by Emma Holly
“Sorry,” she said. “I wish I had a good apology.”
He lifted his brows and inclined his head toward her. “Perhaps you’d like to, er, cover up the glories you wish to preserve from me.”
He had a funny way of putting things. He had a point, though. To her amazement, she’d been so distracted by his glories she forgot she was half naked. Embarrassed, she hopped off the table to pull up her jeans. Her shirt draped the kitchen faucet, where she guessed she’d thrown it. Deciding dragging it on without her bra would be quicker, she hastily did so.
When she snuck a look at him, he was watching her more openly than she’d watched him. Another possibility for embarrassment occurred to her. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. Especially Francine. She doesn’t know I’m . . . saving myself.”
This seemed to confuse him. “Won’t she be pleased her adoptive daughter has chosen to be chaste?”
“Too pleased. She’ll make a fuss. Worse, she’ll brag to her girlfriends. Those ladies are super-churchy. If I change my mind and they find out, they won’t let her live it down.”
“Truly?”
Since Georgie was mostly decent, she leaned her hips back on the table. Without a bra, crossing her arms seemed wise. “Francine’s friends are competitive about their kids. When one of the mother’s sons got into Harvard, she crowed so much I think Francine despised her for a while. UVA is small potatoes compared to that.”
Alexander hesitated before speaking. “Your adoptive mother seems very kind.”
“She is kind. She’s just has weak spots, like anyone.”
“That fact I am cognizant of.” He sighed as if he meant he had them. Georgie felt a strange need to reassure him. It deepened when he squared his shoulders and went on formally. “I humbly apologize for making assumptions about your willingness. I shouldn’t have overstepped.”
“That’s okay. Anyone would have thought I was . . . willing.”
Her cheeks heated. “Willing” was understating it. Seeing her blush return, Alexander smiled slightly and shook his head. Something about the expression prodded her memory. Why was he so familiar? Surely she’d remember meeting him before.
Their recent activities had mussed him too. Half his long wavy hair had escaped its ponytail. He reached behind his neck to unknot the string that secured it, probably intending to do it up again.
His hair fell thickly. It was a breathtaking shade of gold, the sort you couldn’t get from a salon. With his handsome features and his noble brow, he reminded her of an illustration from an old book: the tales of King Arthur or something.
Oh, she thought, her mental synapses belatedly firing. Oh, oh, oh. Alexander wasn’t a king, and he wasn’t a character from a book. He was, however, someone she’d seen a portrait of more than once. The likeness had held pride of place on a woman’s vanity table, its frame a stunning twenty-four karat gold that glittered with peridot. To match his eyes, the woman who owned the picture had confided laughingly. My beloved has such fine ones I couldn’t choose any other stone.
For years, Georgie had convinced herself the woman was a product of her overactive imagination. Everyone had vivid dreams sometimes, especially when they were young and impressionable.
What they didn’t have were dreams that showed up in person in front of them.
“Gosh,” she breathed, more amazed than she’d ever been in her life. “You’re him. You’re Najat’s sultan, Iksander!”
CHAPTER FOUR
—
NOT NAJAT
Georgie’s out of the blue announcement hit Iksander like a thunderclap. Literally off balance, he reeled back and took a step.
“Oh,” she said, her hand going out to him. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
This human knew Najat was dead? How was that possible? Iksander was so shocked he didn’t have breath to ask.
Her hand pressed her breast as a new thing occurred to her. “Shoot, I shouldn’t have kissed you! That was disrespectful for me to do. I know how devoted you and Najat were.”
Whatever else might be confounding him, her apology demanded a rebuttal. Stiff with the disgrace he’d brought on himself again, he forced the truth through his lips. “The fault was mine. I recognized the resemblance.”
“You did? I mean, I guess you would. Apart from our hair, we were identical.” Her eyes were wide. “I don’t understand. Why are you here? How are you real? Najat told me she was a djinniya, but I thought I’d dreamed her up.”
Iksander didn’t understand the situation either. Until he did, he decided not to give a human the whole story. Though Georgie seemed on the level, too much lay at stake to risk misjudging. He disciplined his thinking as best he could. “Please tell me how you and my wife became acquainted.”
“She never mentioned she had a human twin?”
Iksander shook his head. He wondered at that, but—then again—he and Najat hadn’t shared everything. Once upon a time, discovering this would have startled him. Sadly, now it did not.
“Huh,” Georgie said. She rubbed her chin but, true to her trusting nature, she soon went on. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“Please,” he encouraged. “I’ll sit quietly and hear.”
She waited for him to take the chair he’d shifted back from the table. Hoping she wasn’t remembering what they’d done on top of it, he placed his hands politely on his thighs—a pose djinn had listened to stories in for millennia.
“Okay,” she said. “Najat and I ‘met,’ I guess you’d say, after she was abducted by the evil genie who owned the tavern where you two met.”
“The ifrit.”
“Yes. I was going through a tough time myself. I was sixteen, my mother had just died, and I had no living relatives. No friends really. Kids my age thought I was a priss. I landed in a group home. Francine and Tobias hadn’t adopted me at that point. Anyway, living in the home was hell. I was alone and afraid and pretty much wanted to chuck it in. I’d been there a couple weeks when the other kids decided my sneakers weren’t scuffed enough. They’d disliked me from the start, but that day their hostility blew up. I tried to fight back, and they beat me bloody in the front yard. The matron was afraid to take me to the ER. I guess she thought my injuries would look bad on her record.”
Her laugh was wry, as if this didn’t surprise her.
“Did the matron discipline the offenders?” Iksander asked.
“Hardly.” She laughed the dry laugh again. “She was afraid of those kids herself. She told me I should ‘steer clear of troublemakers in the future’—as if the fight had been my fault!’” Georgie sighed resignedly. “Anyway, the injustice was too much for me. That night, I was in bed praying to God for help and crying myself to sleep. Just as I dropped off, Najat’s face appeared in my mind.
“I thought I was hallucinating or having a mental break. Her image was so vivid. I wasn’t afraid, though. As soon as she spoke, I could tell she was sad like me. Well, you knew her. Najat was gentle and sweet, and anyone would warm to her if they got a chance to talk. She asked if we could be secret friends to each other. I agreed, of course. At first, I thought she was an angel; that she looked like me because angels can take any shape they want. By the time she told me she was a genie, I liked her too much to worry if befriending her might be dangerous. Some people would call talking to someone like her trafficking with spirits.”
Georgie pulled a face, obviously hoping she hadn’t offended him.
“I understand,” Iksander said. “Some spirits aren’t safe to converse with.”
Georgie sighed. “Right. So Najat told me about her troubles with the bad ifrit: how he’d stolen her from her parents and kept her prisoner. For a while, we communicated every night. Even if I wasn’t sure she was real, I couldn’t give it up. She was the only friend I had. Then, after I was adopted, I wasn’t so miserable, and our talks kind of petered out. Najat was happier too, because you’d rescued her and fallen in love. Now and then, though, when big things happened,
we’d sneak away to confide in each other—each other’s Dear Diary, I guess. I could always reach her if I calmed myself and prayed. She did magic to contact me. Sometimes I’d see the tail end of her rituals.”
Georgie didn’t seem to understand she’d been doing magic too. Rather than point this out, Iksander asked the question he had to. “You know what happened between her and me at the end?”
“I know,” Georgie said, seeming to understand this was hard to bring up. “I wish she’d told me sooner. I’ll always wonder if I could have warned her not to trust that Luna woman, if I’d have suspected she was scheming to break you up.”
“I, too, wish she’d confided in me. Did she—” He hesitated. George seemed to know Luna had killed Najat. “Did my wife contact you before she died?”
Georgie shifted her hips on the table edge. “Not exactly. I don’t know how you’ll feel about hearing this. Najat only shared a bit about what you and she believed. She was already dead the last I heard from her. Her spirit came to me in a dream.”
“Go on,” Iksander said when she paused uncomfortably. Though his heart had started racing, he maintained his composure. “You don’t have to shield me. I want to know what happened.”
“Well, she was kind of panicked about . . . moving on. She was afraid she’d go to hell because she’d had feelings for your artist friend, Philip. She swore the attraction was fleeting and that she’d never have acted on it without Najat’s spell. You were the man she loved. She was adamant about that. I’m no expert, but I don’t think her ghost could have lied to me.”
He suspected Georgie’s sincerity was as strong as Najat’s. She’d gripped the table behind her and leaned toward him. Though it hurt to hold to her gaze, he couldn’t look away. Part of him wished her expression were accusing.
“She died thinking I hated her,” he said.
Georgie shook her head. “She didn’t. Not at the end. Her spirit was just agitated. I told her I didn’t think she’d go to hell for a weakness anyone might have had, that God was forgiving and He’d forgive her. She seemed convinced the afterlife—and punishment—worked differently for djinn than humans. Finally, I realized I didn’t have the words to soothe her. I asked if she wanted to pray with me until she felt better. We sat right over there, in the living room, hand in hand. I prayed to every angel I could think of for one to come help her. I couldn’t tell if it was working, but finally she looked up and said she saw a light.”
“A light,” Iksander repeated. Ever since djinn refused the Creator’s order to bow to humans, they’d been cut off from angels. Though they knew such beings existed, they could no longer converse with them.
“That’s what Najat said. Her face filled with wonder, and she was calm again.”
“And you didn’t see anything.”
“Just her. Beautiful like she’d been before. Happy. I think an angel must have come. Something good, anyway. She said she understood, that she’d never needed to be afraid. Then she gave me a message to give to you that I never thought I’d be able to deliver. Najat said, ‘Tell Iksander I know he loved me.’ She said—”
Georgie swallowed. Her voice was thick. She wiped a track of moisture from her cheek. “I want to be sure I get this right. She said, ‘All is forgiven, because there isn’t a wrong in the universe that could outweigh our love.’”
Iksander broke. He covered his face as his tears overflowed. Could this be true? Of course Najat belonged in heaven. His heart could never think otherwise. Their Creator was a different matter—and never mind His so-obedient angelic servants. Who knew what they’d think appropriate? Unless . . . could it be Georgie’s goodness convinced those great cold entities to relent?
A hand squeezed his hitching shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Georgie said. “Have a tissue. I cried like a baby when I woke up after dreaming that. Not that I think it was a dream now.”
He blew his nose and tried to compose himself. “Your kindness is extraordinary.”
Georgie shrugged crookedly, seeming embarrassed by the praise. “Najat was kind to me when I needed it.”
“Nonetheless. If ever you require a service, you have only to request it.”
His promise might have been rash, but he couldn’t withhold it. Belatedly, he remembered his new body couldn’t do magic yet.
“You could tell me what you’re doing in my world,” she said.
His face must have shown his reluctance. She laughed, breaking the sadness that had gripped her. He saw she was a naturally happy person—maybe more so than Najat.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Not my business. Please just promise you’re not here to do bad things.”
“I solemnly promise I intend no harm to humans.”
Her smile softened at his formal oath. “I guess I believe that. Najat always said you were an honorable man.”
“My wife may have given me too much credit.”
“You miss her,” Georgie said. “I expect that’s why you kissed me and—you know—the other stuff.” Her face flushed as she waved a hand in dismissal. “Men aren’t always good with feelings. They’re more comfortable acting.”
Iksander shook his head. “You have given me a gift, one I fear I do not deserve.”
“Oh, twaddle.” Georgie’s choice of words temporarily stumped his inner translator. “Najat thought you deserved to be forgiven. That’s good enough for me.” She pushed off from the table. “I feel like I should make tea or something. You look tired.”
Out of habit, Iksander rose with her. He was hollowed out with exhaustion, but at the same time lighter than he’d been in a long time. He hadn’t known the weight he was carrying.
“I suspect I need rest,” he said. “I have had an eventful day.” He bowed deeply. “Thank you for your numerous courtesies.”
Georgie pinched her lower lip with worry.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“That room . . .” she said unsurely. “I hadn’t remembered you were a sultan when I said Francine would put you up in it.”
“At the moment, I am grateful for any shelter.”
“Sure but . . . You’re like a foreign dignitary. I feel funny putting you there. Do you want to sleep on my couch instead? It pulls out. I can’t swear it’s comfy, but it’s better than the cot downstairs.”
He looked at the couch and then at her.
“I’m not putting the moves on you,” she said. “I just feel like I should look out for you. It’s even colder in the bunk room than here.”
He smiled. Clearly, she’d chosen the argument she thought most persuasive. She didn’t realize how reluctant he already was to leave her. What if the lightness she’d brought to him dissipated when he went down those stairs?
“I won’t be displacing you?” he asked.
“My bed’s in there.” She gestured toward a simple door. A sign that spelled out VACANCY in red neon hung above it. “You’re not displacing me.”
“In that case, I’d be honored.”
She seemed flatteringly happy he’d accepted. For his part, he tried to tamp down his emotions. Taking too much pleasure in her company was as inappropriate now as before.
Georgie showed him the humble bath facilities and a closet with extra bed covers. “Make yourself at home. I’m afraid the television gets terrible reception. I’m just going to . . . read a book in my room.”
He sensed he was displacing her then but nodded in acknowledgement. Less than a minute later, he was alone in her living room. Five minutes after that, he had the bed folded out and piled with blankets. He found the switch to turn out the lamps. The only illumination that remained was the streetlight outside, plus a faint glow beneath her door. Though the couch’s mattress was lumpy, once he submerged himself beneath the covers the temperature was toasty.
Sleep, he ordered his too alert consciousness. You know it’s important to recharge.
His mind refused to obey. He kept picturing Najat coming here in her hour of fear. Communicating
with the departed wasn’t Iksander’s gift. Even if his wife had tried to contact him, he might not have perceived her. Or maybe she did try and his blindness drove her to the human. That idea upset him. He could too easily imagine the ghost-her pleading with him to open his eyes and see.
He covered his face. “Stop it,” he said aloud.
Whatever happened after Luna killed his wife, whether she tried to reach him or came straight here, she’d ended up in the best place to receive help. That’s what mattered, not whether he’d let her down.
He turned his head. The light still shone beneath Georgie’s door. He had too many questions to remain where he was. Sighing in resignation, he shoved off the heap of blankets and went to knock.
His tap was met by a brief silence. “Come in,” Georgie said.
“I’m sorry, I—”
His words ceased on opening the door. He found her sitting up in bed in a thankfully concealing blue-plaid pajama set. Her red hair was braided behind her neck like a child. Her posture wasn’t provocative, and still the sight of her dried his mouth. He dragged his gaze from her face. He didn’t recognize what she had in her hands as a book.
“Ereader,” she said, lifting it to show him. She set the device on a table whose base appeared to be assembled from overlarge metal gears. More upcycling, he presumed. “I set a bookmark. Do you want to talk about Najat?”
Iksander scratched his head. “I thought I did. Now I simply—” He looked at her helplessly. This was ridiculous. He ruled a city. He ought to be able to lie awake alone if need be. “Would I mind if I sat with you for a bit?”
Compassion filled her eyes. “Not at all. Why don’t you pull that armchair over?”
He shifted it closer to the bed, relieved she didn’t ask more questions. The chair was draped with a blanket, which he wrapped around him. He sat then. Seeming approving, Georgie wriggled down to lie on her side facing him. She extended her right arm.
“Would you like to hold my hand?” she offered.
The back of his eyes burned with gratitude. He took the hand she held out without speaking. Her palm was warm, her slender fingers smooth but oddly practical feeling. Though she had no calluses, she was strong. She squeezed his hand briefly then relaxed her grasp without withdrawing it.