Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  “They did cause massive destruction, Gahiji-an. Let’s start with the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre.”

  “Hold on.” I had no idea why I felt the urge to intervene, but I rarely disobeyed my instincts. Probably not the best strategy when my mouth tended to run five minutes faster than my brain. “I thought you guys were on the same side.”

  “Taregan is not referring to the Morai,” Ian said. “He speaks of my descendants. A number of them banded together and attempted to exploit their power, and mine.” He returned his attention to the other djinn. “I gave in to their demands to leave my kin, and my friends, to serve them and their frivolous wishes. I had intended to neutralize them.”

  “Well, you didn’t,” Tory replied. “Obviously.”

  “No. I could not. Since they were directly descended, they possessed enough power to prevent me from harming them while they remained together. I could only contain them and limit the damage.”

  “Right. And was there some reason you couldn’t have left them and come back to us, once you found this out? We would’ve helped you neutralize them.”

  Somehow, I got the impression they had different definitions of the word.

  Ian made a helpless gesture. “Yes. There was a reason.”

  “Something Akila would have been all right with, I’m guessing.”

  “Leave my wife out of this, Taregan.” Ian’s voice tightened around the statement. “She had nothing to do with my decisions.”

  “Funny. Because I thought she had everything to do with it—or should have. How many humans did you sleep with? How many times did you betray her, Gahiji-an?”

  Ian’s expression flickered through a landslide of emotions. His fury melted to stunned surprise, then pain. Sorrow. Apathy. Back to rage. And then he vanished.

  “Ian!” I swiped a hand at the place he’d been standing. Nothing. I thought I heard a rush of air, as if he’d taken off in flight. Tory stayed where he was, stone-faced. “That was dirty,” I said. “You should’ve let him finish talking.”

  “What he’s done is worse than any insult I could throw at him. Besides, he knows where to find me now. He’ll be back.”

  “He’d better be.”

  “Or what?” Tory sneered. “You’re human. Obviously, you know what I am. I don’t think I’ll worry about cowering in the face of your vengeful wrath anytime soon.”

  As much as Ian annoyed me, this guy beat his asshole quotient by a landslide.

  “Look,” I said. “I need to see Lark. Is he here or not?”

  A troubled look eclipsed Tory’s face. “I don’t know. He’s not really interested in company anymore. But if you’re an old friend . . . who are you? You still haven’t told me.”

  “Yeah, about that. Maybe we could skip the introductions?”

  “No. We can’t.”

  “Didn’t think so.” I gestured vaguely and hoped whatever was between Tory and Lark wasn’t too personal. Maybe he hadn’t said anything about me. “The name’s Donatti.”

  Tory’s disgusted expression suggested he’d heard of me. “You’re in luck. I think he might have something to say to you. Wait here.”

  He backed into the house. The door closed, and I stifled a groan. I doubted whatever Lark had to say would be lucky for me.

  I WAITED ON THE PORCH FOR A GOOD TEN MINUTES BEFORE TORY deigned to return. He opened the door and grunted.

  “You’d better come in, before Lark changes his mind.”

  “I take it he still hates me.”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed and followed Tory inside. The place was darker than I remembered, and not just because of an overall change in furnishings—though the velvet-draped walls and stone fixtures certainly didn’t cheer things up. Ultra-low-wattage lights and a general absence of anything that wasn’t brown, gray, or black created an atmosphere better suited to a cave than a house. The only things missing were bats and dripping water.

  “So,” I said, convinced that I’d start hearing horror-movie violins any minute if I didn’t talk. “You’re with the hawk clan, right? The Bahari?”

  Tory turned and glanced at me with raised eyebrows. “I’m surprised you know about the clans. Gahiji-an doesn’t believe in explaining our world to humans.”

  “Yeah. I got that impression.” I could see the animal resemblance. Where Ian was shaggy and lean, Tory was sleek and quick, with an aquiline nose and bright black eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Feathers would look right at home strung in his hair.

  We crossed the main room and entered a short hallway. Tory gestured to an open door on the right and said, “He’s in there. I’ll let you two catch up.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  Moving past the djinn, I walked into a room made of bookshelves and shadows. A single lamp on an end table revealed a small, unoccupied sitting area. My eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, but I didn’t see any Lark-shaped lumps.

  “Gavyn Donatti. You’ve got balls showing up here.”

  He sounded as if he’d eaten a grill full of used charcoal. I squinted in the general direction of his voice, just beyond the sitting area, and finally made out an extra chair with what looked like someone sitting in it. “Uh . . . hey, Lark,” I said. “Look, I’m really sorry about that accident we had. I swear to God, I didn’t know they were building up there.”

  The chair moved smoothly to the left and passed behind the lamp. I caught a glimpse of chrome and rubber and realized it was a wheelchair. Damn. No wonder he still hated me.

  “Oh, I’m over that.” His words were grit and gravel. Why did he sound so awful? “You started an avalanche, asshole, and you didn’t stick around long enough to get caught in the slide.” The chair pulled even with the end table. A strangely stiff hand reached for the lampshade and lifted it off.

  At the sight of him, I came close to losing every meal I’d eaten in a month. Maybe it was my fault he was stuck in a wheelchair, but I sure as hell hadn’t ever set him on fire.

  A gruesome patchwork of alternating rough wrinkles and shiny, stretched pink skin covered Lark’s face and hands. A milk-white cataract overlay his right eye, and the outside corner was a mass of red pulp. His right ear no longer existed.

  “What happened?” I managed to say.

  “Trevor happened.” Lark lifted something from his lap—a white half-mask Phantom of the Opera style. He fixed it in place, leaving only his mouth and lower jaw visible. Must have decided I’d gaped at him enough. “Apparently he wanted that item you were supposed to help me lift. He didn’t get it, so he decided to take it out on me. He rigged my car. Never bothered to find out whether I’d survived.”

  “Goddamn psycho,” I said. “He really . . . wait. You’re not blaming me for that, are you?”

  Lark sighed and reached for something in a side pocket of the chair. “I know he’s got a contract out on you. If I thought it’d make me feel better, I’d turn your ass over to him. But I’d rather he didn’t know I made it out. So I’ll just do this instead.”

  He’d found what he was after—a 9mm Beretta. Was there anybody besides me who didn’t pack heat? “Christ, Lark. Do you really think shooting me will make you feel better?” I backed away, prepared to dive behind something.

  “It might. Tell you what. You give me one good reason why I shouldn’t, and I won’t.”

  “Uh, you’ll go to jail?”

  “Not good enough.”

  He raised the gun, but it wasn’t exactly pointed at me. In fact, he’d miss me by a few feet if he fired where he aimed. Fresh sorrow assailed me as I realized why. “You’re blind.”

  “As a fucking bat, thanks to you. But I can still hear. I’ll hit you eventually.”

  He sounded serious. I moved in the general direction of not in his line of fire and tried not to make too much noise. “Wait. I only came here to find out what you know about the djinn.”

  “More than you. What the hell’s that got to do with me dropping you?”

  I held up my hands before I r
ealized the surrender gesture was pointless. “I know a few things. I ran into one . . . well, actually, he ran into me. And I think we can save Tory from the bad guys. Bad djinn, I mean.”

  Probably the stupidest thing I’d ever said in my life. I had no idea how to breach Trevor’s defenses, let alone get the Morai’s tether—if Trevor even had it. And maybe Ian wouldn’t come back, in which case I was completely screwed. It was a bluff of Trojan-horse proportions.

  A shot fired before I realized Lark hadn’t bought it.

  I lunged aside as a small vase next to me exploded. The floor seemed like a good spot, so I stayed down.

  “Not good enough,” Lark called on the tail of the report’s echo. “I made you a promise, Donatti. I said I’d kill you the next time you turned up, and here you are. So you’re dead.” Another shot whined past my ear and thunked into the carpet somewhere. My heart rattled like a loose screen door.

  “Lark, I’m serious,” I said, backing away to scramble around a chair. “Trevor’s mixed up with the Morai, and I know they’re trying to wipe out the other clans.”

  Silence. I held my breath in case he was trying to aim at the sound of air feeding my lungs. At last, he said, “How do you know about the Morai?”

  “I told you, I met one of the djinn. He came here with me.” I tried to move without sound and managed to knock over a small stand of books. Thumps and flutters exploded behind me. So much for stealth. “I remembered seeing this symbol he uses here at your place, and I thought you might be able to help. I think we can stop them.”

  I peered around the chair. Lark lowered the piece and held it in his lap, as if he’d change his mind any second. “How, exactly, are you going to do that?”

  Crud. So much for buying my bluff. “Well, er, that’s why I need your help.”

  “You don’t have a plan, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  Something resembling a grin formed on his scarred lips. “You always did work better without one, anyway.”

  “Does that mean I can come out now?”

  “I won’t shoot you. Yet.” Lark returned the gun and rested his arms on the chair. “Now, I think we need to have a chat first, so we’re on the same page. Where’s this other djinn you brought along?”

  I stood and brushed a few porcelain fragments from my sleeve. “He . . . uh, stepped out.”

  “What’d you do to him?”

  “Nothing.” I took a long breath to stave off a rant. Why did everybody assume when things went wrong, it had to be my fault? “He had a disagreement with your buddy Tory. He’ll come back. In the meantime, do you have a spare room I could crash in? We’ve been moving all night, and I’m so beat I can’t even remember my own name.”

  Lark nodded slowly. He punched a button in a console built into one of the wheelchair’s arms. “Got a minute, Tory?”

  “For you, I got two of ’em.”

  Tory’s voice seemed to come from the chair. Lark must’ve had speakers built in somewhere. I imagined there were more than a few surprises packed into that contraption. Lark and gadgets went together like Mickey and Mouse.

  “Our guest needs to rest for a while,” Lark said. “Can you show him to the back room?”

  “Sure. Want me to turn the sheets down for him?”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  I knew code-speak when I heard it. If I wasn’t completely drained, I would’ve been a little offended that Tory’d just offered to kill me.

  Lark waved a hand in dismissal. “He’ll be right outside the room. We can talk tonight, provided your djinn shows.”

  “Thank you.” I headed for the door, uncomfortably aware of the meaning hidden in Lark’s words. If Ian didn’t come back, I was useless—and therefore expendable.

  DESPITE THE KNOWLEDGE THAT LARK’S BACK ROOM POSSESSED only one quick escape—a picture window with a balcony seat that faced the backyard and the woods beyond—I hit unconscious harder than a featherweight on the wrong end of Tyson. A close-range explosion couldn’t have woken me.

  But someone lurking in the room could, and did.

  I kept my breathing even and opened my eyes to near dark. I’d slept for hours. Night had crept in, leaving only a silver-white moon to cast contours over my unfamiliar surroundings. I heard again the indistinct rustle that pulled me from sleep and strained to find its source without moving. My fingers curled around the knife I’d appointed a just-in-case position under the pillow. After a minute, whispered words penetrated the stillness.

  “It is my fault.”

  It was damned hard to recognize Ian in that shell of a voice. I winced, sat up, and spotted the tall silhouette to the right of the window. He stared outside, holding himself so rigid it looked as if he might shatter with a touch.

  “No, man. It’s not.” I loosed a sigh. “That was a shitty thing he did, walking all over you like that. And dragging your wife into it.”

  “You do not understand.” Ian faced me. The moonlight caught his eyes and revealed the devastation in them. “Taregan called me a traitor. I am. This has been my fault from the beginning. I am responsible for my clan’s demise.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Did you stop speaking English again?”

  My wisecrack failed to lighten the mood. If anything, he looked even more miserable.

  Ian paced a few steps and sank onto the window seat. A single breath shuddered from him, and he closed his eyes. “You wished for the truth. I am giving it to you. I am weak and impulsive. A fool. Were it not for me, my clan would have survived.”

  I frowned. “Come on. How could it be your fault?”

  He leaned back against the glass. “I allowed the Morai to destroy our village.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I never wanted the Dehbei to become involved. It was not our war, and the Bahari had not been our allies. They had always looked down on us, believed themselves superior. And when we learned the Morai plotted against them . . . for a time, I hoped they would be victorious.” He crossed his arms and rubbed them. “I told him not to send our scouts or warn the Bahari. I pleaded with him. I did not feel it was our place to help those arrogant windbags, to risk our lives doing so—and I knew Kemosiri would not listen. But he insisted it was the right thing to do.”

  I straightened and stared at him, wondering if he’d been hit in the head recently. That definitely didn’t make sense. “Who’s he?”

  “Omari-el. The Dehbei leader.” He let out a shaking breath. “My father.”

  My brain insisted on filtering this little piece of information through the story he’d told me, and my stomach rebelled. No wonder he was so pissed. “Ian, I still don’t see how any of this was your fault.”

  “You do not? I suppose I can understand why.” He returned his gaze to the window. “When our spies brought news of the Morai’s plans, my father did not hesitate in deciding to warn the nobles.” He paused for a beat. “We fought. He insisted that I stay behind to watch over the village while he carried the news to the palace. I did not want the responsibility or the tedium. And since he insisted on warning them, I wanted to confront Kemosiri myself.” His jaw firmed, and he brought a fist down hard on the window seat. “If I had stayed behind, I could have prevented the Morai from slaughtering our women and children.”

  Guilt dripped from his words, thicker than roofing tar. A twinge of empathy shot through my chest. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I said. “Come on. Wasn’t there a whole army of those fuckers? I doubt you’d have been able to stop them. You’d be dead right now, too.”

  “It does not matter. I should not have left. I should have taken my responsibilities seriously. I should have sent more spies among them and monitored our village more carefully. I should have been there when they invaded our homes and murdered the children . . .” His voice fell flat, and I recognized the tone as a litany of wrongs he must have tormented himself with over and over through the years. The centuries.

  I had a long lis
t of self-accusations, too.

  “I could not even save my father,” he whispered. “Lenka was too powerful. He is both son and grandson to the Morai clan leader. His twisted blood and his madness feed his strength.” He bent his head, pinched the bridge of his nose. “He murdered my father in my presence. I watched, and I could do nothing.” Fury crimped his features, but it didn’t last long. “The worst of it is that Omari-el died attempting to save Kemosiri. And you have seen how that bastard repaid his sacrifice.”

  “Ian . . .” I stood and approached him but couldn’t manage anything more than an awkward pat on the shoulder. Words seemed rude to offer. Finally, I said, “Does Tory know about this?”

  “He does now.”

  I whirled at the brittle sound of Tory’s voice, just in time to see him pop into view beside the closed door of the room. “Jesus Christ. Can’t a guy get a little sleep without invisible djinn sneaking around all night? How long have you been here?”

  Ian jumped to his feet as if he’d been doused with ice water. “Taregan.”

  Tory stalked across the room. I moved forward in an unconscious attempt to shield Ian, but he held an arm out and gently pushed me away. “Let it be, thief,” he said quietly. This time, his calling me thief seemed more endearment than insult.

  “Why?” Tory stopped in front of him and gripped his upper arm hard. “Why didn’t you tell us about this before?”

  Ian regarded him with a cool stare. “My shame is mine to bear, Taregan. Why should I wish to humiliate myself further by allowing you to know of my failures?”

  “Gahiji-an, have you really blamed yourself for the attack on your village all this time?”

  “Of course. I was responsible.”

  Tory shook his head. “You couldn’t have known what they’d do. Look, Gahiji-an, you’re a brilliant strategist. A great general. If you hadn’t come to the palace, we would have lost the city, and the Morai would be in control right now. I’m sure of it.”

  “General?” I blurted. “I thought you were just tagging along.”

  “The clan leader is also responsible for the command of the clan’s armies. As son of the ra, this duty fell to me upon my father’s death, though there were but a handful left to lead.” Ian’s face fell. “It makes no difference now.”