by Cat Adams
“I am the Guardian of the Djinn.” I could actually hear the capitals in the way he emphasized the words. Rahim held up his wrist to show me the mark I’d caught a glimpse of the previous day. It looked like a cross between a curse mark and a tattoo: a darkened, shiny patch of skin about the size of an old silver dollar, with raised scarring in the shape of flame and smoke that were outlined in red and black. It was striking, almost pretty, and less obvious than it would have been on someone with lighter skin. “One of the gifts that comes with the responsibility is the ability to sense djinn. It helps me to hunt and trap the ifrits so that they do no harm. I should be able to find Hasan anywhere in the world. But I cannot. I know he is alive and active, but he is hidden from me.”
“That sucks.”
His mouth twitched with amusement, but his eyes quickly darkened. “My grandfather and I talked while you were being questioned yesterday. He believes that Hasan is hiding in one of the Temples of Atonement.”
“You said that last night.” I had no idea what or where a Temple of Atonement was or why Pradeep might think Hasan was hiding in one, so I sipped my coffee and tried to look interested.
Rahim’s lips twitched again, his eyes sparkling. Still, his words when he continued were quite serious. “There are five temples, each built on a node by the djinn. The temples are in Cambodia, Mexico, Peru, Egypt, and here in America, in one of the ancient Anasazi ruins. At these spots, the world of the djinn intersects with ours, and it is through these temples that they transport their prisoners to our world. The residual djinn magic imbued in the temple stones, and the node magic beneath them, may be powerful enough to thwart my natural abilities.”
I could buy that. I’d been around a node when it was accessed for magic. It was pretty impressive. Oh hell, who was I kidding? It was awe-inspiring and scary as hell. Djinn and a node. This case just kept getting better and better.
“Instead of the candles I used in the working in California, we will be using vostas from the five temples in the ceremony. If Hasan is hiding in one of the temples, the power of that stone will resonate differently and I will know.”
“And you’re doing it at dawn because…”
He began ticking off points on the fingers of his right hand. “First, the beach should be deserted, or nearly so, so there should be no threat to bystanders.”
I approved of that. Collateral damage is never good.
“Second, the power of the rising sun will help with the magic.” He sighed. “It would be better if it was closer to high tide—the rising water would wash away all traces of the magic. No one would even know the ceremony had taken place.”
“No plan is ever perfect,” I assured him. “Is this the best you can do?”
“Yes.”
“Then we go with it.”
He gave me a grateful smile and opened his mouth to say something, but I raised my hand and signaled him to be silent. He complied without argument. Trust at last?
I’d heard the elevator stop on our floor, then footsteps in the hall. They stopped outside our door. I smelled … well, heaven is probably too strong a word, but really, I do love bacon, and eggs, and fried potatoes, and I really, really, missed being able to eat them. My stomach began rumbling audibly.
“There’s a blender in the cabinet,” Rahim whispered, trying to hide his smile behind his coffee cup, but I saw it just the same. I couldn’t help grinning back. I didn’t know how he knew I couldn’t eat solids. Maybe he’d noticed—after all, he’d seen me eat twice, three times if he was still awake last night when I was making soup. Maybe he’d done some research on me before we’d met. The latter would make sense, and was something I would’ve done. Research would also explain why neither he nor his grandfather had been affected by any siren issues. They’d probably been wearing anti-siren charms.
Whatever, I was getting breakfast. I’d have to blend the food and water it down with milk. But I’d be able to have a real breakfast, not just another nutrition shake. A small thing like that can make a huge difference at the end of the day.
There was a light tap on the door. I pointed and Rahim went into the bathroom. I slipped into my jacket and grabbed the knife, which I’d brought out of the bathroom with me and set on the table while we had coffee. As I opened the door to peer outside I wished mightily for at least a One-Shot with holy water—but mine was gone, along with my weapons. I had no way of checking to be sure that Pradeep and the older woman in traditional Indian garb who stood together in the hallway were actually Pradeep and his wife.
Her arms were filled with a pair of bags, one of which smelled of food. He held what looked like Rahim’s sports bag. There was no sign of my luggage.
I checked the hall in both directions to make sure no one was lurking and had forced them to get us to open up. Nothing.
Only when I was absolutely sure it was safe did I step aside to let them enter. By that time my stomach was tying itself in knots, wanting at that bacon.
“Rahim?” The woman pushed gently past me, setting her bags onto the kitchen table, and though I hadn’t told him he could, Rahim emerged from the bathroom, his arms outstretched.
“Grandma.” Pradeep was right behind her. I closed and locked the door.
The minute I did, Rahim uttered a series of soft words over his grandmother’s shoulder and I felt a spell fall into place. The distant sounds of traffic and the ocean vanished and Rahim’s voice took on a flat, almost hollow tone I recognized from past experience. We were under a privacy spell. No one would be able to overhear anything that was said until the spell was taken down.
“Good morning.” I turned my attention to the bags on the table. The smell of food was coming from the one on the left. The one on the right smelled of gun oil and metal. Hungry as I was, I went for the bag on the right first. Inside was the weapon Pradeep had promised. An honest-to-God, Dirty Harry–style Magnum, and a box with extra ammo, in case I needed to take down a stray rhino or something. The thing probably kicked like a mule. But by God, it would do the job if any of the bad guys showed up to “make my day.”
I took the gun from the bag and checked it. It was fully loaded and well cared for. I confirmed that the safety was on, then slid it into my holster. It was a snug fit—my Colt is a little smaller—but it wasn’t too bad, and when I tried the draw, it didn’t stick or slow me down. It would do.
I turned to Pradeep. “Thanks.”
“No. Thank you for yesterday. I wouldn’t have noticed the enemy until it was too late. Neither would have Rahim. You saved us.”
“It’s my job.” That was the bald truth. “But you’re welcome.” None of us spoke about the problem I’d had afterward. Some things are better left unsaid.
Pradeep gestured to the woman with him. “This is my wife, Divya.”
She was a tiny thing, no bigger than my own gran, who stood less than five feet. Her skin was darker than either Pradeep or Rahim’s, and the hair in her long braid had more silver than black. Still, like my gran she was filled with energy and had a ton of personal charisma. Divya gave me a huge, if awkward, hug, tears filling her beautiful dark eyes as she thanked me profusely for saving “her men.”
“It’s my job, ma’am.”
“I am so grateful!”
Rahim saved me from more embarrassment by announcing, “I smell breakfast!”
Divya released me with a laugh. “That one is always hungry.” She shook a teasing finger at him, then set about unpacking food from the bags as Rahim fetched the blender and dishes from the kitchen cabinets.
Pradeep, meanwhile, moved the sports bag onto Rahim’s bed.
By unspoken agreement, we put off discussing anything important until after we were all fed. I wasn’t sorry. I was too busy reveling in the taste of real, if watered down and blended, food. It was glorious. Twenty-four hours of nothing but liquids and a jar of baby food had me close to the edge.
After the first few swallows, I felt the tension and irritability that had been building i
n me drain away. The bat always wants blood, but human food can keep me happy and sane. Besides, I like food. Back when I was first attacked, I’d been so excited when I had reached the point when I could eat baby food … and later, small amounts of regular food that had been run through a blender. It had all made me feel so much more human. Connor Finn and his thugs hadn’t taken that away from me permanently, but getting back to it had been a long struggle. Overcoming my inner bat and living a normal life was an ongoing battle.
Only when the dishes were loaded in the dishwasher, with the machine’s gentle hum providing background noise, did Rahim go into the bedroom.
“How did you get this?”
Pradeep replied, “After I left here last night, I went to the impound yard. I explained that it was an emergency, and that there were valuable magical artifacts—items they would not want to be responsible for—locked in the trunk of the vehicle. The officers in charge made a few calls, after which I was allowed to take my bag with the vosta. Nothing else.” He looked apologetically at me at that. I hoped he was sincere and not covering a deliberate attempt to keep me away from my weapons.
Unzipping the black nylon sports bag, Rahim removed a carved box of ivory and fragrant sandalwood, which he carried through the tiny living room and set in the center of the kitchen table. About the size of a breadbox, it was old, so old the scent of the wood would have been unnoticed if not for my enhanced senses. It had a fitted lid, which Rahim lifted carefully and set aside.
The moment the box was open, magic hit me like a club. I jerked backward so hard my chair started to tip out from under me. Only my quick reflexes and Pradeep’s instinctive grab kept me from falling to the ground.
“That one is still live.” Rahim growled, pointing an accusing finger at a stone the size of my fist—the farthest right stone of a set of five. It was a topaz, golden in color, and pulsing with power, almost as if it had a heartbeat. It shone with an inner light that the other stones lacked. I could tell that all the stones were powerful, but the others were more … quiet about it.
Five vosta. Doing some quick math in my head, I figured that the contents of that sandalwood box had to be valued in the seven-or eight-figure range. Used to focus magic, a good vosta was worth more than your average house—in Los Angeles. No wonder the police hadn’t wanted to be responsible for them.
Pradeep answered his grandson calmly. “You needed a vosta from each of the temples. This was the only Egyptian stone available. The last fully bled stone was that ruby that was destroyed a few months ago.”
I tried not to flinch. That ruby—I’d been the one to destroy it. At the Needle. I suspected that Patel the elder would not be happy to know that.
Looking at me, Rahim explained, “One of these stones is from each of the temples I told you about. We will put a stone at each point of a pentagram, and I will stand at the center of the working. If, as we believe, Hasan is hiding in one of the temples, the stone from that location will resonate at a different pitch.”
Rahim smiled and continued, “If we are lucky, the ifrit will come to the working and we will trap him. If not, we will at least know where he is and can hunt him down.”
I worked hard to keep my face from showing the depth of my misgivings. In a few minutes we were going to try to locate or capture a being powerful enough to change the course of the universe. Why was I doing this, again? Oh yeah, right, because I’m a self-destructive idiot.
“But a live stone … the risk…” Divya’s features were taut with barely controlled alarm.
“We have no choice,” Pradeep answered, but I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t any happier about it than she was.
“Why is it bad to use a live stone?” I felt stupid asking, but I figured I needed to know.
The three of them shared a silent look.
“Guys,” I growled, “we’re on the same team. I can’t do my job blind.”
Pradeep gave the tiniest of nods. Only then did Rahim explain.
“Ifrit absorb magic. It is … ‘food’ is too simple a word. A live stone, still filled with the magic of a disarmed ifrit, would be the perfect meal.”
“For Hasan.”
“Yes. But not just for Hasan, for every ifrit on the planet, and any other creature that is drawn to such things.”
Holy crap. “So basically, to find Hasan we’ll be ringing a dinner bell and shouting ‘Come and get it’ to every ifrit in existence?” That was so bad.
“There shouldn’t be any free ifrit other than Hasan,” Rahim said, but something in his voice made me suspicious of his soothing words.
“He’s correct,” Pradeep assured me, then added, “But there will be genies, and other noncorporeals, attracted to the ceremony. Most will be neutral. Some may not.”
Great. That made me feel so much better. “And how many would that be?”
“Not so many,” Rahim assured me with a smile. I wasn’t fooled. He hadn’t given me a number, which meant he probably didn’t know.
Pradeep sighed. “It is a risk.” He rubbed his hair with his right hand in an unconscious nervous gesture. “But a necessary one.”
“When the spirits show their faces we will know their numbers, and perhaps we will even be able to mark them for later hunting.” Rahim grinned at his grandfather.
Pradeep smiled as he nodded in return.
They hunted evil spirits … for fun. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, regular humans hunt big game and vampires; some even hunt werewolves on the full moon—totally illegal, but it happens. Thinking about it, it made sense that the Guardians would hunt evil spirits. Probably they considered it training, thought that it kept them sharp.
Divya looked sick, and that wonderful breakfast I’d enjoyed so much was sloshing around uncomfortably in my stomach. But I am a tough and intrepid bodyguard. I kept my misgivings to myself and my mouth shut.
“The others want to confer with you,” Pradeep said to his grandson.
The others? I wondered.
Rahim gave him a disgusted look. “Of course they do.”
“They have the right.” The old man’s voice was severe. “You have put them at risk and are using them and their powers.”
“It is their sworn duty to assist me,” Rahim snapped. “And it is the thieves who put them at risk. Not me.”
“And how did the thieves get past your defenses?”
The temperature in the room didn’t actually drop, but there was a definite chill in the air just the same. Apparently the rift between the two men wasn’t completely healed. And frankly, Pradeep had a point. I didn’t think that Rahim had been careless. He really wasn’t the type. But anyone can make a mistake. And the thieves had found the vault, and had known which jar to take. The big question was how? Or, more likely in this case—who.
“Fine.” Rahim spat out the word. “We’ll confer. I wouldn’t want the others to feel used.”
Oh wow, there wasn’t any bitterness there. No, not at all.
Rahim stalked the two or three steps into the kitchen and grabbed the saltshaker from the counter. He shoved the coffee table aside with just a little more force than was necessary, clearing space to work in the middle of the room. Pivoting in one spot, he poured a perfect circle of salt onto the floor around him, then held out an imperious hand to Pradeep. The older man’s face was perfectly blank and impassive as he passed a pocketknife to his grandson. Divya sat silently at the kitchen table, her expression distressed.
Rahim opened the pocketknife and, without pause or hesitation, jabbed the tip of the blade into the Guardian mark on his wrist. Flinging drops of blood from the knife onto the salt circle, he spat out words I could not understand. As he did, power built until the air around him seemed to shimmer and thicken. One by one, faces appeared, floating in the air. All were male, some bearded, some not. They were old and young, handsome and ugly. Despite their differences, they bore enough similarity that I knew they were all branches of the same family tree.
I didn’t understand the conversation; I don’t even know what language they were speaking. When one of those not present spoke, his face enlarged, coming into clear focus as a three-dimensional, holographic head. Weird. Cool, but definitely weird. Most of the speakers only said a word or two, if that. One man, however, was determined to argue.
He was a little older than Rahim, with hard, sharp features that stood in stark contrast to Rahim’s pretty-boy good looks. His dark eyes flashed, and there was no mistaking the sneer in some of his words.
I bet that’s Tarik. Had to say, he looked like one tough cookie. Not a good enemy.
Five or ten minutes later, Rahim lost patience and snapped out one last retort before shutting the spell down with a gesture. Glaring at his grandfather, he said, “There. Satisfied?”
Pradeep was calm, unmoved in the face of his grandson’s fury. “It needed to be done.”
I saw Rahim draw breath to say something … and decide against it. Turning his back, he went into the bedroom to calm down. His grandfather packed up the vostas and sorted through a bunch of magical items from one of the sacks they’d brought. I guessed he was reassuring himself that he had everything needed for the ritual, even though he’d undoubtedly packed the supplies himself and checked them then. Finishing with a curt nod of satisfaction, Pradeep tucked the box of vostas into the sack. Meanwhile, Divya silently and efficiently used a broom and dustpan to clean up the mess.
I checked my weapons, such as they were: Pradeep’s Magnum, the largest kitchen knives that would fit into my sheaths, and a wooden cooking spoon that could be broken off and used as a stake. Not exactly an impressive array, but it would have to do.
The handles of the kitchen knives were too thick to fit under my jacket sleeves, so Pradeep loaned me his windbreaker. I left it unzipped and adjusted the sleeves so that the handles of the knives stuck out just a little. The last thing I wanted was for a wardrobe malfunction to cost me seconds that would get us all killed.