by S. E. Smith
Chapter 1
Irritation snapped at Rayez as he glanced at the large black bags of trash stacked by the backdoor of the kitchen. Just the thought of stepping out into the alley behind the restaurant into the bitter cold sent a shiver snaking through him. “It’s not like they’ll be going anywhere,” he muttered. “They’ll keep until tomorrow.”
He clenched and unclenched the faded rag in his hand like it was a stress ball. Cleaning the kitchen to the weather report instead of his usual rock n’ roll wasn’t working. Rayez just didn’t feel the end of the day wind down, the loosening of muscles, the worries of a hectic restaurant slipping away like a fading guitar riff.
Something about the strange weather didn’t feel right. He’d closed Great Bowls of Fire early, sent his staff home, and couldn’t wait to escape to his own warm apartment. But first everything had to be clean. He scowled as he wiped down the stove.
The weather girl on the television squealed and clapped. “The bright side of this unexpected storm is that Houston might get a white Christmas,” she announced in an annoying and chirpy voice.
All six burners on the stove flared to life, sending up a mushroom cloud of heat. “Holy S—” Rayez jumped back, dropping the rag. A corner landed in the flames and promptly ignited, filling the air with an acrid stink. “Shit, shit, shit!”
He focused on the flames and held his hands out. He had to put them out ASAP before the damn sprinkler system kicked in or his kitchen burned. He’d worked too damn hard today to deal with that mess.
His breath eased as a familiar warm tingle sparked at his core and rolled through his essence, climbing his body to his fingers. He glared at the stove top and willed the fire to shrink back and die. The flames wavered.
Then the weather girl giggled and said something about cute, furry boots. Her inanity shattered his concentration. The flames leapt up and danced, wild and bright, mocking him. His nostrils flared. Dammit, he was a full-grown fire djinn. The fire would obey.
Rayez pulled on years of discipline and training and blocked out everything but the flaming burners. His essence buzzed with red hot power beneath his skin, the heat energized, intoxicated. He stretched his arms out and let his head fall back, basking in the fire inside and out. Becoming one with it.
The toasty warmth wrapped around him, invited Rayez to close his eyes and sink into it. His lids grew heavy and fluttered closed, his breathing deepened. He stumbled against the blazing stove and jerked awake. Fuck! He wouldn’t, couldn’t, be seduced by the fire.
Rayez rolled his shoulders, and closed his eyes again. Mind over nature. He would control the fire. He envisioned his will reaching out like a giant hand, gathering all the power into a fist and stamping out the flames. Burner by burner. He cracked open an eye.
One by one, they died.
Breathing hard and drenched in sweat, he glared at the charred rag. The bone-chilling cold set his nerves on edge, playing havoc with his control. The burners shouldn’t have flared up. He couldn’t lose control. Yet, the damn weather had set him shivering like a virgin at her first bedding.
His gaze wandered to the trash bags again and he forced himself to look away. He bent and snagged the scorched rag off the stove.
Fire djinns hated anything to do with the cold, which is why he’d chosen hot and humid Houston as his adopted home after exile from the djinn world. A freak-snowstorm and a white Christmas hadn’t been part of the deal. Rayez rubbed the back of his neck with one hand trying to ease the tightness. Wasn’t there a saying if you don’t like the weather in Texas, hang around and it’ll change. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the creeping unease. It was nothing but the weather acting up…right?
Rayez inhaled, cleared his mind of the jumble of thoughts, and exhaled. He needed to go home. Given his nerves, his aching feet and the fact he’d been up since five-freaking-a.m., he’d earned an early night.
He threw the ruined rag into the last trash bag, tied it closed. His daily cleaning regimen and his conscience wouldn’t let him ignore his duties. Grumbling, Rayez pulled on his coat, secured the hood and cracked open the back door. The wind pushed back and through the three-inch space. Rayez put his shoulder to the door and shoved harder. Icy chill burned his exposed face, made his eyes water, and soaked through the heavy coat. Squinting, he grabbed the bags and lumbered through the door, kicking the brick he kept right inside into place to keep the door open. He almost tripped over a body huddled under the small portico. “What the—”
Large lavender eyes stared up at him from a pale face mostly hidden by a baby blue knitted wool cap and a gray scarf. He recognized the patched mud brown coat that belonged to the homeless woman he’d noticed hanging around the area for the last couple of days. She probably dumpster-dove for food and slept on one of porches in the area. Too damn cold for that tonight.
He’d have to drive by the Salvation Army on his way home, maybe he could drop her off there. Carrying his bags, he carefully stepped past her and stalked to the trash bin, giving her time to get used to him. He lifted the lid and almost reeled back from the wet, sour stench. Gritting his teeth, he tossed the bags in, let the lid bang shut and turned.
She still stared at him like a feral cat, tense and ready to flee.
At six foot four and built like an industrial warehouse, he probably looked scary. But dammit, he didn’t have all day. The biting chill made his insides ache and slowed his essence to the drip of cold molasses. Rayez walked back to the covered portico and stamped his feet. “Come on in out of the cold, I’ve got some soup.”
When she didn’t move or answer, he hurried past and opened the door to go inside.
“What kind of soup?” Her tissue-soft whisper stopped him.
Seriously? What happened to beggars can’t be choosers? Assuming his best snooty maître-de voice, Rayez turned and recited: “Tonight we have a creamy chicken chowder, cooked with chunks of Idaho potatoes and fresh sweet corn kernels, and then kicked up a notch with roasted green poblano peppers and grated American cheese. Sweet and spicy, it’s sure to warm you from the inside out.”
By the time he’d finished, she’d unfolded herself and stood within a foot of him. She was tiny. Rayez shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched over to minimize his height. He still towered over her.
“I don’t have any money to pay for the food.”
“You willing to help me clean up?”
She nodded.
“That’s payment enough.” He held the door open, and she shuffled past him. Rayez escaped into the artificial heat with alacrity, and locked the door.
By the time he turned around, the woman stood pulling off her grimy mittens. He pointed to the laundry room door. “You can hang your coat and stuff in there.”
He shrugged out of his own coat, hung it behind the door—on his hook—and poured out a fresh bowl of soup, warming it with his ambient fire power instead of messing with the stove or microwave. The smoky savory aroma wafting up made him smile. He laid out a fresh spoon and some packaged saltine crackers on the prep table. He’d just finished setting down a glass of water, when soft steps alerted Rayez of her approach.
He looked up and almost swallowed his tongue. The ugly wool cap, raggedy coat and drab scarf had hid a young woman, delicate and exquisite like the palest, most luminescent of oyster mushrooms. Or maybe a fairy princess. She shimmered like moonlight from the tip of her silky straight silver hair to her milky white skin. He wanted to touch her hair. Would it feel cool and metallic like tinsel or soft like silk? He folded his arms and gave his head a small shake to stop his crazy thoughts.
“Quit staring at me like I’m a freak,” she said, clutching an army green backpack to her chest. “I’m not.”
Freak was not the word he’d been thinking. Beautiful. Slender, a shade too thin. Nothing some good, nourishing meals couldn’t fix. “I didn’t think you were.”
Her gaze swept over him, softened. “No, you wouldn’t,” she said with a sigh. Her shoulders eased down. “I’v
e been stared at all my life, but I still can’t ignore it.”
Yeah, he knew the feeling. That’s why he loved living in the artsy and eclectic Montrose area. Big, ugly guys with tattoos were just part of the scene.
His power tattoos, which showed up on djinns when they grew into their powers, didn’t make him stand out. The more power, the more tats. However, something told him she’d stand out anywhere. He turned away from her bright beauty. “Soup’s getting cold.”
As she pulled up a kitchen stool, he grabbed a clean kitchen towel and started wiping down an already spotless counter. “What’s your name?”
Silence hung in the air while he continued with his work.
“Selene.” Her voice sounded choked, as if she had to force the word out.
Selene, a variant of Selena, meant “moon” in Greek. Maybe the name of a moon goddess? It suited her. “Nice to meet you, I’m Rayez.”
“I thought you wanted me to help.”
“You can wash your dishes after you’re done.”
“Mmm,” she replied spooning the soup into her mouth.
He decided to rearrange his spices, turning each bottle so the labels faced forward. Anything to keep from staring at her like a fool. He enjoyed the silence between them, broken only by soft slurps and the occasional tinkle of metal spoon hitting the edge of the soup bowl. The television chatter now a white noise in the background.
“Did you cook this?”
Rayez shut cabinet door “Yeah,” he said, wiping his hand on a dish towel as he turned around.
“It’s the best soup I’ve ever tasted,” she said.
An empty brown beer bottle, its label stripped off, stood next to her bowl. Where had that come from?
“I’m sorry.” The catch in her voice sent warning needling down his spine. Was she going to pull out a knife or a gun and rob him? He noticed her eyes trembling ever so slightly. Great, he’d landed himself a desperate junkie. No matter, he could handle her. He firmed his stance. “For what?”
“Rayez, son of the Marid, I name you and bind you to this bottle. Amar, amar, amar. Jhannkannananamutterfutter dhoom!”
Her words turned his insides cold with fear. “No!”
Without a second thought, he rushed toward her. He had to break the bottle. He had to stop her.
Her eyes widened and her voice shook as she repeated the phrase twice more, superfast so they sounded like nonsense shouted out by a child.
With a yell of dismay, Rayez tried to turn and run. Instinct overriding reason and reality. But an invisible force lassoed and dragged him toward her.
His skin tightened as power buzzed through him like a swarm of angry bees, begging to be let loose. He wrenched around, trembling. His breath strangled in his throat. He’d vowed never to use his power to harm. Never again. Yet, he couldn’t let himself be imprisoned. Couldn’t take it. He met her eyes for an instant. Large, liquid pools of lavender and fear. Something older, resigned, shadowed their depths.
All thoughts came to a sudden stop, and then one formed crystal sharp. It was her or him. He’d almost reached the table. Rayez narrowed his eyes and threw all his power at her. Searing, roiling heat flashed through him to his finger tips and out. As it emerged the heat took shape and raced like entwined fiery snakes swimming through the air.
She paled even more but stood her ground. The flames whipped over her and around her, covering her head to toe. They licked every inch of her tiny frame. She stood there like a flaming human torch. One breath, two breaths, three and then the flames vanished, leaving her unharmed.
Rayez gawked. What the hell was she?
He grabbed onto the table trying to resist, but the power of the binding spell bit into his human body and jerked him forward, sucked him up like a vacuum cleaner and spit him out into the bottle.
Instantly, a cork descended and cut off his only escape.
Chapter 2
For a moment, her heart had frozen in mid-thump. Painful. Selene dragged in a desperate breath as her heartbeat resumed at double time. Warren’s gamble had paid off. The fire djinn’s flames hadn’t burned her to ashes. Being a dopplegänger apparently had some perks. A shiver snaked through her.
She stared at the stoppered bottle.
Rayez…he’d looked normal enough, for Montrose, with his faded jeans, a tight black tee-shirt covering his ripped body, and inked flames licking across the mocha skin of his biceps and close-shaved head. Yet, he’d been reduced to the size of one of Cade’s pill bottles from the pharmacy.
His face twisted in rage, Rayez pounded on the smoky glass with both fists making the bottle jitter on the table. Who knew a muscle-bound and tattooed hulk of a guy could be changed by a few words? Apparently Warren.
“And now for a few words from our Mayor.” The television reporter’s announcement jolted Selene like a cattle prod. She marched closer to the screen as the camera switched to Warren. He wore a charcoal gray suit, a red power tie and a somber expression. His blue eyes stared directly into the camera, and at the viewer, as he warned about the worsening weather conditions, the probability of power outages and the dangers of downed power lines and other bad weather possibilities.
“I want to assure you, the city of Houston staff—that includes emergency management, fire, police, public works and myself—is doing everything possible to take care of you and your families,” he said, his deep, calm voice adding resonance to the words. “However, we need you to be proactive as well. Have your cell phones charged, stock up on food, water, batteries and other supplies, don’t take unnecessary risks and don’t panic.”
“Like you give a shit about anyone,” Selene rose on her tiptoes and turned off the television. Unfortunately, everyone else bought into the image without a question. She supposed the image was easier to accept than the facts. If she told anyone her stepfather, the good Mayor, was an evil man who used magic to separate her into two beings, they’d lock her up in a psych ward. Then who would protect Cade from him?
Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into soft flesh as she relived the experience. It was like being torn apart right down the middle—her head to her toes and everything in between, including her soul. It left behind ragged edges and aching loss. She grieved for her other half with every breath.
While the copy ran errands and was nearly indestructible, the other hung in a coma and was vulnerable to all kinds of death. Of course, if the body got destroyed, the dopplegänger also ceased to exist.
Selene huffed out a breath. She’d keep Warren happy and dance to his tunes until she figured out a way to get Cade away from him. Even if it meant throwing someone else in front of Warren’s crazy bus. But her priority right now was stocking up on supplies, picking up Cade, delivering the bottle, and getting back home safe.
Could she stop at a store after picking up Cade? It’d probably be a mad house. Her mind flashed to the well-stocked restaurant pantry she’d seen on the way to hang up her coat.
She rushed over and scanned the floor to ceiling shelves. Nothing as useful as packages of macaroni and cheese or canned tuna. Selene sighed and grabbed a few boxes of pasta, canned tomatoes and tomato paste, and a large jar of peanut butter she found tucked at the back of one shelf. She carried them to the table and decided to raid the refrigerator and walk-in freezer.
Soon she’d added some apples, grapes, celery and carrots, fancy bottled water, a few different kinds of cheeses, and some frozen packs of sausages. Of course, he didn’t have chicken nuggets. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the loot.
Guilt curdled the soup she’d devoured and turned it to stone in her belly. She shouldn’t have eaten his food, accepted his kindness. She couldn’t afford to care for anyone other than Cade. But the aroma had grabbed her and pulled her in. One taste and she couldn’t stop. She should have known better. Now she was stealing from the man…the genie…whatever. Cade. Think. About. Cade. She pictured his too thin form, bony limbs and too big ears. If the temperatures dropped and the power went out,
he’d need every bit of energy possible.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the laundry room and snagged the empty ice chest stashed there. After all the food and drinks were packed in it, Selene grabbed the bottle and stuffed it into her back pack, taking care to close the top securely. Warren wouldn’t be happy if she lost the damn bottle. She set the backpack on top of the chest and glanced around the gleaming kitchen.
The stuff she’d used were the only things out of place and dirty. A momentary regret gripped her. She wished she’d had her camera and caught the tattooed chef in his environment. That’d be such an awesome portrait. She wished she’d met him under different circumstances. A bitter smile rose to her lips. If only wishes came true…she’d wish all her troubles away.
Selene sighed. A deal was a deal. Her hands shook as she carried the bowl, spoon and glass to the sink, turned on the warm water and washed up after herself. The everydayness of washing dishes, the repeated scrubbing, the lemon-scented soap suds, calmed and centered her. By the time she wiped her hands on the clean towel hanging by the sink, she’d decided it was no use feeling guilty about things that couldn’t be helped.
She slipped back into the laundry room and donned her protective layers. The weather was a cold bitch with an ugly bite and she couldn’t afford to get sick. Then she snatched up the backpack, grabbed the handle of the rolling chest and hurried to the door. The sight of Rayez’s dark grey jacket stopped her. She reached out and grasped the lapel between thumb and forefingers, stroking the inner warmth. Nylon outside and warm fleece inside, tempting. But poor Cade would get lost in it. Selene checked the pockets. Bingo! She pulled out wallet, phone and keys. He wouldn’t be needing any of that in the bottle.
The phone she left on the counter—who knew what kind of tracking ability it had—and the wallet she stuffed into her own coat pocket. A smile pushed to her lips as she checked out the keys. Each one was neatly labeled. Anal people did make life convenient.