by Rainy Kaye
Play dead? Also bears.
Why the hell couldn't I have run into a bear?
I consider throwing something to distract it, but short of lopping off my hand, I don't think it will care.
The beast lunges. I climb onto the deck railing, my fingers latching around the beams above me for balance. Cerberus rams head first into the deck. He lunges again. I yank myself up and swing my leg over onto the top of the pergola. Cerberus leaps into the air like a goddamn shark, snapping his maw.
I scramble across the beams toward the house. Cerberus follows underneath, barking and carrying on.
Breathing hard, I fumble with sweaty hands to lift the second floor window. I slide in, falling onto my back and gasping for air. My vision wanes.
Then I realize anyone in the house must have heard me. I clamber to my feet, touching my pocket to verify my gun hasn't fallen out, then head straight to the door. My breath is still heavy, too loud for me to hear over.
I try to slow my lungs. Someone is shouting. Outside.
I cross the room, crouch under the window, and peer out. That woman is both scolding the hellhound and trying to bribe it with the largest bone I've ever seen.
The beast finally shuts up and settles down to pulverize the Mammoth femur. Rawhide. Whatever it's gnawing on. Not my leg, so we're good.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, then lower the windowpane. Last thing I need is for someone to look up and see it open. I can't believe they haven't heard me yet. Then again, Marmaduke out there was pretty loud.
Not like it matters too much. I can only lurk so long. Once the jinn shows up, I'll have to make myself known.
My chest tightens. I'm planning to intercept a jinn fulfilling a wish. This doesn't bode well for my five-year plan of not dying.
What the hell was I thinking?
Syd. Right. She wants to play Rummy with the jinn, or something.
I sigh, removing my gun and silencer and then screwing them together. With a final glance at the window, I open the door with a steady hand and step into the hallway. I creep along, thankful for the carpet muting my footfalls.
Noises below.
I still.
The thudding of soles on tile. A fridge door opens and closes.
After a moment, the footsteps fade away.
I duck to peek through the landing rail, but the angle provides only a couple of inches of the downstairs. Nothing useful.
I stand and make my way down the stairs, halting after each step. Halfway to the bottom, I crouch again, gripping the banister for support, and scope out my surroundings.
To my left lays a formal living room with vintage furniture and a fireplace with a white mantle. To my right, an enormous family room with purple and blue walls, red leather couches, and a dark wood built-ins. Somewhere around here should be the front door. I would go back outside and wait in my car, but I have no idea how this jinn operates. It might be over before I realize it.
Maybe she will knock, kick, kill. That was always my favorite.
Maybe she's stealthy. Or maybe she really does have magic and can teleport in and out of this place. How would I know? According to Syd, I'm just a human.
Noises issue past the family room. I can't decipher exactly what they are, but a sink is turned on and off a few times.
My gaze lands on a collection of framed photos hanging on the wall. I dare a soft step closer and squint. The family appears to be mother and father with two teenage girls and a teenage boy. They are African-American.
My thoughts flick to the woman roaming around the house. Pale, blonde.
I swallow hard and swoop across the formal living room. The woman continues working in the back of the house. I push back the curtain and peer through the blinds at her car in the driveway. The side is marked with a maid service name and phone number.
Footsteps grow louder. I turn and dive back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, my heart in my throat. I snuck in way too early.
A voice carries from below me. “Hello?”
I halt, muscles tense.
The woman says, with more resolve, “Is someone here?”
My hand rests on the doorknob to the bedroom. I still my breathing and wait.
Silence.
And then: “I'm calling the police.”
My heart slams into my chest. I scramble across the bedroom, push open the pane, and land in a crouch on top of the pergola. Cerberus is nowhere in sight, probably scrounging for other tasty trespassers.
I shove the gun into my pocket. The ground offers no soft landing, so I pretend I'm Nightwing and leap. The landing is almost perfect. Then the gravel slips underneath me. I crash and roll downhill. My side slams into the pool fence. Pain expands through my body, and I forget how to move for a moment.
A low rumble approaches.
I peek with one eye. Cerebus drools as he pads toward me.
With a grunt, I push to my feet. The brick wall is maybe ten yards away.
I have faced down people who would kill me or enslave me without hesitation. I can outrun this pooch.
Hopefully.
I turn and flee. His paws thud the ground, right behind me.
The air is knocked from my lungs as I slam face down. My vision blacks out. At least one rib feels snapped like a Twix.
I struggle against being shaken and yanked around. My vision brightens. A pair of teeth snaps at my face. My arm comes up in time to take the impact.
It's like being stabbed. In the arm. Repeatedly. While being sat on my sumo wrestler.
I've never heard a dog snarl this bloodthirsty. Not in real life.
I try to bring my knee up. The beast has me pinned and is shaking me at the same time. How is that even possible?
My fist clenches. His rows of teeth come at me again. I sock him in the side of his head.
He yelps and jars just a little. I flip over and scramble to my feet. My soles slip as I stagger for the fence. My hand reaches for the top, but I can't get a solid hold. I have no strength. At all.
Cerberus pounds toward me. I beat at the gate with one hand and struggle with the lock with the other. The gate bursts open. My car is in sight. With a forced surge of energy, I bolt across the street and yank the driver door open. From the corner of my eyes, I catch Cerberus charging after me. I slam the door shut as he leaps. He hits the glass, rattling the car. I'm surprised the window doesn't shatter.
His snarling isn't even muffled as he goes Cujo and throws himself at the vehicle, over and over. I gasp for air, side aching, and then stab the key into the ignition. The demon dog crouches to lunge again. I step on the gas. He chases the car for all of about ten seconds, then gives up and plods back to his yard.
On the drive to the hotel, I try not to breathe too deeply. My ribs do feel like I snapped something important.
I have to convince Syd to return to Italy. This jinn hunt is already turning into a disaster, and we are just getting started. I doubt it's going to get better. Despite all of the rational reasons, I still haven't figured out a winning argument by the time I pull into the hotel parking lot.
I grimace as I step out of the car, aches strumming up and down my rib cage. With heavy, painful steps, I make my way up the stairs to our room.
Damn dog. Damn jinn. Damn everything.
I swipe my key card and open the door. Syd gasps from her spot on the edge of the bed. Her eyes narrow at me, revisiting her anger.
Then her mouth drops open. “What happened?”
I glance down. My jacket has long tears from waist down.
“Yeah, that,” I say, trudging toward the vanity. “That was nearly my face.”
“You found the jinn?”
I flip on the sink. “No, I found Scooby Doo's steroid-shooting bastard cousin, Juicy Doo.”
Syd comes up behind me as I shrug out of my jacket and pull off my shirt.
“Holy hell, Dim.”
I wince and study my reflection. My left side is a giant bruise. I grit my teeth and prod at eac
h rib. Everything seems intact. Painful, but intact.
“Your back is scratched all to hell,” she says. “And your arms. I'll run to the store to get supplies.”
She gathers her stuff and is out the door before I can formulate a response. Unless supplies includes a stiff drink, I don't think I really need anything.
I catch a glimpse of my arm in the mirror. A few sizable teeth marks are still oozing blood. Okay, so I might need something for that. Probably should go to the ER.
I decide to shower, instead. The hot water stings like I'm a hostage being interrogated. When the front door jingles with Syd's return, I shut off the shower and step out.
She stops in the bathroom doorway, staring at me.
“What?” I grab a towel off the shelf and push past her.
“I didn't know there was a dog,” she says, voice quiet.
“Yeah, Neither did I. Go figure.” I cross into the sleeping area, shuffle through my luggage, and slip on a pair of un-mauled jeans.
My side seizes. I drop to the bed. No more playing action hero for me.
Syd presses a cold bottle of water into my hands and crawls onto the bed behind me. After a few seconds, hot pains shoot up my back.
I jerk forward. “Jesus Christ, what is this? The Inquisition?”
She dabs me again with something—it might as well be acid—then drapes one arm over my shoulder. Her breasts brush against my back, but I'm pretty much numb from her first aid.
She rests her head next to my ear and whispers, “As your nurse, I need to check on that two-hundred and seventh bone.”
I shrug her off, biting back the pain rolling through my abdomen, and grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol off the bed.
She follows me to the vanity. “Come on, Dim. I didn't know there was a dog.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Maybe if you had let me go with you, this would have gone differently.”
“Really?” I turn to her. “Do you have special training for handling a two-hundred and fifty pound set of jaws?”
Her expression twitches. I can tell she's trying to decide if she should be angry or not. I hope she chooses wisely.
Finally, she sighs and heads back to the sleeping area. “Look, you still have your wallet and stuff, right?”
I don't answer, but set to work inflicting agony in my arm as I sanitize the dog bite.
“Let's just call this hunt off for now. Go get another jacket, and I'll handle my banking nightmare. Might as well get that done while we're in the US. I'll leave you the car.” She halts at the door; I can see her in the mirror. “I added another line to my cellphone plan while you were out. Your phone is on the table.”
I still don't acknowledge her. I would like to—I know it's kind of jerky of me not to—but I don't trust any words from my mouth right now. Not while my limbs are burning from being half-eaten by a dog-beast while hunting her jinn.
She must have caught the lack of give-a-shit on my face, because she leaves without saying anything else. After the door closes, I look up at it and frown.
Syd has been through a lot in the last few months. I killed several of her family members, without realizing they were related to her. It was part of the genie bond thing. Really not a fan of it. She could hold me accountable for my inability to resist Karl's demands, but she doesn't. Not even the slightest.
As if what I did wasn't bad enough, her uncle, Larry, killed her brother and possibly her father. Now she's trying to keep everything together for her little sister, sort out her family affairs—they're rich with scattered assets—and figure out some kind of future for all of us.
I'm of no real use in any that. Zoe hates me, and rightfully so. I can't touch any of their family's finances except Syd's personal bank account that she added me to. And I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact I even have a future.
So, while I don't appreciate being thrashed around like Jerry by Spike, I probably should cut her some slack. She didn't know.
With a sigh, I screw the lid back on the rubbing alcohol, then dress, grab my new phone, and leave. As I head to my car, I check out the phone.
GPS. Web access. Syd already added her number to the contacts. Good to go.
I search on the phone for a leather jacket store. Need somewhere to keep my arsenal while I continue this stupid quest. Syd might feel bad now, but she'll be over it by the time she returns to the hotel.
The nearest leather store is in another city, but less than fifteen minutes away. The route is a straight shot down the I-5. A drive sounds good.
I pull out and hit the freeway. The sky has a few clouds rolling in from the coast, with enough sunlight to keep from being dreary. I have had enough dreary for a while.
Southern California isn't a bad place. I just always wind up igniting a bomb or slicing the throats of businessmen while I'm here. The stuff they don't put on the travel brochures.
Right as I'm settled in with stomping the accelerator, I reach National City. Another couple of minutes, and I'm parked outside the leather store.
Inside, everyone is nice and friendly, but they don't have any dusters I can use. They can order one, make one, alter one, everything but conjure one in the next ten minutes. Not like I can blame them. I'm the damn genie and can't do magic, either.
I'm stuck with a motorcycle jacket, the only option with even close to enough pocket space. And that's pushing it. I've taken my trench coat on adventures across the world—and a damn dog ate it.
I think I'm nostalgic. For a jacket.
At least this one has a waterproof pocket. That has to come in handy for something. Maybe.
While I'm paying, I search on my phone for the nearest bar. I need that stiff drink more by the nanosecond.
As soon as I step outside, I slip on the new jacket and glance at my phone again. The bar is less than a ten minute stroll away, and parking space is limited in these parts. If everything goes right, I'll be taking a cab in the next hour, anyway.
I decide to walk. The weather is nice. The streets aren't too crowded. The whole place feels like a mini-Phoenix. It's not quite like walking around Naples, but something tells me I'm going to be in the US for a while. That something would be Syd's hardheadedness.
I pass by small businesses. Hotels. Palm trees. Always the palm trees. A guy on a bike whizzes by on the sidewalk.
My god, it's like the beginning of an 80's music video.
I need whiskey.
I stop at the crosswalk and look at my phone again. Almost to the bar. Syd owes me a tab, and I'm going to drink until I can't feel my face.
Someone pushes past me. My head snaps up. A man with red hair hurries down the street, long jacket wrapped tight.
My Spidey-senses tingle.
I'm already tailing him. He darts into the road and crosses to the other side. I hesitate then trail him. Despite the fact I'm as stealthy as a wildebeest having a seizure, he doesn't seem to notice me. He's fixated on getting somewhere. Fast.
His pace picks up as a he nears a building. I hang back a couple of yards. He pushes at a set of double doors and disappears inside.
I hurry to follow after him, glancing up at the sign—it's a church—before entering. The place is vacant, except for the distinct shuffling of feet upstairs. Then thumping.
I head up the staircase to my right, not even taking in my surroundings. The noise grows louder.
Gasping sounds fill the hallway from behind a closed door. A small whimper. Either some teenagers have snuck in to find heaven on their own, or. . .
I push open the door.
My brain struggles to decipher what I'm seeing.
A small, tan woman in a white dress to her knees is holding a man—the one I followed inside—by his throat. She has an incredible blade clutched in her other hand, swung back. Like she was about to disembowel him.
The man's expression says he drew the same conclusion.
She stares at me, frozen. Surprised, I think.
I sure as hell am.
&n
bsp; Then she drops the blade and the man, and lunges at me. I step out of the way. She barrels down the stairs, thumps echoing off the walls. I charge after her.
She skitters out the door, into the daylight, and doesn't slow down. I try to think of something to say, anything to make her stop. I got nothing, so I keep running.
She turns into a parking lot lined with trees on the far end. I'm right behind her. I reach out to grab her arm. She shakes her head, smacks her palm into her temple, and disappears into the trees. I come to a halt. A moment later, she's making her way through the field in the distance.
I watch until she is out of sight, trying to catch my breath. . .and my thoughts.
Syd was right. Southern California is hiding a jinn.
***
I hurry back to the church, glancing over my shoulder to check no one is watching. What the hell am I expecting? CIA agents? I close the door behind me.
At the top of the stairs, I find my guy pacing the length of the room. He halts and spins toward me, ready to strike.
“Whoa, buddy,” I say, halting in the doorway and putting up my hands. “I'm unarmed.”
That's true. Unfortunately.
He drops his arm to his side. “Who the fuck sent you?”
“No one sent me. I just followed you. . .She was pretty fast.”
He sighs, exasperated, and starts pacing again. “She was here waiting for me. I thought the house of God would protect me from those demons.”
“She's not a demon,” I mutter.
He stops in his tracks and shoots a glare at me. “Then explain why that—that thing just tried to turn a church into a slaughterhouse?”
I grimace. “It's the masters. They make them do this stuff, even if they don't want to. It's—”
I can't finish. I'm shaking, but not from anger. Something deeper. Maybe darker.
The man sizes me up, then his expression softens into a frown. “What's your name?”
“Dimitri Hayes,” I tell him, because why not? I'm already knee deep in this crap. Again. Or still.
He moves forward to shake my hand. “Ian Cook. Listen, I'm getting out of here. You should too.”
“But why was she tracking you?”
Ian's expression darkens. “I'd get moving if I were you. She'll be back. They always come back.”