey home. You and . . . the angel will be stranded here until you acquire an alternate supply.”
Georgie looked at Connor, who shrugged at her. “You know me, Georgie. I always think problems will work out. I’m willing to stay if it means Taytoch can go home.”
Iksander had two cents to add as well. “Taytoch isn’t wrong about his crew being vulnerable to exploitation by other sorcerers. Luna was a product of this city, not an anomaly. The longer the ifrits stay here, the greater the odds they’ll be discovered.”
The sultan’s face was cool, as if stating facts that didn’t affect him. Logically, though, why would he wish to spend more time in her company? Georgie would be foolish to want him to.
She shook off the tiny awareness that she did.
“I think we have to do what’s right.” She turned to Taytoch. “Use whatever power you need. Just—” She hesitated, her inner junk salvager rising up. “Please leave us the empty vessels. We might find a use for them.”
The snake demon bowed to her from the waist. “Your mercy shines as brightly as your foresight.”
She wasn’t sure he was sincere. Taytoch was hard to read. Whatever he meant, he didn’t waste further time. He joined his underlings in tipping out the shining contents of the remaining jars. When they’d finished, not only did the tiled arch look solid, but it possessed a small spinning sun.
“In,” he ordered his associates.
They went one at a time but in quick succession. In contrast to the portal she’d helped create, this door seemed to plunge those who entered down some hole. Finally, only Taytoch and the gargoyle were left.
“May I go last, Captain?” Ishmael asked politely.
Taytoch shot him a hard look. Georgie had once seen the enraged ifrit kick the smalle
r demon across a room. Despite this, Ishmael didn’t flinch.
“I wish to say goodbye,” he explained. “I promise I won’t linger.”
“You have two minutes,” Taytoch warned. “After that, I’m locking this puppy down.”
He jumped before she could laugh at his use of human slang.
“Ishmael,” she said, eyes stinging as she realized how much she would miss him.
The gargoyle held out gray hands to her.
Georgie had to crouch to take them. She’d never touched him like this before. Though his skin felt like granite, it was as warm as hers.
“Georgie,” the gargoyle said. “I have greatly enjoyed our association, even though—a time or two—you made me sad I wasn’t born to be good.”
“I hope this doesn’t insult you, but to me, you’re plenty good enough.”
Ishmael’s glasses flashed as he shook his head in amusement. He squeezed her hands once and then let go.
“Remember me,” he called, leaping into the manhole like the others.
As soon as he disappeared, the silver cover resealed itself. Interestingly, Luna’s moon symbol shifted to an intertwined hammer and measuring tape.
Georgie stood up and wiped her cheeks. “I guess that’s that,” she said through the lump in her throat.
Connor, who always understood what she was feeling, pulled her against his side. “Ishmael will remember you too,” he said.
UNTIL HE’D TRAVELED to Georgie’s world, the only humans Iksander knew were those he’d watched on pirated TV shows. Though the sultan wasn’t as jumpy as an ifrit, watching Georgie do magic was unnerving. Seeing the symbol the universe apparently considered hers appear on the portal cover made him uneasier still. He supposed a human would have felt the same in proximity to a wolf.
Even if the beast were friendly, you knew it could eat you.
He was pinching his lower lip when the angel cleared his throat and caught his attention. Connor was shoving empty brass amphorae back into the carrying sacks.
“Help me with these?” he asked, flashing his habitual sunny grin. “It’s cold out here, and these bags are too heavy for Georgie to lug up that slope in addition to her backpack.”
“Of course.” Iksander flushed over needing the reminder. As a rule, sultans weren’t packhorses. They were, however, supposed to look out for females.
“Can we shelter in the power station?” Georgie asked, seeming not to have noticed his lapse of manners. “There won’t be wards against intruders?”
“There might be,” Iksander said, “but I doubt they’ll have been set by Luna. Fortunately, I’m not such a magical dolt I can’t get through them.”
He hadn’t intended to make her laugh, but he didn’t mind that she did. Georgie’s resemblance to his dead wife was eerie, but her laugh was one of the things that didn’t remind him of Najat. Najat had laughed like a princess, cultivated and delightful. Georgie, he noticed, had a tendency to snort.
He didn’t realize he was smiling until they’d surmounted the slope again.
That sobered him. Indulging his attraction to the human wasn’t a smart idea. For one thing, she was a human. For another, she and the angel were very much together. No mere djinn could compete with a gorgeous, infinitely empathetic celestial being—no matter how diminished the angel’s original splendor was by being in a body. Iksander ordered himself to keep his mind on locating the entrance to the abandoned plant.
To his relief, though the curving outer wall seemed featureless, the door wasn’t difficult to locate. Doing the simple spell that opened it felt good. Iksander had lost his magic when he journeyed to Georgie’s world. Here in the djinn dimension, it was returning—like a muscle that had been starved of the right vitamins.
“Cool,” Georgie said as the formerly hidden entrance appeared and swung open.
“Wait just a moment,” Iksander cautioned before she could step inside.
He entered the stygian blackness first. The air was musty, the scent of old magic stale. He reached out with his wakening senses. A code phrase floated just out of reach, the key to turn on what was left of the building’s juice. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and let the words come to him.
“Fiat lux,” he said firmly.
A clank sounded, as if a heavy lever had been shoved up nearby. Soft blue light filled the space before him. He’d stepped into a small lobby. A large mural carved of milky amber and depicting power plant staff enlivened the wall ahead. WORK MAKES THE HUMBLEST NOBLE, the gold-leafed motto atop it said.
“That’s a nice piece,” Georgie said, coming to stand beside him. “Like one of those WPA paintings you see in 1930s post offices. What language is that above it? I don’t recognize those letters.”
The question startled him. “I forgot you’re not able to translate yet. Give me your hand. I think I can share some magic you’ll find useful.”
She tugged off her glove and complied. Her palm was firm from her human occupation of tearing supposed treasures from old buildings.
“Close your eyes,” he said, ignoring the odd frisson her slight calluses inspired. “Breathe in and out slowly.” He sent energy from his hand to hers, willing it to convey the common djinn gift for absorbing knowledge from the ethers. Georgie’s forehead puckered and then relaxed. “Now look at the sign again.”
“Oh!” she said with a little jump. “It makes sense now! Do Connor too. That’s so handy.”
Startled by the request, Iksander glanced at the angel and tried not to look reluctant. Both his companions would benefit from understanding the world around them. Connor shook his head with a gentle smile. “I can read the words already. Djinn and angels must share some abilities.”
“Well, I’m excited,” Georgie said as she withdrew her hand from Iksander’s. “Will I be able to read everything now? And understand people when they speak?”
“You should be able to. The talent usually stays active once it kicks in. Djinn will be able to comprehend what you say as well.”
“That’s awesome,” she said. “Thank you.”
Her lavender eyes were bright, her soft cheeks flushed from their time outside. Her ugly knit cap hid the tufts of her colorful pale red and yellow hair. The rough black wool should have made her less attractive. Instead, the sultan had to tear his gaze from her shining face. “We should try to find the workers’ break room. If we’re lucky, it will have running water. Maybe places to sleep as well.”
“Fingers crossed,” she responded.
Though he tried to fight it, her cheerful mood lightened his.
Since the building was round, it probably didn’t matter which way they searched. Choosing one of the two offshoot corridors at random, Iksander led his companions in. Tiny blue spell lights, their illumination dim but steady, shone from the upper margin of the walls. There wasn’t much to see; the power plant had minimal decoration, but Georgie and Connor were wide-eyed.
The cleaning charms were functional. Their footfalls echoed off spotless black onyx floors.
“What’s that room up ahead?” Georgie asked. She rubbed her arms, probably sensitive to the increase in random magic radiating into the passage.
The plaque beside the entry said DISTRICT 9—which wouldn’t mean much to her even translated.
“Probably a distribution chamber. Do you want to go in and see?”
“Yes, please,” she said and grinned.
Just barely, he avoided bowing to her after opening the door.
“Ooh,” she breathed, turning around to take in the equipment. “It’s so pretty!”
To him, the machinery that lined the room was unremarkable. Naturally, the banks of levers and gauges were detailed with precious metals and backed in mother of pearl. No djinni wanted to labor among squalor. Special non-tarnishing brass cages protected the handful of transformers from accidental bumps. The cages were decorative, he supposed, but nothing to write home about.
Georgie crouched interestedly in front of one. “Is that boulder t
hing inside here a big piece of quartz?”
“It’s an uncut diamond.”
“No.”
“Yes,” he contradicted, a smile tugging unavoidably at his lips. “Diamonds work better for converting magic into a form that will travel along the city’s conduits.”
“I assumed a power plant meant electricity.”
“No, Luna’s city runs on magic—as does mine.”
“Huh.” Georgie used the cage to push to her feet. “How is the magic generated?”
“Some is drawn naturally from the ground. Ley lines run beneath all djinn territories. In a city, because the population is concentrated and the need for power greater, that resource is supplemented by conscripted workers. People can channel energy faster than what rises naturally.”
“Conscripted,” Connor repeated, the idea seeming to trouble him. “The djinn are forced to work?”
Was the angel looking to judge him? Georgie’s lover hadn’t up till now, but perhaps the natural tendency of his species was waking up. Iksander willed his face to remain impassive.
“It’s considered a public duty. Performed for the public good. So those who have less magic can still enjoy its benefits. Thanks to the Draw, the burden of powering things like streetlights and civic buildings is shared out. I’m not sure how Luna organized the process but, generally, a new group of workers is rotated in each week. You can buy your way out of serving, but most people don’t complain. The system’s arranged so no one has to come more than once a year. They’re treated well while they’re here. Good food. Special entertainments. Some citizens look at it as a holiday from routine.”
Connor nodded, his celestial blue eyes considering him calmly. Sometimes the angel seemed slightly simple. Other times, like now, Iksander wondered if he were capable of comprehending how deep Connor was.
“What are these dials for?” Georgie asked, wandering to a wall of them.
With a trace of relief, the sultan shifted his attention. “I believe they control rates of flow to the different District 9 neighborhoods.”