Two Hearts Asunder (Djinn Empire Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  It was finally dark outside, and Faris had turned on two lamps, one on the mahogany desk and one on the end table next to the armchair where he now sat. He’d also lit the candles in the wrought iron holder inside the fireplace, giving the room a warm, cozy feel.

  “How was your meal?” he asked.

  “Delicious! Thank you.” He had produced a steak and a loaded baked potato for me. Both cooked to perfection.

  “How is Robert?”

  “He sounded like his old self. He couldn’t wait to get off the phone.” I shook my head.

  After two full days of tests and confused medical personnel fussing over him, Dad had been ready to get rid of everyone, even us. He’d insisted he would be fine and sent us packing as soon as they moved him to a private room.

  I agreed only because I knew he was fine. He wasn’t in pain—not since the moment Faris first worked his magic on him—and his burns were healing gradually, but quickly. They’d looked hideous in the ambulance, but after the paramedics left, Faris had begun to heal them.

  At first, the emergency room doctors were puzzled at how much less critical his injuries were compared to the initial reports, but they blamed the mistake on inexperienced paramedics who didn’t know what they were talking about. Even Dad had been easy to keep from wondering too much. He’d asked for a mirror as soon as he got to his private room and looked quite surprised at his own image. That’s when I made sure to gush.

  “Oh, Dad, you don’t know how relieved I am. I was freaking out at first. You looked terrible. I thought you would . . . oh, I don’t know . . . I’m just so relieved.”

  I sounded like a complete airhead, but it did the trick. Dad just shook his head and looked too grateful to ask any questions.

  “I also texted Abby and Maven again,” I told Faris. “I think I finally convinced them everything’s okay.”

  Maven had found out what happened from one of our neighbors. He told Abby about it, then both of them spent their time texting me incessantly, demanding updates. Luckily, I managed to keep them from storming the hospital by telling them Dad wanted to keep things simple and quiet.

  “What about Javier?” Faris asked.

  “Oh, yeah. I called him, too.”

  That had been the first thing I’d done when we got back to the house. Dad had been adamant about that. Maybe because, with the house destroyed, Jardin Noir was the last thing we had left from Grandpa. Whatever the case, I did as Dad asked and I called Javier, first thing. I explained our situation and begged him to take care of the nursery for us. He promised to do it without hesitation. It was fortunate that, lately, he’d been handling more of the business responsibilities. It sure made it easy to rely on him without worries. He was the best.

  Faris nodded, a fist pressed tightly against his mouth. I walked to the suede sofa across from him, sat and hugged my legs, exhaustion weighing me down like an anchor.

  What a damn ordeal. I sighed.

  After making myself comfortable, I searched Faris’s face and did a double take. His eyes—focusing on the Ansel Adams photograph on the wall—were still a brooding, dark shade. They had turned that way shortly after arriving at the hospital and hadn’t changed since.

  Not a good sign.

  In the last few months since defeating his brother, he’d worried plenty, but his gaze had never been this dark.

  “I can’t tell what caused the fire,” he said in low whisper. We hadn’t discussed this, not in front of Dad.

  I bit my lower lip, wondering what was on his mind. “Um, maybe something electrical like Dad said?”

  Faris’s attention shifted from the picture to my face. I tried to decipher the set of his jaw, the crease across his forehead and the tightness of his lips. There was only one thing that could worry him this much, the same thing—or rather the same creature—that I was doing my best to forget.

  Akeelah.

  I shook my head and pulled my legs closer, curling my toes. “It could have been a gas leak, a short circuit, an old appliance. Something simple like that,” I said, trying to stay calm.

  “Something simple would leave a trace.”

  “Would you really be able to tell the cause? Did you have time to check?” I played with the acorn pendant at my neck, the one Faris had made for me under the oak tree at the nursery. I never took it off.

  “I did.”

  “In the few minutes we were there?”

  It was crazy to feel skeptical. Faris was a Djinn, after all. He could heal incurable illnesses, find missing children, conjure things out of thin air. Still, he hadn’t been close to the house, just to the sidewalk. And we’d never gone back to check. He didn’t leave my side. He never did. Not ever. Not since Akeelah threatened to return.

  He lived in fear for my safety.

  Every second of every day.

  It was comforting to always have a protector, but not so much knowing I actually needed one. Not too mention that I’d felt smothered every now and then. A girl needs her privacy, no matter how hot and otherworldly the boyfriend.

  “Yes,” he said. “I checked every inch and found no trace of the cause.”

  “Maybe you missed it,” I suggested, but my heart wasn’t in it.

  He shook his head.

  “You must have.” I stood, put my hair up in a ponytail and walked to the mahogany desk, trying to burn the negative energy I felt brewing in my gut.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said emphatically.

  “So what are you saying?” For something to do, I banged the space bar on the keyboard to awaken the computer. My temper was rising, brought on by a spark of fear.

  “That finding no trace of the cause is strange.”

  “Okay, I get that. Let me ask this way then, what are you not saying?” I held his gaze from across the room.

  “It was her. Akeelah.”

  So I was right. He did suspect that evil creature. For a moment, I tried to accept the possibility, but the more I turned it around in my head, the less sense it made.

  “But that should be impossible,” I said. “Akeelah can’t hurt humans. She couldn’t have used her magic to set fire to the house. Not while Dad was in there, right? Besides why would she want to hurt Dad?”

  Up to now, Faris had never been wrong about anything. With his magic, he could have found a needle in the middle of the huge charcoal pile my house had become. But he wasn’t infallible. Akeelah couldn’t have started that fire, so that meant Faris must have missed something.

  He stood and paced in front of a round coffee table, his gaze on the large, glossy-paged books that laid on its surface.

  “No,” he said, “she couldn’t have used magic. But . . . she could have had someone else do it for her.”

  “What?! Who would do that?”

  Maybe Faris’s worries were getting out of control. Maybe he was becoming paranoid. I pressed a hand to the desk and stared at my fingers, unwilling to believe someone would do such a thing.

  “Random accidents like this are unlikely.” Faris continued pacing. “This was done on purpose, have no doubt about it.” He walked around the sofa and came closer.

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  His dark eyes locked with mine. “She vowed to return, Marielle. I know you don’t want to believe she will, but I have no doubt. You shouldn’t either. She won’t give up her plans. You sensed her evil and hatred just as well as I did.”

  Yes. I had. Being in her presence had been terrifying, like standing in front of a raging tornado that wanted to tear you to pieces. I would never forget that feeling. But the fire seemed too random.

  I held his gaze. “I just don’t see what she would gain from going after Dad. Or us, for that matter. You’re not ever gonna help her with whatever scheme she has in mind, and she can’t make you. She can’t control you like she did Zet.”

  “Marielle.” He took my hand from the desk. It left a sweaty imprint behind, which faded gradually. After kissi
ng the tips of my fingers, he placed them over his heart and held them there. “It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. If anything ever happened to you—”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen to me. You’re always with me.” I felt his heart beating through his shirt, strong and steady.

  “I’m afraid of what she may try to do to hurt you. There are a lot of bad people out there who would do anything for a bit of gold.” He ran a thumb across my cheek.

  “Well, if Zet couldn’t outsmart you, I don’t see how a mere human will,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I took a step closer and looked up into those intense, dark eyes.

  Faris’s lips tipped into a reluctant smile. “With Zet, I always had a warning. Magic has that advantage or . . . disadvantage, depending on which way you look at it. See, when I use magic, I have to open a doorway to another realm. The Djinn realm, also known as The Blink.”

  I tensed in alertness. Faris had never talked about this. Anytime I’d asked for details about his powers, he’d always skirted the question.

  “Magic,” he continued, “isn’t possible in this realm, where everything is based on the rules of the tangible, the physical. The Djinn world is ethereal, and imagined things can become a reality there. Opening a doorway makes it possible to draw energy from that realm into this one, but doing so leaves a trace, like a . . . like a path of liquid light that can be perceived and even followed. That made fighting Zet easier. When his magic flared, I could anticipate his next attack. I can’t do that if there’s no magic. Yes. You’re right. Akeelah couldn’t have set that fire. Not with your father inside the house. So someone, a human, must have helped her. And that worries me. A lot. Because I have no warning against humans.”

  “But how can you be so sure it wasn’t just an accident?”

  “Because the fire consumed the house completely. It must have been violent to leave it in such a state. An accidental fire wouldn’t do that. Whoever started it had to have used an accelerant, but there was no trace of it. Magic must have been used to erase all proof.”

  “But then, based on what you just said, you should have seen a trail of magic.”

  “The portal only remains open for a few minutes. Once it closes, all magical traces disappear. We arrived too late.”

  I shook my head. “I still . . .”

  What could I say? I still think you’re being paranoid? I still don’t want to believe you? I wasn’t sure what to think anymore.

  Exhausted, I laid a cheek on his chest, stared at my hand still resting on his thumping heart. “What if it was some random pyromaniac guy, and you’re just worrying unnecessarily?” I said without much hope. Not that the idea of random pyro guys on the loose was comforting, but it was a vast improvement over hook-nosed, bent-on-killing-you Djinn.

  “I worry because I . . .” he stopped himself and heaved a frustrated sigh.

  He pulled away gently and tipped my chin with one finger. His eyes were warm again, expressive beyond belief. They bore into mine with determination, as if they could speak for him. And most of the time they did, like right now. They brimmed with love and concern and seemed to scream the three words he never allowed past his lips.

  “I love you, too,” I said, and my words echoed through the room, answered only by a slight nod from Faris.

  He touched his nose to mine, then slowly lowered his mouth until I couldn’t resist a second longer and—thrusting my chin upward—I pressed a desperate kiss to his lips. Faris’s breath caught. He seized me by the waist, his passion falling in step with mine. It seemed that lately we’d forgotten gentleness, and our kisses always turned forceful and heated right away. I felt that every time I found myself in his arms, something inside me came ablaze.

  At first, the intensity of our kisses and caresses had increased gradually. Now, however, a heated rush overcame us as soon as our lips met. His touch was a decadent vice, so much that even an accidental brush of his fingers against my hand made me go warm all over.

  With a hand behind my neck and another one on my waist, Faris held me tight and kissed me. His tongue tasted of mint as its velvety surface graced the ultra sensitive skin at the corner of my mouth. The depth of feeling sent me over the edge. Without thinking, I bit his lower lip. The nibbling elicited a deep groan from him.

  Abruptly, he pushed me against the desk. The books, pen holder, photographs and even the computers slid out of the way on their own. In the blink of an eye, I was on the desk, beneath the weight of his untamed lips.

  I moaned.

  He grabbed my hands, pinned them over my head and continued kissing me, traveling insistently down my neck.

  As his mouth glided downward, his silky fingers slid down the length of my right arm, caressing my forearm, then my biceps. When he reached my shoulder, he pushed the strap of my tank top out of the way and began trailing kisses from one end of my clavicle to the other.

  A sigh of pleasure escaped me. My body curved. His toned torso tightened in response. There was nothing more I wanted in the whole wide world than this closeness, this wild abandon. He wanted it, too. His half-lidded eyes, his moist lips against my feverish skin, his insistent hands so close to my breasts told me so.

  I didn’t even care about the hard desk at my back.

  The truth is, after a minute, it seemed to just disappear.

  6

  Akeelah

  The room’s far left corner looked empty, though Akeelah stood there, immobile. Frank Angello’s office sprawled before her in all its luxurious glory. He had brought his expensive taste even to this warehouse, from which he conducted all his illicit transactions.

  Frank sat in front of a massive desk, his sturdy frame nestled inside a high back leather chair. He wore a brand new Armani suit, which he’d purchased with the winnings of a very unusual, but profitable poker game. His goatee had been neatly trimmed at an exclusive beauty spa. His hair, fingernails, toenails and other parts of his body had received the same undivided attention.

  Akeelah had found the fastidious grooming enthralling, like watching a tiger lick itself clean. Frank had submitted himself to prodding, cutting, plucking, clipping, massaging and more. He endured two hours on a swivel chair, as several men and women fussed over him. While in the process, he treated everyone like pesky necessities.

  She wondered if her mild fascination with the process stemmed from the fact that she didn’t need such cares—she was immutable, unaltered by weather or the passage of time—or because she’d never had a pet quite so obsessed with his appearance. Whatever the case, Frank’s fastidious concern with maintaining such a pristine look was, in the end, a waste of time. All Dross were filthy creatures, no matter their grooming habits.

  Across from Frank sat his antithesis, Andrew Angello. He wore a pair of ripped jeans and a black, baggy t-shirt. He was perched at the edge of his chair, one knee bouncing up and down, both heavily-tattooed arms resting lightly on the armrests. He seemed ready to spring to his feet and take off running at any second. Stubble darkened his face and the bleached tips of his hair stood on end, each strand half black, half blond. His frame was slight, more like a child’s than a man’s. His face was pale and befitted with a lazy eye.

  Physically, Akeelah’s pets were very different but, in the aspect that mattered most, they were identical: they both hated everyone but themselves.

  “Why don’t you relax, Andy,” Frank said, eying his cousin up and down.

  “I’m relaxed, bro.” Andy bounced his knee faster and showed his yellowed, crooked teeth in a rigid smile.

  Frank stood, walked to a bureau to his left and poured himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Nah.” Andy wrinkled his nose. “Can’t stand that shit.”

  Frank tipped one of his perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Good. I’d hate to waste the good stuff on you.” A laugh followed.

  Andy responded with a humorless ha-ha, then cracked his neck, honoring what could be classified as a
compulsive twitch.

  “Is the girl dead?” Frank asked as he paced in front of the bureau, sipping from his squat glass.

  “Not yet.” Andy grinned like a cat might at the prospect of playing with a mouse. “I burned her house, but she wasn’t in there.”

  Frank set his glass down very slowly. “You did what?”

  “Scorched her house, man. It was fun.” Andy’s grin grew wider.

  “We agreed we would do this . . . discreetly.” Frank sat back down, steepled his fingers, and stared down at his small cousin.

  Andy shrugged. “For our purposes, it’s discreet if no one can trace it back to us. Right?”

  “Be careful, Andy. You don’t want to end up back in jail. Do you? There’s only so much I can do for you, even if your mama thinks I should do more.”

  “No need for threats, Cuz. Things have changed and Mama has nothing to worry about. I’m protected, now. Blessed, like Mama would say. Providence smiles on me, bro.” Andy’s neck made a popping sound as he jerked his head to one side. His eyes glinted with the knowledge that he’d become untouchable, an understanding that was closer to the truth than Frank realized.

  Akeelah enjoyed playing games with her pets, and currently keeping Frank in the dark was one of them. He knew Andy’s criminal charges had been dropped, but not by what means. Andy, on the other hand, knew all the details, and he’d known ever since an ebony skinned giant visited him in his jail cell late one night. She had stepped out of the darkness and informed him that he’d soon go free and that, from then on, any mundane obstacles that got in his way would simply disappear if he so wished.

  His latest request had been to eliminate any sign of the copious amounts of gasoline he’d used to burn the girl’s house. Akeelah had done so gladly, pleased by Andy’s deranged creativity. He was what humans called a sociopath, just the perfect type of pet she needed at the moment.