Akeelah let her hatred ripple outward. Like huge waves in a tempest, it moved forth, determined to wash humanity into oblivion. If she could, she would have erased men and women alike a long time ago. They were nothing but waste, the scraps left after the forging of Djinn and Angels.
Nothing but Dross.
But she couldn’t erase them. Her magic was useless against their swarm. She couldn’t harm them, couldn’t make them go up in smoke even if the smoldering desire to do so burned in the depths of her being. Such were the rules the Creator had established since the beginning of time. Djinn, His creations along with Angels and Humans, could never harm the precious Dross.
Djinn, Angels, Humans, all three playing like good little children.
Never mind the fact that among their own kind, mortals committed murder every day. Humans could annihilate themselves and that was fine as far as the stupid rules went.
She hated to stoop to this level, to deal in their filthy means. But it was the only way. With her pet, Zet, cursed by that abhorrent couple and no answers anywhere but with the Dross lover, Faris, she had no other choice.
Akeelah cursed herself. Why had she let Zet play his petty revenge games with his brother? He would still be here if he’d just forgotten about his inconsequential human past. But he had refused to help her if she didn’t allow his vengeance. At the sight of the private elevator and her own reflection on its mirror-like surface, she pushed the thought aside.
Instinctively, the guard who stood in front of the polished doors shrank within his pinstriped suit as her eyes fell upon him. He over-corrected by puffing his muscular chest in an exaggerated inhale, but it was all posturing. Sweat had already begun to bead under his closely cropped, brown hair, showing his fear.
He tried to speak, but his mouth opened and closed ineffectually. As a necessity, Akeelah reined in her hatred, pulling it around her like a retreating tide. Sighs of relief broke from the neighboring blackjack tables. Several dealers received generous tips and laughter rang out as life seemed to grow brighter.
With distaste, Akeelah watched the color return to the guard’s face. He felt all mighty once more. How quickly he’d forgotten what it was to feel like a helpless bug.
“This is a private event, ma’am. May I have your invitation, please?” The question wasn’t rude, but it wasn’t friendly either. Only Akeelah’s elegance and beauty had prevented the man from downright dismissing her.
She gave him a cold stare.
The guard cleared his throat and stuck a finger between the starched collar of his white Oxford shirt and his Adam’s apple. Later, he wouldn’t be able to figure out how the garment had shrunk two sizes.
Akeelah took a step forward. “My invitation is on its way.” She leaned into the guard, angling her full lips toward his ear, pointing a long finger to the top of the elevator where the numbers started a slow countdown.
He inhaled her intoxicating scent. His knees shook under the expensive fabric of his horrendous suit. Humans were feeble and took so little to rattle, tempt and even kill, were she given no restrictions. Oh, if she could only use her magic to vanquish them. Many times she’d tried to rid this realm of their stench but, over the millennia, she’d never found a way. Until now.
No more playing by the rules. No more allowing humans to enjoy things they didn’t deserve.
No more.
She would teach them their proper place in the universe and claim this realm for Djinn; or more accurately, for herself. Humans would learn her name, and they would worship her—until she eradicated them, at least. This was merely an introduction, which would lead to her grand debut. Every filthy, miserable creature would watch from a kneeling position at her feet, where they would beg for mercy and would find none.
Tonight was a minor rehearsal. It had all started a few hours earlier with an unfortunate delay in a New York airport. An anonymous bomb threat. One of the six players invited to the exclusive poker room was regretfully detained. A few minutes later, with Akeelah’s phone call and her offer, the event organizer was all-too-willing to oblige. He couldn’t allow a seat to go empty. It was bad for business.
Five million dollars later, the mysterious new gambler was the only thing the other five players could talk about. New blood, they said. A new victim; for what does a woman know about poker?
Now the organizer rode the elevator down from the penthouse, eager to usher in the beautiful woman the security cameras had revealed. A female, and a beautiful one at that, was an excellent addition to the male-dominated scene. Good for business.
“Miss Johnson,” the organizer said as he stepped out of the elevator, his hand extended. “I’m Edgar Buras.”
She stared at his fat face, then at his fat hand. Edgar recoiled a little, slowly pulled his hand back and wiped it on the side of his pants. Akeelah followed him back into the elevator. The guard looked both relieved and disheartened, like a starving man might look at the sight of a poisoned banquet.
The elevator doors closed. Edgar’s shirt shrank. Akeelah smirked, staring straight at the polished door while the man adjusted his tie to no avail.
He croaked from behind the oppressive tightness around his thick neck. “So glad you could join our very special event.”
Akeelah gave the man a sideways glance and said nothing. His short stature and wide girth made her think of a dung beetle—not to mention the sheen on his bald head. She was tempted to give him antennae and extra legs, but it wouldn’t work. It never did. Her magic could not be used against Dross if she meant to cause them harm. She almost spat in his fat face.
Edgar cleared his throat. “I understand Mr. Karim offered you his seat after that unfortunate delay in New York,” he prodded.
This, of course, was a lie, but Edgar would never figure that out unless Ali Karim made it to New Orleans somehow. Phone calls, faxes, emails, these and others could all be intercepted or faked with a minimal amount of magic. By the time anyone had a chance to personally ask the magnate about his friend, “Miss Johnson,” it would be too late. In the end, all Edgar Buras and his bosses cared about was money, and she’d given them that. They wouldn’t make a fuss about it.
Besides, she wasn’t worried about being discovered after the fact. Her visit here had only one purpose: get close to Frank Angello in the most natural way possible. The man was always heavily guarded. If she approached him unexpectedly, a simple “go away” or “leave me alone” would create an invisible barrier between them, and she’d never be able to get close to him again—such were the engagement terms the Creator had established between Djinn and humans.
It was infuriating how the Creator had given his weaker offspring such preferential treatment. Humans had the physical world, mortality, and progeny. Djinn had none of those things. She wasn’t even allowed to shrink their garments once Dross ordered her to leave them alone. Akeelah’s blood boiled every time she thought of the injustice, of the power behind their words.
“You’ll be pleased to know that the money transfer was cleared with no problem, and your five million dollars are already in escrow, along with the buy-in from the other players.”
She assented to Edgar’s comment with an indifferent sound in the back of her throat. He was too busy with his shirt collar to feel snubbed, and besides he was used to such treatment. Millionaires are a peculiar sort.
The elevator doors opened to a spacious suite dominated by a large poker table. All five players got to their feet as Akeelah entered. The men were immediately hypnotized by the gentle sway of her hips and the heady scent of female pheromones.
She inclined her head in greeting and flashed Frank Angello her most calculating smile. It sickened her. She had to remind herself of the goal, not to let the disgust show.
With very deliberate movements, she sat on the empty chair to the dealer’s left, in front of several stacks of poker chips and across her target.
Frank Angello inclined his head in turn and tipped reflective sunglasses in greeting, r
evealing his cool, gray eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a meticulously trimmed beard around his mouth. His gaze was fierce and analytical. It flashed in recognition, one predator to another. This man was the only type of human specimen she could tolerate, merely because he hated humanity as much as she did. The only life that held any value to Frank Angello was his own. Just the reason Akeelah had selected him.
“What kind of a poker player are you, Miss Johnson?” the man to Akeelah’s left asked.
Slowly, she pried her attention from Frank and bestowed it on the insignificant man at her side. He was a sickly shade of yellow with almond-shaped eyes and a weak chin.
“The kind that always gets what she wants,” she answered, letting her sensual voice resonate with a slight echo.
Everyone shifted in their seats. A man wearing a large cowboy hat cleared his throat and forced a laugh. “Well, we’ll see about that, ma’am. We ain’t no amateurs here, and, with all due respect, we’ve never heard of you in the high stakes circles. Right fellers?”
Heads bobbed up and down in unison, triangular faces most of them, like cockroaches’. So many humans looked like cockroaches, behaved and bred like them, too.
Akeelah fingered her chips deftly, mixing stacks one handed. “Well, you have now. And I assure you, you will soon wish you hadn’t.”
“Let’s get started,” Frank instructed the dealer, a pallid woman in a green vest. “Talk is cheap.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Akeelah said in a whisper aimed only at Frank.
He said nothing in response. He simply lowered his sunglasses, which did not conceal his cold gaze from her.
Cards slid back and forth on the velvety table for hours, until only Frank and Akeelah remained. Magic had everything to do with her extraordinary performance tonight, but none to do with Frank’s. He hadn’t needed her help to hang on until the end, right where she wanted him.
At the moment, Akeelah held a two and a six of hearts. Frank, two aces. The entire hand was by design. The flop revealed another ace, a three, and a five of hearts. Frank had three of a kind. Akeelah nothing. Yet. They had fifteen million dollars each, the buy-ins from all other players. Frank played carefully and raised the pot by a million dollars. Clearly, he wanted to rope her in.
“C’mon, Frankie. You show her.” None of the other gamblers had left. They were watching the game from the next room on a television screen, cheering Frank on, their voices drifting through the wooden doors.
Frank removed his glasses and set them next to a whiskey glass. “You’re a good player, Miss Johnson, and that’s all right. One thing bothers me, though. I can’t put a finger on it. The way you play is . . . different.”
“Call me Akeelah.” She called his bet.
He smiled for the first time all night. His teeth were straight and bleached to a perfect white. Frank nodded to the dealer. She revealed “the turn.” It was the remaining ace, which gave Frank four of a kind. A once in a lifetime hand and he didn’t even flinch, barely even looked at the card. In spite of the fact that thirty million dollars would solve many of his current problems, he remained impassive, giving nothing away.
Frank pushed a handful of chips forward. “I raise,” he said. Another million dollars. Another careful bet meant to give his opponent a fake sense of security. Akeelah called again and smiled, knowing perfectly well that the next card would give her a royal flush, the best possible hand. An unbeatable hand.
The dealer laid down “the river.” Four of hearts.
Tiny droplets of sweat broke out on Frank’s forehead. Akeelah knew what he must be thinking: “Could she possibly have a royal flush? No, that can’t be. What’s the likelihood of four of a kind—aces, no less—and a royal flush in the same hand? My luck isn’t that rotten. There’s no way.”
“All in,” Frank blurted out impulsively, sweat on his forehead the only tell of his agitation. Of course, there was also his heart, which Akeelah could hear drumming strong and fast.
She fingered her chips, gave Frank a pointed stare as she tuned in on the thumping muscle inside his chest. It beat with fury and life, coursing with hot, vibrant blood. It made Akeelah thirsty for his life, for his suffering. She possessed no blood, not heart, no brain. She was ethereal, crafted from fire. And although she could fashion a body as anatomically correct as that of a human, it only made her feel empty and disgusted. She idly reached for her magic, fingering it like a weapon and imagining Frank’s heart enlarging, filling with more and more blood until its walls became paper-thin.
Frank continued perspiring ever so slightly, holding her gaze, worried only about the poker hand and the thirty million dollars that hung in the balance, unaware that if she could, she would make him lose far more than this soiled currency.
In the next room, the other players had grown quiet. Not even a whisper came from them now. Akeelah stood and paced in front of the table. Frank’s eyes followed her every step. She walked to the bar and had the bartender pour her a drink. She smiled, made a point of showing how relaxed she felt, how little this all meant to her.
Frank’s heart beat even faster, now with rage as well as nerves. No normal human being could stay this calm in the face of losing this much money. He was bewildered and wasn’t bothering to hide it anymore.
“You’re bluffing,” Frank said, but it sounded more like a question.
Akeelah cackled, downed her vodka in one gulp, set the glass down and walked to the windows overlooking New Orleans. The Harrah’s Casino wasn’t very tall, but it afforded a good view of the sprawling city, an ant’s nest where humans scurried along, soiled in their own filth.
The gamblers grew quieter still. The dealer’s eyes swiveled from Akeelah back to the cards on the table in bewilderment. She would never deal a hand like this again, not in a million years. Frank seethed, fingers gripping the edge of the table, eyes stuck on Akeelah’s two face-down cards, which she’d left next to her huge stacks of chips.
“What’s it gonna be?” Frank asked, digging his nails into the leather padding that surrounded the table. “Call or fold?”
She decided to let him wonder a bit longer. She’d heard of humans sweating blood.
She enjoyed testing the theory.
2
Marielle
“Why are we stopping in the middle of nowhere?” my best friend Abby asked.
Faris put the car in park and we exchanged a knowing smile. We were taking advantage of the long weekend to make this excursion, a birthday surprise for Abby and a welcome break from class for all of us. For Abby, a much-deserved rest from her finicky facial massage instructors at cosmetology school. For Maven, a hiatus from his biology class, which “made zero sense for a business major,” his words. For me, an escape from Math 1115 which “made less than zero sense for a romance languages major,” my words. We had left with little more than the clothes on our backs and a sense of adventure.
“You’ll see,” I said, undoing my seatbelt and turning toward the backseat to face Abby and Maven. “Hey, you. Wake up! We’re here.” I leaned over and poked Maven in the belly. He blinked his eyes open and swatted my hand away.
Abby looked out of the window into the night. “Here where? We’re in the middle of the road.” She squinted. “No, we’re in the middle of a freakin’ bridge. What the hell, y’all? Why did we stop in the middle of a bridge?”
Maven sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What bridge?” He looked around, dazed.
“The New River Gorge Bridge,” Faris announced, stepping out of the Range Rover.
“No way!” Abby exclaimed.
“C’mon.” I hopped out, joined Faris by the railing and peered down, trying to catch a glimpse of the bottom. I couldn’t. It was too dark and too far down.
From pictures, I knew the arched bridge was suspended eight hundred feet above the river, stretching between two beautiful, tree-covered mountains, of which, at the moment, I could only distinguish a dark outline against the sky. The chilly January air was
invigorating and smelled of fresh, green things. Crickets chirped at the starry night.
It was beautiful.
“Wow,” I whispered.
Faris put a hand around my waist and pulled me close. “It’s quite a sight during the day,” he said, after planting a small kiss on my forehead.
Abby rushed out of the car and circled around it. When she looked out into the dark depths of the gorge, she was breathless. “Oh, my God.”
Maven stretched out of the car like a lazy lion. He shook his blond mane and stepped beside Abby. He looked down at the gorge with indifference. “Cool,” he said with as much enthusiasm as if we’d brought him to see a sleeping cat, and not an awesome wonder of nature. “Sooo, what’s this place?”
“This is, like, one of the coolest places ever.” Abby stared at Maven, looking insulted by his ignorance. “It’s one of only two places in the U.S. where it’s still legal to BASE jump!”
“Excuse me.” Maven rolled his eyes. “I left my Extreme Sport Map of the United States at home.” He pushed away from the railing and leaned casually against the SUV, arms crossed against his chest.
At a loss, I gave Faris “rescue me” eyes. He shrugged. Not for the first time since we left New Orleans—eighteen hours and 875 miles ago—I regretted inviting Maven on our road trip. So far, all he’d done was complain, make sarcastic remarks and find fault in everything. He’d been behaving so out of character, I’d started wondering if he’d switched places with his grouchy twin brother, Samuel.
“So we drove a thousand miles just to . . .” He pretended to peer over the bridge’s railing from under raised eyebrows, “. . . come look at a dark hole in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of the night?”
Abby growled. “Why are you acting like such an asshole?”
Maven pushed away from the car, hands rigid at his sides and a deep scowl across his forehead.
Oh, no. Just what I’d feared. A fight.
One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series Page 27