“Yours wasn’t going to work,” Melody replied bluntly. “Mentioning a spell to free you from Erebus would’ve made him suspicious, and Erebus explicitly told you not to say his name—he had to have a reason for that. We’re better off pinning this on Raffe, since Nash has been on the receiving end of a djinn curse, too. It’s familiar territory for him, and it’ll play on his sympathies.”
To my shock, that made perfect sense. “Oh, you’re good, Ms. Winchester. Very, very good.”
“I try.” She beamed and tapped the side of her head. “It’s not all a mess of information up here. Brilliance finds its way through, from time to time.”
“I still don’t like lying,” Luke countered, though he looked grudgingly impressed.
Melody gripped the edge of the workbench. “Neither do I, but sometimes it’s necessary, for the sake of the bigger picture.”
I shuddered. “Don’t say that.”
“What?” She frowned in alarm.
“The bigger picture. It’s too… Katherine. Gives me some nasty flashbacks.” I ran a hand through my still-damp hair, praying the mention of my mother wouldn’t bring the Puffballs back.
“Sorry.” She blushed furiously. “I meant, for the sake of reaching Atlantis and finding out what Erebus wants there.”
“Why are you so interested?” I countered.
She sighed, giving me a look that made me feel like I’d said something idiotic. “You know why, though it seems you’ve got a leaky memory. I told you back in Greece, Atlantis is the one gaping hole in my knowledge. It’s beyond the reach of the Librarian, which is an oddity in itself. In a way, it feels like my duty to find out what’s there and fill in that gap. And I’m intrigued as to why Erebus is so eager to find the place. Maybe his reason and mine aren’t so different.”
“Knowledge for its own sake isn’t worth your safety, and Erebus wanting to go there too isn’t something we should investigate. Leave that to Finch and get the details afterward. That’s the logical way to proceed,” Luke protested, but Melody offered him a pained glance.
“I can’t hide for the rest of my life, Luke, and let all this knowledge go to waste or make someone else do the hard work for me. I want to make myself useful. And it’s not as if I’ll be alone. I have both of you.”
My heart pounded. “You think Erebus will take me with him?”
“You don’t?” she replied, her tone genuinely curious.
“I hadn’t thought that far, but… knowing him, you’re probably right.” My mind drifted to Raffe, and I prayed he was finding success in the UAE. Maybe, if he found an escape route, I could get out from under Erebus’s thumb before it came to that.
Nash came back into the room with a tiny potted bluebell in one hand and a syringe in the other. The syringe was filled with red liquid. Thick, viscous… definitely blood.
“You planning on doing some gardening, buddy?” I joked through my anxiety. Etienne had instilled a healthy fear of potted plants in me at the monastery. If these babies started screaming, I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions.
“No, I want to show you something.” Nash set the plant on the nearest workbench and rested the nib of the syringe on the edge of the pot. He’d rolled his right sleeve above his elbow, revealing a Band-Aid across the crook of his arm. It appeared he’d drawn that blood fresh from the vein a few seconds ago.
Huntress sat in the center of the room, watching us all intently. Dogs were meant to be cute, not hella creepy. Its eyes were solemn, the emotion impossibly human.
I forced my attention back to Nash. He pushed the plunger, and a few drops of blood dripped into the soil. Black threads spiderwebbed up the thin stem of the plant, spreading out into the flowers. The bluebells trembled for a moment before the petals curled and turned gray. Fragments broke away like ash, falling to the soil.
“Why did it die?” I asked, a creeping dread slithering through my belly, climbing into my chest.
Nash set down the syringe and gestured to the Band-Aid on his arm. “You know about the particular power of my Sanguine blood, or you wouldn’t be here. And you know about the djinn curse.” He paused. “But what you don’t know is that I asked a djinn to curse me in the first place, to keep blood-hunters away.”
“Blood-hunters?” Luke peered at the dead plant.
“Sanguines have been hunted to near-extinction. The handful of us remaining are still targets, especially a Sanguine with a bloodline like mine. That’s why I’ve taken to living off-grid, away from anyone who might try and steal my blood from me,” he explained. “I sought the djinn because I wanted my blood to be unusable to anyone who came looking. I made sure the news of my blood curse spread, to reduce the risk of people hunting me.”
Another fragment of bluebell fell. “But if your blood does that to a plant, what’s it doing to you? Or does it only turn lethal once it’s out of you?” I asked.
“No, it’s killing me slowly.” He dipped his chin to his chest. “But I made the decision, a long time ago, that it was better to live a free and short life than a long and miserable one of constant pursuit—or a much shorter one, if I wound up getting my blood drained for some crazy, evil magical’s spells.”
“Goodness… that’s… that’s awful.” Melody gathered her fluffy jacket closer, as if she’d felt a sudden chill.
Nash tugged his sleeve down. “It was the only way. Besides, I’m not eager to live longer than Huntress. As my Familiar, her life is extended beyond normal canine parameters, but she still won’t live as long as a human. When she goes, I hopefully won’t be far behind her.” He had to be in his mid-thirties, at least, which meant Huntress had been alive a hell of a long time.
The husky whined quietly, breaking my damn heart. One man and his dog, against the world and all its bloodthirsty hunters. For the second time this week, I found myself understanding the inner workings of someone under a lot of strain. Kadar had thrown himself from a building because he couldn’t take the pain anymore. Nash had sentenced himself to slow death because he couldn’t take the constant terror and pressure of persecution. Both had valid reasons, but to make the choice that Nash had made… that took some serious guts.
Now I understood why he’d gone on the offensive when we’d sauntered down his forest track. Strangers weren’t simply a nuisance for him; they could signify his death. Even with his blood cursed, it was likely a force of habit to attack first and ask questions later.
“I’m sorry, man.” I found my voice, looking at Nash with a newfound respect and admiration. He’d taken his fate into his own hands, choosing freedom despite the high price. If Raffe came back with good news, I hoped I’d have the strength to do the same.
Twenty-Eight
Raffe
The desert turned to fire and shadow. Djinn as far as the eye could see. Ruby eyes glinted toward Safiya and the central flames she had raised to keep us mortals warm. No doubt they wondered why they’d been summoned with such urgency. Nerves shivered through the collective.
“Raffe, Kadar, Santana.” Zalaam broke ranks to greet us, wearing his warped version of my father’s face.
“Glad to see you out of the infirmary,” Santana replied.
He smiled. “As am I.”
“Zalaam.” I bowed politely. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
Zalaam put his hands together, as if praying. “The Storyteller called. That cannot be ignored.”
“But you were down for the count,” I said, trying to figure out how deep my father was buried.
“Weakness is no excuse for refusing to heed Safiya’s call. When the oldest djinn requires our presence, we attend,” Zalaam explained.
Santana stared at him in curiosity. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“Raffe’s father had an emerald in his possession. I used it to bring us here, following the signature Safiya released into the remains of our network.” Zalaam pressed a palm to his glowing heart. “Do not worry for him—your father is resting as we speak, letting
me endure the sickness for us both. I have more strength than he does, even in our current predicament.”
Safiya raised her hands to silence the rowdy djinn. They dipped their heads reverently, as if the principal had just entered the assembly hall. Still, a few concerned whispers hissed around the vast army of djinn. The voices susurrated, until I couldn’t distinguish between the desert winds and their hushed tones.
“Gratitude for your swift arrival!” she bellowed, her voice carrying far and wide. Evidently, age hadn’t affected her vocal capacity. “I know you are anxious to understand why I have called you. Ordinarily, I would have delivered the message via our hivemind, but, as I am sure you are aware, that has become somewhat limited this past week or so.”
The gathering thrummed with concern. Most of the djinn stood on their own two feet, bearing only hints of the illness—dwindling flames in their eyes, their red flesh rolling and phasing between scarlet, black, and veins of white. Some, however, had to be held by their closest neighbors. Older djinn, I suspected, as their faces were creased with wrinkles.
“I have summoned you to implement a parliament—the likes of which has not been seen since the dawn of the djinn and the rush of that First Wave,” Safiya continued, her voice strong. “You will appoint three spokespeople from each of your kind and discuss a very serious matter amongst yourselves before delivering an answer to me.”
“What matter?” a voice called. The atmosphere stilled until you could’ve heard a pin drop.
“Erebus has severed his ties with us by restricting himself to human form.” Safiya’s white-flamed eyes burned brighter in anger. “He has forsaken us, not caring about the toll his action will take upon us all. Already, some of us suffer more than others, and it will not be long before we begin to fade irrevocably. As such, we must take an unprecedented step to free ourselves from this sickness that has been inflicted upon us by our creator. We must rally, as one power, and go to Tartarus to demand that Erebus dissolve his relationship with us entirely. We have the numbers to make him listen. We must go there to sever our ties with him, as it is the place where he conjured us into existence before sending us out into the world.”
“We’ll die!” a shrill, terrified djinn shouted.
Safiya shook her head. “No, we will not die by being separated from Erebus’s source. If he agrees, in the face of our combined ire, the ultimate dissolution of our ties will result in an expulsion of Chaos. In this case, coming from Erebus’s Darkness. We will each own our own piece of that Darkness to fuel our bodies and abilities—a separate fragment for each of us.”
“How can you know that?” a Ghul rasped.
“Because it has been done before, with the creations of other Children. Namely, Eros and his Fée. They retained a fragment of their creator’s power, the same piece that was given when they were brought into being. It will be the same for us,” Safiya replied. “I will not lie to you: we will be weaker beings, but we will be independent of Erebus, ensuring this illness that affects us all will never come over us again. It also means we will no longer be dutybound to answer when he calls. That will be a matter of personal choice should he request your aid, from the moment of our separation onward.”
“We would be truly free?” A female djinn stepped forward, folding her black wings behind her like a dark angel. An Ifrit, from what Abdhi had told us.
“We would,” Safiya confirmed.
Another djinn, hunched and twisted, scuttled forth from the gathering. A Ghul, I guessed. “You lie. We will die. Erebus will never allow a rebellion. Even if he doesn’t kill us all, he will kill some of us to send a message. To go to Tartarus would be suicide.”
Safiya’s robes billowed backward as a rush of wind spiraled around her. “I have it on good authority that he is presently distracted with personal complications, which means now is our best moment to strike. He will not want any delay of his private project’s timeline and is more likely to agree now to save himself the bother.”
“Or kill us for the same reason!” Another Ghul hobbled out on all fours.
“I understand your qualms, as I share them. However, if we do not act, we will all die anyway,” Safiya urged. “This personal project, to my knowledge, will keep Erebus trapped in human form for longer than we have. By the time he is done, we will all have faded back into the ether. It affects him little, for he can create more of us when he returns to his true form, but it will be too late for us. To him, we are expendable. We must show him that we refuse to be superfluous.”
A beautiful djinn emerged then, though her legs were furred and hoofed. A Ghul in another form. “And if we consent to do this, what would keep Erebus from smiting us in our weaker forms? I rather like being powerful.”
“Abdhi was right about the Ghul,” Santana whispered. “Who in their right mind could look past those legs and think that was a normal woman? Even if I don’t shave for weeks, my legs aren’t that bad.”
I chuckled. “Maybe they cast magic to fool the men they’re trying to capture.”
“You must listen,” Safiya insisted, silencing Santana and me. “There are two choices ahead of us: we risk death waiting for Erebus, or we take matters into our own hands and exist as weaker individuals with our own lives, free of any connection to Erebus. Power is all well and good, but you cannot use power if you no longer exist.”
She’s good. I’ll give her that, Kadar muttered. She’s even got me considering it.
We should all consider it, I replied.
He snickered in my head. You’re only saying that because of your fiery señorita.
That is my main reason, but the more Safiya talks about it, the more it makes sense. I meant it. Safiya was extremely persuasive, and she made a skilled argument. She didn’t feed the djinn any lies; she’d given them cold, hard facts in the hopes they’d make the right decision.
Well, brace yourself. These djinn could talk the hind leg off a Ghul, and a few will probably lose a limb or two before they reach any kind of answer. Kadar sighed. Think of it as the worst Christmas dinner you have ever encountered, and all the family members are here, every single one with their own opinion. There’ll be tears before bedtime, I guarantee it.
“I will leave you to discuss this matter,” Safiya concluded. “Come dawn, we need a decision.”
The djinn separated into their respective groups, arguing amongst themselves about who ought to be the three chosen spokespeople. Kadar was right. There’d be hours of bickering and handwringing before the sun rose, and I had no idea how this would play out.
“She cannot be serious,” Zalaam whispered. “This is tantamount to suicide.”
“And hoping that Erebus will return to his true form before you all die isn’t?” Santana hissed back. She had a point.
Zalaam balled his hands into fists. “I would not expect you to understand. This is sheer madness.”
“Kadar doesn’t think so.” I held Zalaam’s fiery gaze. “He started off thinking the same as you, but Safiya won him over.”
“Nonsense,” Zalaam spat.
“It isn’t nonsense. If this goes ahead, and Erebus dissolves these ties, every djinn bound to a magical will be freed, as well. It’d be a clean slate for him, and for you, and for every Levi to come,” I said. “Kadar could live his own life, and so could you. And I’d never worry about the woman I love dying in childbirth, and no Levi after me would, either.”
Santana’s eyes widened, glimmering with sadness and hope. “You’ve really been thinking about that a lot, haven’t you?”
“How could I not?” I replied, shuffling awkwardly.
Zalaam clicked his tongue. “Ah, so that is why you are so eager, is it?” He stared at Santana, who still looked at me with that painfully conflicted expression. “You think this will grant you a normal life and free my boy at the same time?”
“It will,” I insisted, ignoring the desert chill creeping into my bones. Kadar had stopped warming me up, likely out of stubbornness.
“No, it will not.” Zalaam’s black smoke wisped upward. “Even if Erebus dissolves his bond with us, it will do nothing against the curse placed upon the Levi family. The sorcerer who executed the curse was no ordinary magical—he was a spurned djinn. And Erebus cannot break a djinn curse, even by dissolving our ties to him. It will remain in place, and the Levi men will continue to be born with djinn inside them. For us linked to the Levis, we will only be free when our magicals die, as has always been the case.”
Abdhi hovered nearby, shamefaced. And the hopeful shine in Santana’s eyes dimmed.
“Abdhi? Is that true?” I demanded.
Abdhi toyed with the strands of smoke twisting from his fingertips. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that, Raffe. You would have to ask—”
Safiya walked toward me, silencing Abdhi. “I heard Zalaam’s words to you, and I am sorry to say that they are true. If a djinn is bound by another djinn’s curse, it will not break upon the occasion of Erebus freeing us. I had to conceal that from you earlier, when I told you otherwise, and I am deeply remorseful for that. I did not want you to lose heart.”
“You don’t think you should have told them that?” My voice came out strangled, my heart crushed to pieces. I’d been so sure.
What, did you think she wouldn’t lie by omission to get the other djinn on her side? Or us, for that matter? Kadar scoffed, though he couldn’t hide his disappointment. He’d bought into the hope, too—I could feel it, swimming through me.
Safiya sighed and put her hand on my shoulder. “I did not wish to say anything in front of the other djinn, as your situation is somewhat unique. The curse upon your family is ancient. I did not want to single you out, and I did not want to instill doubt where there need not be any. Other djinn who are bound to mortals may be freed by this action, as they have not been tied to the djinn for as long as your family has. Providing Erebus agrees, that is.”
“I need some air,” I panted, ready to run away from this oasis.
Harley Merlin 12: Finch Merlin and the Djinn’s Curse Page 23