Stifled (Summoned Book 2)

by Rainy Kaye

  I force myself up and lunge at him. He sidesteps me.

  My ankle is not taking this so well. I reach up for the free-swinging fabric.

  He comes at me again. I wrap the fabric around my hand, putting my weight into my arm, and side kick. My foot slams into his stomach. He makes a small oomph sound. Then he comes for me again. I try another kick. He jerks out of the way. I stumble, and my palm burns as the fabric pulls through my fist.

  He goes for the weapon at his side. I turn as he shakes his hand once. The weapon extends.

  It's a freakin' steel baton.

  Good god. This guy takes his job pretty seriously.

  He swings like it's a sword meant to behead me. I stagger back, onto the bad ankle. My hands grab the fabric to break my fall. He swipes at me again. I lift the fabric high and come down behind him, across his neck. I yank it tight, twisting him around. His elbow jabs at me. I strike my palm upward to block it. The baton slips from his grasp and clatters to the floor.

  I pull the fabric tighter. His hands go to his throat. He makes strangling sounds. I don't want to kill the son-of-a-bitch, I just need him to stop being conscious for a while. I wrench harder. His knees collapse. I stoop to let him drop to the floor, then I reach down and loosen the fabric.

  Without a second glance, I grab my backpack, dart across the room, shove open the window, and scramble out to the asphalt. My car is in the lot on the other side of the building. I jog around the back, past the ticketing booth, ignoring my ankle as I hurry to my vehicle.

  I toss the backpack into the passenger seat, then slide behind the steering wheel. Someone is going to find the security guard half-unconscious any moment now and call the police. I have to scram.

  So I didn't get the tax files. Like Lyle can do anything about it.

  I halt, staring at the academy. There's the actual problem: I don't know what Lyle is capable of. Chances are, he's not going to blame me, the jinn. He's going to blame the master—Syd.

  I have to get those files, but a metal door and three walls are in my way.

  I reach for the backpack and pull out the map again. Now that I know how the place is laid out, the answer is ridiculously simple and incredibly stupid.

  As are most things in my life.

  I turn in my seat and pull the temporary registration off the back window. Then I pull the papers from the glove box and shove everything into my backpack.

  Syd is going to kill me

  I hold up the map and compare the physical structure to the outline, just to be sure. Then I toss the map aside and whip the car out of the parking space.

  And I keep backing up.

  I backup as far as the lot goes. Then I throw the car into drive and stomp on the gas.

  God, I hope this car has airbags.

  I try not to tense, but it's not an easy thing to do when hurtling in a chunk of metal at a solid wall.

  I see stucco. The world echoes with a sound like it's ripping apart. Something slams into my face and chest. Then the car halts. The airbag deflates.

  I throw open the door, grabbing my backpack and stepping out. Dust fills the air. A creak issues behind me. I turn as a chunk of the wall falls from the ceiling and shatters against the ground. I spin back to the room.

  Metal shelves loaded with crates and baskets stand against the remaining walls. A few shelves have fallen to the floor, spilling colorful fabric over the wreckage.

  A two-drawer vertical file cabinet is tucked away in the corner. I make my way over of the mess, then duck down among the rubble. Another shelf topples behind me. I yank open the file cabinet, one drawer then the other, cramming the contents into my backpack.

  People are gathering outside, wide-eyed and mostly silent. I scramble back over the debris and push past them, into the night. Someone shouts. I duck my head and veer through the lot. Not sure if anyone is chasing me. If I had thought this through, I would have thrown another smoke bomb. But I'm not Batman. So I keep running.

  I jump over the edge of the lot, down an embankment. Something crunches. Hopefully not my ankle.

  Pretty sure I'm in serious pain. I force myself to ignore it and hurry down the street.

  Finally, I reach a convenience store. Gasping and unable to catch my breath, I drop to the sidewalk. All of my injuries try to gain my attention. Instead, with shaking arms, I search on my phone and order a cab.

  Then I rest my arm on my stomach and let the cool breeze skim past me. People step around—and over—me. I don't move. My whole body feels as sturdy as a wet sponge.

  A while later, as I struggle to keep awake, the cab pulls in. I push to stand and stumble into the backseat.

  The driver looks back at me. “Long day, pal?”

  I nod, bringing up the hotel information on my phone and passing it to him. He studies the map a minute, then passes back my phone.

  I slump in the seat. My body is still shaking. The driver is nice enough not to pester me with conversation. I don't think I can process a coherent response right now.

  After a few minutes, I unzip my backpack and pull out a few of the files. They're crumpled, but I don't care. I just hope there's tax files are somewhere among all this. With the last of my energy, I start flipping through papers, one file after another. None of it means anything to me. I keep flipping.

  A paper catches my attention. I sit straight.

  It's an invoice for thirty seven thousand dollars. Services rendered.

  Sent from the guy I followed into in the church who was being hunted by the female jinn, the ever-elusive JiNet member: Ian Cook.

  After paying the cab driver, I stagger to my hotel room and let myself in. Syd is sitting at the table next to the door. She looks up from the laptop. I drop my bag and the file folder, lumber the few steps to the bed, and—as I tend to do after nearly being killed—fall face-first into the mattress.

  The sweet relief of taking weight off my ankle is somehow more painful.

  I roll over onto my back. Syd is standing next to the bed, wearing only a small top and panties. I know I'm dead tired if that does nothing to me.

  I look up at her. “I need you to do me a few big favors.”

  “Sure, of course.” Her eyes trail up and down my body. Worry lines form in her forehead.

  I can only imagine what I look like at the moment.

  “First, I need you to go down to the lobby and get some ice,” I say.

  She nods, then hurries to grab her pants over the side of the bed and slip them on.

  “I'll be right back,” she says and kisses my forehead. Then she's out the door.

  I push upright and set to the painful task of removing my shoes. My ankle isn't as swollen as I thought it would be, but it's throbbing like a mofo. Syd returns with a bucket of ice, then makes a compress with a clean vanity towel and hands it to me.

  The ice on the swelling feels about like I'm stabbing myself. After a few minutes, the throbbing dies down to a dull ache.

  “So, the second thing,” I say, looking up at her where she leans against the table, facing me. “There's good news and bad news.”

  Her lips part ever-so-slightly and her eyes narrow.

  “The good news, you get to go shopping. The bad news, well, it's for a new car, so you can probably guess the rest.”

  She's silent a moment before speaking. “Are you serious?”

  “It kind of got in a high speed chase with a building.”

  She looks stunned. Then her expression twitches between anger and trying to look mild.

  “The third thing,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes and drops to the chair.

  “We need to go over those documents before we hand them off to Lyle. They have Ian's name all over them.”

  She sits forward. “Our Ian? The one we can't find?”

  “Yeah, the one the female jinn was trying to kill in the church.”

  Syd leans down to collect the files, then starts sorting through them.

  “I would prefer if we did t
hat in the morning,” I say. “I could totally use some Syd-time.”

  She looks over at me, a strand of hair falling across the bridge of her nose. “Why don't you go shower first?”

  “Wanna do that thing?”

  She smiles, though it never quite reaches her eyes. “Just go clean up, and I'll be ready for you when you get back.”

  I freeze with thoughts. The kind that would be a big blurry spot on a TV show. “Now, when you say ready. . .”

  She averts her gaze, her cheeks turning pink.

  “I'm gonna hold you to that,” I say and limp toward the bathroom.

  When I finish showering, Syd is waiting naked on top of the covers. I forgo dressing, and crawl over her and lower to kiss her lips. Her body relaxes, and her mouth parts to invite my tongue in. Her legs work around my waist, then she presses against me and slides up and down the full length.

  My body is weak with exhaustion, yet unrelenting in the desire to be near her. On her. In her. I won't sleep until then.

  I shove apart her thighs and push my mouth against her delicious folds. Her body arches, and I bear down a little harder. She twists and rocks her hips, her fists clenching the blanket at either side of her. I slip my hands under her ass and tilt her a bit, burying my tongue deeper, and she responds so deliciously until I have a fleeting thought the neighbors might complain. She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, then her body relaxes against the bed.

  I crawl up next to her, nudging her onto her side facing me, and intertwine our bodies as I slide inside. Our hips grind together, our mouths latch to each other, our arms pressing us together, until the end.

  I've never felt closer to anyone, ever. I just wish I could feel that way about her during the day hours, too.

  ***

  We spend the morning sorting through the files, but the effort doesn't result in much. The only documents with Ian's name are invoices, and the recipient is listed as Marrakesh E.F. I assume that's the business name for the dance academy. All the invoices just say “Services Rendered” and nothing else. Not even an address.

  Finally, Syd looks at me from across the table. “Ready to drop them off to Lyle?”

  “Might as well.” I lay down the folder in hand and lean back in my chair. “But, Syd, if he tries to throw 'one more' test our way, say no. Please.”

  She nods, gathering up the files. “No more tests. I promise.”

  I tug her arm. She glances over at me, then away without any indication of emotion.

  “Kiss me,” I say.

  She forces a smile and pecks me on the lips. Then she goes back to gathering the folders and placing them into the backpack.

  “We're fixing this, Syd.”

  “I know,” she says, without looking at me.

  Her tone isn't convincing.

  ***

  The entire cab ride to Lyle's estate, Syd flattens the files on her lap. They are still pretty creased by the time we arrive. She looks at them and sighs, then steps out of the cab. I fumble out the other side. She holds the stack of files like a schoolgirl with books and saunters up the walk.

  I signal for the driver to wait, then hurry to catch up with her. As fast as I can, anyway.

  By the time I reach her on the porch, Lyle has already answered the door. Syd offers him the files, and he looks surprised before accepting them. We included everything, even the invoices. He had only asked for the tax records, but in no way am I giving him the chance to say I failed the test.

  He shuffles through the folders and halts. His eyes spark, then he composes himself and invites us inside with only a gesture.

  Syd and I pass under the glass archway and take our spots on the couch. The maid stands to the side. I've never met a dog as devoted as this woman. I have to remind myself this is her job, the kind that has a paycheck and doesn't turn her into an unwilling serial killer. Still, she makes me uneasy.

  “Fantastic, fantastic,” Lyle says at last, returning to his leather chair. “As I explained before, the next step is for the divan to meet to finalize placing you into a house.”

  Syd nods. “Tyler's house, right?”

  “Yes, it's just all politics, you know.” He pushes a laugh. “After the meeting, Tyler will contact you to get you settled in. In the meantime, we're driving out to Phoenix tomorrow night for the quarterly gathering. You are more than welcome to join us.”

  Syd stills. If she decides to drop out of JiNet now—after everything—I'm demolishing her next car out of spite.

  Finally, she speaks. “That's at Fiona's house, right?”

  Before Lyle can answer, I interrupt. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Syd jerks to look at me. Her eyes clearly say, “What the hell?”

  I shrug, nonchalant.

  Lyle indicates the maid standing to the side. “Show him the way, please.”

  She smiles at me and turns out of the room. Without a glance at Syd, because I know she's looking baffled and probably a bit ticked off, I follow after the maid.

  She leads me down a broad hallway with dark wooden walls and tall angel statues that stand like sentinels. The arched ceiling is painted in gold and red and hung with chandeliers. The bathroom is around a corner on the right.

  She flips on the light and steps back, but doesn't say anything. I shut the door behind me. The bathroom is the size of a bedroom, with a hot tub and everything. I remain with my hand on the doorknob and wait.

  After a few minutes, I run the sink then crack open the door. The hallway is empty.

  Masters are idiots. They turn us into devious criminals, yet no one seems to expect a genie to pull the lost-on-my-way-back-from-the-bathroom routine.

  I step into the hallway and head away from the formal living room. Doors stand to either side, some open and some closed. I leave the closed ones alone. Don't want to make a lot of noise. Just scoping out the place, and if I happen to find the laptop I should have logged into before delivering, bonus.

  Not like I intend to come back for it later. I'm a trustworthy genie.

  I snicker as I round another corner. The wooden double doors at the end stand open, revealing a library. No high baller is validated without at least one room stuffed full of books they have never read.

  I look over my shoulder to verify I'm alone, then slip inside. The room is like all the other extravagant libraries I've seen: heavy wooden bookcases, lots of old, hardcover books, and a reading area that is only visited by the maid to dust it. I scan the baseboards. No indication of a secret room.

  Straight ahead is an alcove enshrining a statue of an angel. The statue is nearly as big as Syd, molded with great detail. Behind it is a recessed bookshelf. I make my way across the plum-colored carpet to the alcove and crouch down.

  These books are different than the other ones in the library. Older. Much older. I run my finger over the spines. They look like they should crumble. I pull out a blue volume and flip through the pages. It's in Arabic.

  Why had it never dawned on me that my roots are in the Middle East? Not like it takes a genius to equate “genie” and “Arabia”. I could have spent those eight years of servitude to the Walkers learning to read Arabic during my down time. Might actually be useful now.

  I browse the other books, looking for one in English, but they're nearly all in Arabic. Those that aren't, I don't even recognize the language. I consider taking the one in my hand. Maybe Syd could find someone to translate it.

  With a sigh, I put it back on the shelf. Too many opportunities for him to notice it while we're still here.

  I rise to my feet, and creep across the room and back down the hallway. As I round the corner toward the formal living room, I try to look unconcerned. My mind is reeling, though.

  How can I get these books out of here without risking Lyle sending all three houses of jinn after us?

  This guy is up to something. Not like I trust any master to begin with, but there's the little detail of the laptop that wasn't meant to be seen. Then a clay pot
likely meant to summon a jinn, which makes no sense if he doesn't have the master bond to use it. Follow that up with the bizarre request for tax records. Now he has a stack of old Arabic books.

  I can't figure out how they all go together. Hopefully Syd will do her thing and chat JiNet up at the party so we can start to make sense of this situation.

  Otherwise, I'm going to do my thing, and Lyle is going to see just how nasty a genie can get.

  #

  On our way to Phoenix from L.A., Syd drives. I lay back the passenger seat as far as it will go and try to rest. My body feels heavy and sluggish. Can't imagine why.

  “So, Dim, what do you think of the new car?”

  I squint and glance around the interior of the Mazda3, then shrug. “Sure. I like it.”

  “Yeah?” She gives me a tight little smile. “I do too. I was thinking we should keep it a while.”

  “I'll consider it.”

  She shakes her head. “Are you going to be okay at Fiona's party?”

  “Of course I will be.” I eye her suspiciously. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I thought maybe you could not prowl around her house. The bathroom, Dim? Seriously?”

  “Just be happy I put Lyle's books back. I really want to know what they say.”

  “No, you don't,” she mutters, then glances at her hand on the steering wheel. “Shit! I left my ring at the hotel.”

  “Your ring?”

  “Yeah, I took it off before bed.” She exits the freeway and swings around. Back to L.A. we go. “It's from my grandmother—my other one. I can't lose that.”

  She glances bitterly at her hand the rest of the return trip to the hotel. When we pull in, she parks outside the glass doors and hurries into the lobby. A few minutes later, she returns with a key card and motions around the side of the building.

  I get out and follow her to our previous room. “So, this is from your mother's mother?”

  “Yeah.” Syd ducks her head and picks up her pace. “She died a few years ago, left me her engagement ring. Long, sad story about her fiance going to war and never coming back.”