“Why are you being so stubborn? Can’t you just accept your special connection to the world of jinnis through this ring? Four great religions agree Solomon commanded the jinnis—yes, I know some called them demons—with his seals. Plural. He owned more than one, my darling hard-headed daughter. Four religions can’t all be wrong.”
She closed her eyes and gripped the phone harder, the throbbing in her head the percussion of a ball peen hammer. How could she tell him she wasn’t wearing the ring when she chased the jinni into the forest? In the cold, the loose band kept slipping off, so she removed it and left it in the center console when she grabbed the fistfuls of coins to leave a trail for Arta. The ring bore no relationship to the tingling she felt. It was almost as if she became supercharged with electricity when she was near the entity, the stinging growing stronger as she approached it and receding when the creature disappeared. None of her education or training in applied physics prepared her for a sentient being that could harness that kind of energy—whatever it was.
Eliana blinked and Arta stood in front of her holding a bottle of cold water to go with the headache pills. “Thank you,” she mouthed. She spotted the date on the calendar on the wall behind his head, and her heart dropped. Today was one month away from the anniversary of her mother’s death. The grief she and her father shared over the loss of his wife, her mother, never truly dissipated. Subversive sorrow burrowed deep beneath day to day activities, until the scent of a perfume, the flavor of a favorite food, a piece of music, or a date on a calendar set it free. Her mother would never be forgotten.
“Abba,” she said gently, “I promise I’ll be home for Ima’s service. We’ll watch home videos, eat injera bread, make spicy stew, and drink lots of Ethiopian coffee in her honor.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss her, too. The best thing about this ring is it connects me to Ima and her blessed memories. I won’t forget her, I swear.” I won’t forget the promise I made to her.
“Eliana—please—you’re my only child, all I have left of your mother—” He choked up.
“I’ll be careful. I promise I will wear the ring at all times.”
“Thank you.” He sniffed. “Now, get back to work. Your boss is waiting for you.”
She looked at Arta and shook her head. “The man you heard talking to me is not my boss. His name is Dr. Shahani. He’s working with me on this case.”
“Shahani? The guy you worked with in Arizona? The guy who took off and left you bleeding to death? I can’t believe he’s been assigned to work with you again.”
“I asked for his help.”
Dead silence.
“Abba? I need to go now.”
“You tell him if you get hurt again,” her father spat out the words, “I’m coming after him.”
****
A short while later they sat in a coffee shop in a booth that had just been vacated by five nurses on break. Arta stirred his tea while Eliana sipped her coffee and pressed the side of her head with her fingertips.
“I’m sorry you heard that. My father means well.”
Arta nodded. “Understood. He loves you and wants you to come home safely.” He took off his jacket and placed it on a chair at the end of the table. “Tell me about your mother.”
Years of weariness fell away as she spoke of her mother. A smile played over her face, and the small crow’s feet around her eyes disappeared.
“She was always Ima to me, the Hebrew word for mother. Musical, like her. She sang night and day, songs about Ethiopia, her childhood, the highlands, and her flight to Israel. Each morning she called to me in a low voice, like a flute. ‘Wake up, my heart.’ Each day, she walked me to school, stopped at the sidewalk, crouched down to my level, and said, ‘You’re a big, strong girl. Stand tall. Ask lots of questions.’ Then she would kiss my forehead and say, ‘May God bless you and keep you safe now and always.’ Every night she read to me from Psalms. Each night, I fell asleep to the songs Ima said were written by our ancestor, King Solomon.”
“Your childhood memories are so beautiful. She sounds like an Ethiopian June Cleaver.” His mother, by contrast, had become a passionate activist the moment she hit American soil. Anger at the loss of women’s rights under the Ayatollah Khomeini spurred her to establish an American foundation to raise money for the Women’s Organization of Iran. She used her education, prose, and poetry as weapons, turning the words of Rumi and other mystics back onto the religious fanatics, pointing out their logical inconsistencies and blatant misogyny. Labeled a dangerous activist, even now his mother was banned from visiting elderly relatives who remained behind. His childhood was filled with the sounds of his mother working the telephones, calling newspapers, and raising funds to support her Persian sisters.
She held his gaze with those amazing green eyes. “I had a lovely childhood—until that night.”
“What happened?”
“The only time my mother raised her voice in anger was at something I couldn’t see.” She stared at a spot over his head. “It was the first time I met a jinni.”
The hair on the back of Arta’s neck stood up.
Down boy. Control the lion. No need for shape-shifting now.
“We were leaving synagogue and a member of the funeral committee detained my father. It was fall, getting dark early. My mother said we’d have to hurry to get home in time to light the Sabbath candles.” Her hands trembled, and she set the coffee cup down. “We walked past boarded up houses. So spooky, and Halloween was coming, too. She held my hand like a vise, practically dragged me down the street. A wind blew up and enveloped us. I felt like I was being bitten by a million fire ants.”
She stopped. Tried to lift her cup, but her hand shook so hard, the coffee spilled. Eliana set the mug on the placemat.
Arta reached across the wooden table and grabbed both of her hands into his.
“Ima screamed in English, Hebrew, and languages I didn’t understand. Ordered someone, something to go away, and called on God.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “The wind stopped and the tingling subsided. My mother told me to never forget that stinging and to run away from it. She said, ‘They know who we are. They want people like us.’ A year later, she was dead from acute myeloid leukemia. The disease came on so fast, so hard, the oncologists asked my father if she’d worked with uranium or radium.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No human activity did that. She shielded me from an ‘Ifrit. And died because she protected me.”
“Your survivor guilt is completely normal.”
Anguish twisted her beautiful features. “Why was I spared? She was the kindest, most loving person in the world. After she died, I decided my life’s work, my mission, was to track this creature and destroy him. Whatever it is, this thing has the power to kill humans. He stole my mother and my childhood. Now he’s destroying the Adalwolf family. I feel so helpless.”
She wiped away a single teardrop and gazed into the distance.
Arta stood and slid into the booth next to her. He put his arm around her shoulder and lowered his voice. “‘Come, come, whoever you are, wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving, it doesn’t matter, ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vow a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.’”
Her voice hitched. “That’s so beautiful. Is that your poet—Rumi?”
“Yes. It means you should be kind to yourself. Don’t despair. You can stop running away from forgiveness. It’s waiting for you.”
“My mother wanted me to run the other way.” She palmed a tear off her cheek. “But I can’t. I must avenge her death. Maybe then I can forgive myself.”
He nodded. “The Imam gave me some things to help you. And I need to tell you something important. Can we go someplace private?”
“Sorry. I’m not normally this emotional. It’s this case. I keep thinking about those three girls and the babies. With only one girl alive now, I worry he’s gearing up to attack others. The focus on werewolves, and the were-jinni babies, this is
n’t random. He’s planning something.”
“It’s been bothering me, too.” Arta slid out of the booth and offered his hand. “Your mother’s story, none of this adds up. In all my research and the conversations with jinni experts, no one ever mentioned a jinni using radiation to attack a human. Even the ‘Ifrit we’re dealing with now is using physical violence. Wait. The girl’s throat had to have been covered in saliva. Did the police examine the body in the woods for radioactivity?”
Eliana stared up at him. “I don’t remember seeing any radiation monitors. There’s a handheld RID, a radiation isotope identifier, in the trunk of my car. Homeland equipped me for any and all hazards. Let’s grab the RID and find the survivor and the girl who just died. If the alarm goes off, then we can let Chief Novak know we found a way to track this ‘Ifrit down. We’ll need to let my boss know, too. He can get us more equipment. Something tells me the town is too small and too short on cash to equip their first responders with radiation monitors.”
She slid out of the booth and stood in front of him.
“What did you want to tell me?”
“It can wait. This is more important. You’re on to something.” The case needed to be solved and with this possible lead, other things went on the back burner.
Would there ever be a good time to tell her what really happened in Arizona?
“No. It was you. You got me talking about my mother. You put the pieces together. You’re a genius.” She threw her arms around him, pulled him close, and planted kisses on his cheeks. One on the left, then right, then left.
Stunned by her affectionate assault, his brain took a leave of absence. His body was happy to respond on his behalf. He spoke for her ears only. “The next time you do that, we need to be somewhere private.”
Flushing from her neck to the roots of her curly hair, she stepped away from him—much to Arta’s disappointment. He cleared his throat and placed his folded jacket in a strategic location.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “When this case is over, you and I are going to have a long, intimate conversation. In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.”
After a quick walk to the garage and a search for her car using the remote control panic button, Eliana pulled a beige metal unit the size and shape of a small shoe box with a black handle out of the trunk of her car and pressed the power button.
“Everything’s a computer these days. I have to log in to use it. Takes a few minutes to get ready.”
Arta peeked over her shoulder. “That thing resembles a clothes iron. How does it work?”
She glanced back at him and grinned. “Appearances can be deceiving. This is a small but powerful portable radioisotope identification system, or RID. It’s sensitive to a wide range of radioactive materials. We can get real time visual results on this dial screen.” She pointed at the gray area of the dial. “The default setting is ‘Dial’ and ‘Finder.’ When the needle’s in this zone, the unit is detecting normal background radiation. Green means unusual activity. Red means get the hell out. I turned the audio on. The faster the clicking sounds, the greater the radiation.”
“Are you picking anything up in here?”
She surveyed the garage. “These concrete walls serve as a shield. Good as any place to get a background radiation level.”
She waved the unit over the closest internal wall and shrugged. “Gray zone. A couple of clicks. No big deal. Put your hands out, palms up.”
“Why?”
“Checking you out. Humor me.”
He complied and enjoyed the view of the top of her head and the side of her neck as she bent to her work. He suppressed an urge to bend down and nibble on her lovely, shell shaped ear.
“You’re clear.” She glanced up, caught him staring at her, and smiled. “Pretty eyes. Sometimes they’re hazel, other times they’re golden brown, almost like a cat.”
Almost like a cat?
He wasn’t quite ready to tell her that was because he was a shape-shifting Persian lion. He shrugged. “Trick of the light.”
“Maybe.” She pointed toward the exit. “The RID is still stabilizing, so I’ll leave it on while we go back to the hospital.” She started to walk and stopped short. “Hold on. I promised my father I’d wear the ring.” She opened the driver door, reached in, and plucked out the seal.
“There.” She slid the ring on her left hand. “You’re my witness.”
They walked down the stairs and the RID clicked once, twice. They hit the street and the clicking sound grew louder and more frequent.
“Hold on.” She glanced down. “False alarm. The color is still gray. Must be cosmic radiation.”
Arta scanned the intersection. Five in the evening and what passed for rush hour traffic in Summertown filled the street. A black pick-up stopped at the red light and blared country western music. The light changed to green and the truck driver honked his horn, once, twice, then leaned on it because some poor gray haired woman didn’t hit the gas fast enough to suit him. The starter ground and the guy shouted, “Come on, lady.”
Arta shook his head. So much for country hospitality.
Eliana pressed a button on a light pole and glanced down at the instrument. A bird chirped to indicate it was safe to cross. “Still gray. Let’s go.”
They hit the middle of the street. The cacophony of street noises paused for a moment and the distinct clicking sound of the RID grew louder.
“We’re in the green zone.”
“Should we stop?”
“Hell, no. We’re on to something.” She began to jog and Arta followed suit. Just as they were about to enter the hospital driveway to the ER, the unit went off like an enraged army of giant crickets.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.
Eliana screeched to a halt, gasped, and pointed to the screen.
Buried in the red zone, the needle looked as if it was trying to jump off the dial.
His heart raced almost in time to the clicks. Cotton-mouthed, he could barely croak out the words. “What’s going on?”
“Gamma rays. Cesium isotope. We need to evacuate the hospital and lock this place down. If the radiation isn’t coming from our victims, we may be looking at a dirty bomb.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jerusalem, 954 B.C.E.
Makeda’s handmaidens giggled as she regaled them with every delicious detail of her night with her beloved. He deserved his reputation as a kind and gentle lover, especially since it was her first time with a man. As they prepared for the wedding and dressed Makeda in her raiment, all she could think of was how much she would enjoy spending more time with her new husband. After only one night, she knew he would give her all she desired every time they were together. Makeda closed her eyes and thrilled at the memory of his touch. She could hardly wait for the ceremony and festival to be over. She wanted him here and now.
“Look at yourself, my queen.”
Makeda blinked and returned to the moment.
Her hairdresser held up a polished brass hand mirror for her to admire the jewels embedded in her hair, framing her face and twinkling in her braid.
She stared at her reflection. “Lovely.”
“You are beautiful. You glow with a light from within. You found your heart.”
“Queen Makeda?” One of the cook’s children, a stick of a girl, stood in the doorway, her knobby knees shaking, and her eyes round and fearful as she twirled her hair around and around.
Her handmaidens shouted at the child to leave, she didn’t belong here.
The little one began to cry. “He said it was important. He said he had to see you.”
Makeda held her hand up and silence fell.
“Who? King Solomon?”
Eyes big as goose eggs, the girl shook her head and raised her hand high.
“A tall black man with a robe of many colors. He said I reminded him of you when you were a little girl.”
“Tamrin.” Makeda jumped to her feet. “Where is he?”
Solemn, the girl spoke in hushed tones. “Amay told me to bring you to him.”
Makeda laughed. Cook was protecting her honor. “Tell your mother to bring him here. I’m surrounded by chaperones. No man shall touch me other than King Solomon.” She nodded to the closest handmaiden. “Give the child a reward. She earned it.”
The little one snatched the gold coin and ran away.
A short time later, the scowling Cook stood in the doorway.
“My daughter said you told her to bring him here.” She peered into the queen’s chambers and nodded. “Come.”
Head bent to fit through the doorway, Tamrin stepped into the room, stopped, and stared at Makeda. The brightness of his smile dimmed, and he frowned as he glanced around the room.
“I was on my way to Jerusalem with tribute for the Temple and to bring you news from Sheba when tales of your wedding reached me.” His handsome face twisted with grief, and tears welled in his large brown eyes. “I thought they were vicious stories told by your enemies to ruin your good name. Now I see it’s true.”
Heart in her throat, Makeda spoke to her closest handmaiden with a shaky voice.
“I would speak with Tamrin alone.”
“My lady—”
“This man is my childhood friend and my trusted advisor. He will not harm me. Go.”
Anxious whispers swept across the overcrowded room. They obeyed, but dawdled overlong, leaving the queen’s chambers slower than she wished. “GO.”
The women tumbled out the door, tripping over each other in their haste.
She pointed to a cushion and invited Tamrin to sit. He refused. The muscles in his jaw worked as if he were chewing on a horse’s bridle. He’d never been one to hold back. Why was he now?
“Your eyes speak what your mouth won’t. Go ahead. Tell me of your displeasure.”
Fire filled his glare. “I doubt you want the truth.”
Tempted to strike the stubborn mule of a man standing before her, she spoke through gritted teeth. “I. Said. Speak.”
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