The Jackal Prince (Caller of the Blood - Book 2)

by McIlwraith, Anna

  I’m serious, said Fern, I think Andres gave the game to them. You’d better hurry up and fall asleep, or they’ll make you join in.

  Emma sighed. I’m not falling asleep. She couldn’t possibly fall asleep. Sure, she’d had a late night, and an early morning, and she was feeling strung out from the tension, but it was the middle of the afternoon. She never napped in the afternoon.

  It’s called a cat-nap, said Ricky beside her. Maybe that’s why you don’t have them. Because you’re not a cat. She looked up at him. Funny, she didn’t remember saying Ricky could come with them to Egypt.

  But we’re not going to Egypt. We’re right here, at home. He was right. She was lying on her old bed, in her old bedroom, at the old apartment.

  Home.

  Except that the old apartment didn’t have stone walls, and her old bed was not the size of a small swimming pool.

  Ricky? She rolled to her hands and knees and her vision swam. When it cleared, Ricky was not there, and something huge and black moved lazily back and forth in the shadows. Shadows she couldn’t see into, shadows made of cobalt smoke and gun-metal darkness and a deep and bottomless blue.

  Pequeña. The word rolled up her spine in a deep, shuddering wave. Shaking her bones. Fur like silk rubbed against her skin, the scent of it warm and lush.

  The feel of fur against her skin disappeared, leaving her as cold as though her own pelt had been stolen, wind blowing at her, through her. Cold wind, carrying the scent of ozone, the taste of water. Hard wood scraped Emma’s knees, the burnt-plastic smell of electrics catching fire, the pop and crash of things falling from the ruined ceiling of the Roadhouse.

  The taste of water rose up to steal into her mouth, down her throat, so goddamn cold. Cold and suffocating, rushing, like a river, a river of sliding flesh beneath her fingers, a column of muscle wrapping itself around her, squeezing her heart, stealing her air, cold lips that tasted like storm drinking her breath away. Two yellow eyes like dying suns, full of hatred, full of hurt.

  Emma screamed. A hand covered her mouth, warm and solid and real and smelling of heat and cotton sheets and something familiar and edible. She sucked in a breath through her nose, dragging Fern’s scent into her lungs, and her eyes came open as though the lids weighed a hundred pounds each. Fern took his hand away from her mouth.

  Shards of dream fell away, jarring with reality. Nobody was looking at her as though she’d just screamed — no-one but Alexi. Her eyes met his and she wanted to scream all over again.

  Fern, did he…did I…

  Hush. He leaned forward, angling his body so that she couldn’t see the serpent priest, so that all she could see was him. His black brows were furrowed so hard she thought they might never smooth out. You weren’t asleep long. I merged with you as soon as I realized you were dreaming. And no, you didn’t scream. He swallowed, a shudder rolling across his shoulders, gaze searching her face. Not out loud.

  Emma slumped against her seat. Then why is he looking at me like that.

  Fern’s frown stayed put, but his eyes softened. Because he’s the only one who noticed me randomly slapping a hand over your mouth, that’s why. He probably thinks there’s something kinky going on between the two of us. He tried to smile at his own attempt at humor, but couldn’t manage it. Who cares why? I merged with you again. Maybe that’s why you woke up, I don’t know, but I was there. He didn’t hear you, Emma.

  She stared up at him, breath slowing, still feeling like she was made of glass. That was so the last time she fell asleep on this plane.

  Emma shoved a hand through her hair and got out of her seat, ignoring the way every pair of male eyes suddenly fixed on her. Most of them were bodyguards; it was their job to watch her.

  Felani’s head came up when Emma stopped at her row of seats. “My lady, what’s wrong?” She dropped her colorful hand of cards, game forgotten.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Felani.” Emma scrubbed at her face. “I just wanted to know if Fern and I could join in.”

  Felani blinked at her for a moment, and then her pointed little face lit up. “Of course!” She snatched the cards away from the other three maidens and began happily reshuffling them.

  You know I hate you right now, Fern sent as he took a seat across from Emma, next to Mata, who looked very disappointed to have lost her cards.

  Emma just arched an eyebrow at him. It’s better than listening to my nightmares, isn’t it?

  Felani started dealing the cards, chattering away, excited to have more players. Fern gave her a pained look. Not by much.

  15

  They touched down at Luxor just after midday. Not long after that, Emma and her entourage were making their way through the spacious airport, having breezed through private customs thanks to the mind powers of a certain serpent priest.

  Emma was mildly shocked when she discovered that their driver for the trip from Luxor to Kharga was human. The casually-dressed man waiting for them by the door of his bus greeted them with little fuss. He spoke enough English to reassure them that he knew who they were — whoever that was — and he knew where he was to take them.

  Kharga was almost two hundred miles from Luxor, and the three and a half hours it took to get there only made Emma wish that she were in Egypt for a real holiday. The kind with sight-seeing tours and hotels and no scary jackals waiting at the end of another very long trip. It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached Kharga, and Emma never wanted to see another game of Uno again for as long as she lived. The trip would have taken a fraction of the time by plane, but flights from Luxor to Kharga only ran twice-weekly, and they were out of luck where scheduling was concerned.

  The oasis was an ancient part of the Old Persian trade routes, but as a city it was modern, sprawling, and full of people. The driver took them directly through the center of the city, driving down from the wide, desert-flanked blacktop and into the valley depression that formed the oasis. From the vantage point of the road descending into Kharga, the city was a long sprawl, darker modern buildings nestled between the pale sandstone ruins of temples and forts. In the distance, the Hibis Temple could be seen, rising in columns. Emma had never held a specific longing to visit Egypt, but seeing the ancient temples on the horizon, she thought that if she survived the trip, she’d be back — without the bodyguards, without the political obligations. One day.

  They made it through the bustling city center, onto a long, quiet road that looked like highway, lined sparsely with the occasional house or stone structure. Grassy scrub was already giving way to desert again, and the far-off horizon was an unbroken yellow line. Somewhere nearby there were tracts of white desert and world-famous rock formations, but the scenery gave nothing away.

  Their driver brought the bus to a stop before a low brick building with arched doorways and an abundance of desert plants and flowers overflowing out of baskets and terracotta planters. The building reminded Emma of a Mexican-style hacienda, but it was square, the bricks a dusky rose color.

  The driver said something to Horne, who was sitting closest to the front of the vehicle. Horne nodded, thanked him, and the door cranked open. “Everybody out — and on alert. This is our pickup point. Our guide should be out any minute.” He stared hard at everyone, and then got out of the bus, shoulders bunched.

  Emma stepped out into thick heat and a dense circle of bodies, guards surrounding her, maidens crowding close at her sides, Fern as always at her back. Telly and Red Sun were farther away, near the small gate, scanning their surroundings. Alexi was closer, a steep scowl on his face. Nobody was expecting a friendly reception, and Emma didn’t blame them. Hell, she’d be surprised if they weren’t gunned down in the next thirty seconds — the road was quiet, the house with its quaint-looking yard even quieter, everything too still. It gave her a bad feeling.

  The carved wooden door of the house opened, and their guide walked out. Emma counted herself surprised. The short, shuffling man closed the door behind him, long sand-colored robes flowing as he moved. His
skin was a dark, leathery brown, heavily lined; his hair was long, wavy and loose, brown streaked with gray. He had a hawk nose and heavy lids, and the eyes that fixed on Emma as he made his slow way to the gate were a brown so dark they were almost black.

  And Emma couldn’t tell if he was human. It was the first time she’d even noticed the fact that she could tell the difference — or thought she could. When had that happened? She’d known instinctively that their driver wasn’t a shapechanger — but she couldn’t for the life of her tell if the man approaching was not.

  He stopped at the gate, dark eyes coming to rest on Alexi. “I do not see your king.” His accent was heavy, voice deep.

  “He is indisposed with matters of tribe that could not wait,” said Alexi in a neutral tone Emma had not thought him capable of. “He did not wish to offend the jackal kingdom, and so has sent us ahead of him in the interests of punctuality. He follows, should it suit the jackal kingdom to extend their services to a second escort.”

  The guide made a non-committal grunt. “That is a matter for the king,” he said, clearly referring to his own king. Emma was now convinced that he was a shapechanger, but only because he spoke so freely about jaguars and jackals. She got no sense from him that he was other than as he looked.

  He pushed the gate open and walked out onto the dirt footpath, blithely putting himself between Alexi on one side and Telly and Red Sun on the other, unconcerned. He padded up to the circle of guards surrounding Emma, and peered around their bodies to meet her eyes.

  “My name is Sadiki.” His voice was without inflection, face without expression.

  When he said no more, Emma cleared her throat. “I’m Emma.” She wondered if she should say more, but suspected it was safer to be honest and not say anything at all.

  He nodded, looking up at the guards. “I will be your escort to the jackal king. We will go on ahead in this bus here for a time, and make the remainder of the journey on horseback. Proper robes and attire for desert travel have already been stowed in the bus.”

  “On horseback?” Horne sounded like he thought it might be a joke.

  Sadiki wasn’t laughing. “The king despises human vehicles in his territory. If there is a problem, feel free to stay behind and enjoy the humble hospitality of my home. Now,” he said, turning away and dismissing Horne. He said something else in Arabic to the driver, and the man gave a slight bow and left, heading into the house. Sadiki opened the driver’s side door and began inspecting the supplies in the front of the bus.

  His head emerged. “All of you, refresh yourselves if you must. You are welcome to use the facilities. You have ten minutes while I refuel and ensure everything here is in order, and then we travel.” His head disappeared again, and Emma looked around at the guards, who seemed confused.

  “Guys,” she said, “You heard the man. Let’s go. I gotta pee.” She squeezed through them and set off toward the house without bothering to wait. She knew they’d catch up, because they probably thought it was a trap — but if it wasn’t, then she was damn well determined to use the bathroom.

  It might not have been a trap, but Emma felt that way when she got to the doorstep and a tall, slim man with dark skin and darker eyes stepped into her way. She stumbled; he looked the closest thing to how she imagined an ancient Egyptian should look. His skin was coffee-brown but he was clean-shaven, and his black hair was cut short in back but long in front. His eyes were narrow and almond-shaped, his lips full, his face long and elegant — and he stared down at Emma with an intensity in his black-brown eyes that Emma was familiar with. It was that harsh, appraising look that said she was being judged and found lacking.

  The man didn’t get much time to judge her. She heard a snarl and felt a rush of displaced air and then Telly’s arms were around her, swinging her off the front step and onto the path behind Horne and Andres, who had their heads down and their lips peeled back in silent threatening grimaces.

  “Bad form, Sadiki.” Alexi stood in the open gateway to the yard. The gate lay at his feet, torn off its hinges. Sadiki poked his head out from the van and laughed meanly.

  The tall slim man who looked like he’d just stepped out of a hieroglyph sauntered — there was no other word for it — down the steps and around Horne and Andres without even a glance in their direction. He wore a loose linen shirt, linen slacks, and sandals, totally at odds with Sadiki’s more traditional clothes. He spared a derisory look at Emma as he passed.

  “And who,” Alexi stepped in front of him, blocking the path, lip curled in a sneer, “Are you?” The serpent priest cocked his head, eying the stranger like he was a mildly interesting piece of meat, and Emma would have felt sorry for whoever the man was if he hadn’t been giving Alexi the exact same look in return.

  “I am Tarik.” He sounded bored. “I am the Suten-Khenti, the jackal king’s highest official. Also known as Royal Vizier.” He looked around at the rest of the jackals, the maidens, Fern and Red Sun and Telly. “What, did you think Sadiki would be your sole escort? Try not to look so disappointed.” He slipped past Alexi and joined Sadiki at the van.

  Emma tried not to stare after him. There was no mistaking Tarik for anything other than a shapechanger — he sparkled, hummed with otherness.

  Do you all look and feel like that to human eyes?

  Fern’s gaze followed Tarik as he climbed into the van. What do you mean?

  She didn’t know what she meant. “Telly, gimme some room,” she said, prying Telly’s hands from her waist. She turned and met his eyes. He looked unhappy, but he gave her a vague smile and gestured for her to go ahead of him into the house.

  Like touching a battery to my tongue, she sent, letting Horne and Andres move in front of her as she entered the house. Maybe being around other humans again cleansed my palette or something, because Tarik makes me feel like I’ve just downed half a dozen shots of espresso.

  She felt Fern frown. He does sort of throw his power in your face, doesn’t he? I don’t think normal humans notice, or if they do, they don’t recognize what they’re feeling. Some of us can control ourselves better than others though — and some of us just aren’t that powerful, he added ruefully.

  Hey, she gave him a mental poke. You’re not that shabby.

  He snorted. Jeez, thanks.

  Horne and Andres searched the house before she was allowed to use the bathroom, but the only other people there were the driver, who nodded and smiled at them and a small boy who sat on the living room floor watching cartoons, ignoring them. It took fifteen minutes for everyone to use the facilities, and then they were in the bus again, driving again, miles and miles of blacktop road and uninterrupted desert. The farther they drove, the rougher the terrain got.

  Two hours out of Kharga, Sadiki took them off-road, heading west, and then all Emma could do was hang onto the edge of her seat and try not to body-slam Fern too much, even though he insisted he didn’t mind. They ceased conversing. He simply stayed with his mind fused to hers, less to keep Alexi from reading her thoughts, and more in an effort to soothe her.

  She was tired and shitty, the air-conditioning gave her a headache, she felt like somebody was lancing her butt-cheeks, and she was altogether too close to Alexi — and to Tarik, who sat directly behind the driver’s seat and would not take his narrow black eyes off her. If he’d been human, the view would have been nice — Tarik was definitely easy on the eyes — but he gave Emma the creeps.

  The sun was drawing down toward the horizon in a huge, neon red orb by the time they glimpsed a day camp in the distance: large white tents with shapes milling about them. Emma could barely believe it when the bus pulled to a dusty halt near the tents and Sadiki got out, calling greetings to the men lounging in the shade of the sail-like white cloth.

  The men were, wrapped in robes, more robes than Sadiki wore, and they were human. Sadiki spoke rapidly to the men, who seemed pleased to see him, and then came back to the bus where everyone was stretching and warily looking around.

  �
��Come,” he said tersely. “We are mounting up. No time to waste.”

  Mounting up? Fern sent as they followed Sadiki through an avenue of white tents. Emma gave his shoulder a squeeze as they emerged from the camp, and the herd came into view.

  Horses, she said, unable to keep the smile out of her mental voice. We get to ride horses.

  16

  Emma dodged one of the sleek horses as it pranced past, trying to push Fern behind her to keep him out of the way of the excited animals. The nomads moved into the herd, roping and saddling while the younger horses weaved in between them, kicking up sand and dust. Sadiki was shouting something to the men in their own language, waving the jaguar guards away from the horses.

  “They look kind of nervous,” said Fern as a dark gray colt zipped past them, tossing its head, tail flying like a banner. Emma assumed he meant the horses, and not the jaguar guards.

  “They’re Arabians, they always look nervous,” Emma told him absently. She was watching the horses, captivated by their grace. But she still noticed the tone in Fern’s voice. “They’ll calm down once we’re mounted and on our way. They’ll stay together as a herd. You don’t have to worry about getting carried off into the desert.”

  He glanced down at her, a frown over his black eyes. “You sound so confident, but you forget I can read your mind.” He licked his lips, swallowed, throat working.

  “Maybe I’m just hoping one will carry you off into the desert,” she teased, sending him waves of reassurance.

  Sadiki strode up to Emma, eyeing her, several of the jaguars hot on his heels as he approached her. “You’ve ridden before.”

  Fern’s eyebrows went up. “How do you know that?” He looked at Emma. How does he know that? Emma could tell he was having nasty thoughts about the jackal guide being able to read minds. Sadiki gave Fern an unfriendly look, despite the huge bulk of Andres and Guillermo circling him to stare Sadiki down.